Henry stared. The original steam vents had become spewing geysers of scalding water. New cracks appeared throughout the valley, belching more foggy steam and water into the sky. One section of the volcanic cone fell away with a grinding roar. “It’s coming apart!” Henry realized.
Maggie pointed behind them, toward the volcanic peak to the south. Black smoke billowed skyward. The scent of sulfur and burning rock filled the valley.
Sam straightened. “The explosion must have triggered a fault. A chain reaction. Hurry! To the helicopter!”
Norman chimed in with even more good news. “We’ve got company, folks!” He pointed to the smoking tunnel.
From the heart of the enveloping blackness, pale shapes leaped forth like demons from hell. The creatures piled and writhed from the opening, screeching, bellowing. Claws scrabbled on rock.
“The explosions must have panicked them,” Maggie said. “Overcoming their fear of the tunnel.”
From the heights, black eyes swung in their direction. The keening wail changed in pitch.
“Run!” Henry bellowed, terrified at the sight. “Now!”
The group fled across the rough terrain. Chunks of basalt now rattled upon the quaking ground, sounding like the chatter of teeth. It made running difficult. Henry fell, scraping his palms on the jagged stone. Then Sam was there, pulling him to his feet.
“Can you make it, Uncle Hank?” he asked, puffing himself.
“I’m gonna have to, aren’t I?” Henry took off again, but black spots swam across his vision.
Sam lent him an arm, and Maggie suddenly appeared on his other side. Together, they helped Henry across the rough terrain to the flat meadow. Ahead, Norman was already pulling Denal and the abbey guardsman into the belly of the chopper. The photographer’s eyes met theirs across the meadow. “Hurry! They’re at your heels!”
Henry made the mistake of looking back. The quicker of the pale creatures already flanked them. Not far behind, larger creatures bearing clubs and stones bore down upon them.
Henry suddenly tripped and almost brought them all down. But as a group, they managed to keep their feet and continued running. Henry found himself beginning to black out here and there. Soon he was being carried between Sam and Maggie.
“Let me go… save yourselves.”
“Yeah, right,” Sam answered.
“Who does he think we are?” Maggie added with forced indifference.
Everything went black for a few seconds.
Then hands were pulling Henry into the helicopter. He felt the rush of wind and realized the helicopter’s rotors were already twirling. A loud metallic crash sounded near his head.
“They’re lobbing boulders,” Norman called out.
“But they’re not coming any closer,” Maggie added from the doorway. “The helicopter has them spooked.”
A second ringing jolt struck the helicopter’s fuselage. The whole vehicle shuddered.
“Well, they’re damn close enough!” Norman turned and hollered to the pilot. “Get this bird off the ground!
Henry struggled to sit as the door slammed shut. “Sam…?”
He felt a pat on his shoulder as he was hauled into his seat and strapped in. “I’m here.” He turned to see Sam smiling at him, Maggie at his shoulder.
“Thank God,” Henry sighed.
“God? Which one?” Norman asked with a grin, settling into his seat.
The helicopter suddenly shuddered again—not from the bombardment of boulders, but from a hurried liftoff. The bird tilted, then rose slowly. A final crash on the underside rocked the chopper.
“A parting kiss,” Norman said, staring out the window at the cavorting and gamboling throng down below.
The helicopter then climbed faster, beyond the reach of their stones.
Henry joined the photographer in staring over the valley. Below, the jungle was on fire. Smoke and steam almost entirely obscured the view. Fires lit up patches of the dense fog. A view of Dante’s Hell.
As Henry stared, relief mixed with sorrow in his heart. So much had been lost.
Then they were over the cone’s lip and sweeping down and away.
They had made it!
As the helicopter dived between the neighboring peaks, Henry stared behind them. Suddenly a loud roar exploded through the cabin; the helicopter jumped, rotors screamed. Henry flew backward. For a few harrowing moments, the bird spun and twisted wildly.
The pilot swore, struggling with his controls. Everyone else clutched straps in white-knuckled grips.
Then the bird righted itself and flew steady again.
Henry dragged himself up and returned to his observation post. As he looked out, he gasped, not in fright but in wonder. “You all need to come see this.”
The others joined him at the window. Sam leaned over, a palm resting on his uncle’s shoulder. Henry patted his nephew’s hand, squeezing his fingers for a moment.
“It’s strangely beautiful,” Maggie said, staring out.
Behind the helicopter, two twin spires of molten rock lit up the afternoon skies, one from each volcano. It was a humbling sight.
Henry finally leaned back in his seat. Closing his eyes, he thought back to Friar de Almagro and all his warnings. The man had given his own life to stop the evil here.
Henry whispered softly to the flaming skies, “Your dying prayer has been answered, my friend. Rest in peace.”
Day Seven.
Cuzco
Sunday, August 26, 3:45 P.M.
Cuzco International Airport
Peru
The small, single-engine plane, an old Piper Saratoga, dipped toward the tarmac. The city of Cuzco spread below the wings in a tangle of streets, a mix of gleaming high-rises and old adobe homes. Though it was a welcome sight, Sam turned from the window. It had been a long day of flights and plans.
En route from the volcanic caldera, his uncle had used the helicopter’s radio to alert the authorities and to warn the base camp of the erupting volcanoes. Philip had sounded panicked over the radio. It seemed the Quechan Indians were already evacuating. Henry had ordered the Harvard graduate to go with them; their helicopter’s fuel was too low for another landing and takeoff. Almost crying, Philip had begged for rescue, but Henry had been adamant about getting back to Cuzco as soon as possible.
His uncle had then arranged for a change of aircraft at a small commercial airfield near Machu Picchu, hiring the single-engine plane and pilot for the hop to Cuzco.
Still, for all the expedient planning, the flight there had taken almost an entire day.
As the plane shed altitude for its final approach, Sam sat up straighter in the cramped cabin, careful not to disturb Maggie, who leaned on his shoulder, asleep like everyone else on board. Sam envied their ability to rest. Slumber had been impossible for him. His mind still dwelt on the last twenty-four hours.