“Now, that’s funny,” she said, when her laughter came to an end.
“I never thought a fart reference would be the way into your heart.”
“Me neither,” she said.
We made our way to the roach coach and used my red filtered flashlight to search the various compartments. We started with the dry storage cabinets and, oddly, discovered an inordinate amount of canned beans, which would hint that the team had obviously gone native. Every culture had its penchant for particular food items, but Central and South American seemed to eat a shitload of beans, and that included eating them at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Stranger still, and in spite of this predilection for party foods, they managed to avoid a diminishing population—but how? Who the hell humps after wolfing down a plate of frijoles? I would think that person would have to be an extreme masochist or someone with a fetish for huffing methane.
In the hopes of avoiding a fart fiesta, I therefore decided to search the refrigerator and freezer for other kinds of food items. There were a number of frozen meats and even some decent looking ravioli, but those foods required a lot more preparation, and our goal was to keep things simple and quiet. I instead went for some microwavable rice then eventually broke down and returned to the main cupboard for beans. Fuck it—it was either farts or famine, and, since things were clearly not going to get romantic with Professor Hot Sauce, I went with farts.
Sadly, however, I really did love beans, and they loved me back, but it was a very combustable relationship. They’d make their way into my intestines and express their feelings by filling me up with vast volumes of gaseous love, and every tiny little bean became a family of farts—a father, a mother, and at least five large children. Sometimes these families grew even larger on their journey through my body, and they ended up making my backside feel a little like a crowded border town. I therefore hoped that my sphinctoral security force made sure their exit was properly timed and orderly.
Fifteen minutes later, we were eating rice and beans under the stars, and the mood would have almost been romantic had I not already been anxiously dreading the beginning of the fireworks. We opened our beers, clinked bottles, and sat quietly eating, with our bickering pretty much over as calm descended over our usually tumultuous relationship. There was nothing quite as effective as food, drink, and a sky full of stars to bring people together in peace.
“Aside from Von Träger Pharmaceuticals and King Chalupa and his evil minions, this place is pretty amazing.”
“It is, and can you imagine what it was like a thousand years ago?”
“I can, actually, as I’ve always had a thing for historical places—imagining what it was like to exist in that time period and seeing the world through that paradigm. It’s fascinating.”
“That’s why I’m an archaeologist.”
“I get it.”
We finished dinner, cleaned up, and made our way to the bathroom to prepare for bed. Both of us peed and brushed our teeth before going to the same guest cabin we had shared only two nights ago. We stepped inside, and I shined my light around the room to find everything exactly as we had left it, which of course brought up a hazy memory of some pretty awesome drugged out sex.
“Ah, the scene of the crime,” I said.
“Hardly a crime if I recall it properly.”
“Indeed.”
We each chose a bed, then I turned off the light, and both of us lay there, and, though neither of us talked, both of us were awake and clearly a bit nervous after our last experience in the camp. Some kind of nearby animal made a sound, and we both listened intently, obviously hopeful it was just a bird or monkey.
“Maybe we should share a bed—just to be safe,” she said.
“Good idea—there’s safety in numbers.”
I stood up and moved to her bed and took up residence beside her, and she grabbed my arm and pulled it over her body. We were officially spooning, and now her lovely backside was pressing into my front side. Oddly, it was our first intimate sober contact, and it was all I could do to keep my mind from repeatedly straying back to memories of our drug induced coupling. Still, if I had to choose between boning and arguing or cuddling and getting along, I think I’d go with option two—at least I think so, anyway. It was hard to know for sure, because a man’s mind could be overridden by his penis and change directions in the space of a heartbeat. I therefore set my mind squarely back on Chalupa with the hope that my subconscious might find order in the chaos of the latest events. At long last, mostly boner-free, and comfortably entwined with Professor Hot Sauce, I drifted off to sleep.
I was having a bizarre dream where I was back on top of the pyramid and had been strapped down to the stone altar. Estelle, Alessandra, and Fabiana were all standing around me with ceremonial daggers, but, as I tried to call out, I realized I couldn’t because I had been gagged. I tried to yell again but still only heard my muffled scream. Sweet Jesus! I really hoped this was dream and not happening in real life. Estelle, meanwhile, started to say something, but, just as she opened her mouth, I heard a massively deep and rumbling fart that seemed to reverberate against my groin. What was Estelle trying to say, and, more importantly, why did I feel it in my groin? She opened her mouth again, and I heard another fart. This was getting ridiculous. Then, there was a third fucking fart, but this time the noise thankfully startled me awake, and I was relieved to find I was no longer tied to the stone alter and instead was spooning with Professor Hot Sauce. As I took a moment to recover from the horror of my nightmare, I heard and felt a fourth fart rock my groin, and I realized that Professor Hot Sauce had the exact same reaction to beans as I did. It was both a relief and a disturbing revelation, but at least it reduced the guilt when my fart escaped a moment later. It was sizable and something I could be proud of, and part of me was sad that I had no one to bear witness to its majesty—or so I thought until Hot Sauce suddenly reached back and swatted me.
“What the hell was that for?” I asked.
