An Artifact of Death by J. J. Cagney & Alexa Padgett

Author:J. J. Cagney & Alexa Padgett [Cagney, J. J. & Padgett, Alexa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07P7D13ZM
Publisher: Sidecar Press, LLC
Published: 2019-05-21T00:00:00+00:00

The first faint shades of pink blushed through the clouds when Cici opened her eyes. Her neck was stiff and her hips and shoulders ached from supporting the rest of her weight on the unforgiving limestone bed. Sometime in the night, Anton covered her with one of the ponchos from her SAR pack. The dark gray material swished as she sat up.

Anton slumped at the entrance to the crevasse. He’d donned the other poncho and the thicker pants, probably because his others were thin, wet, and miserable. His gun lay in his lap, his hand fisted around the stock.

Cici stood in slow increments, giving her body time to circulate the blood and work out the worst of the aches and jabs from the pebbles embedded in her clothes. Her hiking pants crackled as dried mud fell off them in clumps.

But the breathable fabric dried quickly last night, making her more comfortable than Anton must have been in his dress slacks.

As the chunks of mud and pebbles fell to the ground, pinging off the larger piece of limestone beneath her feet, Anton jerked awake, gun pointed toward her.

She raised her hands and backed up. She sighed when he lowered the weapon.

“Dawn?” he asked, his voice raspy.

“Coming,” Cici responded, turning once more to look at the deepening pinks and golds flashing up from the horizon and bursting into the clouds.

Anton stood and stretched, shook his face much as a bird ruffles water from its feathers.

“We should move along,” Anton said.

“Do we have a destination?” Cici asked.

Anton shouldered his pack, frowning as he blinked the last vestiges of exhaustion from his eyes.

“We always set up a contingency plan,” he said.

Much as Cici wanted to point out that wasn’t exactly what she’d asked, she chose to keep her mouth shut.

“What about the artifact?” Cici asked. She winced, her body stiff and sore from too little sleep and overuse.

On the plus side, her ankle didn’t ache like she’d expected. Small miracles—the ones so many overlooked in their day-to-day lives. Cici said a brief, heartfelt prayer for the continued use of her leg. Her ability to move was her main defense against death.

“Dealt with it,” Anton said.

“Where?” Cici asked.

Anton turned to face the rising sun. “It’s nearby. Not buried. Not in the crevasse—they’ll find it there.”

“The other guys, you mean? The spies?”

“Yep.”

In the distance, a coyote howled, followed by another.

“Anton…” Cici began, trying to keep her voice free of accusation.

He’d lied to her. At least he hadn’t looked her in the eye as he did so. But, no, either way Cici approached this, Anton lied to her, and to the restless ghosts unsettled by his theft, in this moment.

“Let it go, Cecilia.”

Before she could respond, shouts rang out, follow by shots. The noise sent hundreds of birds blasting into the sky, cawing and agitated.

Like the spirits of the region Anton refused to acknowledge.

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