“Besides a lot of sweating, swatting, and swearing?”
“Don’t forget swinging a machete.” Quint grimaced. “I’m probably going to lean hard into the swearing bit.”
“So will my daughter.” Juan sat up, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared into the fire. “I wish you two had escaped on your secret getaway before INAH had interfered.”
That made two of them.
“I have a bad feeling about this place, Quint.”
He studied Juan’s profile, trying to figure out if the jokester was being serious. “Don’t you have a bad feeling about every site?” Angélica was often bemoaning her father’s superstitious nature.
“Not all.” Juan puffed his cheeks and then blew out a sigh. “But certainly the ones that come with armed guards.”
Speaking of guards …
Quint glanced toward the communications tent. About a half an hour ago, Angélica had mentioned something about needing to “check in quick” before heading off with the tall, pencil-thin guard and ducking inside the green tarp entry. He’d assumed she was talking about calling her boss at INAH on the satellite phone the guards had brought with them, but how long did a “quick” phone call take?
“I also have a bad feeling about the food situation here,” Juansaid, interrupting Quint’s wondering.
He turned back to the fire. “What do you mean?”
“If my daughter decides whatever is at this site is worth digging up, I’m going to put my foot down and insist she have a proper mess tent brought in and set up first and foremost, along with the basic cooking necessities.”
“You mean like a camp stove instead of a fire pit?”
“I mean María. Those hard, chalky protein bars we had for supper are like prison rations compared to the homemade Maya meals that amazing woman throws together.”
María had been the camp cook on both of the prior digs Quint had been on with Juan and Angélica. A Maya version of Betty Crocker, she was capable of making mouth-watering dishes out of what looked like forest weeds, a few spices from a jumbled collection of jars, and whatever wild game or fowl her husband, Teodoro, caught.
“Damned straight.” Quint rubbed his hands together. “I’ll walk that picket line with you for María’spanuchos.”
“Glad to hear we’re brothers-in-cutlery on this.”
“A proper camp shower would be nice, too.”
Before he’d sat down at the fire, Quint had used the water from the bucket designated for bathing to rinse off the dirt and sweat—and any ticks still hanging on after chopping through the underbrush—before changing into a fresh shirt. Feeling a fraction cleaner, he’d taken a seat at the edge of the firelight with his notebook and pen only to feel something wiggling along his lower back. After a bit of hopping around trying to shake out whatever was inside his shirt, Angélica had come to his aid and fished out a small worm, which she’d informed him fell randomly from trees around here, especially in the rainy season.
He’d heard of it raining cats and dogs, even frogs, but worms? Seriously? That was some messed-up shit, man.
“We need Teodoro, too,” Juan continued with his list of demands. “And his shaman healing remedies.”
Teodoro knew the jungle’s dangers and hidden secrets like the back of his hand. Not only was the Maya shaman good at healing injuries, hunting wild game, and protecting all of them from evil spirits lurking in the dark, he could also catch and bag snakes by thedozen. After the warnings from these guards about slithering critters that liked to hole up in boots left outside on the ground, Quint figured a snake-wrangler should top this camp’s requirements.
Quint swatted at something buzzing near his ear. “The more warm bodies, the merrier.” That would give the mosquitoes and flies someone else to pick on.
He looked up into the night sky. Where were the bats when they needed them? Surely there must be a cave or two around here holding a few thousand of the bug eaters.
“I don’t need to be dealing with another toothache this far from civilization.” Juan rubbed his jaw. “That last one was a doozy.”
Quint could also foresee himself needing some of that greasy, hay-scented liniment Teodoro kept on hand to take care of back and shoulder aches after a day of moving rocks here and there, not to mention digging in the dirt for ancient knickknacks.
Something rattled around high up in the trees behind him. Quint turned toward the sound right when a high-pitched screech rang out. He cringed through the applause-like sound of several pairs of flapping wings.
What the hell was that?He waited to catch a glimpse of whatever had scared off the birds, but saw nothing in the darkness. The branches stilled; the jungle’s dance party soundtrack kicked back to life at a blaring volume.
Damn it, this camp wasn’t big enough for his sphincter to relax for more than ten minutes.
He turned back to Juan. “Teodoro’s face would be a welcome sight about now.”
