Norman swung around; he held a small device in his palm. It was his light meter. “No. While on guard, I checked a few readings. Since five o’clock this morning, the meter has been reading rising footcandles.” Norman’s glasses reflected the firelight. “You know what that must mean?”
Sam was too tired to think this early, not without at least a canteen of coffee. He pushed to a seated position. “Just spill it already.”
“Dawn,” Norman said, as if this made it all clear.
Sam just looked at him.
Norman sighed. “You really aren’t a morning person, are you, Sam?”
By now the others were stirring slowly from their makeshift beds. “What’s going on?” Maggie asked around a wide yawn.
“Riddles,” Sam said.
Norman shot Sam a sour look and stepped closer to encompass the entire group as he spoke. “My light meter’s been registering stronger and stronger signals since dawn.”
Maggie sat up straighter. “Really?” She glanced beyond the firelight at the dark cave.
“I waited a couple hours to be sure. I didn’t want to give anyone false hope.”
Sam pushed to his feet. He wore only his pants. His vest still lay drying beside the fire. He had been using it as a pillow. “You’re not suggesting—?”
Maggie interrupted, her words laced with excitement. “Maybe Norman’s right. If the readings are stronger as the morning progresses, then sunlight must be getting down here from somewhere.” She clapped Norman on the shoulder and shook him happily. “By Jesus, there must be a way out nearby!”
Her words sank into Sam’s consciousness. A way out! Sam stepped to the pair. “You’re sure the meter is not just registering flare-ups in the campfire?”
Norman frowned as Ralph and Denal edged around the fire to join the group. “No, Sam.” He lifted his device. “It’s definitely picking up sunlight.”
Sam nodded, satisfied with the photographer’s expertise. Norman was no fool. Sam squinted at the dark cavern. Firelight basked the walls and reflected off the monstrous gold statue in the center of the city. Sam prayed Norman was correct in his conclusions. “Then let’s find out where that light’s coming from. Can you use the meter to track the source?”
“Maybe…” Norman said. “If I keep it shielded from the torches and widen the f-stop…” He shrugged.
Ralph volunteered a suggestion. He seemed back to his old self since yesterday’s trials, only perhaps slightly more subdued. “Maybe Norm and I could circle the camp and search out where the light reads the strongest. It should give us a direction to start.”
Sam nudged the photographer when he did not immediately respond. “Norman?”
The thin man glanced at the wall of darkness at the edge of the fire’s pool of light. He did not look like he cared for Ralph’s idea, but he finally admitted reluctantly, “It might work.”
“Good.” Sam rubbed his hands and put a plan together. “While you reconnoiter, we’ll finish breaking down the camp. Take the flashlight. You can click it on and off as you take your readings. But be careful, the batteries on this one are wearing down, too.”
Ralph took the flashlight and tested it, thumbing the switch. “We’ll be careful.”
Norman glanced to the fire, then back to the darkness. “If we’re gonna do this, we’d better hurry. There’s no telling when we might lose the sunlight. Even passing clouds could block the footcandles stretching down to us.” Contrary to his own words, Norman still hesitated, his face tight.
Sam noticed the photographer’s tension. “What’s wrong?”
Norman shook his head. “Nothing. I’ve just seen too many cheap horror movies.”
“So?”
“Splitting up the group. In horror movies, that’s when the killer starts knocking off the college co-eds.”
Sam laughed, believing the photographer was cracking a joke—but Norman wasn’t smiling. Sam’s laughter died. “You don’t seriously think—”
Suddenly something huge crashed into the bonfire. Flaming bits of wrap and bone exploded outward, stinging bare flesh and rattling across the stone floor. Smoke billowed, and darkness threatened to consume the group as the campfire was scattered. Luckily, a large flaming brand landed atop the stacked mummies nearby and set them on fire, returning the light. Shadows from the various pyres danced across the walls of the tombs.
Sam spun around, pulling Maggie behind him. Amid the ruins of their original fire rested a large square block, clearly a hewn-granite brick from one of the structures. He glanced up. There was no overhanging cornice from where the huge block could have fallen.
Ralph voiced Sam’s own thoughts. “That was no accident.” The Alabama football player clicked on his flashlight and stabbed its beam into the darkness beyond the reach of the fires.
“Get the guns,” Sam said. “Now.”
Ralph nodded, tossing the light to Norman, then grabbed the rifle leaning against the stone wall. Sam bent and retrieved his own Winchester from beside his makeshift bed. Maggie kept close to his side, Denal at her hip.
Beyond the occasional crack and snap from the fire as dried bones burst from the heat, nothing could be heard. Yet all around them, Sam could sense movement. Shadows danced in the firelight, but some of the pools of darkness seemed to slink and slide. Something was out there, closing in on them.
“Ghosts come for us,” Denal mumbled.
Maggie put her arm around the boy’s shoulder. She comforted the lad, but no one argued against his words. The spread of the necropolis, limned in flame and thick with shifting shadows, made even their worst nightmares seem possible.
But what moved through the necropolis was much worse.
Norman’s flashlight caught one of the slinking interlopers in his beam. It froze for a heartbeat like a deer in headlights—but this was no doe or buck. As pale as the albino tarantulas, it stood on two legs, naked, hunched, knuckling on one long, thickly muscled arm. Sam’s first thought was ape, but the creature was hairless, bald-pated.
It hissed at the light—at them—huge black eyes narrowed to angry slits, teeth pointed and sharp. Then it flew from the light, disappearing into the gloom, moving faster than Sam would have thought possible.
It had appeared and vanished so quickly that none of the group had time to comment. Sam had not even thought to raise his rifle; neither had Ralph. Norman’s beam jittered as the photographer’s arm trembled.