Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One), Nathan Hystad [primary phonics books .TXT] 📗

stop complaining.” That silenced his ramblings. “Take the pack.” I pointed at his heavy bag, and Marcus rolled his shoulders.

“Why?”

“Because you never leave your gear behind. Anything can—” I walked toward him and nearly tripped on something jabbing out from the slab hidden below the mud. The earth shook, vibrating deeply as the secreted entrance slid open, sending me into the swamp. Water rushed around me, and I was swept into the current, grasping at the air for purchase on anything stable.

I felt the hand clasp before seeing Marcus, his firm grip the only thing keeping me from plunging into the hole. The water was gone in a flash, and I scrambled to my knees, peering through the three-foot-wide opening into the ground.

“You were right,” he whispered, slapping at a huge mosquito.

I was sore, sweaty, and soaked from the bog water, but I didn’t care. We’d found our hidden entrance below El Mirador. “Grab the ropes.”

A half-hour later, we had our rappelling gear locked and loaded, and Marcus started to move for the entry. I clutched his arm. “I go first. You know the rules.” He was twenty-three and no longer my student, but I had a protective obligation to him. And truthfully, I owed him huge for all the effort and time he’d spent at my side during these ridiculous endeavors.

“Fine.” Marcus turned his headlamp on and stared down. “It’s a twenty-yard drop. I hope these aren’t more tombs. I can’t tell you how mad I’ll be if some ancient mummy puts a curse on us again.”

“Again?” I asked with a laugh.

“You didn’t see the string of dates I went on after that last trip.”

Ignoring his jokes, I shuffled to the edge and tugged on the rope, ensuring it was secured to the giant Ceiba trunk before starting my descent. I’d tracked this particular symbol for years, and it was inconclusive whether this was the right place or not. The sole artifact I’d seen at the Smithsonian, a golden moon on an eating utensil, was all I’d based this on, but it had looked so familiar. It was the same image drawn in the margins of my father’s old journal.

I went slowly, one hand lowering to let go of the rope in my grip before the other grasped it, and in a few minutes, my wet boots hit the floor inside the underground ruins. The cave had remained intact over the centuries, huge chunks of stone piled atop one another, bracing the open excavation.

“Right behind you.” Marcus started to drop as I detached my lanyard and drifted farther into the space. I turned on my lantern, the bright white light giving me a much better visual.

I glanced to the stone floor, seeing the water that had dropped from above rolling across the slanted stones. Marcus arrived, a huge smile on his face. “Rex, you’re going to become a famous man!”

“It’s not about that, and you know it,” I told him quietly. The truth was, even if I discovered what I was seeking, no one would ever know I’d located it. I’d make sure of it.

“Sure, but imagine if you really come across something.”

“Be cautious. Anything could be down here,” I warned him, and he froze in place.

“What do you mean? Something worse than snakes or bats?”

“That would be the least of my concerns,” I said, but I didn’t elaborate. It wasn’t common, but traps were still obstacles we had to contend with in well-concealed regions like this—although collapse was a more likely danger.

It was musty down here, years of mildew from rainstorms settled over the floor. The cave was empty, but I did notice two huge jaguar claws carved from stone above an exit, and moved for them, each step slow and deliberate. I listened for sounds of shifting rock but heard nothing out of the ordinary.

Marcus had his camera out, recording everything, the red light steady as he walked around the cave. I ran a finger over one of the claws and stepped through the arched opening, into the corridor beyond.

The symbols had baffled me my entire life. Six icons, repeatedly sketched in my dad’s journal. He’d devoted his life to them, and one day had vanished. I’d been a little boy and could scarcely recall him now, but finding that book of his, stored with the few belongings Mom had managed to keep, had sparked something in me.

It hadn’t been a coincidence that I’d studied archaeology, or that I was a professor now, just like he’d been at the start of his career. I figured that if I followed in his footsteps long enough, I’d learn what had happened to him.

My light seemed muted inside the hall, the lantern’s beam cutting short in the cool caverns, but I didn’t stop until I found the next room. It was on my left, the entrance up to my neck. Another emblem was carved in the stone mantel atop the doorway, and I smiled as I recognized the symbol for the moon. This was it.

“Marcus,” I called, and he almost bumped into me as he walked backwards through the corridor, getting a shot of the path behind him. Light reflected off his dark skin as he spun toward me.

“What is it?” he asked, aiming the camera at my face. I pushed his arm away and pointed at the carving. “Cool. The moon.”

The room was dusty, the walls carved with intricate designs. A bench sat near a table, and I walked to it, lowering my palms onto the surface. Anticipation burned in my lungs, and my heart beat loudly in my ears. I blew on the table, sending motes of ancient dust adrift, revealing a single shape on the tabletop.

A hexagon.

I reached for it, but the shape was empty, devoid of the item I was searching for. “It’s not here.”

Marcus was closer, his camera jutting over my shoulder for the shot. “That’s a bummer.”

I turned, resting as I leaned against the table. Suddenly, I felt every bug bite, every mile we’d