Death's City

Gretchen blinked in the sizzling sunlight, breathing a lethargic sigh. Even under the shelter of Chamberlain's lean-to, the heat was unbearable. She squinted at the diggers, sympathy almost pricking her spine. After all, this was their own fault. She knew the kind of men who signed up for digging expeditions. Certainly, some of them were just hoping to provide a measely existence for their enormous families, but there were others who capitalized on it. Who used foreign fascination as an excuse to escape their starving children and nagging wives.

She glanced above the hard-working natives to the Americans and Chamberlain. They were discussing something; she couldn't believe Daniels' patience was holding up so well. Personally, Gretchen was already sick of this place, and she'd only been there for a few hours. Their entire camp was giddy, and she couldn't help but dread the ride back to Cairo, when everyone would be upset and disappointed. If Hamunaptra really was everything the legends said it was, someone else would have gotten to it by now. It simply didn't seem historically just that someone like Beni Gabor (and, granted, O'Connell) should find it when millenia of assumedly intelligent individuals had been searching for the same thing.

Chamberlain caught her glance, and she smiled. He looked away, his mouth set in the same, superior frown as he turned his attention back to Henderson. Gretchen would have rolled her eyes, had it not been so very bright. She couldn't understand--at least not in entirity--why he was so disgusted with her. Perhaps it was a front, because the highly-educated were supposed to harbor an irritating disdain for the lower classes in general, and in her present occupation, she was the lowest of the low. At the same time, though, the high class that chose to go slumming usually didn't regard her so harshly. She wondered if he had any intentions whatsoever to sleep with her. And if he didn't intend on sleeping with her, then he very well may not have intended to pay her, either.

Gulping nervously, Gretchen pulled herself onto her feet, shielding her eyes with her hand and watching the diggers make a break-through in the wall. Henderson let out a satisfied holler. She knew the chances of this place being complete ransacked were ridiculously high, but she also knew she had to be around to "discover" something. She had to have a case for some of the treasure--or even some of the junk. She could not come out of this whole expedition empty-handed, not with the threat of no payment looming over her head. She sighed at her unfortunate situation; this pretty much shot to hell her previous decision to sleep through the heat of the day. Heart pumping, she stood awkwardly on the outskirts, watching the Americans jump from their perch to the mouth of the opening, waiting eagerly for Chamberlain to find his way down. Beni lingered not so far away, taking a final drag of a cigarette. Reluctantly, Gretchen made her way over to him.

"Do you have another one of those?"

He shrugged. "Yes."

Gretchen glared a little. "Can I have one?"

"No."

Beni rubbed his nose with the back of his hand idly, and she suddenly noticed the red, flared quality of his nostrils. He blinked his watery eyes a few times, and hers widened in amazement.

"You have coke, too."

He let out a quiet sigh. "You can not have that, either."

Gretchen shook her head. "I don't want any."

Beni stared at the obnoxiously triumphant Americans. "Trust me. You will."

She snorted, turning her attention to the large opening. Swallowing uneasily, she met Chamberlain's dark, empty eyes. She barely caught a glimmer in his bland gaze; it appeared as if, by divine miracle, he was excited about something, or at the very least mildly moved. Gretchen supposed everybody had a passion--even staunchy British educated types. As he stepped over to the opening, reaching eagerly for one of the torches Burns was lighting, she wondered vaguely what it was she was passionate about.

Chamberlain motioned them forward, and she slipped through the diggers to stand near to him. He glanced at her. "Here is something truly incredible."

She nodded politely, commanding her feet to match his careful, unhurried steps. As the darkness enveloped them, she reached for his elbow, wrapping her fingers firmly about his arm. In the flickering gold firelight, she caught his surprised eyes. They flicked to her hand, but quickly focused on the wall. Gretchen wasn't sure if it was simply the poor light, but it certainly appeared as if Professor Chamberlain was smiling. Perhaps it was sick and misplaced, but at least the man cared about something. Her stomach dropped a little. What did she care about?

The scuffle of feet behind them echoed off the ancient mudbrick. All around them, the scrawlings of a dead language and dead people danced with a forgotten message--gold and dark and haunted. Her gut kept twisting uneasily, and she wasn't entirely sure why. Here, the old Egyptians cared. They painstakingly built a city, carved their story into its walls. The weight of her self-induced apathy was leaning heavily on her bones, her joints. She was in this place, and she didn't care. She held fast to Chamberlain, but she didn't care about him. Her body was rotting to nothing because she didn't care for it. Nothing and no one mattered; why was she still here? Why was she still pushing onward?

"There is something," Chamberlain whispered suddenly, jerking Gretchen out of her painful revelation. Her eyes flashed to his, and his feet stopped. Voices bounced around them, unintelligeable and unpercieved. She took a quick sigh, glancing around for an explanation. The Americans sifted forward, slipping past them to find out for themselves. Gretchen's grip on Chamberlain tightened; they followed closely behind.

"What is it?" she murmured quietly. He didn't quite meet her eyes, pulling closer to Henderson. The anxious click of a dozen guns or more echoed in her quickened heartbeats. Gretchen ran her tongue over her lips, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. If they were about to meet something dangerous--if her life was about to be ripped from her grasp--would it make a difference? Her breath was loud in her own ears. Somewhere, there was a reason. She had to figure it out; she had to--

Four wide, fearful sets of eyes met theirs--another smaller artillery rose to meet their own. A relieving sigh audibly filled the dry, stuffy air. Gretchen peered over Henderson's shoulder, colliding with those same, endless azure expansions. Her breath caught in her throat. Maybe it was something there, the blue. Not so much the color blue itself, because the shade of the desert sky trapped her beneath its endless dome--suffocating her into submission. No, it was his blue. The sort of hue that she was sure existed nowhere else, and yet...there it was, before her, alive and promising and real. Maybe it was the dream of that blue, the hunger for something that she wanted to be true.

The guns were raised again, and she felt the threat of death in this city named for it. His eyes were off of her now; the blue no longer surrounded her, and she was alone in the crowded darkness, praying she would make it out alive.

"Children," clipped, articulate, cautious words salved the tension around them, "if we're going to play together, we must learn to share. There are other places to dig."

O'Connell watched Evelyn steadily; her gaze working him over as if by a forgotten spell. He replaced his guns in disarmed masculinity, and a feeling of smug victory ruled over the air. Gretchen struggled for her breath in the cramped compartment. She felt death around her, felt the collapsing walls of a grave. She opened her mouth to take in more air, to keep her mind from fading into the dark threat around her. She vaguely heard a question of concern...

"Are you alright?"

The uninterested words echoed in the darkness of her open eyes. Gretchen collapsed.