Chapter Twenty-Three
“In the silent darkness under the trees where the moon’s silver light can’t reach, the ravenous jungle relentlessly chews up the remains of the living, its breath reeking of rot and decay.”
Angélica stopped and spun around, shining her flashlight at Quint, who was shadowing her on the trail as they tried to keep up with KuTu in their search for Dr. Fernel.
“Knock it off, Parker,” she whispered. When he got closer, she threatened to sock him in the shoulder. “It’s creepy enough here in the dark without you narrating our journey in that sinister voice.”
He caught her fist, pulling her in for a hug. “Fine, I’ll shut up, but the dead silence is making me antsy.”
“Same here.” She rested her forehead on his shoulder.
After they’d climbed over the wall and began following KuTu on the path toward the bat-house, Angélica had noticed a lack of the typical caroling from the winged and four-legged nocturnal gadabouts.
No screeching or chirping from high up in the branches.
No snorting or the occasional growling from the scrub brush.
Only the crunch of their boots on the dead leaves, vines, and branches underfoot.
Pedro came up behind them as she stepped back. Cursing under his breath, he swung his light wildly to the left and right. “Are you trying to scare our underwear off, Parker?”
“Who wears underwear?” Bronko asked, bringing up the rear of their conga line.
“Shine your light behind me, Montanero. I thought I heard something moving around in the bushes back there.” He turned, holding his gun in one hand and a machete in the other as he scanned the flashlight-lit path behind them.
Angélica saw no signs of life other than a single bobbing fern at knee level.
“I meant scare our panties off,” Pedro corrected.
“You meant scare the pants off us,” Quint clarified.
“That’s what I said, mi hermano.”
“No,” Bronko whispered. “You said underwear, which I go without when in the jungle.”
Quint chuckled. “Well, that paints a helluva picture.”
Grimacing, Angélica turned aside. When it came to her crew, there were some details she didn’t need to know.
“But I do like to wear pants,” Bronko added.
“We should thank the Maya gods for that,” Pedro said.
Angélica shushed them all. “This isn’t a Three Stooges movie, you guys. It’s a manhunt.”
She aimed her beam up the trail in front of her. Where had KuTu gone, dammit? The guard moved through the jungle like a jaguar—sure-footed with stealth and grace.
“It’s not really a hunt, is it?” Quint whispered. “More like a man-search.”
Bronko scoffed. “If we were hunting a man, I’d have brought my other gun.” He sounded dead serious about that, same as his choice to go commando under his pants.
That was another detail Angélica would like to throw out.
“I thought we were hunting a man-bat,” Pedro said.
Quint tapped her on the shoulder. “If we make it out of this with all our pieces and parts still intact, remind me not to get on Bronko’s bad side.”
“There is no ‘if’ about it, Parker.” She looked back at him. “We’re going to find Dr. Fernel, drag him back over that wall if we have to, and ship him out on the helicopter tomorrow. This dig site game is over.” She just hoped it wasn’t one damned day too late.
She held up her hand to silence any more chatter, listening for a sound—any sound—from the surrounding forest. But all was silent under the canopy, same as it had been since they’d climbed over the wall.
It was as if the jungle was holding its musty breath, watching them creep along, waiting to see what happened next.
Or maybe her paranoia had taken the helm.
Either way, she hoped to hell Dr. Fernel hadn’t done anything really stupid, like try to charm a pit viper with that bone whistle of his.
Or woo a death-bat from the Maya Underworld.
Fuck. Between Quint’s spooky voice and KuTu’s tale of old, she was having trouble keeping her head on her shoulders tonight.
Camazotz might rip your head off if you’re not careful.
Okay, that was enough ghost story bullshit from her mental demons hanging around the fire at Camp Freakout. The mission was simple—find the archaeologist, chew him out for putting others in danger for no logical reason, and kick him off her dig site for good.
“Come on.” Angélica started up the trail again, leading with her beam of light. “KuTu is in a hurry.”
You mean King KuTu.
As she watched for snakes on the path, bits of KuTu’s story replayed in her thoughts. The rational left side of her brain insisted there was no way he could be a reincarnated king of old. That the guy must have spent too much time in the heat.
Yet he’d been so earnest. As he’d woven his story, the pain etched on his face had been so vivid, the sorrow in his voice heart wrenching.
If this were all true … this eternity of repeated loneliness and suffering at the expense of his son’s life … and his whole family … over and over and over. She sighed. Such a harsh punishment to pay for a moment of greed.
But her left brain still leaned into him being delusional.
