by Q. Zayne
This was crazy. Lena might be hurt or, or anything, and I kept thinking about these men, about sex with men I shouldn’t think about in that way. My father’s best friend—my godfather—and my former priest. I must need help. My mind veered to the kind of help I wanted. What would it be like if they both—no. That went too far. I had to control myself.
I made myself focus on the jungle, marveling at the unusual plants with their broad leaves, flexible trunks, and intricate blooms. The flowers looked like—they looked like me, between the legs. That one’s bud resembled the relic, a man’s thick erection. The botany wasn’t helping.
Jace called my name. Lost in thought, I tripped and grabbed a tree.
He held his hand out from partway up the dead-fall. Damn. He wanted me to climb that thing. Sadist. Not that I wasn’t athletic. Well, used to be. The priest stepped closer and inspiration struck.
“Will you give me a boost?”
“Oh. Oh, yes.”
I stepped up and felt Ignatius’ broad palm push on my ass. His hand was as hot as his lips. I was so present to the feel of his hand, I lost my balance. He got hold of my butt with both hands and steadied me.
“Thank you, Father.” I forced myself to climb away from those big, hot hands. I still felt them spread across each butt cheek. My priest’s big, strong hands had held me by the ass. Had that put thoughts in his head the way it did mine?
Jace eyed me as I took his hand. I acted nonchalant, but my breathing raced and my face flamed. Jace’s hand felt hot, too. He pulled me up to the top of the dead-fall.
“Hold it. We’ll go first and help you.”
“I’ll help the senorita.” Gallant Tico made an agile descent, stopping at each landing to guide me to safe footing. Perhaps he grasped that the other men handled me with desire. He liked to look at me, but of us all, he was the one the devil didn’t direct.
As many trips as I took with Dad, nothing prepared me for the sense of—isolation, and power, and fear—of being a woman alone in a remote place outnumbered by men. Without him.
Some night, if they had a couple drinks, would they all bond together in male power as gangs of men did the world over for eons, and take me?
The thought of it, of real violation, of being raped, chilled me. I didn’t believe that of any of them. I had no desire for real violence, didn’t condone force, agreed that crimes against women weren’t about sex—but here and now, if I could have total fulfillment of my lust without being responsible for it because these big strong men forced me, yes, I’d go for that.
Embarrassed to my core, I kept my face down, watching the dirty tips of my high tops. The toes no longer showed any white. Like me, they might never be clean again by the time our expedition ended. I continued down the trail, more juicier than ever. I walked under the staggering weight of my virginity, and my intense desire to lose it to the men in my company, despite—or perhaps because of—the horrific life-and-death circumstances, my fear that Lena’s life hung in the balance.
I was a sick girl.
I leaned against a tree and guzzled from my canteen. I kept one clipped on my cutoffs now, despite the way it made them drag down one hip. The water gave me relief from the weight that held me down like a block of temple stone, oppressing me at every step through the interminable thick, rubbery foliage. The plants groped at me like subway creeps, touching me everywhere. The constant jungle friction adding to the irritation of walking and walking with no destination in sight. Shafts of unforgiving sun speared the jungle like magnified rays from some cruel, bug-frying boy’s magnifying glass. Mud coated my high-tops. Patches of red showed through like roadkill. Hours past lunch, but the heat killed my appetite. I stood there panting, too tired and miserable to examine the tree for lethal wildlife. My legs felt as rubbery as the vines that wanted me so bad. I closed my eyes. If the tree wrapped me up in its sentient, longing arms, or a giant spider spun a cocoon over me, I couldn’t move.
Crashing steps rushing past me forced me to open my eyes. A man rushed past with a reek of exertion. Days without laundry; we all smelled.
“Puta…” Felipe’s voice faded into the thick foliage.
Vines and reaching trees closed over him like a living shroud. I knew I’d never see him again, never hear him hum along with Tico. I hoped he got home all right, but dread crept up my spine as I stared into the jungle, wishing he’d come back.
“Felipe!” The name cracked and died, a wasted effort.
