The mosquito’s slender body swelled, turning a deep red as blood surged into its abdomen. The delicate back legs twitched while it fed, as if the tiny insect was experiencing a paroxysm of pleasure. Sarah Turman gazed down at the pest on the back of her arm, hand raised to crush it, then stopped.
What would be the point?
The battered Toyota truck squealed to a halt and the mosquito lifted off into the night air, satiated for now. Sarah hefted an overstuffed backpack onto her shoulders with a grunt. Her white tank top was stained with sweat, clinging to her dark skin. She sat on the edge of the truck bed and swept her legs over, thick soled boots crunching on the gravel as she hopped down. Her black hair was cut pixie short, a must while working in the field. Dark soil clung to her khaki shorts and she swiped at it before giving up. Stepping away a few paces from the rising dust cloud caused by the truck’s sudden stop, she took a moment to breathe in the humid evening air. A pleasurable blend of old and new growth filled her lungs as a wave of joy swept through her, tempered by sadness.
It’s been too long.
The dark forest appeared to be intricate shifting silhouettes etched against a deepening sky dotted with stars, a massive living thing. Night here seemed to creep down from above, encroaching slowly before full dark appeared in a rush to the chorus of awaking night creatures. A pair of greenish eyes flashed in the distance, most likely a Margay or Ocelot. Jaguar sightings had become extremely rare, poached almost to extinction, but she liked to think a Jaguar protector spirit still haunted this part of the Yucatán. Sarah closed her eyes, lips curving into a smile, savoring the moment as the mosquitoes descended. She didn’t bother swatting them away.
A loud slap from behind caused her to turn.
Joel Shannon waved his delicate hands in front of his face to ward off a cloud of buzzing insects. His oversized orange t-shirt twirled around his slender torso as he fought off the mosquitoes and other biting nasties that called the lowland forests home. Against her recommendation, Joel had drowned himself with DEET when they’d stepped off the plane, but constant perspiration due to the oppressive heat rendered most bug sprays useless within an hour. Sarah had learned that on her first trip to the region, many years ago. Historically speaking, everybody paid with blood down here in one way or another. First the Maya with blood sacrifice, then the conquistadors and their bloody invasion. Now the drug cartels fighting territorial wars paid with the blood of innocent and guilty alike.
Let the mosquitoes take their share, Sarah thought.
Joel cursed and slapped his neck, looking at his hand for verifiable kills before batting at the air again.
“Don’t bother, Joel,” Sarah said with a laugh.
The young man halted his clumsy karate and glared at her from under a shaggy mop of reddish-brown hair. H as he tugged his sagging jeans up past his navel, narrow face etched with misery. With a finger he jammed a pair of tortoiseshell horn rims back up his long nose and shouldered his own pack before hopping down from the truck to join her at the forest’s edge.
“Is it always this bad?”
“Only when you’re outside.”
“Great,” Joel said with a grimace.
“Sorry, kid. That’s where the ruins are.” She punched his shoulder. “C’mon.”
Sarah turned and strode back to the truck. It’s faded yellow paint was spattered with years’ worth of dried mud. The driver was a barrel shaped man with long, snowy white hair, stark against his sun darkened skin. He was hunched low in his seat, work roughened fingers clutching the steering wheel.
His dark eyes shone as they scanned the darkness.
“Gracias,” Sarah said, causing the man to jump. She pressed a wad of cash into one of his shaking hands. He swallowed and gave a quick nod, then backed down the single lane dirt road, hemmed in by thick forest. With an echoing crack of branches, the truck eased into a small turnout before it sped away. The red taillights winked before disappearing in a pair of streaks behind the dense brush.
“What’s his deal?” Joel asked.
“Must be afraid of Aluxes.”
“Aluxes?”
“Mischievous protector spirits of the forest,” Sarah said. “Old Maya superstition.”
