The sun was barely over the horizon as Indy approached the flooded debris field. Grumbling to himself, he picked his way through the underbrush, scanning the ground before him. The day was already uncomfortably hot, and wisps of steam rose from the muddy ground. From the forest, a cacophony of unknown calls echoed. Glancing over his shoulder, Jones stepped quickly into the open.

As he scanned the periphery of the basin, his heart sank. There was a narrow stretch of mud between his vantage point and the water, but it was deserted. No sign of human presence. Beyond the shore, the ruins of the alien temple stood, barely recognizable. He stared intently, approximating the spot where he'd lost sight of Marion and the others. His gut told him that they couldn't have survived; after all, the entire complex had collapsed into the water.

Indy took a shuddering breath and kept walking.

He remembered the lash cutting into his palms as he tried to drag Mac to safety, straining against the heavy wind that swept through the passage. Before tossing the whip to his friend, Indy had sent the others on ahead, trusting that he'd be able to catch up. But he hadn't succeeded in saving McHale, and he was unable to overtake his party. He had straggled out of the temple, drenched and disoriented but intent on searching for his companions. Darkness had finally halted his efforts.

With a growing sense of panic, Indy jogged towards a distant outcropping, hoping that it would afford him a better view of the area. As soon as he reached it, he began climbing, sweat stinging his eyes. The rock was mossy and slippery under his hands, and it took him a long time to reach the top. His climb finished, he glanced around carefully. A good distance from where he stood, his eye caught a flash of movement, barely visible among the piles of rubble.

He squinted, and kept his eye glued to the spot. Something moved again, and he found himself wondering if it could be a wild animal. The thought made him a little nervous; he carried a firearm, but he'd run out of ammunition the previous day. Fingering his knife, he stepped to the edge of the rock and slid down. He'd spotted the movement near the far edge of the lake, about half a mile to the north. Brandishing his knife, he headed in that direction.

With a muttered curse, Marion kicked the side of the amphibious vehicle with a bare foot. She had somehow managed to lose her shoes in the mad rush to escape the collapsing edifice, and her clothing was damp and bedraggled. Brushing a strand of oaky hair from her eyes, she leaned into the boat, spotting her son.

"Mutt!"

"Yeah?" The young man wrinkled his forehead as he fiddled with the engine, working to hotwire the boat so that they could take off. He had shed his tight leather jacket, leaving it slung over a nearby seat. His tee shirt was stained with sweat, and his expression was strained. Leaning forward, he rummaged in a tangle of wires, and then made a sound of satisfaction.

Marion cocked her head. "How's it coming?"

"I think I got it…" There was a roar as the engine sparked to life, and the boy whooped.

Marion turned around to where she'd left Oxley, resting in the shade of an abiu tree. His shawl was tossed over his face, and his hands were clasped loosely before him. She approached, and he sat up, looking around with a bewildered expression. They had spent the previous night searching frantically for Jones, and the whole group was exhausted. Marion still felt a welling of fear when she thought of him, wandering confusedly among the ruins, or else dead. Whatever she felt towards her former lover, she didn't wish for his death. Their relationship was complicated, yes, but she'd be damned if she'd let him die alone in the wilderness.

Mutt called for them to hurry, and Marion offered the old man her hand, helping him off the ground. They clambered into the vehicle, stepping through the shallow water at the edge of the river. Just ahead, she could hear the roar of the flood that had inundated the ruins of Akator, creating a wide basin strewn with debris. Setting her jaw, she slid into the driver's seat, motioning for Mutt to claim the chair beside her. Oxley settled in the back, gripping the side of the roofless vehicle. As Marion pulled away from shore, she addressed the others, keeping her voice steady.

"I want to search the basin one more time…"

Mutt glanced at her, obviously trying to be sensitive, but failing miserably. "That would just be a waste of time," he said quietly.

"Maybe not!" Oxley suddenly cut in, preventing Marion from responding to her son. "Anyway, it certainly wouldn't hurt."

"Unless there's submerged debris," Mutt interjected. "Then we could tear a hole in the boat."

"I'll be careful," Marion stared firmly, leaving no room for debate. Part of her wondered why Mutt was showing so little regard for Jones' welfare, but she decided to let it pass. Steering into the current, she headed for the ruined temple.

Irina Spalko wedged her fingertips beneath the heavy block of stone, scrabbling for leverage. There was the sudden rasp of stone on stone, and she twisted around, bracing her shoulder against the unwieldy block. She shoved with all her strength, but the debris would move no more. Letting herself fall back in exhaustion, she closed her eyes against glaring noon sun.

