As I said in my last post, today I am sharing snippets! I'm doing them from book one, Trouble in the Tomb.
Cool air hit him as the door closed and Nate didn't get the chance to take in his surroundings. The second the door closed he almost ran into Jessie who had stopped just inside of the doorway. It didn't take him long to see why his sister had halted. Three men walked toward them as if they were on a death march.
Something screamed in the back of Nate's mind. He was pretty sure it said something like, “Mafia!” He couldn't get his legs to work. He told himself to run, just in case they were the mafia, but before he could act the men were in front of him.
The man smiled and the wrinkles deepened. He held out his hand and Nate shook it, since mafia usually didn't shake hands. “Nathaniel or Nathan?” the man asked.
Nate panicked. His mind went blank. He knew his last name was Marshall and his middle names were Carter and Jonathan. He remember that he was the son of Archaeologists Jay and Kayra Marshall. He knew he'd just spent the last two years of his life in a small town in Wyoming. He knew he was nineteen and had only one sibling. But he couldn't remember what Nate was short for.
“Are you lost?” Jessie asked as the man swayed back and forth. Nate prepared to catch him, just in case he fell over. Nate didn't know if he should invite the young man into the camp or help him on his way.
“No, not lost. Unless either of you are mummies? If you are, then I shall gladly be lost and will be leaving.”
“Mummies?” Nate asked. Last time he'd looked in the mirror he hadn't noticed any similarities between himself and a mummy. He wondered if he should be offended.
“What?” Sam asked. He rubbed sleep from his eyes. He wore stripped pajamas, slippers, and one of those ridiculous night hats like what Ebeneezer Scrooge wore on most covers of A Christmas Carol. Jeremy had thought Lizzy had burned the hat, but maybe Sam kept a supply of them.
“Yes...well,” Sam speared his potato, “that doesn't make for a nice story.”
“I got a thousand-year-old spear thrown at me,” Nate said, more to himself than anyone else.
“There could be worse things to get thrown at you,” Rick said. He grinned.
“Like what?” Jeremy asked sharply.
“A piano,” Rick said without hesitation.