Liam O’Riley, Temple Hunter

The Ecuadorian Connection

For the most part, this newsletter is about the road to publishing the six works of fiction that I completed a decade ago. This particular post is to give you a first time peak at one of the many other projects I’ve started but have not yet typed The End at, well, the end.

The excerpt is from a story about a kid whose archaeologist parents mysteriously disappear (in this first chapter) and his efforts to find them. Later in the story, at a dig in Ecuador, he finds the clues that set him off in the right direction. I’ve finished the first four chapters.

Enjoy. Share. Build the audience.

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65 million years ago. A huge foreign object smashes into Earth.

The event marks the end of Earth as it had been.

The first humans have arrived.

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Gone

The tent was held up by four tall wooden poles and the floor beneath it was covered entirely in overlapping Persian rugs of every imaginable color and design. A strong gust of wind buffeted the canvas and the sounds of it annoyed the boy sitting at a table in the middle of the tent. He was writing furiously on a pad of paper, trying his best to ignore the flapping commotion and the howling of the desert storm. His tongue stuck out from the side of his mouth and his brow furrowed in deep concentration. It was the last assignment of day and he wanted very badly to complete it before his parents opened the door to the ancient tomb.

He was almost done when the front flap opened and a tall, thin man entered the tent. The boy looked up from his task, squinting his eyes, not only from the intensity of the bright desert sun, but also from the swirling cloud of dust and sand blasting through the opening. Ibrahim El-Saleh was old but no one really knew his age. He wore traditional Arabian garb: a white robe that reached to the floor and a matching white keffiyeh wrapped upon his head. His face was deeply wrinkled from time and exposure to the elements, and his beard was gray and long.

“Are you done with your assignment, Master Liam?” said the old man.

“Almost,” replied the boy, “even with all the racket.”

Liam O’Riley wrote the last few words of his essay, set the pencil down on his pad and stood up. The boy was of average height for his twelve years, with a shock of wavy sun-bleached blond hair and tanned skin from spending as much time as possible in the sunlight, which is exactly what he intended to do at that moment. There was no time to waste. His parents would be entering the tomb soon. He dashed across the room.

“See you at dinner,” he said, as he raced past his tutor.

Liam heard a chuckle from Ibrahim as he burst through the tent’s opening. He ran past the main tent of the camp where the artifacts were studied and kept, then by the tents where the other members of the expedition slept. He headed directly for the immense sand dune rising majestically before him. He saw the sheets of sand blowing off the top of the dune, like the spray of salt water from the crest of a rolling wave. He knew that his tennis shoes and the pockets of his shorts would be full of sand by the time he made it to the dig. It took several minutes for him to reach the crest of the dune and, despite the dryness of the region, he was now sweating from the exertion. He saw the group of people gathered at the base of the dune, in front of a tent that had been pitched next to the excavation.

“Wait for me!” he yelled, waving his arms.

The group looked up and his father cupped his hands around his mouth. The words reached him a moment later.

“Hurry up...only an hour before the sun sets.”

Liam went straight down the steep side of the dune, chased by the small avalanches started by each footstep he took and, though his shoes were full of sand when he made it to the bottom, he did not stop to empty them. He raced across the final fifty yards of patchy scrubs and dry grass to the archaeological site where the team had gathered. His mother opened her arms in her usual greeting and hugged him tightly. 

“Isn’t this exciting?” she said. “More than a decade of research and digging, and we’re about to see something that hasn’t been seen for over a thousand years.”

“It’s very cool,” replied Liam looking up at her.

Professor Megan O’Riley was not much taller or heavier than her son. Her red hair blew messily in the wind from under the fedora she always wore to protect her sensitive skin from the sun. Her Scottish heritage was obvious: the pale skin, the freckles on her cheeks and the deep green eyes that, at that moment, danced with the excitement of the event.

Liam’s father joined them and he affectionately tussled his son’s hair.

“It’s cool alright,” he said. “We’ve been looking for this chamber since you were born...almost thirteen years. That’s a long, long time.”

