Lamashtu Read Online Free PDF Page B

turned over and stared up into the sky. Birds were soaring on the wind. A mixed flock of condors and albatrosses swirled and twirled around the campsite. John's ears caught the sound of their calls. It was nearly a voice.
    The sun's light seemed to pound into him, but he felt a little better. He rolled to his side and managed to push himself up. On one knee, he stared into the blue sky and watched the birds. The Caral guardians, he thought.
    "Linton?" he croaked. Another cough shook his body and tears of pain flowed from his eyes. He crawled to the tent's entrance and unzipped it. He stared in and blinked. The man was gone. The mummy's body was at the side of the tent, but there wasn't much left of it. The dried, desiccated flesh had turned into a puddle of liquid leaving old bones behind.
    John wiped blood from his mouth. Linton's clothes were ripped, torn, and spread atop the sleeping bag. Strips of flesh had peeled off and adhered to the fabric. John shuffled back from the bedrolls and returned to the sunlight.
    He walked back to the equipment crate that lay beneath the tarp. The steel box was open. Its contents were smashed. The laptop had been torn in two pieces. Bloody fingerprints stained the plastic and rubber. The sat phone lay at the bottom. The antenna had been broken off the handset and the plastic housing was destroyed. John blinked at it and fell to his knees.
    There was no way to call for an evac. The expedition wasn't due to check in for another two days. John idly scratched at his arm. He wouldn't last two days. His only hope was to make it to the next camp, but that was kilometers away across the valley.
    John stumbled back to his tent. He emptied his backpack except for his emergency tools and filled it with first-aid supplies. It was going to be a long walk and he wasn't sure he'd make it. The equipment crate still held two things he needed--a canteen and a machete. He filled the canteen with bottled water and then stuffed the pack with more. He held the pack up by its straps and felt its weight. It was heavy, but he thought he'd be able to carry it.
    With the machete in his hands, he walked past the tents and into the desert. Far across the desert floor, he saw a dot. It was the temple where he'd found the map leading to the mummy's burial site.
    He started to leave the tarp and head into the desert when his foot kicked something. He stared down. The wooden bird-sigils littered the ground near the table. He wiped blood from his nose and then began packing the wooden carvings. He managed to stuff all 33 inside. When he picked up the pack again, he groaned beneath the added weight. John shrugged into the shoulder straps, took one last look at the wrecked equipment, and headed out into the desert.

9

    THE third time he fell down, he wasn't sure he could get back up. The navy blue sky was incredibly bright. John lay on his back and splashed his face with water from the canteen. He coughed and a spray of blood erupted from his mouth.
    When he'd set out from the dig site, he'd made a bee-line for the distant temple. An hour later, he felt like he was no closer. The dot would get larger, and then seem to shrink. He knew it was an optical illusion, but that didn't help much.
    Even in the cool high desert, the sunlight was hot and uncomfortable. Or, John had thought as he stripped off his shirt, it was the fever. The sickness was creeping through his chest making it hard to breathe. As he'd traveled farther and farther from the dig-site, each step had become a fight to stay upright.
    After a kilometer or so, the hard-pack dirt gave way to soft sand. John had stopped when he'd seen the marks in the sand. They were human footprints. Linton had either stripped off his boots in the tent, or left them somewhere far behind and John missed them. The footprints were spattered with red and black ooze.
    John followed the prints for some time. They were definitely headed toward the temple. After what seemed like forever,