Page 22 of Ancient Obsession

“Dylan, let’s proceed,” Dr. Brennan said.

Dylan counted down again. Oliver pressed down on the crowbar, giving it his all. The lid lifted even farther, but then suddenly shifted, sliding off to the opposite side from where he stood.

“It’s falling!” Dr. Brennan shouted. “Grab it!”

Oliver reached to grab the edge of the lid. His bare fingers stuttered along the edge, and then dipped inside. He felt something soft and gritty under his fingertips, covering a hardness he could only assume was bone. Jerking his hand back, he quickly wiped his tingling fingertips on his jeans. The others stopped the lid from sliding off, but they struggled to keep it in place. He gripped the edge close to him and peered into the gap between the lid and coffin. A portion of the arm was visible in the bright overhead lights. In the dust and dirt near the elbow, a smudge showed where he had touched it. He swallowed hard and managed to look away.

“Vera, the transfer table,” Dr. Brennan said through gritted teeth. “Quickly!”

Oliver watched over his shoulder as Robin helped Vera wheel a solidly built metal table covered with a thick layer of protective foam toward them. His muscles trembled, and he pressed his lips together. He focused on a spot on the wall across from him. He did not want to look into the coffin again.

Once the table was situated at the top, the team slowly shuffled sideways, carrying the lid up along the length of the coffin. They let out more than a few whispered curses, grunts, and huffs as the soles of their shoes scuffed and scraped across the dusty floor. When the lid was clear of the coffin, they settled it onto the foam.

He stepped back, flexing his fingers. The pads felt scraped dry from holding the thick wooden lid, but it hadn’t been able to erase the feeling of touching the body.

“That could have gone better.” Dr. Brennan glared at Vera, who ducked her head, cheeks red. “Is anyone hurt? Oliver?”

“Me? No. I’m okay. I’m sorry I jumped in. It was a knee-jerk response.”

“No apologies necessary. You saved the lid.” She turned to the open coffin and spread her arms. “Now then. Let us take a first look at Amenmose, scribe to Isry.”

Oliver shifted and stood at a bottom corner of the coffin, out of everyone’s way but still beside it. Robin, apparently also emboldened, stood beside him, hands stuffed in their pockets as if to keep from touching anything. His heart pounded and sweat prickled along the back of his neck as he watched Dr. Brennan bend over the body.

A trace amount of sand lay in the bottom. Hieroglyphics ran along each interior wall, and he marveled at the intricacies of them. Had they surrounded Amenmose with stories to carry him off to the other side? Was it because he had been a scribe himself? Or was it some kind of dire warning, detailing a curse to any who disturbed his rest? Had they all been poisoned by whatever had been inside that cloud?

Amenmose lay in perfect repose, his feet and legs bound with strips of what Oliver assumed were linen. Narrow hips widened to a well-proportioned chest and shoulders, all tightly wrapped. The arms lay on the chest, crossed at the wrists. Bandages wrapped the head, slight indentations over the mouth and eyes.

“Amenmose is in excellent condition.” Dr. Brennan smiled.

Oliver let out a quiet breath, and he straightened his back, suddenly aware he’d been slightly hunched.

“Something’s included.” Samira gestured to the side of the body. “A scroll.”

Dr. Brennan cocked her head. “Yes, I see it. A pair of forceps, Samira. Seal the scroll inside an airtight container. We’ll work on that tomorrow. For tonight, I want a cursory examination of the body.”

“We should discuss the material released when we broke the seal,” Vera said.

Dr. Brennan glared at her again. “Yes, we should. Were you able to capture a sample?”

“Um, no, I…” Vera blushed. “I wasn’t prepared for it.”

“Neither were the rest of us, but we held our positions. See if you can find some residue of the material within the interior and gather a sample.”

Lucien gestured to a spot near where Oliver had been standing. “What’s this?”

Dr. Brennan shifted position, standing close beside Lucien and leaning down, her face inches from the edge of the coffin. Oliver clenched his fists as his breathing quickened.

“Yes, I see.” She straightened. “Oliver.”

The edges of his vision softened, and he licked his suddenly dry lips. “Y-yes?”

“Can you pass me that glass sample jar on the workbench there behind you?”

“Oh… Of course.” The jar rattled gently against the bench as he grabbed it. He held it with both hands as he passed it off to Dr. Brennan.

“Thank you,” she said.

He retreated back to the bottom corner and wiped his palm across his sweaty forehead.