“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 thatCamazotzwas a master of hand-to-hand combat, impossible to defeat, so it wasn’t worth fighting him that way?
Yeah, but this couldn’t beCamazotz. 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, sharpcracksandsnaps.
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.
“What did you do that for?” he asked as he backed away from KuTu. He squeezed his arm, but the blood continued to run—and now drip onto the floor.