Professor Hiram O’Riley was a tall, handsome man and, though only forty years old, his crew cut hair was almost completely white. His face was a deeply tanned contrast to his clear blue eyes and his build was that of an athlete: wide shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, powerful arms barely concealed by the rolled-up sleeves of his khaki shirt, and long legs beneath the gray Chinos that had been honed by the five miles he ran every morning.

“I can’t wait to see what’s inside,” said Liam. “Maybe there’s treasure and we’ll be as rich as kings!”

“Could be,” replied his father, “but we can’t keep it if there is. Whatever’s in there belongs to the people of Mongolia. The real treasure is in the discovery.”

A very tall and lanky man appeared next to Liam’s father wearing clothes right out of a western movie: a red and white checkered shirt with pearl buttons, faded blue jeans, a sweat stained cowboy hat on his head and ostrich skin boots on his feet. He had, in fact, grown up on a ranch in West Texas, and he looked the part with his gaunt features, leathery and creased skin, and a tremendous handlebar brown mustache covering his upper lip. The man placed his hand on Hiram’s shoulder.

“We’d better get to gettin’ before it gets dark.”

Professor Bud Strand was his father’s best friend and the father of Liam’s best friend, Elizabeth. The Strands and the O’Rileys were always together. They were colleagues at Yale University and they traveled the world each summer to the various sites under their supervision. 

“You and Honey Bunch git to go first,” continued Bud. “It’s y’all’s find after all.”

He always called Liam’s mother Honey Bunch. He had pet names for everyone it seemed. Liam was Sonny, and Elizabeth was Pip Squeak or, sometimes, just Pip.

“Where’s Elizabeth?” said Liam.

“She’s with the Missus,” replied Bud, “in the tent.”

Liam’s father turned to him.

“You go get her,” he said, “and then join us at the entrance to the tomb.”

“Okay,” replied Liam, “but don’t you dare go inside until we get there.”

“I promise,” said his father.

*****

“It’s about time!”

Liam had just entered the tent. Elizabeth Strand stood in the middle of tent, with her hands on her hips and a fake expression of disgust on her face.  

“Did you chisel out your essay on a rock, or what?” she added.

Elizabeth wore pretty much the same thing Liam did: khaki shorts, a white short-sleeved safari shirt which was never tucked in, and canvas sneakers (though hers were pink). Her long brown hair was braided into a single pony tail that emerged like a snake from under a red and white bandana. Mrs. Strand was on the far side of the tent bent over a large green duffel bag, rummaging around for something that eluded her. All Liam could see was her ample rear end covered by the mumu dress she always wore to hide the fact that she was (let’s just say) a bit over-weight. 

“Consarn it,” she grumbled as she fumbled around in the depths of the bag. “Where is that golldarn measurin‘ tape?”

“Hi Mrs. Strand,” said Liam.

“Howdy Sonny,” replied Mrs. Strand without looking away from her task.

Liam turned back to Elizabeth.

“As for my essay,” he said, “at least I care enough about my studies to do it right. All you do is sign your name at the top of the page and scribble down the same old thing having something to do with unicorns or faeries or whatever fantasy book you just finished reading.”

“Hey bucko,” snapped Elizabeth. “At least I have an imagination. Your nose is always so deep in those dusty ole history books...you need to get a real life and stop living in the past.”

“I need to get real?” replied Liam. “Who’s the one that’s always dreaming of princes and princesses? Who’s the one that’s always crying like a little girl at the end of each book?”

“I am a little girl you nincompoop,” said Elizabeth, “and I’m not going to pretend I’m all grown up like you do.”

“Aha!” shouted Mrs. Strand, straightening up with some difficulty. “Found it. You two stop yer fussin’. Now let’s go join the rest of ‘em.”

Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at Liam at she brushed by him. Liam waited at the entrance, holding open the flap for Mrs. Strand who waddled through a moment later.

“Such a young gentleman,” she said.

