“Yes.”
“Okay,” said Ray. “On a count of three.” The rope went taut again. Kat could picture him reaching high on it, ready to yank it hard.
“One.”
This was going to be tough, but she’d braved worse.
“Two.”
It wasn’t the pain that nagged at her as much as the thought of being helpless. She’d felt that way too often lately and she didn’t relish it.
“Th—”
A deep rumbling rose from beneath her like a crescendo of bass drums. The rock began vibrating like plucked guitar strings. Kat felt a shift in the tunnel. My God, it’s an earthquake! Maybe she didn’t have to worry anymore about a slow, agonizing death. Too much rattling of rock and the ceiling might just cave in on top of her. A few more centimeters were all it would take to crush her completely.
But it held. The spasms continued for another second or two, displacing the node she was hung up on. She couldn’t believe it. She was free.
“I’m loose,” she yelled at Ray. “Get out of the way. I’m comin’ home.”
“You sure?” said Ray with a squeak in his voice that was probably half-joy, half-terror.
“Yes. Back up so I can get out before we have another one of these convulsions.”
“All right,” said Ray, his choppy breaths signaling his effort to extract himself from the tunnel.
Kat exhaled and began to slither backward. It was working. Her pinned shoulder detached from the rock—the entire constriction of the tunnel seemed to have dilated. She grabbed her pack and crawled in reverse. Ray’s voice now seemed distant as he hollered encouragement. He must be out on the ledge by now. She could feel the crack widening and soon she could actually back out on all fours, a liberating feeling.
Ray’s hands grasped her at the tunnel mouth and yanked her the rest of the way, right out and up and into his arms.
“Mon Dieu,” he exclaimed, “it’s good to have you back.”
She grinned and hugged him. “It’s good to be back. Even if it means we’ll have to keep searching. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
“Neither can I,” said Ray, not cutting her an inch of slack. Despite his criticism, he held her even tighter. Kat could feel his heartbeat thudding against her cheek, his breath sifting through her hair. Her own heart started revving and she knew it was time for another extraction. Gathering her strength, she loosened the clamp of his arms around her body and pushed firmly away.
He gazed down at her, the muscles around his mouth tightening, as if it was painful to let her go.
“We’d better get down to the troops.” She could feel Megan and Pete’s eyes glued to them, and she knew what they were thinking. Too close to the truth.
“All right,” said Ray. “Just don’t scare me like that again.”
Kat turned away to hide the tremors in her lips. This is only the prelude, Ray.
She clipped on a figure-eight descender and prepared to rappel down, when Ray placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let me spot you.”
“Ray, I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” he said.
Had he noticed how haggard she appeared, how defeated, even though she’d just broken free from a rocky imprisonment? “Thanks a lot.”
“I don’t mean . . . It was a close call. You might be a little shaky.”
“Ray, I can rappel twenty-five meters, thank you very much.” She eyed him sternly and jumped off the ledge. Descending a cliff-face at speed was a fine art, but she’d mastered it years ago. Even though she felt that edge of pain again, the weakness from the long crawl, and the anxiety from being trapped within the tunnel, she had no trouble whizzing down to the two pacing individuals at the bottom of the drop.
“Hi,” she said. “I hope you weren’t worried.”
Megan looked at her sharply. Pete just laughed.
“Never thought you’d get stuck anywhere,” said Pete.
“Neither did I,” said Kat. “But even experienced cavers can run into trouble sometimes.”
She could hear the buzz of Ray descending. In seconds he hit the ground and clipped off-rope. “Indeed, they can,” he said, a tad harshly. “We can never forget Floyd Collins, among others.”
“Floyd?” asked Pete. “Who was he?”
Ray went on to explain the fate of Floyd Collins while Kat scowled at him. He wasn’t about to let her get off without a verbal thrashing. When he finished the narrative, he winked at Kat.
“Right, Floyd?” he said.
“Right,” she replied. “What Floyd wouldn’t have given for an earthquake.”