The sounds of the forest at night swelled as the rattle and cough of the old truck died away. Chirps and low whistles punctuated the soft rustle of leaves, nearly drowned out by the incessant buzz of mosquitoes. Something skittered through the undergrowth, causing Joel to jerk to a halt.
“What was that?” he said, eyes wide behind the thick lenses of his glasses.
“An Agouti maybe? Relax Joel. Nothing in the forest will hurt you,” Sarah said.
“Tell that to the Narcos.,” Joel slapped at his neck again, eyes scanning the tree line. “What are we doing out here, anyway?”
“We need to check up on somebody. The reality is, nobody really cares what the Maya have to say anymore, especially after the world didn’t end in 2012. Our benefactor would only cover this trip if I agreed to a little detour. After that, we’re good to go.”
“Okay,” Joel said, eying the forest. “The sooner we get to the hotel, the better.” He was looking down at his phone, holding it at different angles before spitting a curse. “No signal out here. How are we going to call for another ride?”
Sarah flicked Joel’s ear and he flinched. “Come on, city boy.”
They followed the road to where it ended at a large, single-story structure with smoothly stuccoed walls and a pitched roof finished with Spanish tile. A raised foundation of limestone blocks, each about a foot high by two feet wide, sat underneath. The muffled hum of a generator purred from somewhere behind the house. A white minivan was parked nearby, spattered with dried mud. A warm glow from the many windows blushed the surrounding forest with a soft orange. From behind drawn curtains, shadows shifted as muffled voices rose and fell from within.
“Look at this,” Joel said, kneeling down to inspect one of the stones under the front door.
Sarah eased down beside him and flicked on a small flashlight, illuminating the stone’s surface. Two weather softened figures were etched there, along with columns of blocky shapes along one edge. She lay the flashlight along the face of a neighboring stone and the carvings leapt into sharp relief.
Joel inhaled sharply beside her. “Oh my god. It looks just like a staircase riser like the ones found at Site Q. What does it say?”
“You tell me.”
Joel shrugged his pack off and ran his thin fingers over the weathered stone. “Hard to tell. It’s long count, eleven baktun, sixteen katun, I think. Calendar stones,” he said, gazing up at Sarah with excitement. “What’re they doing here?”
The heavy wooden front door swung inward. A young woman stood over them wearing a long, plain white dress, her blond hair shimmering in the light above deep brown eyes. One hand rest upon her very pregnant belly as her face broke into a smile. “Hi! You must be Sarah and Joel.”
“Hannah Kirkwood? Guess you got my letter,” Sarah said, flicking off her light.
“I did,” Hannah said. “Phones don’t really work out this way.”
“Sorry we’re late.”
“Don’t be silly, you’re just in time,” Hannah said. “Come in, Come in!”
After dropping their backpacks by the door, Sarah and Joel followed Hannah as she waddled across natural rock tile flooring through a kitchen. The scent of a recently cooked meal still hung in the air, maybe chicken or pork. It caused Sarah’s stomach to rumble. The long room ended at a large dining area. Outside the windows an army of flying insects batted at the screens, lured by the warm light.
A roughhewn chandelier built from curved branches hung overhead. Bare bulbs mounted at the ends casted cast a hard, yet cheery glow. Eight or so people crowded around a rectangular wooden table, sharing a meal. Men on one side, women on the other, crowded in on long benches. They were all young.;, nNone appeared to be over the age of twenty-five. Their energetic voices filled the room with the pleasant raucous of comfortable conversation as silverware clinked on plates. A heavy wooden chair sat empty at the head of the table. Its tall, rectangular backrest stretched several feet above. The image of an angel, gilded in gold, was carved into the dark wood. A dull gleam shone off the slender horn pressed to its lips in the light from overhead.
“Guess Daddy’s not home yet,” murmured Joel murmured. Sarah shot him a warning glance and he ducked his head.