“Farting right next to me.”
“Excuse me, but I just took four massive farts right in the balls—thank you very much. At least my cannon was pointed in the other direction.”
“What are you talking about? I was sleeping.”
“And farting.”
Just as she was about to respond, we heard footsteps outside and immediately stopped talking.
“Did you hear that?” I whispered.
“Yeah, do you think it’s Chalupa’s minions again?”
“No idea, but if it is, it means they’re attracted to massive fucking girl farts.”
Alessandra swatted me again, but then we both remained quiet as we lay there listening. After a few moments, I got up and grabbed my gun and silently strode towards the door.
“What are you doing? Don’t go out there!” she said.
“I’m just taking a quick peak. It might be animals for all we know.”
I eased the door open and listened, but whoever or whatever it was had moved away from our immediate vicinity.
“I’m going outside to have a closer look around. If I’m not back in five minutes, stay inside until morning, then call Fabiana and tell her I died gloriously while thinking about her.”
“Fuck you! You’re not leaving me. I’m coming with you.”
“Fine, but I only have one pair of night vision goggles, so you’re going to have to stay really close to me.”
“No problem.”
“And you have to wear your combat vest.”
“Right now? Why?”
“Because I like the way it presses your breasts together like two Christmas hams.”
Alessandra looked annoyed but begrudgingly put on her vest while I did the same. Next, I grabbed my flashlight, extra ammo clips, and placed it all in my vest’s convenient pockets before slipping on my night vision goggles. Failing to prepare was preparing to fail, and I refused to die an unprepared dumbass. Properly geared up for some good old fashioned reconnaissance, the two of us stepped out
the door and listened. The majority of sound was now farther away and coming from the other side of the camp, apparently somewhere near the roach coach. We moved along quietly, and Alessandra held my arm in a death grip that I was sure would leave bruises if not scars. As we came around past the bathrooms, I could see through my goggles that there were a number of people walking towards the ruins.
“What the hell are all the villagers doing out here at this hour?” Alessandra whispered.
“Can you see them?” I asked.
“Of course, the full moon is giving off a shitload of light.”
I took off the goggles and realized I could practically see better without them on.
“Shit—you’re right,” I said.
A noise to our left brought our attention to a spot about twenty feet away, and we looked over to see a woman sauntering along in a dreamy state. As she drew closer, I realized it was Bachué’s mother Pili, and the strange thing was that she appeared to see us yet made no attempt at communication. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear that she was in some kind of trance.
“Is there any kind of reference to zombies in Chalupan folklore?” I asked.
“None that I know of.”
“Well, how do you explain Pili’s unusual state?”
“I can’t.”
“I wonder where Bachué is?”
“It figures you would ask that.”
“I’m just curious. Why everyone else from the village but not her?”
“Maybe it’s an age thing.”
“Doubtful. That girl over there appears to be close to Bachué’s age—though clearly nowhere near her bust size.”
“We’re witnessing a zombie horde, and you’re busy checking out young women’s breasts?”
“I’m assessing details that could be critical to our survival.”
“Nice try.”
“Shit! I bet they’ve all been dosed with Sexstasy!”
“Well, then thank God Bachué isn’t here.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you two were bad enough stone cold sober, so I can’t even imagine her with an increased libido and reduced inhibition.”
“I can,” I said, with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm.
I heard more footsteps and gazed off towards the village, curious how many more were coming, and I saw something that made my heart nearly stop cold.
“Quick, we need to hide.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Half-man, half-beast demon creatures at nine o’ clock.”
Alessandra looked over and also saw the three pairs of red glowing eyes taking up the rear of the echelon. Interestingly, and a little frighteningly, we were apparently viewing them free of the influence of any drugs, and it didn’t make their appearance any less terrifying—and that wasn’t exactly a comforting thought. We slipped back and climbed into the roach coach and kept our heads down below the level of the windows. The footsteps drew closer until it sounded as though they were right outside the door, and Alessandra nervously squeezed my arm and whispered into my ear.
“Do you think they saw us?” she asked.
“Possibly, but hopefully they didn’t, and we can just lay low until they move on.”
The creatures were moving along behind the villagers and herding them like sheep past the camp, but they paused when they thought they saw some kind of movement near one of the vehicles. At that point they broke from the group and fanned out and began searching the area.
Again I could smell that awful musky stench and wondered if it was perhaps some kind of cologne they sold in Hell’s gift shop. It smelled like a gruesome combination of hot, fresh shit, rotten eggs, and burnt sweaty butt hair, and I could imagine the label on the bottle would be Eau de Merde—now you too can smell devilishly bad. The sound of their footsteps grew ominously close, and Alessandra squeezed my hand a little harder with each passing second. A thump on the outside of the coach made us jump, but we thankfully didn’t scream. It got worse a second later, however, when we heard the sound of claws being dragged over the aluminum exterior. As quickly as it began, it ended, and the night grew quiet as the creatures rejoined the villagers and made their way deeper into the ruins. We waited several more minutes to be safe then glanced out the window and saw that our zombie horde and evil minions were nowhere to be found.
