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s heart starting to beat a little fast。 Nothing looked familiar。 The dripping rocks； the feathery crystals； the banded； glossy humps…it all looked strange。
And then he heard a sound。 Someone up ahead； humming。
〃Hey！〃 He broke into a trot； turned a corner； paused at a fork in the passage。
The humming had stopped。
Hazen spun around； calling out。 〃Larssen？ Cole？〃
Still no sound。
〃Answer me； goddamn it！〃
He waited。 Couldn't they hear him？ He'd heard the sound as clear as a bell； why couldn't they hear him？
More humming； high…pitched and farther away； ing out of the left tunnel。
〃Larssen？〃 He unshouldered his shotgun and walked down the left tunnel。 The sound was louder； higher； closer。 He moved more cautiously now； his senses on alert； trying to control his heart； which seemed to be pounding way too hard in his chest。
There was a flash of something at the periphery of his vision and he stopped and spun around。 〃Hey！〃
He got just the briefest look before it darted away into the blackness。 Brief as the glance was； it was enough to leave no doubt at all that it wasn't one of his team。
And it sure as hell wasn't McFelty。
Sixty…Four
Chester Raskovich turned a corner and stopped； the grotesque sight before him arresting his headlong flight。 He stared； his mind reeling。 Crouching in front of him； blocking his path； was a ragged； wispy…haired figure； staring up at him with hollow eyes； mouth yawning open as if to bite； teeth drawn back。
Raskovich leaned back with a neigh of terror； wanting to run and yet unable to do so； waiting for the thing to leap up and pounce on him。 It was like a nightmare： his feet frozen to the ground； paralyzed； unable to flee。
He gulped in air…again； and then again…and； gradually； paralysis and fright ebbed and reason began to return。 He leaned closer。 It was nothing more than the mummified body of an Indian； sitting on the floor； bony knees drawn up； mouth open； shriveled lips drawn back from an enormous row of brown teeth。 Placed around him was a semicircle of pots； each with a stone arrowhead in it。 The mummy was wrapped in stringy rags that at one time might have been buckskin。
He looked away； swallowed； looked back again； and let his breathing slow to a semblance of normality。 What he was looking at was a prehistoric Indian burial。 He could see the remains of beaded moccasins on the twisted feet； next to a painted parfleche and some tattered feathers。
〃Fuck；〃 said Raskovich out loud； ashamed at his panic； just now realizing what he'd done。 He'd blown it。 His first job as a real cop and he'd lost it pletely； right in front of Sheriff Hazen。 Running like a rabbit。 And now here he was； lost in a cave； with a killer on the loose； and no idea which way to go。 He felt a wave of shame and despair： he should've stayed at KSU； keeping kids off the water tower and giving out parking tickets。
Suddenly； he lashed out in rage and frustration； aiming a savage kick at the mummy。 His foot connected with a hollowthock and the top of the head exploded in a ball of brown dust。 A boiling stream of white insects came skittering out…they looked like albino roaches…and the mummy toppled sideways； the jaw ing loose and rolling a few turns across the ground before ing to a halt among broken pieces of skull。 An ivory snake； hidden beneath the rags； uncoiled with a flash and shot off into the darkness like a thin ghost。
〃Oh；shit！ 〃 Raskovich shouted； skipping back。 〃Goddamn it！〃
He stood there； breathing hard； hearing the sound of air rattling in his throat。 He had no idea where he was； how far he had run； where he should go。
Think。
He looked around； shining his infrared lamp around the damp surfaces of rock。 He had been running through a narrow； tall crack with a sandy floor。 The crack was so high he could not even make out the top。 He could see his own footprints in the sand。 He listened： no sound； not even water。
Retrace your steps。
Giving one last glance at the now…desecrated burial； Raskovich turned and walked back along the crack； keeping his eyes on the ground。 Now he noticed what had been ignored in his headlong flight： almost every niche and shelf on both sides of the crack was piled with bones and other objects： painted pots； quivers full of arrows； hollow skulls rustling with cave life。 It was a mausoleum； an Indian catab。
He shivered。
To his relief； he soon left the burials behind。 The crack widened and the ceiling came down； and he could make out cruel…looking stalactites overhead。 The sandy bottom gave way to shallow terraces of water； layered in strange accretions like rice paddies。 As the sand fell behind； so did the trace of his footsteps。
Ahead were two openings； one tall and partly blocked with fallen limestone blocks； the other open。 Which way now？
Think； asshole。 Remember。
But for the life of him Raskovich could not remember which way he had e。
He thought of shouting； then decided against it。 Why attract attention？ The thing the dogs had found might still be around somewhere； looking for him。 The cave was far bigger than it was supposed to be； but he could still find his way out if he took his time and didn't panic again。 They would be looking for him； too。 He had to remember that。
He chose the larger opening and felt reassured by the long tunnel ahead of him。 It looked familiar somehow。 And now he could see something else； an indistinct reddish blur in the goggles； up on a shelf of rock beside a dark hole。 An arrangement of objects。 Another burial？
He approached。 There was another Indian skull； some feathers and arrowheads and bones。 But these were arranged in a very unusual pattern on the shelf of rock。 It was disquieting； somehow； like nothing he'd seen in books or museum displays。 There were non…Indian objects； too： strange little figures made of string and twine； a broken pencil； a rotting wooden alphabet block； the fragmented head of a porcelain doll。
Jesus Christ； the little arrangement gave him the creeps。 He backed away。This wasn't old。 Somebody had taken the old bones and rearranged them with these other things。 Raskovich felt a shiver convulse his back。
There was a grunt from the darkness over his shoulder。
Raskovich did not move。 There were no more sounds： the silence that descended again was plete。 A minute went by； then two； while Raskovich remained frozen； as the uncertainty and terror continued to mount within him。
And then the moment came when he was unable to stop himself from turning。 Slowly…very slowly…he twisted around until he saw what had made the noise。
Raskovich fell still； paralyzed once again； not even a whisper of breath escaping his lips。It stood there； grotesque； misshapen； hideous。 The sight was so terrible that every detail etched itself into his brain。 Was that really a pair of handmade shorts and suspenders on those giant； twisted legs： suspenders decorated with rocking horses？ Was that shirt； hanging in tatters from the roped and matted chest； really patterned with ets and rocket ships？ And； above them； was that face really；really； so very 。 。 。
The horrible figure took a step forward。 Raskovich stared； unable to move。 A meaty arm lashed out and swatted him。 H