Hannah made introductions, but Sarah lost track of names after the first few. The one name they all shared in common though, was Kirkwood. The men all wore jeans and checked shirts. The coppery burnish of long sun exposure darkened their skin. The women were all pale, with long hair and plain, white dresses. They may have shared the same name, but a more different group you couldn’t find. Some were tall and thin, others short and fleshy. One woman had deep blue eyes and beautiful red hair flowing over one shoulder like a tongue of flame. She smiled at Joel and he stood there, gaping at her before he grinned back.
Maybe they’re all cousins, Sarah thought.
Hannah seated them near the head of the table before hurrying back over to the stove. Sarah felt as if they were on the outer edge of a hurricane as the Kirkwoods resumed their various conversations, almost yelling to be heard over one another. Steaming plates of pork chops and rice were set down in front of them before Hannah went bustling off again. Sarah dove in as Joel stared down at his plate, upper lip curling.
“Are you two married?”
Sarah gazed to her left into the curious blue eyes of a young girl, no older than four or five. Her hair was a strawberry red color and her pale face was dotted with freckles.
“Hi there, sweetie,” Sarah said. “What’s your name?”
“Ruthie,” she said with a shy grin.
“Well, Ruthie, Joel and I work together. I’m his boss, actually. We dig up and restore ancient Maya ruins and read the words they left behind.”
“You’re his boss?” Ruthie asked, eyes widening.
“With hard work, we girls can do anything we want,” Sarah said, eyes flicking over to Hannah. The young woman smiled back, face hardening into a frown as she rubbed her swollen belly.
“The same goes for boys,” Sarah said over her shoulder. “Right Joel?”
“Whatever you say boss,” Joel said.
“Want to see my good luck charm?” Ruthie asked, revealing a small, blue dinosaur toy in her palm.
“A T-RexT-Rex. So cool,” Sarah said with a smile. “I like dinosaurs too.”
The front door opened with a loud bang and all conversation ceased.
Hannah’s eyes went wide for a moment, concern etched on her face. Ruthie clutched the t-rexT-Rex to her chest and scooted under the table then up into the arms of the woman with the red hair. A large, sunburned man stepped inside, so tall he had to duck down to get through the door. A shock of sweat damp blond hair swept back from his forehead. The sides of his squarish skull were shaved to the skin. Dark green eyes sat deep in a face of harsh, flat angles. A damp t-shirt clung to his muscular frame and the floor thundered as he stomped mud off his thick-soled boots, causing Joel’s backpack to topple over.
“Guess we know who gets the big chair,” Joel said under his breath.
The large man stepped aside, revealing another figure in the doorway. He was shorter and slender, in his late thirties, the sharp planes of his face favoring the giant nearby. A crisp, black shirt was buttoned to his throat and tucked into a pair of dark slacks. Silvery blond hair was meticulously parted above bright green eyes that blazed as they locked on the newcomers seated at the table. His unwavering glare made Sarah’s skin crawl.
Guess the Vikings invaded Mexico as well, Sarah thought.
Joel leaned in close to Sarah. “I think we should go.”
“Not yet,” Sarah replied.
“Michael,” Hannah said as she rushed over to kiss the thin man in black on the cheek. “You’re back.”
Michael’s piercing, green eyes never left Sarah’s.
“Where’s Jordan?” Hannah asked, her voice tight.
“What concern is it of yours where Jordan is?” Michael asked, voice laced with rebuke.
“None at all,” Hannah said.
The large man swung the heavy wooden door closed behind him and slammed several thick steel bolts with the heel of his hand. The house shook as each one shot home.
“I didn’t know we were having guests for dinner,” Michael said, face breaking into a smile as he strode forward. His immaculate leather shoes clicked on the bare stone like a clock ticking down as he moved closer with an oily grace. The burly giant clumped close behind him with Hannah in tow. Stopping behind Sarah, Michael clamped his hands down on the top rail of her chair. She had to twist around to peer up at him.
