Quint thought he heard a faint, multi-pitched whistle coming from somewhere in front of them. Or was it whispering? Or wheezing breaths? It was hard to tell for sure.
Angélica and the others caught up to him, staring toward the clearing. As their breaths quieted, and the crackle and crunch of their footfalls on the path stilled, Quint noticed the trees were rustling up high. He looked skyward, but it was too dark to see anything in the thick canopy.
KuTu crept forward a few feet, stepping carefully over a large, downed branch crossing the path. Quint didn’t remember the branch being there a few hours ago when they’d left to head back to camp.
Christ, had that been just hours? It seemed like ages.
Angélica skirted Quint, slipping by him before he could catch her. Flashlight off, she joined KuTu at the edge of the open pool of moonlight, saying something in his ear. KuTu nodded, waving for Quint to join them.
Carefully stepping over the branch, Quint tiptoed to where they stood, both peering up at the dark trees. He stared upward, too, still seeing nothing but darkness.
“What are you two looking at?” he whispered.
She pointed her flashlight toward the tree canopy across the clearing and then clicked it on.
King vultures lined the branches, lots and lots of them. Their heads were lowered, white shoulders hunched.
Quint gasped. He’d never seen so many vultures at once.
Angélica moved her light to the next tree, and the next.
King vultures were perched throughout the trees, staring down at them, watching with their white-and-red-circled dark eyes. But he felt no fear, no heart hippity-hops, only wonderment at the committee of remarkable birds that seemed to be studying them in return.
What were they doing here? Roosting? Or did their “parking” choice have something to do with a Maya death-bat god fromXibalbawho KuTu thought might be starring in a cameo role before the night was over?
Wishing he’d brought his camera along, Quint began to count the birds. He’d made it to thirty-two when Angélica leaned over and whispered, “I stopped counting at fifty.”
“Holy shit. What are they all doing here?”
KuTu turned to her, whispering something in Mayan.
She nodded and told Quint. “He says they’re waiting.”
“For me?”
KuTu glanced Quint’s way, shaking his head. He flicked his flashlight on and aimed it at the single-story ruin, saying a single word Quint could understand. “Camazotz.”
Chills crawled up Quint’s arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Is this really happening?”
“It might be,” Angélica said, shaking her head. “I’ve heard of vultures roosting in large groups, but this is the first I’ve ever witnessed it.” She lowered her beam to the ground. “Look at all the downed limbs. Their combined weight is too much for some of the branches.”
Pedro joined them. “I count over eighty big beauties, and I think I saw some moving in the trees beyond the temple.” He shook his head. “This is incredible.”
“And a tad bizarre,” Quint said. He had a feeling they hadn’t seen anything yet.
The multi-pitched whistling he’d heard earlier returned. It was as if a window had been left open just a sliver, and weak, shifting gusts kept blowing through.
What was making that sound? Was it coming from the vultures? One of the sounds they made when roosting? Or felt threatened? Was it their version of hissing?
“Why are they here?” Bronko whispered, his gun out and leveled, alongside his flashlight, as he aimed into one tree canopy and then the next. Quint could hear him counting under his breath.
“KuTu says they’re waiting,” Quint told him.
Bronko glanced his way. “For what?”
“Probably dinner,” Pedro muttered. “Let’s just hope it’s not us before this night is over.”
Quint blew out a breath. “Everyone try to keep living.”