Chapter Seventeen
As Mark stepped over the bones in the skeleton heap, the rumbling increased and the earth began to tremble. Dust erupted from the ground and shivered in the air. There were snaps and pops as crepitating bones jarred against one another, competing with the sound of chattering rock. The shaking became so violent it tore the flashlight from his hand. The clatter as it hit the ground was barely audible, but the extinguishing light registered clearly.
Mark groped in the dark, panic gnawing at his chest. The darkness was suffocating and his heart clocked at a ridiculous pace. As he wove his way back to where he thought the stairs were, a rib cage snared his foot. He came down hard on the cradle of someone’s pelvis, his head smacking a femur. For a moment he lay there, dazed. The pressure of fear squeezed his lungs.
Jorge’s voice barked out of the misty blackness.
“This way, doctor.”
The Maya yanked Mark from the ground and pulled him forward. He seemed to know exactly where the exit was and in seconds had reached the steps. Mark tried to breathe, feeling prickly and intoxicated. Jorge raced up the stairs, tugging Mark with him, stumbling only once during the long climb. Mark kept slipping on the smooth rock steps, but managed to keep from tumbling back down. At last they reached the labyrinth at the summit, wound their way through the corridor, and came into the bright sunlight and clear fresh air. Here Jorge released Mark, who sank gratefully to the ground, which had finally stopped vibrating.
He took a deep breath and felt oxygen permeate his lungs again. Sweat bled from his brow and soothed his aching head. When he looked up, he saw that Jorge was sitting too, his skin chalky and glistening with perspiration. He was gazing out over the tops of the trees to the ash-shrouded cone of the volcano.
“El Chicon,” he said. “This is just a hiccup, thank God. It had an explosive eruption in 1982. Killed two thousand people, destroyed dozens of villages.”
Mark squinted at the small mushroom over the volcano, formed from the ash, cinders, and steam it had pumped into the air. The earth shuddered again, rocking the tall pyramid in spite of its sturdy base. Mark clutched the step and held on, his buttocks slipping all over the stone as if the Mayan gods were trying to pitch him off.
“Well, now you know,” he said, his voice vibrating with the rhythm of the earth.
“Know what?” asked Jorge, eyeing Mark as the tremor subsided.
“What killed these people.”
Jorge raised his eyebrows.
“Probably gas. At one time, hydrogen sulfide and carbon monoxide might have vented into the pyramid. Definitely potent enough to kill a room full of people.”
“Mm-hmm,” said Jorge, his voice filled with skepticism.
“What’s the mystery? There is no curse.”
Jorge smiled and shook his head. “I suppose this gas killed all the people—the thousands who lived here?”
“Thousands?” asked Mark, now truly perplexed. “There weren’t thousands in there.”
“They are everywhere,” said Jorge, “just a larger group in the pyramid. They are a little better preserved in there, probably because they were protected from the elements, but you have just to move some forest litter and you will find more. I told you already, everyone in this city died.”
Mark frowned and gazed at the shrouded temples and dwellings. Could this be another Vesuvius, after all—a city st
opped cold? But where were the mountains of ash? Was it possible that volcanic gas alone had wiped out the entire population in this ancient metropolis?
“Okay,” said Mark. “Maybe it wasn’t just gas. But there has to be a logical scientific explanation. Not that I really care right now. I just want to get to Kat. If she’s underground she’s even more likely to be exposed to gas.” The thought made him shudder. Again the possibility flitted through his brain that he was too late. “Can we reach her quickly?”
Jorge chuckled. “No,” he said definitively. “There is no way in hell we can reach her quickly. But don’t worry. They must have their scuba gear and rebreather tanks. If they suspect gas, they should be able to survive until we make it down to them.”
Mark nodded and pushed himself to his feet, testing the ground for stability, along with his own mental and physical status. He didn’t wobble. It was a good sign.
