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The blast enveloped us.
CAPÍTULO TREINTA Y SEIS
A horrible ringing sounded in my ear, persistent like a buzzing mosquito. Whit’s arms bracketed my head, his long body shielding me from the barrage of rocks and pebbles scattering around us. He flinched and I reached up and touched the side of his face. He leaned into my hand, his eyes clenched tight.
Gingerly, he lifted himself off me, his jaw locked, his expression pinched.
“Whit, are you all right?”
He grunted.
I sat up and crawled toward him, trying to see where he’d been hurt. Gently, I placed his head in my lap. A figure drew close. My palms were covered in sweat, trembling. My mother had come for me. She had made it in time.
“¿Mamá?” I croaked. “¡Mamá!”
“It’s not”—Whit coughed—“your”—another cough—“mother.”
The figure rushed forward. I turned my head to meet the dusty face of Tío Ricardo. He stood over us, panting, a gun in his hand. Sand covered him from head to foot. He’d lost his hat at some point. My uncle stared down at me with an unfathomable expression on his face, hard and unblinking.
As if he weren’t seeing me at all.
My mother hadn’t come. A sob worked its way up my throat. I wasn’t her weakness after all.
“Inez,” my uncle breathed. “Inez.”
Whit hauled us both to our feet, swaying slightly.
Tío Ricardo stepped forward and helped steady him with his free hand. In the other, he held a pistol. “How bad are you hurt?”
“Some bruising, I’d guess,” Whit gasped, eyes watering. “Nothing broken. I can walk… or run if youreallyneed me to.”
“I really need you to. They will have heard the blast. We have to go right now before they return.”
We followed him, my heart beating wildly against my ribs. We ran through a tunnel, the walls close, holding memories from centuries past. Whit stayed at my side, gripping my hand and helping me navigate the debris littering the ground. None of this looked familiar.
“Where are we?”
“The Valley of the Kings,” Tío Ricardo tossed over his shoulder, picking his way through the rubble. We emerged in sunlight. I blinked, waiting for my eyes to readjust to the hot glare. Tío Ricardo immediately began the descent to the bottom of the stony hill, covered in dry sand and sharp boulders. I looked behind me, startled to find an immense rocky cliff rising up from the desert floor. We’d come out of a tunnel that had led to the tomb, hidden deep in the limestone. There were several gaping holes dotting the facade of the mountain and I stopped, my gaze narrowing. My cousin might be trapped in one of the tombs.
“Hurry,” Tío Ricardo yelled. He’d reached the bottom and turned, glaring up at us where we stood at the top of the switchback.
“No,” I yelled down. “We can’t leave without Elvira. She’s here somewhere—”
A gunshot rang out.
I let out a terrible scream as my uncle was catapulted off his feet and flung backward. Blood bloomed on his left arm. I ran down the pebbled slope of the hill, and tripped over my long skirt.
Whit was next to me in an instant, and dragged me up to my feet. I shrugged him off and kept moving, and then I fell again onto my knees next to my uncle’s prone body.
“¡Tío!”
He blinked up at me, his eyes dazed and out of focus. I ripped the hem of my skirt and pressed the fabric against his wound.
“Shit,” Whit said, bending to pick up my uncle’s pistol. “Here they come.”
Four men approached on horseback, the sound roaring in the valley. They formed a half circle around us, one man pulling at the reins of his horse, looking down at me in cold fury. I wouldn’t have recognized him. He wore dark clothing, his hair slicked back with too much pomade. He’d removed the spectacles and foppish smile.
The American businessman who shyly asked me to dinner and delivered me mail.