“OK, let’s go follow those fuckers.”
“Seriously? You want to follow the zombie horde?”
“Call me crazy, but I seriously suspect it might be our best lead yet to find the missing UCLA team. Of course, I would understand if you wanted to stay behind.”
“Yeah, you’re totally fucking crazy all right, but no, I’m not staying behind, and besides, if you run into King Chalupa, you’re going to need someone who speaks the language.”
“Good point.”
We left the roach coach and headed towards the ruins but took our time so as to be sure we didn’t overrun any of the evil minions. We also used the crumbling structures and foliage as cover and stayed out of the open, as those fuckers, whatever the hell they were, seemed to have exceptional night vision. We reached the city center, and we were soon approaching the pyramid, at which point we crouched down behind the fountain on the stone path and looked around the area to discover that we were alone with no one in sight.
“What the hell happened to all of them? How could we lose an entire village of people and a horde of evil minions in ten minutes?” Alessandra asked.
“God only knows—and I mean that literally.”
I slipped on the night vision goggles and did a quick survey of the surrounding area but saw nothing more interesting than a number of bats skimming just above the canopy of the surrounding jungle.
“Well? See anything?” Alessandra asked.
“Nothing, except for some bats.”
“Ewwwwww.”
“You’re afraid of bats?”
“Blood sucking flying rats? Who wouldn’t be?”
“I think they’re kind of cute.”
“Yeah, if you’re into rabies and a bunch of other deadly diseases.”
We started walking and arrived at the pyramid to find it was eerily quiet, and I took out my special red flashlight and went over the ground and saw a number of those subtle striations in the dirt. Interesting. I followed them, but they dead ended at the center of the pyramid.
“I told you this area made my scrot-sense tingle!” I said.
“Any chance your scrot-sense can tell us where the villagers went?”
“Not exactly, but it’s telling me there’s got to be some kind of secret entrance around here.”
“Esteemed scientists have been all over this area for the last twenty years, so what makes you think a spy turned failed Psychology PhD is going to find what they all missed?”
“I didn’t fail. I quit. It’s different.”
“Well, either way, searching this place will likely be a waste of time, as I’m guessing our crowd continued on into the jungle.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, and are you relying on your scrot-sense for this information?”
“Well, Professor Fountain Half-Empty, it’s a combination of that and my keen intellect.”
“Well, a lot of very intelligent people have tried and failed to get into the pyramid, so my money is on the more likely possibility that they just walked around it and continued on into the jungle.”
“Didn’t you pay any attention when you watched Indiana Jones or the Tomb Raider movies? There’s always a secret entrance.”
“OK, fine, but if you’re wrong, I’m never going to let you live it down.”
“And what if I’m right?” I asked.
She thought for a moment then smiled.
“I’ll let you motorboat my bare breasts.”
“I’m going to hold you to that, or should I say, you’re going to hold me to them?”
“Don’t worry, it’s not going to happen.”
&nb
sp; “We’ll see.”
I went back and looked at the little water canals that fed the basins beneath the statues and noticed something interesting. The dry channel and the basin below it were both wet, but they had been dry before. I had assumed that the age of the structure had caused the second channel’s water source to cave in or get diverted somewhere inside the pyramid, but now, however, I had proof that the canal worked. The problem was that I needed to find the key to unlock the flow. The Chalupans were apparently masters of water, so it made sense that if they had a secret door, it would operate utilizing hydraulics.
I examined the flowing side and looked at its sphere shaped opening yet again. Next, I moved down and looked at the female catch basin and noticed something I hadn’t seen the first time. Directly at ground level there was a drain hole that also happened to be about the same size as the stone spheres, and something inside my mind suddenly clicked. I searched my memories of the ruins for spherical objects, and a split second later I silently thanked my obsessive compulsive nature as well as my nearly photographic memory.
“Fucking farts!” I said, excitedly.
“Not again,” she said.
“Not literally, as this time it’s just an expression of pure happiness. Now, follow me, as I think I might have an idea what the key to getting into the pyramid might be,” I said.
Alessandra looked skeptical but followed me anyway, and we walked over to the fountain that resided on the path to the pyramid—the one that had two strange openings occupied by what appeared to be stone spheres—spheres that were coincidentally about the same size as the notches on the openings on the other fountain. I immediately went to the nearest hole, shined my light down inside, and discovered something interesting. The stone appeared to be wet, and, just to be sure, I felt it, and low and behold I was correct. I went over and checked the other one and discovered that it too was wet. Somehow, water had gotten into the shaft, but it hadn’t rained in the last few hours, so it was either poured in or somehow came from below. At that point, I stood back and stared at the statue and thought about it as though I were a Chalupan engineer. One of my stronger points in the sciences was physics, especially leverage as it pertained to hydraulics and fluid dynamics, and I put that knowledge to work by thinking about the problem and how to solve it by using the available tools. I had four openings, two that flowed with water and two that apparently contained stone spheres, or in theory—plugs. But, how did I get them out? The stones were too heavy and tightly squeezed into the shafts to lift out from above, so I needed a different method.
The Chalupa Conundrum Page 40