Chapter Five
“By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”
“New rule, Shakespeare,” Angélica told Quint. “No more quoting Macbeth on my dig sites.”
“How about Edgar Allan Poe?”
She looked up, meeting his troubled frown with one of her own. “Only in the darkest of night when we’re alone with the monsters.”
“Right. Okay. But don’t you think this is disturbing enough to rate a quote or two?” He indicated the skulls piled in front of them. “I mean, who the fuck does something like this?”
“I don’t know.”
Walking around the stack, Angélica held her hand to her chest, as if she could stop her heart from running away from so much death. The possible motives behind piling up a bunch of skulls in front of a wall left her scratching her head.
As an archaeologist, she was no stranger to macabre dealings and mortal misfortune.
Studying the remains of the dead came with the job.
She enjoyed trying to piece together the puzzles of the past to give a clearer picture of those who’d lived long ago, so others could be amazed by their achievements and maybe learn from their follies.
Over the years, she’d seen—and carefully handled—her fair share of human bones, including skulls and teeth.
Once, during her undergrad years, she’d helped clear a mass burial site in Guatemala that had contained both adults’ and children’s skeletons, as well as a jaguar’s.
Talk about heart-aching work. The lives of those in that grave had been sacrificed during some sort of large-scale rain ritual at a time of devastating drought, an explanation determined by the glyphs found on a nearby stela.
But the thousands of sunsets since that dark period in the past hadn’t hushed the echoes of tragedy that had filled her dreams for weeks after she’d returned home.
She squatted next to the pile of lichen-spotted skulls stacked haphazardly upon each other, many bearing toothy grins full of fashionable gemstones. There had to be thirty—maybe forty—people here. What the freaky-ass fuck?
“It’s no wonder KuTu warned us about this,” her father said, standing over her. His crinkled brow mirrored her inner confusion. “These poor folks all look to have suffered some sort of head trauma.”
Bronko slowly circled the pile, shining his bright flashlight onto the skulls. “Or were the cracks and holes made after they were dead?”
Quint lowered onto one knee next to Angélica, taking pictures of the scene per her request upon reaching KuTu’s grisly find. “Remind me of the way to tell if a bone was broken post-mortem?”
“Damage occurring after death should show no signs of the bone healing,” she said, pointing out a clear example of this on one of the skulls.
“And the fractures are more jagged,” her father added. “The breakage often appears in more of a haphazard form.”
“Make sure you get some closeups of the damage, Parker. We’ll want to investigate this further after we return to the lab and your pictures will really help.”
“On it, boss lady.” Click click.
“Bronko, can I borrow your flashlight?”
“Sí.” He handed it to her.
She peered closer at the holes in the skulls, smelling the usual mustiness of forest decay but nothing more. Some of the damaged areas had definite post-mortem scarring, like something had chewed on them. “Raul, what did they teach you at the Biosphere Reserve about a jaguar’s bite?”
“You mean like the strength or the bite radius?”
Angélica sat back on her heels. “Both.”
“Well, the jaguar has the strongest bite force of any of the wild cats.”
“Any?” Quint lowered his camera, turning to look back at the park ranger. “What about a lion?”
“Relative to its weight, the jaguar’s jaw muscles are stronger.”
“So, don’t get bit by a jaguar this trip.” Quint pushed to his feet. “Duly noted.”
Her father eased carefully around the pile, his cane creaking slightly as he walked. “I once read that a jaguar can bite clear through the skull of its prey.”
Bronko pulled out half a cigar from his pocket, which was probably what was left of the one she’d smelled earlier. “I have watched one easily bite through a thick hide and rip out the muscles below.”
That certainly painted a scene. Angélica wondered if the sicario had been a casual observer or played some darker part in that incident.
Raul moved over next to KuTu, who’d been keeping his distance from the skulls since she and Quint arrived on scene.
The Maya guard had been warily watching the pile then and continued to do so, but now his fretting also appeared to include Quint.
She’d have to explain later to KuTu that their photographer was not trying to disrespect the dead with his pictures, and that the photos would be used only to help determine the cause of death for the poor victims.
“Jaguars are able to crush the shells of tortoises,” Raul told them. “If I remember right, not many other animals have a stronger bite force. I think maybe alligators and hippos do.”