*****

The Mongolian diggers stood side-by-side on the ground directly above the entrance to the tomb, leaning on the shovels and pick axes they had just used to finally reach the door. They stood still, like statues. The setting sun glowed orange behind them and their silhouettes cast long shadows over the scene below. Liam stood with the Strands at the top of the stone stairs leading down to the ancient wooden door. His parents stood facing them at the base of the steps. They wore miner’s helmets fitted with flashlights that had already been turned on, and backpacks carrying all they would need to document the momentous occasion, including the measuring tape that had taken Mrs. Strand so much effort to find.

“Well, here goes,” said Liam’s father. “Give us a few minutes to look around. We’ll let you know when it’s safe to come in.”

“Sounds like a plan,” replied Mr. Strand. “Y’all be careful.”

Liam’s mother looked up at her son with a reassuring smile on her face.

“We’ll be right back,” she said. “You wait there ‘til we give the green light. Love you.”

“Love you too,” replied Liam.

His mother turned away to face the door that his father had already begun to pry open with a large steel crowbar. He struggled for a few moments before the door suddenly creaked open and a hiss of air escaped from the inner sanctum of the tomb.

“Like openin’ a new can of tennis balls,” mumbled Mr. Strand.

“Better put them bandanas ‘round your mouth and nose,” yelled Mrs. Strand. “Never know what kind of disease coulda been holed up in there.”

The O’Rileys took her advice, tying each other’s bandanas in the fashion that outlaws did in the Wild West days. Liam’s father turned back to the door and, using all of his considerable strength, pulled the door open just enough to fit through. 

“You ready?” he said to his wife.

“Absolutely,” she replied.

Liam watched as his father and then his mother entered the tomb. The winds, which had died down a bit, began again to gust. The sun had almost dipped below the horizon, and Liam could already feel the first icy fingers of the desert night touching his neck. 

“Well?” yelled out Mr. Strand. “Whatcha see?”

Liam could barely hear his father’s voice through the sound of the now howling wind and the thick stone walls of the tomb.

“The room appears empty,” came the faint response. “No...wait. I see something. Megan, over here.”

Liam’s held his breath. They had found something!

“Hold on...here I come,” came his mother’s response. “I see it, but...it can’t be...it’s imposs...”

Liam and the Strands waited for a full minute before Liam began to really worry.

“Mom...Dad?” he yelled out.

No response. The desert winds had now reached a fevered pitch and the sun had finally disappeared behind the dunes.

“I’m going to go down there and git ‘em out,” yelled Mr Strand, over the screaming sound of the approaching sand storm. “It’s gonna be a bad one. You guys git back to the tent. We’ll meet you there in bit.”

Liam did not move. He saw that the workers no longer stood above the entrance. They had disappeared, as if the wind had just blown them away like dry leaves. He pulled up his collar and leaned into the wind. It was hard to remain on his feet. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on Sonny,” yelled Mrs. Strand. “Bud’ll git ‘em. Come on now.”

“Not until they come out,” yelled Liam.

Whether the winds separated them, or she simply gave up, her hand pulled away and Liam was alone. He stared at the entrance, shielding his eyes from the onslaught with his hands. The sand was already gathering at the corners of the doorway, and Liam knew from experience that the entire excavation would be buried once again by the time the storm ended. 

And then he saw the figure of a man emerge from the doorway. It was Mr. Strand. Liam watched him as he struggled against the wind to climb the steps. His parents did not come out. He knew then that something was horribly wrong. He saw Mr. Strand’s cowboy hat take flight and disappear into the swirling cloud of dust and sand. When the man reached Liam, he simply picked the boy up, threw him over his shoulder and ran in the direction of the tent. Liam kicked and screamed. He tried to get free. He would not leave without his parents. They burst through the flap of the tent.

Mr. Strand set Liam in front of him. He held the boy’s shoulders in a firm grip and looked into the crying boy’s eyes with tearful eyes of his own.

“Sonny,” he said. “I don’t know how to say this...but your parents...they’re not in there. There’s only one room down there...four solid walls, and no passages or hallways or tunnels leading out.”

“Let me go!” cried Liam, struggling futilely to get away. “They’re still in there. You can’t leave them alone.”

“Sonny,” replied Mr. Strand, shaking his head. “They ain’t in there. They’ve just up an’ vanished!”

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