Offended birds shrieked and rasped. Their flapping came as loud as their voices, scolding me for intruding. I didn’t belong here; the bright-colored birds told me so. Red and blue, macaws weren’t they? Central America, then. Or did they live in South America, too? I shivered and gripped my shoulders. I felt less safe without the cheerful, strong man. He was the sole member of the party near my age. Although he didn’t talk to me much, he was good company.
I wasn’t sure if he called me a whore or told off Jace and the priest for treating me like a whore.
With a push off from the tree, I forced myself to catch up to the men.
“What was that about?”
“He stared at us all and muttered.” Ignatius shrugged his magnificent shoulders. “He turned his back and disappeared into the jungle. He’s through with us.” He frowned and sighed. “I’ve seen it before. Even the best men wear down on a trek like this.”
Jace cursed. Tico crossed himself. Ignatius closed his eyes, maybe praying the man would live. I tried to block my mind of all the jungle movies where horrible things happen to the guy who goes off alone. Death is always the last of the guy’s ordeals.
One gone. We were a party of four. Waiter, table for four, please. I remembered the Agatha Christie classic where one person after another meets a bad end. And then there were none.
If this was a horror flick, Jace might end up impaled on his machete, or sinking all the way in quick sand. The sucking earth would close over his proud head and clutching hands. Tico would be beheaded. People of color often have quick deaths, as though their only purpose in the movie is to die. If I were being symbolic, his head would get lopped off because he was the one with a conscience. That might prefigure having to cut the serpent’s head from its tail, to leave it lashing and impotent if I were to have any hope of survival.
I was with Jace and my priest. Tico was a good man and an excellent guide. Nothing bad would happen. Jace had good intel. We’d find Lena and get out of the cursed jungle. I put my arms around myself. I wanted to be alone. The jungle moved around me like an enormous, sentient organism, sensing and probing my weaknesses.
“Jace. Jace!”
“What?” He bounced in his boots, barely able to stand the delay.
“When we find Lena, how do we get out of here?”
He grinned and pulled a bulky object out of Tico’s pack. “Sat phone. I’ll call for choppers and lift us out of here. I’ve got medics on standby if needed at our landing site.”
“That’s good.” I let out my breath. Better. He thought of everything. The satellite phone kept us in reach of help no matter how far we got from other forms of communication. Of course, he had unimaginable resources to make this happen. If Lena was here, why hadn’t his people in the field rescued her? Why would Jace come out here himself? It didn’t add up.
“Don’t worry about getting lost. As much as the explorer in me abhors it, we’ve got GPS, too.”
Jace grabbed the gear Felipe dropped. He shrugged it on and led the way, machete in hand. Maybe he liked to indulge himself. Be the hero, the big shot, feel virile and young. Lots of guys grew up wanting to be iconic adventurer, and he had the means to live the dream. He was strong and hot, yet he was a middle-aged man. Anyone as smart and intuitive as he seemed to be had to feel the acceleration of the years, the blur of the calendar racing on one wheel to death. California contained so many aging men in red sports cars, you had to wonder if they didn’t see the dick jokes.
I eyed the back of his bull neck. Maybe he knew w
here Lena was. Something smelled weird.
At least now I knew why he’d been so determined to save the gear. That sat phone was our life line. I might forgive him for sending Tico for the bag instead of me when I fell overboard.
He brought GPS, too. That was a game changer. I don’t think Dad ever used it. I should have helped more with Lena’s trip. I should have got her a GPS unit. I should have gone with her. If I’d done anything but stay at the apartment obsessed with my research, she wouldn’t be lost.
The dark swallowed us. Instead of piercing sunlight, we got a muggy blanket stifling movement and breath. My clothes clung. My skin stung from bites and vine lashes. The canopy of trees cut out the light. Darkness pressed my body in all directions, as oppressive as the earth filling Dad’s grave. I felt like a zombie, moving my feet, keeping going, mind blank. Maybe zombies never went blank. Maybe they always thought about brains. Brains.
My priest’s steps slowed behind me. I turned to check on him. Ignatius, so difficult to think of him by his first name. No sounds from anyone else. We’d been walking so long, I had no idea when I last heard Jace or Tico. I shut my eyes, hoping when I opened them I’d hear better. Ignatius walked into me.
