by JC Ryan
Rex led Digger a few yards back into the trees and commanded, Stay. Digger scratched in the dirt and circled a few times until he was satisfied with the nest he created in the grass beneath the trees and then flopped down with a sigh. Rex placed his backpack nearby and told Digger to guard it. Then he rejoined the guide on the trail and continued to the entrance gate.
It was after entering that Rex realized he was not going to be alone with his silent guide. The place was teeming with tourists who’d arrived on foot or by bus earlier in the day. His guide told him they’d be leaving soon, by five p.m. when the site officially closed. His tour ended at six, so there would be a short window during which he could see the ruins as the city might have looked centuries before, without scores of modern tourists in the way.
In his earbuds, Rex could hear the sounds indicating that Digger was greeting other dogs and presumably people. He counted on the dog’s good behavior toward the tourists and his protective instincts for the safety of their gear. Just in case, he spoke to Digger occasionally, praising him for being good, which Digger acknowledged with a soft yap.
Rex noticed that the tourists that were in bigger groups were following their guides closely for the most part. Very few were wandering off marked trails. His own guide had taken him to the western edge of the plateau and showed him the steep drop-off, cautioning him to be careful. After that, he left Rex to his own devices as he wandered among the ruins, recalling in near-perfect detail the maps and guidebooks he’d studied in preparation for the trip.
The afternoon was pleasant, and Rex lost track of the time until he noticed fewer and fewer people around him. When they’d all but disappeared, he soaked up the vistas he’d craved.
Perched some eight-thousand feet above sea level, Machu Picchu is a visual marvel and a technical masterpiece ranking among the most iconic and significant archeological sites in the world. Yet its origins remain a mystery to this day.
The Inca who built it and lived there until the early 16th century before suddenly abandoning it didn’t leave a record of the reason for its construction.
Archaeologists were still speculating; it was too big to be a local settlement, it was too small and not the right structure to have been an administrative center for the Inca Empire.
Despite its reputation as one of the most important Inca monuments, the citadel holds secrets which will probably never be revealed.
When, why, and for what purpose was it built? Why was it abandoned? And why did the Spanish conquistadors never know anything about Machu Picchu?
After an hour, he judged it was time to meet his guide at the spot they’d agreed on near the tourist entrance and made his way there, unworried that he saw no one else.
Rex waited for about half an hour, idly thinking about the history of this magnificent example of the advanced civilization the Incas had enjoyed. Then he realized it was getting dark because the sun had set, and glanced at his watch. It was nearly six-thirty, well after the time his guide should have met him. Rex had come to understand that in South America, time was mutable. A ‘firm’ appointment at six p.m. was more of a guideline than a deadline and meant ‘about’ six p.m., which in turn meant half an hour, give or take, either side of the agreed time meant he was on time. Rex wasn’t worried, precisely, but it did give him pause that the main gates were closed and locked. He told himself his guide must have a key.
Rex’s voice echoed off the nearby ruin walls and drifted out over the edge of the plateau as he called out his guide’s name. He was cognizant of the enormous task ahead of him if he had to search the site. With over eighty-thousand acres to comb, though much of it was free of buildings, searching on his own after dark had fallen was out of the question. He could walk off the edge of a terrace and fall, possibly to his death.
After a few more calls, he became a bit more concerned. If some accident had befallen his guide, it would most likely have happened in the urban section, across the site to the east, past the wall that divided it from the agricultural section, where he said he’d be waiting for Rex. Rex took a moment to choose how to approach the problem, knowing he had virtually no daylight left to conduct an extensive search.
Could Digger somehow get through? If he did, would he understand to look for the guide without a scent object to tell him who to look for? Rex decided there was only one way to find out – let him try. He reasoned that Digger would be able to better detect the edges of the plateau through subtle cues that he wouldn’t have access to as a human. The updraft from the edge, the different smells in it, coupled with dogs’ ability to see better at dusk and dawn than humans can would assist him.
He called Digger to come.
Rex stayed where he was. He didn’t need to make it any harder for Digger to find him by moving around, though he knew it wouldn’t matter. Digger’s nose would find him. He trusted the dog to find his own way into the site. Rex had seen people carrying small dogs in the site, though the rules said they couldn’t come. He assumed the reason was the potential damage to the site from the animals’ waste. Digger wouldn’t do that, he hoped. He didn’t have any plastic bags with him to clean up afterward. But he’d observed that while Digger was working, he seldom stopped for bathroom breaks unless Rex told him to.
While Rex waited, he tried to think of contingencies in case the guide had gone missing or, God forbid, had been seriously injured. Before he’d thought of a way to get a seriously injured man to Agua Calientes, the closest town, he was surprised by Digger greeting him with licks to his hands. It was already so dark that Rex could barely see the black dog.
“Digger, buddy, we’ve got a problem,” he said. He’d been talking to the dog in human sentences since he’d become responsible for him. In the beginning of their partnership, Rex thought it was necessary for him to undergo some dog handler training to be able to manage Digger. However, over time, the two of them somehow surmounted the language barrier to the point that Rex was prepared to swear, under oath, that Digger could read his mind.