It was possible that he’d been at this site before. He might have been a looter years ago, searching the area for ancient artifacts to sell on the black market. While here, he tripped, hit his head, developed long-term amnesia, and came up with this wild tale that he believed with all his heart.
Of the two scenarios, she was really pulling for the latter. Otherwise, this search and recovery operation could take a deadly turn when they reached the bat-house, not to mention what it might do to her currently slipping grip on her own sanity.
They caught up with KuTu at the butterfly mound, but only because he had paused to wait, standing with his back to them.
As Angélica neared, he turned. She stopped short, gasping at the sight of his face covered with wide smears of light green paint. When had he done that? Upon a longer look, she realized it was closer to the color of … jade.
Oh, hell. He’d painted on a death mask, like those found on the remains of royalty in Maya tombs that were often made of actual jade. The masks were supposed to protect the dead on their journey through Xibalba to the afterlife.
Angélica lowered her beam to the weapon he held in his hand. “We might have a problem,” she said to Quint as he came up beside her. “He’s covered his face with green paint to represent a funerary death mask.”
“No shit. Okay. But what’s he’s holding?”
“A macuahuitl.”
Where had KuTu picked that up? He certainly hadn’t been carrying it when they’d climbed over the wall.
He must have had it stashed somewhere on this side of the wall.
In the beam of her light, the polished triangular-shaped obsidian blades lining the outside of the flat wooden shaft practically sparkled.
“Seriously?” Quint caught her arm, pulling her back a step. “Should we be concerned about him having that?”
She scoffed. “We’re walking through an eerily silent jungle in the black of night heading for an ancient edifice where this reincarnated king wearing a death mask claims Camazotz will be popping out looking for a warm body with a nice, plump, beating heart.”
“Well.” Quint blew out a breath. “When you put it that way, we’re fucked.”
“Maybe.” She glanced up at Quint. “Or it could be that KuTu is suffering from a brain-eating parasite that’s causing hallucinatory bouts, and he’s about to go old-school Maya warrior on us with a deadly razor-lined bat.”
Quint wheezed. “Jesus, now who’s trying to scare my underwear off?”
“What are you doing with that weapon?” she asked KuTu in Mayan.
He pointed it at Quint. “I made it for Kimi.”
She wondered if he’d used the obsidian blades they’d found in one of the caches. “He isn’t Kimi.”
KuTu’s head tipped. “Are you certain?”
Most of the time, yes. But on a night when the moon was almost full and the dark jungle was way too quiet—no, not really.
“Is he calling me Kimi?” Quint asked. “Same as Daisy’s invisible visitor did?”
“Yes. He says he made the weapon for you.”
“Dang. I didn’t know we’d be exchanging gifts tonight. I hope he doesn’t want my heart in return.”
Angélica patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Parker. I won’t let him or anyone else take what’s mine.”
KuTu stepped closer, offering the Maya weapon to Quint like it was King Arthur’s mythical sword. “Kimi will need this when Camazotz arrives to collect a sacrifice.”
KuTu didn’t really believe that, did he? The better question was, did she?
Angélica shined her light up at KuTu’s face, checking for a glint of madness in his eyes. She had some experience with bouts of temporary insanity. Her ex-husband had suffered from it far too often.
He squinted in the light, but outside of the green painted-on death mask, he wasn’t wide-eyed or twitching.
“Nice face paint,” Pedro said, stopping next to Quint. “It reminds me of the jade death mask they found on King Pakal in Palenque.”
“Exactly,” Angélica said. “I’m guessing KuTu improvised since we’re a bit short on jade stones at this site.”
Bronko caught up to them. “What’s going on with the green face?” He leaned forward to take a closer look at the macuahuitl, letting out a low whistle. “That will tear a big hole in someone.”
“Let’s just hope it’s not one of us,” Pedro said.
“He made it for Parker,” she told them. “To fight Camazotz.”
“That’s not fair,” Pedro said, swatting at something flying around his head. “What are we supposed to use to fight the death-bat god?”
“Harsh words and mean faces,” Quint said. “Don’t forget to hit him with your incredible wit.”
Bronko chuckled.
“I know.” Pedro gestured with his thumb toward Bronko. “We can have Mr. Commando here pull down his pants and give ol’ Camazotz the moon.”
“Moon is supposed to be the verb in that context,” Quint told him. “You moon someone. But you can also moon over someone, like what I do with the boss lady day and night.”
“I’d rather fill Camazotz full of black holes,” Bronko said, pointing the barrel of his gun skyward. “Send him back to the stars.”