The alarm echoed a second time throughout the ancient Anasazi cliff dwelling. A young man in his late twenties walked into a ground-level apartment on the cliff. He wore blue jeans and cowboy boots and carried a 30.06 in his right hand. He went into an inner room and looked down into a chamber dug nearly ten feet into the floor. This was a kiva, a circular room built underground where religious ceremonies had been conducted by generations of Anasazi. He clambered down the crude wooden ladder and stood beside a figure sitting on the red dusty floor. He saw no breath or heartbeat. But the face was ruddy colored and looked in good health. He touched the shoulder. The muscle was firm.
“Adam … we have to go” the young man said quietly.