Jorge stood up beside him, wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve, and trotted down the steps, which seemed as massive as Inca terraces. Mark trudged behind, feeling strength ooze back into his legs. Sunlight licked his face—a deliciously warming and welcome touch after the chill of the tomb. He sighed deeply, trying to rid himself of the tentacles of fear that had gripped him in the pyramid. It wasn’t over yet, though. Hardly. Now would come the true test of his love. He would have to do something that he’d never been able to do before. Tear out of the web of phobias that had snared him since childhood.
Jorge strode up ahead, confident that Mark would follow him to the ends of the earth. This time the Maya struck off in a new direction, away from the ball court, through a central plaza, and toward a drapery of vines. “Here is your cave,” he said, ducking under the creepers. “But watch your step.”
Mark thrust through the vines. His foot hung in empty air and he nearly plunged downward as solid ground fell away. Windmilling his arms, he yelled, “My God!” and swung backward, falling into the mesh of liana. “What the hell is this?” he asked, glaring at the amused Maya standing effortlessly at the edge of the cliff.
“What does it look like?” asked Jorge smugly. “A cenote. Sinkhole, I think you call it.”
The sinkhole was thirty meters across and at least as deep a drop to the water’s surface. It was webbed with roots and vines, its sides undercut and wreathed with leafy growth, so much so that one could barely see the edge. The water looked mirror-placid, murky-green, and deep.
“I thought you said the cave was here.”
“It is,” said Jorge. “It’s down there.”
Mark glanced down beyond his dangling feet, his mind swirling with new terror. No, it couldn’t be. An underwater cave?
“We have to go in there?” he asked.
Jorge grinned. “I told you to buy rebreathers. What did you think they were for?”
“Well I thought perhaps a short swim, but not a damn sinkhole. How are we supposed to get down there anyway?”
“It looks like your wife’s team rigged a ladder,” said Jorge, pointing to a rickety rope construction suspended from a thick branch overhanging the sinkhole.
“So we have to climb down the ladder in scuba gear carrying a pack jammed with climbing equipment and helmets and sleeping mats and— Shit, how the hell do we do that?”
“You didn’t buy sleeping mats,” said Jorge. “I guess you’re going to have to rough it. I doubt you could carry the extra weight anyway.”
Mark tossed a glare at the snarky Maya. He knew he’d grown soft from his years of lab work, but did the damn guerrilla have to rub it in?
“How long will it take to get to the bottom of the cave?” he asked.
“It will take us five or six days.”
Mark grimaced. Five or six days with this trigger-happy guerrilla, in a cave? He sucked in a breath.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get started.”
Jorge’s jaw dropped. Apparently, he hadn’t expected such quick acceptance.
“Right,” he said, gesturing behind him. Jorge’s companions—Manuel, Sergio, and Chico—had just led the burros through the tangled thicket to the sinkhole’s edge. They unloaded two scuba tanks and two bulky packs from the burros’ backs. Mark raised an eyebrow. He’d purchased enough equipment for four men. “Won’t they be coming with us?”
Jorge looked at his men and shook his head. “No. Just us.”
“Why?” asked Mark.
“The men will not go too deep in the cave,” said Jorge. “Superstition, you know.”
Mark sighed, grabbed a vine, and pulled himself to his feet. He couldn’t believe that he was launching a rescue mission in one of the deepest caves in the world with only two men. He couldn’t believe that he was one of the two men. He slipped his own pack from his shoulders and seized one of the waterproof bags that Chico held out to him. Wresting it open, he emptied his supplies into the new backpack, its enormous size making him cringe. Lastly, he placed his precious case inside, padding it with socks and underwear. As he stood up, he caught a sly look on Jorge’s face, but the man swiftly turned away. With the pack clenched in his hand, Mark shuffled closer to the sinkhole, where a crumbled masonry structure clung to the rim. It appeared to be the remains of a platform of some sort.
“What was that?” he asked, intrigued that the Maya had constructed something right beside the deep drop into the cenote.
Jorge shrugged. “I’m not an archaeologist. Actually,” he added, “I’m a lawyer.” He winked.
Mark gaped at him. Was he kidding? But beyond all of Jorge’s posturing, his precise elocution, his evident knowledge of history and even some science . . .
