Not a Zombie

My university has had a long term archaeology and anthropology research mission to Mexico, specifically in the areas between Mexico City, and the Yucatan peninsula. We have been searching historical sites, pyramids and known abandoned cities, for information on Aztec and Mayan cultures. This work is done in conjunction with the Mexican Government, who retains any relics found, my university gets pictures, research, and a sense of saving a bit of history.

This year's trip, slated for summer, was spearheaded by me, Dr James Thompson, Professor of Anthropology. I had the usual discussion on the project in spring. The head of the department, Dr Julia Abercrombie, was particularly concerned about safety. “There have been more than the usual amount of reports of people going missing in the area, either locals, or researchers. Lots of people going through that area, to be honest, have gone missing”, Julia said.

“Julia, there is nothing to worry about. The Mexican government says any reports are overblown, actually proved to me, when I asked, that most reports are being duplicated. I have contacted other research institutions, none of them have lost anyone”.

“Well ok, just be extra careful”.

The group of us, 8 total, arrived in Mexico City around 6 pm, and after locating our hotel, visited the outfitters that were supplying us for the month-long mission. I had coordinated everything in advance, and wanted to double check supplies, and meet our main guide, “Izzy”, and the three people helping him. I confirmed our destination, an overgrown area near Volcan Orizaba, an active volcano near Oaxaca. I asked about the reports of missing people, and the outfitter rep and Izzy both downplayed them, saying most reports had been proven false.

The attack came during our second week. A group of what looked like Indians hit us at first light. It was both bloody, and horrific. I saw a few people beaten with clubs, surely killed, Others were hacked with crude axes, and left to die. Others fled into the jungle, never to be seen again. I was knocked out while trying to stop it. When I woke up, I was lying on a pallet in a cave. It seemed that I was the only foreigner taken from the group. I wasn't tied up, but there was a guard nearby. He called for someone, and the person who entered the cave had the aura of leadership. He was followed by one of Izzy’s helpers, whose hands were tied in front. The chief said a few sentences, the helper translated, saying my group had camped in a sacred place, most of the party had been wiped out, and I was to be offered to the gods soon. I erupted, saying he couldn't do this, that if I was returned to authorities, I could assure that the site would not be disturbed again. The guide laughed, and spoke to the chief. The chief said nothing, just walked outside the cave. I followed, and was smacked around some by the locals, who I thought were indians, but after I fought back, that stopped. I walked around the clearing, looking at all the people, their huts, and trails I might be able to leave by.

Suddenly, I was grabbed, and forced to walk to an area of the camp where a, large wood pot, with a big ladle sticking out of it, was sitting on a low bench. While several people held me, I was force fed a thick brown liquid. It tasted awful, but I was able to choke it down. This was repeated every few hours, throughout the day. Eventually I must have had at least a quart of the stuff. The next two days were more of the same. On the fourth day, I was given the brown goo early, but none the rest of the day. Towards dusk, I was given a dozen spoonful's of a green liquid. In a short time, I was feeling very peaceful and complacent. I noticed an increase in noise- drums, whistles, chants and saw dancing. A few of the indians grabbed me, and took me to a stone slab up a small hill, with a hole in the slab.

In the back of my mind, I realized that the sacrifice was about to begin. I was too drugged to understand what was about to happen, much less care. The chief turned out to be the person performing the ritual. The guide who translated was taken up to the stone, forced to lay down on it, and, to my horror, the sacrifice began. I passed out, thinking of the inhumanity, and did not witness the killing.

Soon, I was woken up, made to stand, walk up the hill to the stone, passing the body of the guide on the way up. Still drugged, it didn't register on me what happened to him. I was held down on the stone, the chief recited a few chants, and started the procedure.

He put an obsidian knife to my stomach, and worked the knife up my body, through my lung area, and around my heart. There was pain, but the drugs blocked most of it. Reaching into my chest, he cut out my heart, raised it overhead, said more chants, and, after a roar from the surrounding crowd, dropped my heart in the hole. The horror of it all made me pass out again,

If you are wondering how I am able to recount this, it is because I woke up what turned out to be a few days later, with an angry red surgical cut on my stomach and chest. It was crudely sewn up, and hurt with a capital H. I asked for the green liquid for the pain, but got no answer. I didn't understand how I could be alive. A guard was with me in the cave, but ran out when I woke up. To my surprise, the next person in the room was Izzy. He said, “I am called Itzoatl, I go by Izzy for foreigners. I am a cousin to many people in the tribe in this camp, and am allowed to travel as I please. The village is made up of remnants of various Aztec tribes, and that they had hid themselves from outsiders for their own safety, for decades, and are sticking to the ways of their elders”. He started to give me a short history of the Aztecs, but I waved him off, saying “Izzy, I have studied Aztecs for years. I know most of what you will tell me”.I was very knowledgeable about the history. I Just want to know about this fake sacrifice, and how it can it be that I am still alive?