“My name is Michael Kirkwood.” He motioned to the larger man. “My brother, Gabriel.”
“This is my friend, Joel,” Sarah said, holding up a hand to shake. “I’m Sarah.”
“Sarah,” Michael Kirkwood said, a note of reverence in his voice. His gaze lifted, eyes scanning the group. “Wife of Abraham. Mother of nations.”
Sarah let her hand drop.
Gabriel pulled out the tall backed chair, its feet scraping across the stone floor as Michael Kirkwood stepped over and sat down. Gabriel remained standing beside his brother, face impassive. Hannah stood a few feet away, chewing on a thumbnail, eyes gazing somewhere far away.
Michael smiled, lines deepening in his face. “I don’t recall the mother of nations suffering from the mark of Cain.”
Fuck, Sarah thought as her heart began to thud. All the way down here and I still have to deal with this shit?
“The mark of Cain?” Joel asked, voice tense.
“Witness, Gabriel. Another one of his flock, lost in the wilderness, blind to his glorious light. Is my work ever to be done?” Michael said with a sigh. “But if God hadn’t meant for them to be sheared, he wouldn’t have made them sheep.”
“Excuse me?” Joel asked.
“I meant no offense. Just a simple observation. Please, eat. You haven’t touched your food,” Michael said.
“I’m vegan,” Joel said.
A sneer flickered over Michael’s face. “Of course, you are. Eat anyway,” he said, the edge in his voice sharpening. “I insist.”
Gabriel crossed his thick arms over his chest and snorted.
Joel peered up at the large man before shoving his plate away. Michael Kirkwood shook his head, eyes coming to rest on Sarah once more.
“Cain and Abel were the sons of Adam and Eve. Cain, the firstborn, was a farmer. Abel, a shepherd. Cain became jealous of Abel’s relationship with God, so he killed him. After Cain murdered his brother, God reached out and touched Cain, marked him with the darkened skin of the eternally damned. Much darker than yours, Sarah, mother of nations, but dark just the same. Then God condemned Cain to wander the Earth. He eventually dwelt in the Land of Nod, where he built a city and fathered a line of descendants that would all suffer the sins of the father, marked and cursed to be the slaves of slaves for all time.”
A stunned silence filled the room, punctuated by the chatter of insect wings against window screens, attempting vainly to reach the light.
Joel opened his mouth to speak but Sarah laid a hand on his arm.
“Interesting,” she said, nodding. “But one has to question the veracity of that story, considering.”
Michael Kirkwood’s grin slid a notch. “I don’t follow.”
“Well,” Sarah continued, “at the very least, the story of Cain and Abel is cultural appropriation of a well-known, much older myth. In much cruder terms, it was stolen, and by definition, as a myth, utter bullshit.”
Michael Kirkwood’s face remained impassive as a red blush crept up his neck.
The angry hum of insects seemed to grow louder.
“That hadn’t occurred to you?” Sarah asked. “I’m surprised, considering your obvious familiarity with mythical ancient texts. Well then, allow me to illuminate.” She lowered her head a moment, collecting her thoughts before continuing.
“Scholars have determined the story of Cain and Abel, also found in the Dead Sea Scrolls, to be based on a much older Sumerian myth about a farmer and a shepherd vying for the affection of the goddess Innana, who was associated with sex and war. And being a Sumerian goddess, which is now present-day Iraq, that would make God, at least in this context, a bad-ass, dark-skinned goddess of tits and death.”
Michael’s upper lip twitched, grin stretching into a sneer. He fixed his steely gaze onto Hannah. “Who are these people?”
“They came to see about Jordan,” Hannah said, arms wrapped around her swollen belly.
Michael brought his fist down on the table with a thud that rattled plates.
Sarah and Joel pushed their chairs out and stood. “Tell me where I can find Jordan Forsythe and we’ll go.”
Michael Kirkwood glared at her, remaining silent. Sarah opened her mouth to insist then halted, cocking her head.
