“I’m fully up. Can you reach it?” Hunter asked.
I stretched my arms up, my hands going round the branch. I couldn’t fully circle the branch with my arm to pull myself up. What if Tom’s boat had appeared on the horizon the second Hunter turned his back to the bay and ran here? I had to do this faster and get back to the beach. Or maybe it was best to give up.
“I don’t think I can do it.”
“Yes, you can.” Hunter’s hand found my right foot.
With one powerful push, he lifted me higher, and I threw my arms up. My hands wrapped around the bough, my nails digging into the bark. My legs dangled, gravity (and defeatism) pulling me down. Rough bark bit and scraped my forearm and biceps. I swung my body and tried to find traction with my bare feet against the trunk. Sweat started building all over my body, my toes found friction, and I worked my left leg up, and my left calf caught on the top. With another push, I circled my right leg over. After taking a few labored breaths, like a sloth, I climbed the branch toward its end, squeezing my thigh muscles until they shook from tension.
My body trembled, my muscles telegraphing the urgent message that they wouldn’t hold on for too long. It wasn’t too late to jump off.
Between heavy breaths and unseductive groans, I maneuvered my body around the branch, its bark scratching my legs, arms, and stomach raw. I anchored on the top of it. This was only the first branch. Without losing more time, I slid down backward until my ass pressed against the tree trunk.
I lifted my gaze skyward and examined the network of branches above me—a good thing I wasn’t doing it at night. Vines climbed and looped around some limbs, the color of their bark blending in with the tree. They appeared as one entity from the ground, but up close, it was clear that the green leaves didn’t belong to the tree. Parts of the tree seemed dead, bare of leaves, and missing bark in some places.
“Do you see openings?” Hunter asked.
“Not yet. It seems like the tree splits into three thick stems. Maybe the center is hollow.”
“Is it easy to get to it?”
Some tree limbs were more reachable, and some weren’t. “Depends on your definition of easy.”
On that day when I climbed with Tina, I didn’t really fall. Well, I did. Sort of. I remembered looking up and thinking there was so much wall left to climb and doubting my ability to make it. I had relaxed my fingers and given up without trying.
Right now, I didn’t want to give up. I had made it this far and wouldn’t stop; curiosity compelled me.
I placed both feet in front of me. Fear gripped my shoulders, but I slowly stood up, my back never breaking contact with the bark. My legs wobbled, but I regained my balance. What was I afraid of? Spilling my ass on the ground or being wrong about the riddle?
All of the above.
I pulled myself over the next branch and kicked my legs out, bringing my upper body over and to the side. My skin stung like hell, but I pushed further. Adjusting my stance and blinking away the micro crap that trashed my eyes, I established the best bet on where to move next. I carefully placed my foot on a smaller branch to get extra leverage and push off. Four levels high, I neared my target. One more branch, and I could check out if the tree was hollow but not empty. The hopeful thought that we were about to discover the last and paramount piece of the Treasure of Lima sent a wave of enthusiasm through my body but the tingle of awareness crept up my spine that if I fell, there was a good chance—I didn’t even want to know how far—I would plunge to my death. So I really hoped this labored risk wasn’t all for nothing.
Securing a firm place with my feet, I gripped onto a branch and pulled with my weight on it. It broke off. My heart lurched. With a loud yelp, I reeled backward, my arms windmilling. My entire life flashed in front of my eyes. No, not my entire life. I only saw my dad, frail and pale, in the last days of his life. Dead inside and barely alive, his soul searching for its way out of the jail of his body to reunite with my mother. A white rage shot through me. He didn’t love me enough to live. He lost the love of his life, but I was his daughter. I should have been reason enough for him not to die. He could have told me about a sailing trip, and we could have done it together. I wouldn’t be alone. I wouldn’t have been on a fucking tree on the island in the middle of nowhere.
My fingers caught an offshoot, pivoting my body to the right, and my shoulder slammed into the trunk, my feet rooted in place. My chest heaved, and I focused on my breathing, trying to get as much oxygen in as possible. In and out. In and out.
“Are you hurt?” Worry carried with Hunter’s voice.
“All good,” I managed between ragged breaths.
As my heart rate slowed down, my anger abated. It was embarrassing how fast I blamed my dad for my mistake. Dad never asked me to do this. It was all on me. But without the brainless decision to charter a sailboat, I wouldn’t have met Hunter. And despite some unpleasantries—fine, a lot of them—these weeks had been the best ones of my life. Being high up on the tree was not okay for me. But I was okay. I was better than that.
“Do you want to stop?” Hunter asked. “We can come back another time.”
Hell would freeze before I quit. “I made it this far. I can go a little further.” Saying words out loud gave me a needed boost of energy. With my pulse painfully drumming in my throat, I attempted to climb the last limb (first, prodding it with my finger for any soft places to make sure it wasn’t rotten).
It seemed like my entire body burned with millions of scrapes I had collected while climbing. A bug ran up my leg, and I flicked the little bugger with my finger, sending it somewhere into the air. A thought hit me. What went up had to go down. Me. I had to go down. Damn it. Whatever Captain William Thompson stowed away in this tree better be worth the pain and risking my life. I straddled the branch, gathering my strength and courage to get up and see if my efforts weren’t for nothing. Swallowing a lump of fear wedged in my throat, I edged closer and peered over into a large, dark, gaping hole in the center.
A hybrid of a sob and a squeak escaped me. Wrapped in a brownish, weathered cloth and covered with dry leaves, dust, and bird or bat poop, something was crammed inside.
I leaned over, my body seesawing on the thick outer layer of the trunk, my legs in the air. Ignoring a discomfort under my breastbone, I stretched my arm down and dusted off the dirt, exposing discolored and stained fabric. I snatched my hand back, my elbow hitting a funny bone. What if it was some sort of odd pirate ritual to bury friends? Or enemies. Bandaged like a mummy and stuffed into a tree. My marbles were getting loose in my head. The riddles were about treasure, not anything else. Carefully, I knocked on the surface. A solid sound. It couldn’t be a skull. Not that I’d knocked on a skull before.
I scraped my nails on the top until they caught on the fabric’s edge. Pinching it between my fingers, I pulled on it. The cloth easily gave in and ripped. I dug more until I peeled off the last layer, and gold glimmered. I grinned wide until it hurt.
“It’s Mary,” I whisper-yelled to Hunter, then slapped a dirty hand over my mouth. No need to announce our discovery to the world. There was no way Tom would be near us even if he had arrived the moment Hunter left his post. But better to be safe than sorry. I began my careful descent.
If the records were correct about everything Captain William Thompson had stolen, then Hunter and I had found the entire treasure. All that remained for us was to contact the right people interested in the Treasure of Lima.
