Chapter Twenty-Five #2
He might be able to jump from there and grab onto the edge of the hole.
Then what?
He could try to pull himself up through the floor.
Or just dangle like a big meaty piece of bait.
If only he had some rope.
To tie to what, though?
He had to at least try to get topside again before those huge bats came back. His only other option was to go through the tunnel where the bats had spawned, and who knew what other freaky fiends with long, pointy teeth were waiting for him in Xibalba land.
All the better to eat you with, my dear.
Shuddering at the idea of meeting one of those bats in the dark, he glanced over at the tunnel opening and listened yet again for signs of more hair-raising visitors.
What if the death-bat god is real?
His gaze dipped to the stone altar in the middle of the chamber. Initially, he’d tried to pull it under the hole in the ceiling, but it was too heavy. The damned thing must be chiseled out of solid granite.
Who carried it down here?
At least he’d been able to free the other half of the macuahuitl, so now he had two broke-dick weapons, for what that was worth.
It’s better than nothing.
“Would you shut up,” he whispered to the voice in his head that kept giving its two cents. Now was not the time for a commentary on his every thought.
Not every single one.
Cursing, he grabbed the last of the somewhat flat floor stones and added it to the stack. There, that was the best he could do. He just hoped the pile would hold his weight.
Rocks clattered in the tunnel behind him.
Quint froze, listening for any other sounds to follow.
Is that something breathing?
Maybe.
His shoulders hunched in anticipation, he turned very slowly and shined his flashlight at the tunnel opening.
He held his breath and waited.
And waited some more.
After several seconds of hearing only the racket of his heart hammering in his ears, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Pssst!”
Quint nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Mira aquí,” a voice overhead said, telling him to look up.
He did … and nearly cried out in happiness at the sight of KuTu and Fernel peering down through the hole at him.
“What the hell is that?” Angélica whispered, staring at the creature crouched at the top of the steps.
“?Dios mio!” Pedro whispered. “Is that some kind of bat? No, it is too big to be a …”
Another dog-bat creature followed, bumping the first one down a couple of steps.
Then another.
Then a fourth.
“Oh, mierda,” Pedro swore. “We are in very big trouble.”
The four creatures crowded together as they scanned the surrounding forest, their wings rustling against each other as they adjusted to fit on the steps.
“So, we’re hunting monster bats tonight,” Bronko said quietly, slowly setting down the coil of vines.
“They must have been the ones making the noise Quint was hearing,” Angélica whispered, carefully pulling out her machete. Her heart was thudding hard, adding a tremble to her voice. Oh, Quint! Please be okay. “Do you see any blood on their wings or snouts?”
“No,” Pedro said. “I don’t think that’s blood. It’s too white.”
“It’s drool.” Bronko pulled his gun from the holster.
“Good. Then maybe Quint is still okay.”
“Yeah, but we might not be if these big hombres are as mean as they look,” Pedro whispered.
“Just tell me when and I’ll start shooting.” Bronko had his gun raised and ready.
One of the bats lifted its snout and began to chitter, turning its head back and forth.
Pedro cursed under his breath. “That sound on a dark night will scare your pants clear off.”
“It’s a good thing I’m wearing a belt,” Bronko deadpanned.
The bat closest to them hopped the rest of the way down the steps, stalking into the middle of the clearing on all fours. The hooked claw—or thumb—at the wing’s top joint must have been four inches long.
“Don’t move a muscle,” Angélica whispered, her machete raised and ready to swing away if it came their way.
The other three bats fell in line after the first, joining it in the center of the circle of moonlight. One leaned down to sniff at a papaya rotting at its feet, and then chomped it up with a vicious growl.
The first bat made the chittering sound again, turning its head in Angélica’s direction. Then it stopped chittering and started hissing.
The other three turned toward her, too.
“They see us,” Bronko said.
Pedro grunted. “I changed my mind, Angélica. I want to go back to camp.”
Quint pointed his flashlight at the two men staring down at him. “I need your help getting back up there.”
Fernel’s face was smeared with dirt and blood, and still partly swollen from the bug bites. Where in the hell had he been?
Actually, that didn’t matter right now. Quint just wanted to make it back topside before something else sauntered out from the dark tunnel and decided to chew on his bones.
“Is that a stone altar with carvings of the death-bat god at each end?” Fernel asked, his light directed behind Quint.
“Can we focus on me getting out of here right now?”
KuTu held out his hand. “?Salte!”
Quint eyed the guard’s hand. “I’m too big. Soy grande. If I jump and take your hand, I’ll pull you down here with me.”
