Chapter Seventeen
“There’s no place like home.
There’s no place like home.
There’s no place like home.”
“You’re wearing the wrong shoes for that wish, Parker,” Angélica said.
She turned away from Prince Charming to focus on the weathered-gray stone structure that was in the process of being devoured by the jungle.
An abundance of ferns, vines, yucca, agave, thorny ceiba trees, several large strangler figs, and layers of moss had all banded together to form a web of greenery that cloaked the ruin.
It was no wonder this place had been hard to see from the sky prior to LIDAR technology.
A tightly grouped stand of papaya trees varying in size from saplings to mature trees were vying for the sunlight poking through the canopy.
Clusters of green and orange fruit crowded their trunks.
The ground at their bases was abuzz with bees and flies and gnats and butterflies, all sharing in the forest’s fruity bounty.
“Visible through the jungle’s grip of tangled vegetation was the tomb’s entrance,” Quint said in an ominous voice. “A dark, gaping mouth, shrouded in shadows and cobwebs.”
“Sounds like the start of a spooky story,” Pedro said. A wet chewing sound followed. When Angélica looked his way, he held out a papaya toward her with a bite out of it. “Want a bite?” He lifted another papaya in his other hand. It too had a bite missing. “They are deliciosas.”
She shook her head in spite of a growl from her stomach.
Sticky fingers did not go well with rice paper and stone rubbings, and while she already knew they’d be returning tomorrow morning bright and early to dig deeper here, she wanted to take a few rubbings on the carvings surrounding the structure’s rectangular opening—something to study later back at camp.
She needed Quint to take some pictures, too, before they headed back.
“I’ll take one of those papayas off your hands,” her dad said, stealing Pedro’s offering as he came up next to her. “What do you think, gatita? Is it all you’d hoped for?”
“I want to see inside before I answer that.” She looked back at Dr. Fernel, who was being harassed by a cloud of mosquitoes. “The object on your LIDAR map that has the temple shape must be that structure.” She pointed at the crumbling building to their right.
Strangler figs, chechén, and chacá trees had taken root in the cracks and crevices of the steps leading up to the rubble-strewn top.
A king of the mountain battle must have been taking place over the decades, each trying to be the first species to reach the very top where a mound of ferns acted as a furry hat.
While it appeared to be a multi-level temple, both it and the single-story structure in front of them, which was much more than just a small platform as she’d first thought upon viewing it on the LIDAR map days ago, sat at the bottom of a natural bowl in the land.
If this site had been located farther north on the Yucatán Peninsula, she’d have figured the buildings were the victims of one of Mother Nature’s sinkholes in the underlying limestone.
But here in the southern part of the peninsula, cenotes were few and far between, with aguadas making up the majority of natural water repositories.
Dr. Fernel swatted at the vortex of flying menaces, which seemed to be increasing in numbers exponentially. Several red welts now covered the backs of his hands and neck and cheeks—wherever he had exposed flesh.
Had he forgotten to put on any insect repellent? Maybe he was out of whatever he’d brought along. She’d check with Teodoro later to see if he had extra of his homemade goop.
“This other building,” Dr. Fernel said, indicating the one-story ruin. “It didn’t appear to be an actual structure on the map.”
“What does that mean?” Quint asked.
“It didn’t look like anything worth investigating,” Dr. Fernel explained, using his tablet as a bug swatter. Several wasps now seemed to be drawn to him as well, dive-bombing haphazardly.
Quint turned to Angélica. “I meant, what does that mean for the dig plans. Are we going to focus on the dilapidated temple or this creepy tomb-like building first?”
“I’ll give you my answer after I check out what’s inside that entrance.”
“?Dios mío!” Her dad watched Dr. Fernel, a grimace lining his face. “The bugs seem to think you are another piece of rotting fruit. Did you bring any insect spray along?
“No!” Dr. Fernel spun around, stumbling toward them, trying to dodge a wasp.
“Are you wearing some fruity-smelling deodorant?” Pedro asked around a mouthful of papaya, recoiling as Dr. Fernel came his way.
“I’m not wearing any deodorant.” He dodged and weaved again as a pair of bees joined in the manhunt. “The guidebook said that wild animals can smell you from far away and recommended letting my body odor act as a deterrent.”
That explained the odor coming from him each afternoon. The guidebook had been right, but Angélica preferred to use some natural unscented deodorant locally produced so that she didn’t stink out the rest of the crew, especially now that Quint was with her day and night.
“That could be a problem, gatita,” her father said, pointing at Dr. Fernel, who was gaining welts by the minute. “Maybe we should take him back to camp.”