The day before, she had revived to find herself pinned beneath a chunk of rubble, lying at the edge of the flooded basin where Akator had once stood. She had been greatly displeased to find her rapier missing, and even more so to realize that her mission had failed miserably. The events after she'd returned the skull were blurry, though bits and pieces of the disturbing incident remained. She remembered excruciating pain, a brilliance which had left her flashblind. The whole experience had had the quality of a hallucination; she suspected that the ordeal had been a mere illusion, given the fact that her body remained undamaged.

From a professional standpoint, Spalko was not dissatisfied with the results of her investigation. She had gathered a quantity of useful knowledge, and eliminated a potential weapon for immediate development. After all, they had discovered that the particular powers possessed by the skull could not feasibly be used in military applications. They were too volatile, too unwieldy. The artifact would first need to be studied, measured and controlled by competent researchers.

Though her primary goals were those of the Soviet Union, Irina had established private stakes in the operation. She had hoped that the quest would answer questions of her own, the answers to which had continuously escaped her. Though intelligent, the Colonel was emotionally inept. She preferred questions with precise answers, and despised any sort of ambiguity. Thus, she'd readily accepted the answers the Beings had offered her. Lying under a heap of rubble, she realized her own foolishness.

But such thoughts would do her no good. Spalko glanced critically at the slab that pinned her left leg. She had managed to free the rest of her body the day before, working in the twilight that had fallen by the time she woke. She had spent an uncomfortable night among the ruins, watching warily for signs of danger. Most of the Ugha had been killed in the short skirmish with her troops, but she had assumed that others could return to finish her off. Without a weapon, she was at a distinct disadvantage.

She had been relieved when the sun finally rose, burning off the thick mist that had settled over the floodplain. The morning was fairly clear, and she stared broodingly into the distance, still breathing raggedly. Her fatigues had dried stiff and uncomfortable, and she shifted awkwardly beneath the weight of her jacket. Just then, she glimpsed movement a few hundred yards away, at the edge of the jungle.

Uneasily, Spalko picked up a nearby piece of shrapnel, keeping her eyes trained on the spot. Clutching the metal in her hand, she watched a human figure approach, still partially obscured by shadows.

"Hello?"

She recognized the voice immediately, and her chest tightened. A disheveled figure emerged from the undergrowth, swinging a handgun. Indiana Jones looked bewildered by her presence, and he raised his weapon slowly, eyes wide and intense. She waited as he took in the block of rubble that held her immobile, the tattered state of her fatigues. He nodded to himself, assured that she had no weapon, save the piece of metal she was gripping.

"Dr. Jones. How interesting that you have survived also."

"Damn right, sister." There was a click as he dismantled the safety mechanism on his firearm. Irina watched his face carefully, and noted with interest the way his eyes moved rapidly. This was a sure sign of duplicity, and Spalko was confident that she could call his bluff.

She raised an eyebrow. "Given that your weapon is not actually loaded, you may as well put it away."

"How-"

She glanced towards the empty clip at his belt. "You are a direct man, Dr. Jones. You would have shot me on sight."

He hesitated, then holstered his weapon with a sigh. "You're right."

"How fortunate that you are effectively unarmed." She relaxed a little, but still noted the resentment in his voice. Mulling over how to turn the situation to her advantage, she waited for a response.

His mouth tightened, and a look of reluctance passed over his face. "Haven't seen anyone else out here, have you?"

"I am not exactly in a position to answer your questions," she muttered, inclining her head towards the stone that had her pinioned.

He scowled in exasperation, and made as if to leave.

"Still, I will assist you on one condition."

Jones paused, crossing his arms.

"Help me move this debris."

He grunted in reluctant agreement. Striding forward, Jones crouched beside her, placing his palms against the chunk of stone. He shoved forward, and Spalko caught hold of the edge, using this leverage to topple the block. He stepped back, wiping his hands on his trousers. Irina pulled her caught leg from the rubble, fully expecting to find it crushed. Brushing dust from her fatigues, she was relieved to find that her injuries were only superficial.

Jones glared at her. "Now, where's Marion?"

"Dead, I would imagine," she said dryly.

"You gotta do better than that-"

"-However, I do believe in keeping my word. Do you require my help in searching?"

He seemed surprised by this offer, and removed his fedora, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not sure if you can manage it…" he said dubiously, glancing at her injuries.

She shrugged, and shakily gained her feet. Gingerly, she put weight on the injured leg, and found it reasonably sound.

Jones squinted, and finally gave her a nod. "Okay."

A/N:

Hello! Thanks for reading the first chapter of The One Who Was Lost. Feel free to leave a review; I love receiving feedback!