Prologue
___
Stretched out on his
bed, Mikey Harris stared up at the ceiling. He took a long drag off
his joint, held it in for seven seconds, then exhaled slowly through
his nose. The smoke drifted up to the ceiling and then fanned out. It
was streaked with rays of light from the arched window across from
the foot of his bed. He took another hit and chuckled to himself,
watching the swirling
The front door
opened downstairs, and his smile faded. He snuffed out the joint as
he heard his father’s footsteps coming up the stairs. The door
opened and William stepped into the room like a conquering invader
with his face already twisting in disgust at the smell of marijuana.
He glanced up at the haze on the ceiling. “Michael, what is this?”
“You didn’t
knock.” Mikey took a deep breath. His scalp tingled pleasantly as
the high set in.
“It’s my house.
I don’t need to knock and I shouldn’t need to tell you multiple
times that I don’t want you smoking that crap in here.”
Mikey shrugged,
looking out the window while he rubbed his thumb lightly against the
joint still hidden in his hand. He could already hear almost every
complaint that was about to tossed at him.
His father growled
and walked over to the window, throwing it open. “Wonderful, your
room smells like shit.”
“I’ll spray some
Lysol. Did you smell it from the highway or something?”
William looked over
his shoulder at Mikey, his face murderous.
“I mean did you
come up here for something?” Mikey fanned at the air, trying to look like he was helping.
“Yes. I have a job out of town.
I’m leaving tomorrow and I’ll be gone about two weeks.”
Mikey watched the
him march back over to the bedroom door, having successfully purged
most of the smoke from the area. “That’s cool. How far out of
town?”
“Guatemala. And
while I’m gone I want you to stop smoking that shit. I don’t care
if you’re almost eighteen; I still put food on the table around
here. I don’t want my son turning into a brain-dead slug.” With
that, he went out and slammed the door behind him.
When his footsteps
had gone all the way downstairs, Mikey lit the joint again and
sighed. “Time to get high as giraffe balls then.”
___
It was early March
and the skies were clear in southern Guatemala. The sun beat down,
filtering through the leaf canopy to make it a humid 75 degrees
Fahrenheit. William Harris, a 52-year-old with an Archaeology degree
from Boston University, slapped at a mosquito as it buzzed near his
face. His two young assistants trailed a few feet behind; he could
hear them swearing as they struggled through the underbrush. A modest
excavation team of five was following behind them.
This was only the assistants’ second excursion with William, so he
had been keeping to the easily accessible Mayan ruins like El Baúl
and Mixco Viejo. The
younger of the two, Dylan, tended to be hungover on Mondays
but otherwise they were both competent enough to keep pace with him.
The previous day had involved
conversation with local government in a town east of Tiquisate. There
was mention of a
Mayan construction
deep in the rainforest. A lack of funding
and interest had left it allegedly
undisturbed.
Curiosity got the better of him, and after
discussing it with Dylan and Robbie they had decided to go in search
of an unexplored
archaeological
site.
Now,
two hours into their hike, the young men were clearly failing.
“Mister Harris!” Robbie called out.
“How are we doing?”
“Another
half a mile. The
trees are thinning.” William checked his
compass again. He had more high-tech gear in his bag but the wet
climate and remote area tended to make them unreliable. They
continued due east until the trees became
sparse enough to reveal
a massive stone structure tucked away
in the foliage.
“Shit,”
Dylan breathed.
Thick
stone pillars stood in two rows, one
on either side of what had clearly once
been a path leading to the building itself.
Vines twisted around
their cracked surfaces. A spider web stretched between
the two closest to the men.
The
structure was about two stories tall,
making it smaller than most Mayan temples,
but the tiered
pyramid shape of it was unmistakable.
It didn’t appear damaged and the
tiered sides were
covered in wide patches of moss.
William shrugged out
of his backpack and began digging tools out of it. “Alright, we’ve
got written permission and five hours of daylight. Let’s see what’s
in there.”
The
excavation team began
to work, setting
precise charges at the sealed
stone door. William
stood by, watching discreetly.
After two and
a half decades in
the field, he knew to watch for sloppy blasting crews who could
damage fragile interiors.
They
worked carefully and soon had the tomb breached.
When the air cleared, William stepped through the newly-created
opening and breathed the staleness of the
dark room. It reeked
of mildew and something like rotting
vegetables. He
directed his flashlight around what appeared to be an empty room; it
was roughly ten square feet, with
none of the typical furnishings for a burial chamber.
One
of the excavation crew came to stand at his side, peering into the
dimness. “Why is it empty?”
“It
doesn’t make sense to seal off an empty area,”
William mused as he stepped further inside. He
felt a twinge of disappointment as he
walked to the center of the room. The
ceiling was high, the walls were plain. His
light revealed nothing but rough stone on all sides. Standing
in silence, he breathed in again. His
exhale echoed in the empty tomb. “Does
anyone else smell that?”
Dylan
joined him. “What?”
“It smells like
compost or old produce.”
“Nah, I don’t
smell anything.”
Just
as William
was about to give up, the flashlight beam caught a shadow on the far
wall. Upon closer inspection he found a
deep trough
cut into the wall. It
was filled entirely with sculpted
stone, ceramics, and small clay
figures—many of which bore dark
rust-colored stains.
He
leaned in closer. “Blood stains. So
these must all be offerings of some sort.
But this isn’t how they usually did their
bloodletting.”
Dylan
stared at the trough in awe. “I’ve never seen one
like this before. Why would they leave offerings in a one-room temple
with no other markings?”
“I
don’t know. It doesn’t seem like it was constructed with the
usual care, either. Start taking pictures.”
William glanced around once more, shining
his light up toward the high ceiling. “What a waste.”
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