by J; P Voelkel
“Let’s get out of here then. Where’s the hidden door?”
“How should I know?”
“But I thought you’d been here before.”
“Hermanjilio and I stuck our heads in once, but we knew the pyramid was buried under jungle, so there was no point in looking for a door.”
“Oh, great,” said Max sarcastically. “We’re trapped.”
A lump of self-pity formed in his throat. He hoped the guys at school would know he’d died in the company of a girl. And she definitely wasn’t ugly. He pictured their waxy bodies lying side by side in this stone tomb, like Romeo and Juliet. He smiled mistily at Lola.
“Don’t just stand there like a moron,” she said. “Help me find the door.”
Max cast a lethargic look around. His head was pounding from the oppressive heat. It felt like summer in the city, just before a thunderstorm.
“We should feel for a current of air,” he said. “That’s what led me to the secret door at my uncle’s house.”
But there was no current of air.
It was getting hotter.
Max’s throat was so dry he couldn’t swallow.
“I need more water,” he gasped.
“No,” said Lola.
“Who made you guardian of the water?”
“Who made you such a baby?”
They searched the room from top to bottom again, but found nothing. The floor was burning their feet.
“There has to be a hidden switch,” said Lola.
After their third fruitless search, it was getting hard to breathe. They stood on their backpacks to protect their feet and looked at each other in despair, the sweat running down their faces.
“It’s no good,” said Lola. “We’ll have to go back the way we came.”
“No!” said Max, terrified of what might be waiting in the foul fog below.
He forced himself to think.
Head hurts.
Think.
Throat hurts.
Think.
If this was a video game, how would it work?
Enter a new room. No exit. Look for the clues.
There were always clues.
He stared at the painted figures on the wall in front of him. “I bet they know the secret,” he said. He was alarmed to realize that a particularly monstrous character with bulbous eyes, a long nose, and tusklike protuberances looked vaguely familiar. “Who’s that ugly one on the end?”
“You’ve met him,” said Lola. “That’s the great Lord Chahk. We passed his statue in the Cave of Broken Pots, remember? He was holding a lightning-bolt ax and a bowl with a human heart in it.”
Max did remember. And, as he stared at Lord Chahk, he began to feel a connection. It was the same feeling he’d had when he saw the metal case on the shelf in Uncle Ted’s vault.
He went over to the painting and examined every inch of it.
Nothing.
He looked into Lord Chahk’s goggly eyes.
Nothing.
But the answer was here, he knew it. Call it a gamer’s sixth sense.
“Pass me the water,” he said.
“No,” said Lola. “We have to save it.”
“Not for me, for him. It’s so hot and dry in here. Don’t you think he’d like to feel the rain on his skin?”
“You’re crazy,” began Lola, but she didn’t try to stop him as he took the canteen and poured the last of their precious water onto the wall above Lord Chahk’s head. Max watched expectantly as it streamed down the storm god’s face and chest.
Nothing happened.
He shook out the last drop of water.
Nothing.
The water evaporated instantly. The wall was still as dry as old bones.
Max looked at Lola miserably. His throat was so parched that his tongue felt swollen. “Sorry,” he whispered. The word had never sounded so inadequate.
But Lola wasn’t listening. She was totally focused on Lord Chahk.
“Blood!” she said. “He wants blood!”
Ignoring Max’s howls of pain, she ripped the bandanna off his gashed hand and pressed his wound against the painted bowl. Then she rubbed the bloodstained bandanna into it as well, for good measure. “Greetings, Lord Chahk,” she intoned. “In return for this blood, we ask for our freedom.”
As the blood soaked into the limestone, there was a noise like a frog croaking. Then another and another, until the room echoed with a frogs’ chorus. The atmosphere in the room seemed to lift slightly, and the air felt a little cooler.
Lola, who was still pressing the bandanna against the bowl, yelped in surprise.
“What happened?” shouted Max above the din of frogs.
“Electric shock—”
A string of red sparks made their way up from Lord Chahk’s bowl to his lightning-bolt ax. There was a flash, a crash of thunder, and the sound of stone rolling on stone.
One of the carved panels swung out.
Light flooded into the room, momentarily blinding them.
The croaking grew to a deafening buzz as hundreds of frogs materialized out of the temple walls and leapt across the floor to the open door. For a few seconds, Max and Lola couldn’t move for the sea of frogs around their feet. Then, like a wave rolling in to shore, the amphibian tide swept out of the temple and into the torrential rain, with a farewell croak that even Max could identify as pure pleasure.
Max and Lola stepped outside.
Rain had never felt so good.
“We did it!” yelled Max, punching the air. “We did it!”
A flock of parrots screeched disapprovingly as they flew overhead.
“We make a good team!” whooped Lola, high-fiving him.
A team. He liked the sound of that.
He put his head back and tried to catch the rain in his parched mouth, whirling around, letting the downpour wash away the dust of the temple. He felt himself rehydrating like a packet of instant noodles.
His headache had gone.
His hand had stopped throbbing.
But his brain was still in shock.
The list of contenders for Most Terrifying Experience of This Trip So Far grew longer every day, but the Temple of Chahk won the category hands down.