“I don’t get it,” Quint said, watching Dr. Fernel hop about, swinging his tablet more wildly at the terrors trying to sting and bite him. “He had no problems with bugs along the path on the hike here. What’s with this attack now?”
“Maybe his sweat is sweeter than ours,” Pedro suggested, wiping at the fruit juice running down his chin.
“You ever seen something like this?” Quint asked her.
“Huh-uh. He sort of reminds me of you doing your butterfly dance yesterday.”
Her father nodded. “Only with a lot more flailing and occasional shrieks.”
And squeals, Angélica thought, wincing at the sound of one. “If he’s not careful, he’s— Watch out!” she called out, but she was too late.
Dr. Fernel hadn’t seen the tree root sticking out of the earth. He fell with an “Oof!”
His tablet flew from his hands, hurtling end over end through the air.
Crack!
It landed screen-side down on some rock rubble near the base of the temple.
“No!” Dr. Fernel cried out, his glasses setting crookedly on his face as he gaped at where the tablet lay on the ground.
“Ay yi yi. That sounded bad.” Pedro tossed aside the papaya pit. He headed over to retrieve the tablet, stepping on rotting fruit along the way.
Angélica rushed over to Dr. Fernel with Quint following on her heels.
“Let me help you up.” Quint swatted at the cloud of insects hovering over the man. He grabbed onto Dr. Fernel’s arm and hefted him topside, plucking a squashed papaya off his chest and another one off his thigh.
“Are you okay?” Angélica asked, brushing away a cockroach on the verge of scuttling under Dr. Fernel’s collar.
The poor guy’s eyelids were at half-mast, most likely swollen like the rest of his face. “I’m feeling a little woozy.”
Of course he was. Holy shit! The guy needed to go back to camp and spend some time with Teodoro, who’d probably coat him with layers of his homemade antihistamine lotion and try to get some healing tea into him.
Pedro joined them with the tablet in hand. The screen was dark with a big, splintered crack on it.
“I think it bit the ground,” Pedro said, holding it out for them to see.
Bit the … ? Oh. Bit the dust.
Angélica took the tablet. “Maybe Bronko can take a look at it later, see if there is any hope for it.”
Bronko was the one responsible for the technology inside the communications tent, seeming to have a knack for making electronics work in spite of the ever-present dirt, bugs, and humidity in the jungle.
“I think you should sit down,” Quint said to Dr. Fernel. “Better yet, lie down.”
“We need to take him back to camp,” her father said. He reached out and spread Dr. Fernel’s left eye wide, then the right. Shaking his head, he flicked a tick from Dr. Fernel’s shoulder. “But I don’t think he can walk on his own.”
“I sh-shh-shhh no … I uhh … ow … what …” Dr. Fernel’s lips were almost double in size. Drool oozed from the corner of his mouth.
“Esteban has an emergency kit for allergies,” Angélica said. “If Dr. Fernel can make it back to the others, Esteban can give him a dose of antihistamine and the rest can help carry him to camp.”
“I’ll take him back,” Pedro offered, gripping Dr. Fernel’s upper arm. “He can lean on me, but if he passes out, that could be un gran problema.”
“We’ll do it together,” Quint said. “Share the shoulder load.” He looked at Angélica. “You’re coming along, right?”
“Uhh …” she hesitated, looking over at the ruins. She just needed a half hour to get those rubbings, maybe less. “We’ll follow shortly.”
His mouth tightened. “I don’t like leaving you and Juan here alone.”
“We’ll be fine.” She tried to smile at him, but it felt wooden on her lips, so she let it drop. “Please, Quint, go ahead of us and get Dr. Fernel to safety. I just need to do a couple of stone rubbings and then we’ll follow.”
And maybe she could take a peek inside the doorway to see what secrets awaited them inside.
“What if your dad twists his ankle again?”
“He won’t.”
Quint scowled. “You say that, but then …”
“He is going to sit right there.” She pointed at the stone steps leading up to the entryway. “And I’m going to take a few rubbings. Then we’ll follow after you guys.”
Quint looked skyward, up through the canopy. “It’s getting late.”
“I know what time it is,” she said, following his gaze.
The sky was still milky blue, but they probably had an hour until it would take on a golden, rosy hue.
A vulture came into view.
No, make that two.
“Fine.” Quint grabbed her by the shoulders. “Promise me you won’t go inside that opening without me.”
She sighed. “I only want to take a—”
“Promise me, Angélica,” he whispered, his stare intense. “We can’t take any chances, no matter how tempting it is.”
She frowned at the dark doorway. “If I could just—”