The forest had gone silent outside.
Gunfire ripped through the front of the house as everyone dove to the floor. One of the Kirkwood men slumped on the table, blood jetting from an entry wound in his forehead. The bulbs on the chandelier exploded with a shower of sparks, throwing the house into darkness as rounds whizzed through the air.
The gunfire ceased, the echo chattering off the into the forest. Howler monkeys answered with a chorus of rapid, guttural objections. Flashlights speared through the shattered windows, bisecting the darkness with jagged rays of harsh illumination.
Plaster dust and gun smoke lay thick in the humid night air.
“Kirkwoods,” called a heavily accented, deep baritone voice from outside. “You were warned to leave this place.”
“You said you would take care of this!” Hannah hissed at Michael from where she hunched on the rough stone floor.
“I did,” Michael said, voice wavering. “I don’t know who this is.”
Hannah’s eyes widened with understanding. “You gave them Jordan? How could you?”
More bullets ripped through the house, this time from outside the dining room. Everyone hugged the floor as Ruthie shrieked in her mother’s arms under the table. The gunfire ceased as a heavy, insistent thud pounded at the door. The steel bolts rattled, but held.
Gabriel scooted across the floor and pulled a knife from his boot, the blade glinting in the harsh beams of light from outside. He wedged it between two stones and pried upwards. Slipping his thick fingers under the edge, he shoved a large square stone to one side with a flinty scrape.
“Everyone in!” Gabriel said.
The deafening sound of automatic gunfire ripped through the house again. Bullets snapped overhead as Michael hurried over with Hannah. He lowered her down then disappeared into the ragged-edged hole behind her.
“Come on!” Gabriel said.
Joel crawled on his belly over to the trap door. Gabriel grabbed him by the back of the neck slung him in like he was a doll, his slender legs disappearing into the darkness. A pudgy man with thinning blond hair scuttled over and jumped inside with a kick from Gabriel’s oversized boot to his ass. Gabriel motioned Sarah and the others to come over before dropping inside and out of sight.
Bullets continued to shriek by overhead, the sound deafening.
Ruthie and her mother hugged one of the legs of Michael’s oversized chair, refusing to budge. Sarah tried to tug them free, but they held fast, eyes squeezed shut in terror. Other members of the Kirkwood clan lay deathly still, nothing more than broken, bloody shadows strobing in the muzzle flash.
A bullet snapped past her left ear and Sarah hugged the stone floor, whole body going cold.
I’m going to die.
The gunfire trailed off again and Sarah dashed over to the front door and grabbed her pack, hugging it to her chest before scuttling back to the opening in the floor. Her whole body shook and she could barely hear over the ringing in her ears. She called out and waved for Ruthie and her mother over once more.
The gunfire erupted again.
Gabriel’s muscular arm reached out of the opening and yanked her inside. Sarah spun through the air, backpack spinning out of reach before she landed flat on her back. Air whooshed from her lungs and she fought to breathe, the bitter tang of blood surging into her mouth.
Dim flashes of orange light danced above as Gabriel slid the trapdoor back into place with a thud, throwing the space into total darkness. The muffled chatter of gunfire continued to chew through the house above. A meager orange light flared as Gabriel thumbed a lighter.
The sputtering flame revealed a large cellar, thick vertical beams supporting the floor above. Hard packed earth lay underfoot. Hannah’s eyes bulged with terror as her fingers clutched at Michael’s shirt. Joel sat with his knees up to his chin, rocking back and forth. The other Kirkwood, Nathaniel, if Sarah remembered correctly, knelt nearby. His , eyes were wide and shiny in the gloom..
“What about the others?” Hannah asked, tears streaming from her eyes.
Gabriel grimaced and shook his head before snapping his lighter shut with a metallic clink.
The utter darkness consumed them once more as the gunfire ceased overhead.