He thought for a minute, and gave me bad news. “Well”, he said, “this group has developed a treatment-the brown liquid-, that alters people's bodies, so that after the sacrifice, they can survive without a heart.. I don't understand how it works, but it works”.

“Impossible”, I told him. “Humans need something to circulate blood

“OK”, Izzy went on, “put your hand on your chest, see if you feel a heart pumping. Check for a pulse. You won't find either”’ And he was right.

“Now”, Izzy went on, “that brown stuff is keeping you alive, don't fight it, you need to go get your morning serving of that brown liquid. You will need several cupful's of it daily”.

“That's crazy. No liquid can replace a heart”, I said..

“Come with me”, was all he said. I was weak, but managed to follow him. We walked to a part of the village near where the pot of brown stuff was, where there were 6 men were milling around. Izzy told me to walk among them, and to look at their bodies. I did, and realized that they all had the same scar as me. They were waiting for their brown liquid, same as me now.

I sat down to try to comprehend everything. Izzy sat next to me, and said, “There are things you need to know, and accept. First, you will need this liquid several times a day, or you will die an ugly, painful but short death. The liquid seems to interrupt what happens when your heart stops, or, in many cases, is removed. So, understand, to live, you have to drink it. Next, as an outsider, for symbolic reasons, you will be a regular sacrifice. This ceremony happens about every ten days, sooner if there is a successful raid on another village. Others will be sacrificed then, but if we have no others, it will happen to you again. Several times, depending on captives, like the guide. As to the other men with scars, some of them are useful, but others are kept in case we need a “volunteer”. They wont go thru the ritual more than twice”.

I just stared at Izzy. The idea of being sacrificed repeatedly was nothing to look forward to, impossible to understand, plus, the main ingredient, a heart, was missing. “How can I re-killed multiple times”, I asked, “with no heart, and this noticeable scar.

Izzy grinned, and said ” the scar will be hidden under some jungle makeup- mostly dirt. The Chief will repeat the cut, then produce an animal heart in a trick move”.

I was flabbergasted. “I am part of a carnival show?”.

“Yes, and a popular one. No one will bat an eye when you show up a few days later. You are basically invisible, because of your lack of status. You do, however, have a point where the brown juice no longer works.”

Before I could ask what that point was, Izzy said, “about 3 months. At least, that is how long anyone has lasted. My “use by” point was strangely encouraging. I started planning an escape. I decided whatever I encountered in the jungle wouldn't be as bad as going through their bizarre and dated ritual. I planned to escape, or die trying, an apt phrase for my situation.

I had noticed, in the short time I was in the village that most of our belongings and supplies had been taken from our campsite, and left in a pile. I quietly started going through it when it was dark, and my apparent invisibility helped, no one challenged me. I rescued four 2 liter bottles of water, unopened. Some of our food, like fruit and granola bars, jerky, some dried fruit. I hid everything in a rolled up shirt, and went back to my cave. Another foray to the pile got me pants, 2 more bottles, and a working GPS unit we had brought, with an extra battery. Someone carelessly left a stone axe out for a few days, that became mine. I found a hat, and another 2 bottles, a working lighter, and a pocket knife. Best thing I found was a flashlight, and spare batteries, although the bug spay was good, two. Last, trying to hide what I was doing, I picked up a pack to carry everything. I thought I would have difficulty collecting the brown liquid, but noticed when I got my daily ration, that the large pot it was in left out in the open. After drinking the water out of one of our bottles, I would sneak out, and fill it with brown goo. I soon had 4 two liter bottles.

I powered up the GPS, and found we were only about 20 miles from Oaxaca. There didn't seem to be a direct path, but I was able to tell there were no serious mountains, or large rivers to hinder me. I calculated that I had enough Brown liquid to last 10 days, and that I should be able to cover twenty miles in 5 or 6. I hoped I was correct, because I needed some of the liquid to be tested, and duplicated, or a heart transplant, if it wasnt too late.

I waited until the second night, and took off on the path I thought most likely would get me to Oaxaca. I arrived there three days later.