“No.” KuTu held out his hand a little farther. “?Salte!”
“Fine.” Quint started to climb the pile, taking it slow so as not to knock any stones down.
“Are those bones around the altar stone?” Fernel asked, still distracted.
“Yes. Here, take these.” He stretched up onto his toes, reaching far enough to hand KuTu both halves of the macuahuitl, one at a time. Then he tossed his flashlight to Fernel, who fumbled it before dropping it on the floor. At least it stayed topside.
He frowned at Fernel. “You ready to help KuTu catch me?”
“Hold on.” Fernel removed his glasses and set them to the side. “Okay, ready,” he said, back near the hole.
“I’m going to jump up on the count of three—in Spanish for KuTu’s sake. I’ll try to catch the edge. You two grab my arms and pull me up.”
“You think this floor here will hold us all?” Fernel asked, sounding doubtful.
“I sure hope,” Quint said. “Ready?” he asked Fernel. At his nod, Quint turned to KuTu. “?Listo?”
“Sí.”
“Uno.” Quint bent his knees. “Dos.” He wiped his damp hands on his pants. “Tres.” He pushed off the pile, feeling the stones beneath him give way.
“Don’t shoot yet,” Angélica whispered, holding up her hand for Bronko to wait. “If there are more of those bats inside, you’ll draw them out. We may need to use hand-to-hand combat here.”
Hadn’t she told Quint earlier today that Camazotz was a master of hand-to-hand combat, impossible to defeat, so it wasn’t worth fighting him that way?
Yeah, but this couldn’t be Camazotz. There was only supposed to be one of him. These must be part of his mythical army.
The front bat flexed its wings at them. The span had to be seven feet from tip to tip.
“Get ready,” she said, holding tight to her machete.
A low croaking noise came from over their heads, followed by a racket of multiple, sharp cracks and snaps.
All four bats looked up.
And then the sky fell.
Or, at least, that’s what it seemed like as the king vultures arrowed down from their perches, ramming into the bats repeatedly, bombarding from the canopies. Leaves rained around Angélica, along with branches and twigs.
“Run for the bat-house,” she hollered in the midst of the screeching and hissing and croaking.
Angélica rounded the battleground, making it to the steps just as the largest of the four bats let out a wailing screech.
She turned in time to see several vultures holding it down while others pecked at its eyes, tearing its wings to pieces with their beaks, scratching at its body with their talons while it writhed on the ground.
The other three bats didn’t last much longer. The vultures made short work of them, enjoying a rip-tearing meal afterward to celebrate their win.
“To the victors go the spoils,” she said, stunned by what she’d just witnessed. Was that the reason Quint’s guardians had been waiting around?
Pedro and Bronko jogged up, both carrying coils of vines.
“Can you believe that?” Pedro asked, slightly breathless.
“I’ve seen some bad things,” Bronko said. “But that was by far the most brutal killing yet.”
Angélica shook her head in amazement, then she stared at the shadowed entrance to the bat-house. “I just hope that’s the end of the show for tonight.” She looked back at the other two. “You guys ready?”
“I’m slipping!”
Quint had jumped high enough to grab the lip of the hole, but the layers of loose dirt on the stones made it hard to hold on.
“I can’t—”
KuTu grasped Quint’s left forearm, his grip strong.
Fernel fumbled for a second, but then locked onto Quint’s right arm.
They both leaned back, pulling him up. His shirt caught and tore on a broken rock edge jutting out, but after a moment of scrambling, Quint was able to get one leg up over the edge.
His other leg came up easily. He pushed onto his knees and scrambled away from the hole, resting with his back against the tunnel wall next to Fernel.
He was out, but on the side of the hole with the partially opened wall. Too tall to jump over it, he’d have to ease around it, like Angélica had, and cross his fingers the floor held his weight.
He looked over at the geoarchaeologist, who was sliding his glasses back on.
“Thanks, man. I couldn’t have gotten back up here without your help.
” He brushed off his shirt, which had ripped halfway open.
Luckily, it had saved his chest from getting scraped, but there’d be bruises to admire later, he was sure.
KuTu stood over him, his hand held out. “Parker up?”
“Gracias.” Quint accepted his help. “You two are lifesavers.”
KuTu nodded and then jerked him closer. Quint had a blink of time to register the jade-handled dagger before KuTu slashed the obsidian blade along the underside of Quint’s forearm.
Pain shot up through his shoulder. “What the fuck?!” He yanked his arm back as blood welled in the cut.