Sarah rolled on all fours and spat blood before sitting back on her heels, breath coming in ragged gasps. She tugged the flashlight from her pocket and flicked it on. After panning it over the frightened faces of the others, she swung it right to reveal stacks of cardboard boxes and crates, then left, revealing a rocky outcropping. A thick copper pipe, coated with greenish verdigris, ran down from above into a wide crack about three feet across that split the jagged rocks down the middle. She crawled over and peered inside. Far down below, a bright pinpoint from her flashlight rippled in the darkness.
“Kirkwoods,” the deep voice said again, directly above. “Funny that you would bury yourselves down there. We are here to do exactly that.”
The heavy footsteps of many booted feet thumped throughout the house, hollow thuds on stone. Sarah swung her light towards Michael, slapping one hand against the rock.
“What’s down there, exactly?”
“I don’t know. A well, I think.”
“Sarah, this is Yucatán,” Joel said.
“Yes,” Sarah said, nodding. “A Cenote. Has to be.”
“What are they doing up there?” Hannah said, eyes scanning the ceiling with frantic twitches as the heavy footfalls continued above.
“Cenote, huh?” Gabriel asked, face thoughtful. “Think I’ll got for a swim.”
“What are you talking about?” Michael asked, voice shrill.
Gabriel laughed, his deep voice booming as a savage grin split his face. It was a frightening sight to behold. Sarah moved to one side as the big man raced over to the crack in the rocks and dove inside.
Hannah stood, hands rising to her mouth. “Oh, my God!”
A moment later, Gabriel’s voice reverberated up from below over the sound of splashing water. “It’s okay,” he called, voice hollow and distorted. “But you have to jump. Now.”
Michael tugged at Hannah’s arm, dragging her towards the crack. “Come on.”
“No!” she said, shaking off his grip.
Sarah glanced at Joel and he nodded before coming over and sitting on the edge of the crack, sliding his legs inside before pinching his nose and slipping out of sight. A muted splash could be heard a moment later. Nathaniel crab-crawled over, expression blank on his ruddy face, and squeezed himself through the crack without a word.
Dozens of footfalls drifted away across the floor above, almost casually, before ceasing completely. The baritone voice rang out again. “With the cleansing fires of hell, I send you back to the god you all love so much.”
Sarah ran over, grabbed Hannah’s hands and jerked them down from her mouth.
“We have to go now or we’re going to die,.” Sarah said. “Your baby, is going to die.”
Hannah nodded, face pale as spoiled milk as Michael and Sarah helped her over to the crack, each supporting her with an arm around her waist. The very pregnant woman sat on the edge, eyes squeezed shut, legs dangling before scooting forward and disappearing inside with a flash of long blond hair.
Michael glared at Sarah, crouched near the crack’s edge. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, disappearing inside without a sound.
Sarah reached out and grasped the copper pipe, swung her legs over the edge of the sharp rock and began to lower herself down. It was dead silent up above.
Shit, she thought. My backpack.
With grunt, Sarah pulled herself back up then ran over and shrugged the backpack on before climbing back onto the rock. She stood over the crack, staring down into the utter blackness, a foot on either side. A chorus of distorted voices filtered up from far below, telling her to jump. Then another voice called out a single word from above, muffled and distant.
Fuego.
Sarah dropped into the yawing crack with a scream trapped behind her teeth. She stopped short, arms nearly jerking loose as the backpack jammed tight in the crevice above. Dangling by one strap, she tugged with all her might, kicking her legs frantically before the pack tore loose.
Sarah fell.
A blinding white light erupted above, rendering the jagged ceiling of a tremendous cave in stark relief all around her. A great gout of flame shot through the crack, spearing out to touch her face like the finger of some vengeful god.
The heat singed her skin, but she couldn’t look away.
Then like a sudden intake of breath the flames snuffed out, sealing the crevice shut with a thunderous crack. Knives of icy cold speared her flesh as the crystalline waters of the largest underground river system on Earth swallowed her whole.