“Hey, Monkey Girl,” he said, trying to sound cool, “I thought ruins were just a bunch of old stones. That place was definitely alive.”
“I warned you,” said Lola.
They were about a hundred feet up, on the top platform of a giant pyramid. The tips of other pyramids could be seen rising through the jungle canopy like distant islands in a sea of green. As the rain stopped, a rainbow formed in the distance.
Max uttered a cry of horror. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked, pointing with his toe to a large reddish-brown stain.
“Blood?” said Lola, unfazed. “Probably. I’m sure they held bloodlettings and sacrifices up here.”
Max shook his head in disgust. “Why were the Maya so bloodthirsty?”
“It wasn’t like that. Blood was sacred. Blood was the breath of the soul. Blood had to flow to keep the gods happy and the sun shining and the crops growing. Even the king had to shed his blood. The people expected it.”
“They must have gone through a lot of kings.”
“No, the kings just gave a little blood, a token.”
“It’s still barbaric.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Lola looked thoughtful. “It’s interesting, the idea of making a sacrifice for the common good. Like, if people stopped buying mahogany furniture, the loggers might stop chopping down the rainforest. …”
Max wasn’t listening.
He was standing on the edge of the pyramid, staring down into the jungle.
So this was how it felt to be an ancient Maya king. Above you, the heavens and the gods who spoke through you. Below you, the awestruck faces of your adoring people.
Lola touched his arm. “Let’s go.”
As she skipped down the steep stone steps, Max picked his way slowl
y behind her. In the end, he found it easiest to sit down and lower himself step by step. Way below, he heard Lola calling to her monkeys and a distant roar floating back over the rainforest in reply.
When he reached the ground, he looked back to see how far he’d come, but the pyramid was already half covered in vegetation. Vines were writhing their way across the platform, earth was accumulating on the steps, and trees were literally growing in front of his eyes. Soon the Temple of Chahk would be hidden again beneath its blanket of jungle.
Lola was waiting for him, a length of thick vine over her shoulders, like the snake lady at the circus.
“Still thirsty?” she asked.
She slashed the end of the vine and held it over his mouth like a hose. Sweet water came gushing out.
“Remember this plant,” she said. “Its Mayan name is Ha Ix Ak. Ha means ‘water,’ Ix means ‘lady,’ Ak means ‘vine.’ Lady Water Vine has saved many lives in the rainforest.”
“I don’t suppose she has a friend called Lady Pizza Plant?” asked Max.
“Sure, do you want the one with extra cheese?”
“Don’t even joke about it,” said Max. “I’m starving.”
“First, we must make camp. Darkness falls fast in the jungle. I’ll find saplings to make a shelter. You get wood for the fire.”
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?” said Max.
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re lazy?” said Lola.
“Yes,” said Max proudly, “all the time.”
“In the rainforest, lazy boys get eaten by jaguars. You must start the fire before dark to keep them away.” She handed Max her machete. “Ever used one of these?”
“As a matter of a fact, I have,” said Max.
“Where?”
“Oh, you know, son of archaeologists and all that …”
She didn’t need to know that his previous experience with a machete consisted of swishing through a computer-animated jungle in Pyramid of Peril, that day his parents came home early.
Was that really just two weeks ago? It seemed like another lifetime.
Suddenly, Max remembered where he’d seen Lola before.
Level two!
She looked like the girl who was taken hostage in the shoot-out. And now, here they were, having survived a real-life pyramid of peril! For one brief moment Max entertained the possibility that his entire life was just a video game.
“Hey, Monkey Girl, listen to this,” he began, but she was gone.
He hacked his way clumsily into the jungle in search of kindling. Swinging a machete wasn’t as easy as it had looked on-screen. But despite his lack of technique, he felt like a Hollywood action hero.
Max Murphy: Man of Mystery and Explorer Extraordinaire.
A movement caught his eye, and he looked down to see a long, brownish-gray snake sliding out of the leaf litter toward him.
Max froze, not even breathing, and tried to remember what he’d read about snakes in the in-flight magazine. He seemed to recall that the more garish they were, the more likely they were to be poisonous. That deadly coral snake in Puerto Muerto had been brightly colored. This snake was drab, apart from a yellow flash under its head. Reassured, he stayed absolutely still as the snake passed six inches to the side of his foot and slithered away into the bush. After that, he was more careful, probing the ground with his machete and checking overhanging branches for reptilian residents.
By the time he returned to the campsite with an armful of wood, the monkeys had arrived. Seri was sitting grooming herself while her brother, Chulo, still wearing Max’s baseball cap, was swinging languidly from a tree branch by his tail. Max’s backpack lay open on the ground, and both monkeys were chewing on the dreaded granola bars.
“Good snack?” he asked in a friendly tone.
Chulo growled in a most unfriendly tone.
“No, I don’t like those bars, either,” said Max. “Ever had pizza, Chulo?”
Chulo took off the baseball cap and covered his face with it.
“So you’re a Red Sox fan, too?” asked Max, reaching for the cap.
Chulo snapped at Max’s hand and Max quickly withdrew it.
He decided to get on with making the fire.