“You’re . . . ?”
“The cave awaits, doctor.”
Mark gritted his teeth. But what else could he expect from Jorge? The man relished dropping a bomb, then providing no explanation.
Jorge beckoned Sergio with his finger and the man stepped forward, holding out a slick neoprene drysuit. Mark snatched it from his hands and began to undress. He’d done a fair bit of diving with Kat—hell, they’d been married underwater—but he’d never done it in a sinkhole. He squirmed into the tight suit and held out his arms for the men to slip on the rebreather.
Jorge had affixed the backpack to his shoulders, hanging it over the rebreather, and motioned for Mark to start down the ladder.
“I’m going first?”
“I don’t want you falling on top of me,” said Jorge.
“Right,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Thanks.”
Mark attached his own pack the way he’d seen Jorge clip his, then grasped the rope, and swung his foot down onto the first rung. This was it. His moment of truth. He was descending into the cave, and there’d be no turning back this time. He’d have to face his demons no matter how ugly they were, or he’d die trying.
The ladder swayed and shuddered with his weight; leaves and branches fell from the edge and plummeted to the quiet pool below. They hit the water with a series of loud plunks. Mark shivered as the sound echoed in the Mayan ruins above, but he swung another foot down.
“Kat. I’m coming,” he whispered.
Chapter Eighteen
Megan leaned against the craggy rock wall, unable to suppress a frown at Ray and Kat’s banter. She was relieved that Kat had escaped the tight wormhole, but was surprised that they could joke about it so soon. Kat’s mood soon sobered, though, as she gazed at the surrounding flowstone. Her intensity was unnerving.
“What’s wrong?” asked Megan.
“Nothing,” said Kat. But she groped for the monitor in her pack and flicked it on.
“Gas? Are you worried about gas?”
“It’s all right,” said Kat. “I just thought I’d check it out. With an earthquake, well, it could be that the volcano is spitting up some ash. We likely wouldn’t feel shock waves this far down unless there was a pressure build-up a little deeper. That could also mean a release of gas. But the hydrogen sulfide level is still below 38 and the CO level is in the safe zone. Oxygen’s
okay too. We’ll keep our rebreathers nearby though, just in case.”
Megan hefted the tank onto her back and kept the mask dangling from her face. Kat’s caution was warranted. Lethal gas was another potential danger they always had to be aware of.
“Damn, I didn’t think of that,” said Pete. His face had grown cotton-white and was glistening as if he’d been wrapped in Saran. “While you were up there getting stuck, we could have been gassed to death, or some stalactites or boulders could have shaken loose from the ceiling and pulverized us. Man, I really could die down here, couldn’t I?”
Megan and Kat looked at each other, both reading the meaning behind the words. Not just the realization that they were in dire straits, but the emphasis on the word I, as if it didn’t really matter if the rest of them died.
“We all could,” said Megan testily. “But we’re going to do our best to avoid it.” She waited for the damn straight from Kat, but it didn’t come. She shot another glance at her, but Kat looked away, refusing to meet her eyes. What was that all about?
Then Kat said, “I hope we can find another exit,” as if there was a question in her mind. Was she thinking of the Mayan skeleton? Did she believe it was all over?
Well, not for Megan. She wasn’t about to give up yet. It was strange, but Kat, the world-class caver, seemed the most frail, the most beaten-up and exhausted member of the team right now. As for Megan, she was tired, true, but she was also exhilarated. All her dreams were coming true. First, above-ground, the discovery of a hidden Mayan city. She could still feel the way her heart had thundered when Harding had led them into the vine-draped valley of ruins. This was it. She’d known it from the start.
As she’d swept away the liana and moss from the first set of glyphs, the first snake head seemed to snap at her. The same figure crowned the entire complex, adorning every monument, gleaming at the pinnacles of the temples and palaces. This was Site Q—Qué, or which, in Spanish—the quandary of the archaeological world. References to it had been found in other great cities of the Maya—Tikal, Copán—and on unprovenanced statuary that had surfaced in American and European collections.
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