“I believe Nile crocodiles are at the top when considering the pound per pound factor,” her father added, pausing at the other side of the stack.
“Jaguars are good swimmers, too,” Raul continued. “So do not think of jumping into an aguada when fleeing. The cats will swim after you. They can even dive underwater in pursuit of prey.”
“They can climb trees too, right, Raul?” Quint asked, easing around her father to take more pictures.
“Sí. They climb very quickly. Watch for scratches on the tree trunks. That’s how they mark their territory.”
“What about its bite radius, though?” Angélica pressed. “Could a big jaguar gnaw on an adult human skull? If so, that might explain some of the scarring on these bones.”
Raul’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember, but I know they can bite through the skull of a monkey.”
“That probably depends on the size of the cat,” her dad said. “Why are you asking this, gatita? You don’t seriously think a jaguar ate all of these poor people and stacked their skulls here?”
Her mind flashed back to the cavern she and Quint had come across at the last site.
There’d been skulls and bones littering the floor and stacked in piles here and there—the gnawed-on leftovers of a very large jaguar-like beast that could probably have eaten this many people.
But what were the chances of that unearthly creature having been here, too?
Quint’s camera clicked several more times next to her.
“No.” Careful to hide her troubled memories of what she’d witnessed along with Quint in that den of death, most of which she’d not told her father about, she stood and met his eyes over the pile of skulls.
“But there are markings that make me wonder if jaguars helped remove the flesh before the skulls were placed here.”
Quint looked up from his camera. There was something about the tension lining his gaze that made her wonder if he was remembering the bizarre creature and its den from the last site, too. “But where are the rest of the bones?”
She shrugged and thumbed toward the tall stone wall behind her that was mostly shielded by morning glory vines, tall ferns, and small shrub trees. “Maybe on the other side of that. How do you feel about giving me a boost so I can see for sure?”
“Why don’t we see if we can find another way around the wall first?” her father suggested.
She understood his reasoning. There was no way he could climb over the wall, even with a boost. Not with his bum leg. “KuTu said that he tried to find a way around it, but the jungle was too thick. Why waste daylight and sweat to go any farther when we can go over the top?”
She rubbed her hands together, peering upward. Whatever awaited on the other side of such a high wall had her heart pounding in a good way. If she could just take a quick look to see what had been walled inside so long ago …
Was this site truly sacred, as her mother had hypothesized?
Were there types of temples here not built anywhere else in the Maya realm?
New evidence of foreigners coming to this land long before it was currently believed?
If not a religious site, what role had this place played in Maya society that required this big wall?
Was it a defensive outpost? Something a Calakmul king had built as a buffer for his city?
That would certainly explain the wall and skulls.
“If we knock down some of those vines, I can take a peek over the top right now.”
“The skulls are a bad sign,” KuTu said in Mayan.
She wondered why he’d say that beyond the obvious reason.
Quint looked from her to Juan. “What did KuTu say?”
“Something about a glyph, I believe,” her dad answered.
Not quite, but Angélica wanted to hear if there was more to KuTu’s red flag before sharing with the others. “A sign of what?” she asked him in his native tongue.
“Death.” KuTu’s dark gaze locked onto hers. “We are in danger here.”
“Why do you say that?” she pressed, still speaking in Mayan, holding her hand up to block the volley of questions coming from Quint and her father. “These skulls could mean many things. Did you feel an evil wind when you first saw this place or see any shadows in a vision?”
He shook his head.
Okay, so KuTu’s doubts didn’t appear to be metaphysically based. She gestured toward the wall. “Did you see a carving when you went looking for an end to this wall that showed the god of death?”
He shook his head again.
“Gatita, what are you two saying?”
“Just hold on, Dad.” To KuTu, she asked, “Then what makes you believe we are in danger?” She pointed at the skulls. “These people died long ago.”
He held his hands out wide, palms toward the sky. “There are whispers in the trees.”
Shoot, she’d forgotten to consider metaphysical sounds that could be confused as a warning.
Angélica cocked her head slightly, listening. “I hear nothing.”
“You are not listening close enough.” He squatted, sniffing around. “The ground smells rotten.”
She sniffed, too. “It smells musty from decay, like a jungle.”