“Oh, child.”
“It’s alright, Father.” I blurted his old title by habit. My body still felt the abrupt collision, all those hard muscles jolting against me and pulling away as though I burned him.
“Forgive me, Blair.”
“Where are Jace and Tico?” I whispered.
I couldn’t make myself call the others. If I called and they didn’t answer, it would be true, they’d be gone. Another bad thought: a predator might hear us. I didn’t want anything to know where we were. It might know already.
Mom hated that I was so imaginative and sensitive. I resented her for all the cutting remarks, her rejection of everything different about me, her frequent reminders that I fell short of what she wanted in a daughter. I daydreamed. I was too plump. I took after my father. I didn’t live in the real world. I thought I knew so much. I resented her for all her harsh criticisms. Most of all, I resented her for drinking so much after Dad died, leaving me with no one and the slimy guilt for failing her that never left. If I’d been a better daughter, she would have stayed present. Her secret alcoholism was the final proof that I was too bad to love, in case she hadn’t pounded that home.
I’d been in the jungle too long. I was losing it.
I clung to Father Ignatius, hot tears poured down my face. I cried soundlessly, and he held me in his big strong arms and rocked me against him.
“Don’t worry. We’ll stay right here. They’ll find us when it gets light.” He took a deep breath. “Jace! Tico! Jace! Tico! Jace! Tico!” The names died in the dark. Nothing answered. I let out my breath. I expected claws or reptilian coils to come out of the vines and get us.
“Stay close,” he said. “We’ll find a flat place to sleep.” He pulled a flashlight out of his pack.
Raw anger turned my sight to a scrim of blood. I wanted to hit him. We’ve been marching in the dark, and he had a flashlight the whole time? If he pulled it out sooner, we might not be lost! Damn him. Oh hell, I damned a priest. Well, we we’re damned anyway. I stalked away from him.
The ground gave way and I fell, twisting my ankle and scraping my palms on rock.
He rushed to me and knelt at my side. Was I going to keep ending up on the ground, swooning at the sight of his concerned face? His hand trembled on my shoulder. I wanted him to kiss me.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, Father.” God help me.
He picked me up in his hunk arms. He set me down on a flat place on the dirt, a better spot than the rocks.
“Make yourself comfortable.” He unloaded his pack and covered the ground with clothes, shifted me onto the makeshift bed. He examined my ankle. I did my best to keep my thoughts in a higher place as he touched me with his gentle hands. He took off my red high-top sneaker and sock, took his time examining my leg and bare foot.
“It might be sprained, but you’ll be okay.” He got a stretchy bandage out of his first aid kit and wrapped my ankle and foot like a mummy’s. I hoped he didn’t smell my arousal.
I was alone with my priest, former priest. My foot was on his thigh, my legs spread. I laid back.
“There.” He put my foot down and stood. “I want to check those rocks.” I recognized that tone of voice from excavations with my old man.
He had to investigate the site. I felt rejected, a familiar feeling from Dad’s expeditions. I was never able to compete with ancient stuff in the dirt.
He flashed the light where I fell and followed the beam.
“You have your father’s genius for discovery.”
“Huh?” What the hell? All I wanted to discover was Lena. I wanted her in my arms again, safe and alive.
“It’s a tomb!” he crowed.
OMG. I tripped on a tomb. I shivered. Any other time in my life, I’d celebrate. Deep in the jungle with Lena missing, a place for the dead seemed a bad omen.
Too much. A huge, bloody jungle in the middle of freaking nowhere and I trip on a tomb. This could not be a coincidence. Maybe this was why Jace brought us to this spot. That’s one thing satellite images excelled at finding, ruins. Finding missing persons, not so much. Would Jace mislead me? Did this happen on purpose? Maybe his bringing me here had nothing to do with Lena. Could anyone be so cruel? Unless Lena’s disappearance and these ruins were connected. That was crazy.
The relic. Ignatius had that relic before we arrived. Didn’t that prove Jace and the priest knew a site was out here?