“Boy, we’ve got ourselves a little hiccup here, I think. Our guide is missing. Remember him?” Rex held out his right hand, palm up, for Digger to sniff. He’d shaken the guard’s hand hours before, as they parted ways after agreeing to meet here. It was a long shot. “Scout,” he commanded.
Digger hesitated, his head tilted.
“Hey buddy, don’t look at me like that. You know what I want. Go find him, Digger. Scout.” Rex repeated.
Digger wheeled and ran out into the flat, grassy area of the center of the Agricultural district. He ran here and there, sniffing at the ground. Rex hoped he wasn’t investigating where llamas and alpacas had been, or where other tourists had set down their lapdogs. Then Digger’s head came up, and he headed purposefully toward the path that led to the City Gate, the ancient structure that allowed limited access to the Urban section.
Rex followed.
He took it to mean that his assumption about the guide’s whereabouts was correct, and that Digger had picked up the scent. “Take it slow, buddy,” he called. “Wait for me.” His reason for slowing Digger down was primarily to give the dog time to sense an edge if he came close to one, but a close second was because it was getting darker by the minute. Until a moon made its appearance above the distant peaks, he wouldn’t be able to see Digger if he were more than a couple of yards out. Without his iPad and Digger’s night-vision camera, he was blind.
From the time they crossed into the Urban section, Rex was calling out, hoping the guide would answer. What it would mean if he couldn’t, Rex didn’t want to think about.
First order of business – find him. Then see what has to be done, if anything.
“Digger, to me, buddy. Come.”
Digger’s wet nose found Rex’s hand, and Rex grabbed the handle of his back pack to keep him there. “Sorry, buddy. I’m going to have to put the leash on you. This is for me, this time. I need you to guide me.”
As if he’d understood, Digger stood patiently while
Rex pawed through the panniers, finding the leash by feel. He hooked it to one of the D-rings and stood. “Okay, boy. Find him. Scout.”
Digger took off rapidly, almost jerking Rex off his feet. “Whoa, slow down!” Rex said to Digger. In a louder voice, he called the guide’s name again. This time, he was rewarded with a faint reply. He felt Digger tense against the end of the leash. Rex also tensed as he saw Digger sensed something was wrong and was anxious to get to his target. It wasn’t looking good.
He called out again, in Spanish, “We’re coming!” Then he repeated it in Quechuan. The voice answered, this time closer. Now Rex could hear him well enough to make out what he was saying. He knew then he’d found the guide, and it was he who was injured or stranded – Rex couldn’t quite tell which.
A few minutes later, the leash went slack at the same time as the guide began uttering thanks to God, mixed with sobs. Rex felt his way down the leash and sank to his knees when he felt the guide’s body beneath his hands.
“What happened, amigo?” he asked.
As the guide told his story, Rex felt his arms and legs, finding the compound fracture of the guide’s femur just as he got to the part where he was accidentally pushed off the terrace above by a rambunctious child, he thought. Though he cried out, no one came to check on him. It had happened minutes before five, he thought. Perhaps the child was running because frantic parents were calling. He didn’t know. All he knew was he couldn’t move without agony.
Rex felt equally helpless. He had nothing with which to splint the leg. Without splinting it, even if he could move confidently in the dark, he doubted he could carry the guard through the narrow streets and up and down the terraces and steps without hurting him. It looked like they were there for the night, which wasn’t ideal.
They wouldn’t die of the cold, though they wouldn’t be very comfortable. The average night temperature was about forty-five Fahrenheit, Rex remembered. Fortunately, the rainy season, though close, had not started, so he thought they could count on it being dry. His biggest challenge would be keeping the guide from going into shock, if he hadn’t already.
Rex felt for the guide’s wrist and took his pulse, the weak illumination of his watch allowing an accurate count. It was elevated, but not by much, a natural reaction to pain. He hadn’t felt a large pool of blood under the fracture, and the pulse seemed strong, so he assumed that shock hadn’t set in. All he could do anyway was try to keep the guide warm and address any fear he might have.
The other concern was food. Neither he nor the guide had eaten since lunch, right before they entered the ruins. Food wasn’t allowed in, but he had water, and Digger had water and his food in his pack.
Rex gave some thought to sending Digger to go and fetch his backpack from the spot where he’d been guarding it but quickly gave up on the idea. The first problem was that the bag was too heavy for Digger to carry and second, it was also too dangerous to try and navigate this terrain without a light.
Rex loosened the cinches of Digger’s pack and had him step out of it while he held it up by the handle. He got out the collapsible bowl and gave Digger a drink and handed the rest of the bottle to the guide. Digger had probably drunk from a trickle of a mountain spring near where he’d waited earlier, too. He turned away from the water before it was gone. The guide finished what was left in the bottle.
Meanwhile, Rex rooted in the panniers for Digger’s food and some alpaca jerky he’d purchased in Ollantaytambo that morning. He didn’t suppose the guide would appreciate being offered dog kibble to eat, though it would provide needed nutrients. The jerky, though, was sold for human food. It would do for all three of them, and yes, he’d save some for Digger, who deserved a treat for finding the guide.
