archway, then stopped abruptly. ‘And don’t touch anything while I’m gone. Just film!’
Maria watched as her mentor stomped down the stone corridor, the radiance of his flashlight getting dimmer and dimmer with every step that he took. Then, when he reached the far end of the hallway, Boyd turned up the narrow stairs and disappeared from sight, leaving her alone in the massive vault.
As Boyd made his way upstairs, he slowed his pace near the crypts, careful not to brush against any of the hands that reached into the corridor. His light danced along the walls as he walked, giving the corpses the illusion of movement. For a split second he could’ve sworn that one of the fingers twitched, like the skeletal remains were coming to life. He paused ever so slightly to examine it before stepping into the first chamber.
The bronze cylinder needed to be protected, he knew that, so he tucked it into his deepest pocket before he climbed through the hole in the wall. He opened his toolbox in a huff, tossing aside screwdrivers and wrenches, hammers and nails, even a small set of rock picks until it dawned on him that he had no idea what he was looking for.
He stood there pondering the question when he realized that the walls of the cave seemed to be shaking, actually vibrating with pulsating bursts of energy.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
He could feel the rocks trembling beneath his feet.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Putting his hand on the wall, Boyd tried to determine the source of the tremors, but the entire rock face was vibrating at an even rate. Next, he placed his ear to the cool surface of the wall, hoping to establish the origin of the bass-filled pitch. Strangely, the strength of the sound actually seemed to diminish as he moved closer to the sides of the cave.
He quickly went through a series of calculations, attempting to figure out what could cause such a phenomenon. The resonance, the undulation, the energy. After a moment, it dawned on him that it was probably due to an external force. But what?
As he moved toward the site entrance, he noticed the drastic change in temperature. His body, which had grown accustomed to the underground climate, was now forced to deal with the hot Italian sun. Large beads of sweat surfaced on Boyd’s brow, droplets that turned to mud as they streamed down his dirt-caked face and tumbled to the ground below.
His eyes, which were used to the dim light of the tunnels, suddenly burned in the afternoon sun. Its radiance was so intense that he found himself shading his face like a moviegoer leaving a matinee. And to make matters worse, the sound grew in intensity, forcing him to plug his ears while shielding his eyes at the same time.
‘What is that hullabaloo?’ he screamed over the noise. ‘What in the world can that be?’
Oblivious to the commotion above her, Maria danced around the vast chamber, carefully filming the Roman chests. Even though it was a simple task, she knew her work would eventually be viewed by the world’s leading archaeologists and scholars, a thought that made her ecstatic. Of course, that feeling would pale in comparison to the joy she’d feel when she told her father about her recent success. That would be the highlight of her life, for it would be the first time in memory that he’d have to admit that he was proud of her. The first goddamned time.
And it would actually involve something that she’d worked for, and trained for, and dreamed about for as long as she could remember. The first accomplishment in a career that her dad had discouraged from day one. A moment when her father, the great Benito Pelati, would have to admit that a woman was actually capable of making a mark in the world of archaeology.
A smile surfaced on Maria’s face as she made her way to the back corner of the room. She gracefully sidestepped the largest crate while zooming in on an elaborate battlefield scene. Several seconds later she noticed a red light blinking on the back of
Maria watched as her mentor stomped down the stone corridor, the radiance of his flashlight getting dimmer and dimmer with every step that he took. Then, when he reached the far end of the hallway, Boyd turned up the narrow stairs and disappeared from sight, leaving her alone in the massive vault.
As Boyd made his way upstairs, he slowed his pace near the crypts, careful not to brush against any of the hands that reached into the corridor. His light danced along the walls as he walked, giving the corpses the illusion of movement. For a split second he could’ve sworn that one of the fingers twitched, like the skeletal remains were coming to life. He paused ever so slightly to examine it before stepping into the first chamber.
The bronze cylinder needed to be protected, he knew that, so he tucked it into his deepest pocket before he climbed through the hole in the wall. He opened his toolbox in a huff, tossing aside screwdrivers and wrenches, hammers and nails, even a small set of rock picks until it dawned on him that he had no idea what he was looking for.
He stood there pondering the question when he realized that the walls of the cave seemed to be shaking, actually vibrating with pulsating bursts of energy.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
He could feel the rocks trembling beneath his feet.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Putting his hand on the wall, Boyd tried to determine the source of the tremors, but the entire rock face was vibrating at an even rate. Next, he placed his ear to the cool surface of the wall, hoping to establish the origin of the bass-filled pitch. Strangely, the strength of the sound actually seemed to diminish as he moved closer to the sides of the cave.
He quickly went through a series of calculations, attempting to figure out what could cause such a phenomenon. The resonance, the undulation, the energy. After a moment, it dawned on him that it was probably due to an external force. But what?
As he moved toward the site entrance, he noticed the drastic change in temperature. His body, which had grown accustomed to the underground climate, was now forced to deal with the hot Italian sun. Large beads of sweat surfaced on Boyd’s brow, droplets that turned to mud as they streamed down his dirt-caked face and tumbled to the ground below.
His eyes, which were used to the dim light of the tunnels, suddenly burned in the afternoon sun. Its radiance was so intense that he found himself shading his face like a moviegoer leaving a matinee. And to make matters worse, the sound grew in intensity, forcing him to plug his ears while shielding his eyes at the same time.
‘What is that hullabaloo?’ he screamed over the noise. ‘What in the world can that be?’
Oblivious to the commotion above her, Maria danced around the vast chamber, carefully filming the Roman chests. Even though it was a simple task, she knew her work would eventually be viewed by the world’s leading archaeologists and scholars, a thought that made her ecstatic. Of course, that feeling would pale in comparison to the joy she’d feel when she told her father about her recent success. That would be the highlight of her life, for it would be the first time in memory that he’d have to admit that he was proud of her. The first goddamned time.
And it would actually involve something that she’d worked for, and trained for, and dreamed about for as long as she could remember. The first accomplishment in a career that her dad had discouraged from day one. A moment when her father, the great Benito Pelati, would have to admit that a woman was actually capable of making a mark in the world of archaeology.
A smile surfaced on Maria’s face as she made her way to the back corner of the room. She gracefully sidestepped the largest crate while zooming in on an elaborate battlefield scene. Several seconds later she noticed a red light blinking on the back of