As he chose a patch of flat ground, he could feel Chulo watching his every move. The monkey’s critical gaze made him feel self-conscious, and it took him a while to assemble his teepee of twigs, as taught in Cub Scouts.
He paused to admire his creation before striking the match. Quick as a flash, Chulo jumped on Max’s head and scattered the wood with his tail. Then he hopped about, screeching with monkey laughter.
After this had happened several times, Max chased the monkey into the forest with the machete. Chulo jumped into the nearest tree and started lobbing fruit. The monkey’s aim was deadly accurate, and a large papaya hit Max squarely in the back, sending him sprawling. Seri, meanwhile, paid no attention to any of it. Such mayhem was evidently beneath her.
Despite Chulo’s attempts at disruption, Max finally succeeded in lighting the fire. He was complimenting himself on his newfound survival skills, when Lola’s voice interrupted his thoughts: “Who’s hungry?”
The two monkeys raced to greet her, dancing about and leaping with joy.
“Gibnut for dinner!” she announced.
“Is that like peanut?” asked Max.
“It’s like this,” she said, holding up a small animal.
“It looks like a rat.”
“It is a rodent,” admitted Lola, “but even the queen of England ate it when she came here. I’ll skewer it over the fire and it will be the best barbecue you’ve ever tasted.”
“I’m not eating rat on a stick,” said Max.
“Suit yourself.” Lola shrugged. “Will you help me make the shelter?”
She showed him how to lash saplings together between the trees and cover them with large palm leaves to make a cozy lean-to. While Max laid a floor of wood and moss, Lola prepared the gibnut. Then she pulled a small cooking pot out of her bag and threw in some pointed green leaves.
Max made a face.
“Jackass!” said Lola.
“I just don’t like vegetables,” said Max, sounding hurt.
“No,” explained Lola, laughing, “they’re jackass bitters—they’re medicinal. I’m going to boil them up to clean your insect bites. They cure everything.”
“I’d rather have some antiseptic and a box of Band-Aids.”
“Stupid boy! Most of the medicines in your drugstores are made out of rainforest plants! It’s just that here you don’t pay for the packaging.”
“I like the packaging,” said Max.
“Spoken like a true city kid,” sighed Lola, in mock despair.
“Speaking of packaging,” said Max, “what kind of snake has a black head with a yellow flash underneath and a gray-brown body? It’s harmless, right?”
“Where?” Lola looked around in alarm.
“In the forest before. It passed right by my foot.”
She put a hand over her mouth in horror. “It sounds like a fer-de-lance. The locals call it the three-step because, if it bites you, that’s how far you get. It’s one of the deadliest snakes in the world and it’s very aggressive. It’s not a bit scared of humans. You had a lucky escape!”
Max Murphy, Man of Mystery and Explorer Extraordinaire, went very quiet and pale and huddled closer to the fire. He wondered how he’d ever sleep tonight among all those creeping, crawling, biting things.
“Sure you don’t want some gibnut?” asked Lola.
It smelled delicious.
“Just a bite,” he said.
Half an hour later, with his belly full of succulent barbecued gibnut, he pulled out his mosquito net to drape across the front of the lean-to and found it ripped and tattered from when he’d fallen out of the tree.
“No problem,” said Lola. “I’ll throw this old termite nest on the fire and it will keep the bugs at bay all night. Shame it’s an old one or we could h
ave eaten the termites for dessert. They’re quite tangy; I think you’d like them.”
Reflecting that Lola was not like any girl he’d met before, Max Murphy stretched out and went to sleep.
Lola woke him at sunrise for a breakfast of wild papaya, gathered by the monkeys. Max could tell that Chulo begrudged him every bite.
“Why do we have to get up so early?” he asked blearily.
“If we hike all day, we should get to Utsal by nightfall,” said Lola.
Hike all day? Max groaned. He was still tired and aching from yesterday’s exertions. “What’s at Utsal?” he asked.
“It’s on the way to Itzamna. It’s where I grew up. I have friends there.”
“Sounds good.” Max nodded, glad to be heading back to the bright lights of civilization. He reached for the last papaya, but Chulo beat him to it.
“Hey, you’ve already had three,” said Max, chasing the monkey away.
“Boys, stop fighting,” called Lola. “We need to get going. It looks like the rains will come early today.”
Max looked up. It didn’t look like rain at all. There was one wispy little cloud in a clear blue sky. He started to argue, but Lola had already set off.
She walked so quickly that Max had to trot to keep up. He was breathless and panting when, twenty minutes later, the rains came pouring down.
Lola had a knack of springing from one dry spot to another, while Max slogged behind her through solid mud.
“Can’t you slow down?” he asked.
“We have to keep up the pace, or we’ll never make it in time.”
Bossy, bossy, bossy.
He tried to make conversation as they walked, but it felt more like an interrogation.
“What do your parents do?” he asked.
“I have no parents.”
“What happened to them?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
She wheeled around. “Do you know what’s happened to your parents?”
He began a new line of questioning.
“How old are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you go to school?”
“Hermanjilio is teaching me.”
“Did he teach you to speak English?”
“Everyone here speaks English.”