“It’s going to get cold,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I think it’s best we stay here until someone comes in the morning. Then we can send for a litter and get some people to help me carry you out.”
“I agree. Thank you for staying to find me. I thought…”
“Don’t worry. The dog and I will stay with you. We’ll do our best to keep you warm, and you will be fine.”
It had been a long day, more than twelve hours since they’d set out that morning for a seven-mile hike, a few hours amid Inca ruins, and a seven-mile hike back. A few hours sleep, if he could get them, didn’t sound like a bad idea. He only wished he could get to his back pack. Those few hours would be a lot more comfortable for the guide on a ground cover and inflatable bed, but it was not worth the risk.
Rex reckoned the first visitors would begin arriving at sunup, but they’d be more likely to be at the Sun Gate or the Sacred Rock. In the morning, he’d decide what would be the best way to get the guide and themselves off the mountain.
***
THE NEXT MORNING came much quicker than Rex had expected, probably because he’d slept better than he’d thought he would, spooning the guide from behind while Digger curled up in front of him. The ground was cold for all, but at least the guide had enjoyed the shared warmth. The man was in good spirits when the sun woke them, though he complained of pain.
He asked the guide what he thought about Digger’s safety. Clearly, he wasn’t a lap dog. His presence in the ruins wouldn’t be welcomed by guards, but were they armed? Would they shoot first and ask questions later, or would the guide have time to explain if Rex went looking for help and someone else found the injured man before he got back?
The guide thought Digger would be safe. Rex may have to pay a fine for calling the dog into the site, but most Peruvians loved dogs. The guide didn’t think anyone would shoot him.
Rex thought the guide was disingenuous for suggesting that he’d have to pay a fine, since Digger was only there because the guide needed finding. He was sure he could afford the fine, it was just the principal of saving a man’s life and then getting penalised for it. He decided it was best to say nothing for now and plead his case when it came to it. One perk of being a freelancing ‘cleaner’ ridding the world of bad guy trash almost everywhere he went was that they invariably had stashes of ill-gotten money or other valuables. Since changing from salaried work to freelancing, Rex had made a good living by liberating the bad guys of their dirty money and turning it to better use. He had enough to live comfortably even after distributing the bulk of the spoils of his one-man war to the victims and their families of the villains he eliminated.
Rex got out another bottle of water, gave some to Digger and the rest to the guide, and watched until Digger had emptied the bowl. Then he put in some kibble and another small piece of alpaca jerky.
“Stay, guard,” he said, setting Digger to protect the guide and stay with him while Rex went looking for help. His stomach growled as he walked away, and Digger gave a sympathizing woof.
Rex wasn’t surprised to find a large group of tourists as soon as he exited the Urban district. They were grouped around a couple of guides who appeared to be dividing them into two groups, so they could go in opposite directions. What surprised him was who he saw in the front of one of the groups. He broke into a jog and beelined for that group.
“Mr. and Mrs. Marks! Good to see you!” he called.
Mrs. Marks heard him first and looked his way. She immediately turned, tugged on her husband’s hand, and pointed at him. Mr. Marks broke from the crowd and started walking as fast as he could toward him.
He’d started to explain his dilemma when the tour guide arrived, explaining that Mrs. Marks had told him Rex was an acquaintance. “How may I help? Are you lost?”
Rex told him he wasn’t lost, but his guide was hurt and needed help. The tour guide immediately lifted a walkie-talkie from its holster on his belt and radioed someone at the entrance gate. While they waited for an EMT team to arrive, Rex explained his dilemma about Digger.
“I meant no disrespect. I needed my dog’s help to find the guide, since it was dark when I realized he was missing.”
The tour guide assured Rex he’d done the right thing and told him he’d
help if there was trouble. He didn’t expect any, though.
“How are you going to get back to Ollantaytambo?” he asked.
“I’ll be okay to get back if you could help to take care of my guide,” Rex said.
“Why don’t you join us? I am grateful for my colleague’s sake that you helped him survive the night.”
Just then, Rex’s stomach growled noisily again.
“We have food,” the guide added with a knowing grin.
That cinched the deal. “I’d be happy to, and thanks,” Rex said. He’d had enough of being solitary in the Andes. Food and company sounded like a great idea. Especially when the tour guide added that Digger would be welcome.
When the group left around noon, Rex and Digger were with them. His guide had been splinted and taken by litter to Agua Calientes. His new group stopped not far outside the entrance for a picnic lunch that tasted to Rex like a feast. Digger didn’t have to argue his case for human food this time. His kibble was gone, and Rex couldn’t deny him something to eat.
I’m getting soft. Time was, twenty-four hours without food wouldn’t have bothered me at all.
Rex and Digger were sitting a little outside the circle of the people who’d been on the tour all along. Rex had asked for a few minutes to retrieve his back pack from where Digger had stayed the previous day, and when they got back, the rest of the group was sleeping off their lunch or chatting among themselves, having made friends on the trek. Rex was about to take a siesta himself when he heard Mrs. Marks admonishing her husband that he should be more social.
They were heading his way, and they weren’t alone. To his surprise, the young man from the restaurant was with them. He hadn’t expected to ever see the kid again and wasn’t particularly pleased to see him now.
