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A large bird circled overhead. John watched as it dipped down and dove before pulling back up to glide on the thermals. In the past week he'd seen dozens fly like that. Or, perhaps, it was the same bird. He smiled at the thought.
A melodious laugh broke the spell and he turned to look at Steph Harvey. A manic smile lit her face. "John? Aren't you supposed to be more interested in what's beneath your feet?"
John grunted and pointed to the large mound of black and white dirt at the base of the cliff. "I think I've seen enough of that already."
Shaking her head, Steph walked to the timbers holding up the entrance to the small cave. Her long pony tail bounced against her back with each step. John sighed, took one last look at the albatross performing its aerial acrobatics, and followed her.
John passed by the LED lamps fastened to the black, rock walls. Whenever he entered the cave, he felt as though he were being swallowed by some prehistoric creature.
The cave had taken the five archaeologists and twenty Peruvians weeks to dig. They'd had to cut timbers, and drag them back from the forest using a truck to prevent a cave-in. Placing them had been hell. John was certain his back would never be the same. Stooped over to keep from hitting his head, his lower back twinged as if in reminder.
He followed Steph through the fifty feet of rocky ground. His hands were covered in scratches, nicks, and barely healed blisters. They ached from the weeks of labor and even now, when they weren't doing anything, they reminded him of their abuse.
He entered the small 6' by 5' chamber and dropped to one knee. Linton was up against the wall, his black, sweat covered skin shining beneath the garish LED light. John grinned as he saw Linton's wide, toothy smile.
"Where are we?" he asked.
Linton pointed with his finger at the hole in the floor. "We hit something."
John raised an eyebrow. "Something? Can you be a little less specific, Linton?"
Steph rolled her eyes. "He means we hit stone."
The big archaeologist shook his head. "What kind of stone?"
Linton's grin grew. "The kind this place is not made of." The lithe man held up his left hand. In his palm was a piece of chipped sandstone.
John nodded. "Okay then. You're the prime digger, Mr. Geologist. I'm used to sifting through sand and dirt, not sandstone. So what do we do now?"
Linton shrugged. "We dig. Just a little more carefully."
"Do you want me to call in the diggers?" John asked.
Linton shook his head. "Nope. They did the heavy lifting to get us in here. Now we need to be careful."
Steph pulled a small spade and hammer from the leather pouch hanging at her waist. She nodded toward Linton. "He and I will continue excavating. At least until we get past the sandstone. But I wanted you to see this." She pointed down into the hole.
John raised an eyebrow before shuffling over and getting on his hands and knees to peer into the excavation. Steph pointed a flashlight. John waited for his eyes to adjust and then stared in wonder.
Most of the dirt had been cleared away from a sandstone block. Its surface was covered with squiggles and shapes. Unlike most civilizations that pre-dated writing, the denizens of Norte Chico hadn't even carved stick figures to describe their daily lives. Since they had disappeared without leaving any traces of their language, it would be impossible to decipher the glyphs.
"That's writing," he said. "Or sigils."
Steph slapped him on the back and the big man twitched. "You got it, Big John. Writing."
He raised his head and stared at Linton. "Linton? I want pictures. And I mean as many as you can take."
The wiry man nodded. "Already on it. As soon as we clear away the rest of the dirt, we're going to photograph the shit out of it."
John turned to Steph, his face lit in a wide smile. "Have you checked for gaps?"
She shrugged. "After we hit it and started clearing away the dirt, I dug a little on the left side." She pointed into the hole, but John
A large bird circled overhead. John watched as it dipped down and dove before pulling back up to glide on the thermals. In the past week he'd seen dozens fly like that. Or, perhaps, it was the same bird. He smiled at the thought.
A melodious laugh broke the spell and he turned to look at Steph Harvey. A manic smile lit her face. "John? Aren't you supposed to be more interested in what's beneath your feet?"
John grunted and pointed to the large mound of black and white dirt at the base of the cliff. "I think I've seen enough of that already."
Shaking her head, Steph walked to the timbers holding up the entrance to the small cave. Her long pony tail bounced against her back with each step. John sighed, took one last look at the albatross performing its aerial acrobatics, and followed her.
John passed by the LED lamps fastened to the black, rock walls. Whenever he entered the cave, he felt as though he were being swallowed by some prehistoric creature.
The cave had taken the five archaeologists and twenty Peruvians weeks to dig. They'd had to cut timbers, and drag them back from the forest using a truck to prevent a cave-in. Placing them had been hell. John was certain his back would never be the same. Stooped over to keep from hitting his head, his lower back twinged as if in reminder.
He followed Steph through the fifty feet of rocky ground. His hands were covered in scratches, nicks, and barely healed blisters. They ached from the weeks of labor and even now, when they weren't doing anything, they reminded him of their abuse.
He entered the small 6' by 5' chamber and dropped to one knee. Linton was up against the wall, his black, sweat covered skin shining beneath the garish LED light. John grinned as he saw Linton's wide, toothy smile.
"Where are we?" he asked.
Linton pointed with his finger at the hole in the floor. "We hit something."
John raised an eyebrow. "Something? Can you be a little less specific, Linton?"
Steph rolled her eyes. "He means we hit stone."
The big archaeologist shook his head. "What kind of stone?"
Linton's grin grew. "The kind this place is not made of." The lithe man held up his left hand. In his palm was a piece of chipped sandstone.
John nodded. "Okay then. You're the prime digger, Mr. Geologist. I'm used to sifting through sand and dirt, not sandstone. So what do we do now?"
Linton shrugged. "We dig. Just a little more carefully."
"Do you want me to call in the diggers?" John asked.
Linton shook his head. "Nope. They did the heavy lifting to get us in here. Now we need to be careful."
Steph pulled a small spade and hammer from the leather pouch hanging at her waist. She nodded toward Linton. "He and I will continue excavating. At least until we get past the sandstone. But I wanted you to see this." She pointed down into the hole.
John raised an eyebrow before shuffling over and getting on his hands and knees to peer into the excavation. Steph pointed a flashlight. John waited for his eyes to adjust and then stared in wonder.
Most of the dirt had been cleared away from a sandstone block. Its surface was covered with squiggles and shapes. Unlike most civilizations that pre-dated writing, the denizens of Norte Chico hadn't even carved stick figures to describe their daily lives. Since they had disappeared without leaving any traces of their language, it would be impossible to decipher the glyphs.
"That's writing," he said. "Or sigils."
Steph slapped him on the back and the big man twitched. "You got it, Big John. Writing."
He raised his head and stared at Linton. "Linton? I want pictures. And I mean as many as you can take."
The wiry man nodded. "Already on it. As soon as we clear away the rest of the dirt, we're going to photograph the shit out of it."
John turned to Steph, his face lit in a wide smile. "Have you checked for gaps?"
She shrugged. "After we hit it and started clearing away the dirt, I dug a little on the left side." She pointed into the hole, but John
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