Raul hurried over, taking a look. “¡Dios mío!That’s a jumping pit viper.” He shook his head at Quint. “You’re lucky it didn’t mind you trespassing.”
“What can I say? Lady Luck likes me.” Quint frowned at the wall. “At least for now.”
Angélica glanced over at KuTu, whose head was lowered a little as he watched Quint. If the Maya guard was right, luck had nothing to do with Quint’s fortuity on the wall. He needed to thank the vultures overhead.
She returned to the photos Quint had taken of what she had hoped would be a courtyard with a couple of temples, maybe even a ballcourt, partially covered with trees and shrubs. With each image, the hot flames of optimism that had fired her up and out of her hammock this morning and fueled her machete swings throughout the day shrank and cooled, until the sight of the final photo blew the last one out—more godforsaken trees.
The jungle had covered the ancient site with wall-to-wall green carpeting. She needed to know what was under the tree canopy. Unfortunately, there was only one way to figure out where to start digging, and a helicopter ride wasn’t the answer.
“Damn it.” She handed the camera back to Quint, turning to the others. “Parker wasn’t kidding. There’s nothing but fucking jungle.”
“Language,gatita.”
She ignored her dad, focusing on KuTu. “We need to go in there.”
“Not without a better map,” her father insisted.
She really hated it when her dad was right. As much as she wouldhave liked to come back tomorrow and either use ropes to get down the other side of the wall or try to clear away more jungle in hopes of finding another way inside, the most sensible way to go about this was to get a better map—one that could see underneath the jungle’s thick, shag carpet.
“And a rope ladder,” Raul added, staring up at the wall.
“More guns.” Bronko holstered his weapon. “I do not like pit vipers.”
“A few more machetes wouldn’t hurt either,” her dad said. “And some real food, fresh and hot off the grill.”
“I agree with your pop,” Quint said, aiming his camera lens at an orange-winged butterfly perched on a skull near the top of the stack. “A helicopter waiting to take us in and out of the jungle would also be nice.”Click. Click. Click.
As she watched Quint play with the buttons on his camera and then lean in for more shots, KuTu joined her. “An ancestor has returned,” he said in Mayan, pointing at the butterfly. “I wonder which head was his.”
“What did he say?” Quint lowered the camera.
She watched the orange butterfly flex its wings gracefully. “The ancient Maya people believed that butterflies were their ancestors. Some thought it was a way for their dead relatives to assure the living that all was well. Others believed the ancestors came to try to bringback wisdom and a return of natural harmony.”
As she spoke a second butterfly flew in—this one larger, with black wings dotted in red. It landed on the next skull over from the first.
KuTu inhaled sharply, grabbing her arm and pulling her several steps back. “Esto es muy malo, Dr. García.”
“Now what’s wrong with him?” Bronko asked, squinting at the Maya with one eye while puffing on the cigar.
“Black butterflies are bad juju in the Maya world,” her father explained, leaning closer to breathe in the cigar smoke.
“They are believed to bring pain and tragedy,” Angélica explained. “If one enters your house or tent, you need to catch and burn it to rid your place of bad luck.”
“Poor butterfly.” Quint lowered his camera. “So, we have an ancestor who has returned, along with a sign of pain and tragedy. Being that we’re staring at a pile of skulls, I can swallow that.”
Right as he finished speaking, the black butterfly rose up and disappeared over the wall.
“Good news, KuTu,” her father said. “Our bad luck just flew away.”
A cloud covered the sun, leaving them in heavy shadows.
“Or maybe not,” Bronko said, puffing upward.
Thunder rumbled off in the distance.
“I didn’t think it was supposed to rain today,” Angélica said to Raul, who’d brought along weather reports for the week.
“It’s not.”