If Lena found this place, if this is was the object of her quest, the temple that told about the apocalypse and the secret to overcoming death, then this place might be the key to what happened to her. She might be trapped. Maybe Jace did have intel. Maybe he did everything possible to help. The kiss on the boat was nothing, it happened in a moment and was done. What mattered was finding Lena.
“Let me use the flashlight.”
He handed it to me. I walked in a circle, playing the beam from the ground up, searching for any sign of a structure. A dense mass swallowed the light.
He scrambled toward it.
“Watch your footing!” I followed him, lighting the ground. He wrapped my ankle well; I barely limped. In spite of myself, I felt excited. I was my father’s daughter. Archaeological fever ran strong. I’m dedicating this find to you, Dad. I’ll find Lena; we’ll get back safe, and when we excavate, I’ll name the site and the best find for you.
Father Ignatius leaned into the dark mass, pulling back vines. He hooted, a sound I never expected to hear from a priest.
I rushed to his side and trained the beam next to his hand. His long fingers traced carved stone with reverence. I pictured Lena’s sexy fingers on the stone that lured her here. This had to be it, the Maya temple she sought. Animal faces and figures in massive headdresses surrounded the doorway. Well-fitted blocks of stone formed the vine-covered structure.
I aimed the light into the opening. Bright murals, as fresh as if aged a few years instead of centuries. This was it: The find. One glance at the quality of the carvings and murals confirmed it as the find of a lifetime. Dad would have been ecstatic. Lena would make that ululating cry between belly dancer yodel and orgasm she split the air with when super excited.
The place appeared undisturbed. Lena might have found it. It would account for her being missing. Hell, I’d lose days in a find like this, not think that anyone might be worried.
I lowered the beam to the floor. The stone surface didn’t show footsteps. My heart had hoped for a neat sign like in a detective story, footprints her size, or a scrap of the scarf I gave her. I used the flashlight in a grid pattern, checking every square foot in sight. Nothing. No earring, no sign. She wore the silver geckos I gave her for her birthday. She’d take care not to lose them, take them off before she entered the jungle.
On the positive side, the temple he
ld no sign of intruders, of tourists or looters or locals using the place for shade. If this site was in California, it would have garbage and cigarette butts in it from idiots.
I let out my breath. So many feelings in the past few minutes.
“Lena! Lena! Lena!”
My voice echoed in the distance. The peaked ceiling extended farther the flashlight’s beam. No answer. Still, she might be here, trapped. Everyone knew better than to go into a structure alone, but what explorer wouldn’t? There might have been an accident. As long as she had air, and supplies, she might be alive. She had to be alive.
“A temple, Blair, in remarkable condition. Such colors!”
“Yes. A Maya temple. It might be the one Lena wanted to find.”
The priest took my hand, raised the flashlight, guided the beam down a passage.
“Let’s take a look.” His deep voice vibrated with excitement.
I hesitated, but how could we not?
Swallowed
We walked down the passageway. Space opened around us, swallowing the small beam of light. The ceiling soared into the deepest dark.
The light found a structure in the center of the cavernous space. A stone table dominated the chamber. I suspected it was at the center of the pyramid. Some rites took place on top of pyramids. Maybe this was where they had sacrifices when it rained or when a king died.
Ignatius jerked my hand. I grabbed him, dropping the flashlight.
“Just a stumble, sorry.” His breathing came fast, warm on my hair.
“We should leave. I don’t know enough about the ancient Maya to know if they had traps in their pyramids the way the Egyptians did, but going deeper into this place is dangerous. A green-stick fracture or wound in this humid jungle would go septic in a flash, and the first aid kit was in Felipe’s pack, with Jace.”
“You trust me, don’t you, Blair? I won’t let anything hurt you. We should take advantage of being alone to talk. This is the one place no one might overhear us.” He picked up the flashlight.
“Okay.” He’d hooked me. I had a lot of questions. He was right. Anywhere else, Jace might walk up to us, and I needed to talk about him. I liked Ignatius’ confidence that the others might find us at any moment.
