why would they hire you if you haven't read the books?
i'm fine. i've got a base.
it's only been-- stacy interrupts, speaking in a slightly singsong fashion:
please don't.
stop it. both of you. right now. they ignore her, ping-ponging quickly back and forth:
shit.
i lost my earring.
thank you so much. .mathias nods. he starts to turn, as if to swim off, but jeff stops him:
dance. eric smiles, as if the idea of jeff dancing were absurd.
that's not true. he played the trombone in high school. he won a prize. eric seems startled by this, amused.
jeff's won prizes for everything. his mom has a whole room built just for them. trophies and ribbons and plaques. he's a very accomplished young man. (she holds out her hand-to
teak?
i'm fine.
thank you. that's very helpful.
you don't want me to come?
so what're you saying?
i'm not sunburned. jeff stares at her, the deep red of her face. then he shrugs, steps out of the tub, the towel around his waist.
i'll get too sweaty.
we don't even know this guy. jeff slides two bottles of iced tea into the knapsack. there's a plastic shopping bag beside the fridge, and he starts to dig through it.
i just don't see why we have to go with him.
why would you vanish? jeff turns, looks at her: this isn't the point.
why do you keep saying that?
it's like you'd rather i didn't-- a knocking at the door, and she falls silent. jeff rises, zipping shut the knapsack. he steps to the door, opens it. stacy and eric are in the hall.
how do we get back? she points back down the road, toward the vanished truck. jeff pauses in his spraying, considers for a moment. then:
there aren't going to be any buses on that road. jeff nods; this seems obvious. he resumes spraying mathias. eric and stacy stand there, watching. amy a bus couldn't even fit.
see any cars pass, jeff? jeff doesn't answer. he steps toward her, starts to spray her, too. she holds out her arms. amy the whole time we were driving, you see even one?
he's not gonna get a signal. not way out here. they all turn to watch as eric reaches into. his pack, pulls out his cell phone, flips it open. he stares at it for a beat, then shakes his head, snaps it shut. jeff finishes spraying amy, starts in on himself.
who?
we're stranded, aren't we? that's, like, a twenty mile walk we're gonna have to do. through the jungle.
what? jeff finishes with the insect repellent, crouches to slide the can back into his pack.
there's no way that was eleven miles.
it's annoying.
it's tedious and boring. and once they start, it's impossible to get them to stop.
how much farther? mathias peers down at his brother's note. stacy and eric continue with their game.
i think we should--- jeff stops suddenly, pointing.
look. up the trail, sixty feet away, stand two small mayan boys; they seem to have materialized out of the air. they're ten years old, shirtless, scrawny, dark-haired. one of them is holding a bicycle by its handlebars; it doesn't have a seat. amy maybe they can guide us. stacy smiles toward the boys; she waves, calls out:
why was it covered? jeff lifts his hands: how should he know?
it's a hand-drawn map, jeff.
because? jeff has to think. finally:
eric.
shut up, okay? eric falls silent. they follow the path as it curves first right, then left, moving gradually uphill all the while, and suddenly there's sunlight in front of them, bright and intense: a clearing. they hesitate at its edge, staring.
so beautiful.
the mine? jeff nods. a draft is rising from the hole, and it lifts off amy's hat. she tries to catch it, but fumbles: the hat falls away from her. they all watch it vanish into the dark. eric pulls out his phone, flips it open, almost absentmindedly: a nervous gesture. there's still no signal. he closes it, turns to survey the clearing, the empty tents.
so. her skin is slick with sweat, and she's winded from the hike down. a third mayan comes jogging toward them. he stops beside the other two, draws his bow.
the girl?
stop it, eric.
just stop, okay? stop talking. stacy struggles to collect herself, breathing deep. she wipes at her face. amy keeps stroking her hand. jeff and mathias are approaching across the hilltop. mathias holding his burned-looking hands out in front of him. he 9 a nd jeff crouch beside the others.
but i'm thirsty.
so let's drink. jeff shakes his head, capping the bottle.
i'm hungover. i'm sunburned. i lost my hat. i need some water.
why do you get to decide? jeff stares at her, considering this. then he shrugs.
who? jeff lifts one hand, palm-up, half a shrug.
we're not supposed to leave till friday. jeff nods. amy and they'll have to come searching. again, he nods. amy so you're talking--what, a week?
we can't live here for a week, jeff.
but what will we eat? how will we-- the ringing comes again, silencing her. she glances toward the shaft, not quite believing what she's hearing. it comes a third time, and they all stand up, step to the hole, peer into its darkness. the ringing comes yet again.
it can't be--
way down in that hole? how could it pick it up? still another ring.
jeff. he turns to look, and she points at the rope, where it comes off the windlass and angles up toward the little wheel hanging from the sawhorse.
is he-- there's a groan from below, very faint, almost inaudible.
go? jeff nods, waving into the shaft.
why can't you? or eric?
oh no. please no. jeff turns to her.
no, jeff. no way. we can't move him.
we'll make it worse. well jostle him, and he'll-- jeff turns toward her, with a hint of exasperation:
we have to tell them.
the mayans. we have to tell them what's happened. jeff gives her an incredulous look. she keeps retreating; she's almost at the path. amy they can send for help.
we have to may. we have to-- she spins, starts off at a run, vanishing down the trail. jeff calls after her, shouting:
help us. please. someone's been hurt. he-- jeff comes to a halt, five feet behind her.
say it in spanish. tell them he--
try it. you have to try.
help usi we need help! the mayans just stare at her, their weapons raised, their faces expressionless. one of them is much younger than the others, almost a boy. he says something in mayan to the bald man, and the bald man shakes his head. amy begins to cry. jeff pulls at her elbow.
i didn't want to come. i told you we shouldn't. i said-- jeff tightens his grip on her arm, gives her a little shake, as if to wake her up.
we shouldn't even be here. why did you say we'd come? you have to do something. you have to! it's your fault. it's all your-- jeff shakes her again, more roughly, his voice like a slap:
i didn't know. i just-- she's growing increasingly upset, almost sobbing. she tries to turn back toward the mayans again, but jeff won't let her. amy they have to help us.
they have to. she wrenches herself free, stumbles, falls into the vines beside the trail. jeff reaches for her, but she kicks away from him, grabbing at the vines, scrambling to her feet. as she rises, she yanks up a tendril, a clot of earth hanging from its roots. she screams, spinning toward the clearing--- amy
i'm okay. but she doesn't look it. jeff removes his hat, holds it out. amy just stares at it; he nods for her to take it.
stacy?
almost. a few more feet.
i don't know. three?
if he twists--
we're gonna try itt she climbs off the backboard, crouches beside mathias. stacy sets down the lamp. amy mathias? she touches his shoulder, and he opens his eyes, stares at her. he looks haggard, ashen.
if you lift from his feet, he'll bend at the waist.
his knees. stacy crouches by mathias's knees, a little off balance, favoring her wounded leg. amy bends, sliding her hands under his shoulders. mathias groans, and stacy starts to pull away, but amy shakes her head. amy quickly. on three. they count together:
no!
you okay? she waits, but he doesn't respond. his eyes remain shut. stacy rises, buttoning her pants, limps back toward amy. she's on the edge of tears, is working hard to fight them off. amy lifts her head, shouts up to jeff: amy pull him up!
but we can't just leave him out in the open.
shh.
don't, stacy. don't talk. it'll only make things worse. stacy falls silent. amy just go to sleep, okay? let's try to go to sleep. stacy lies down next to amy, in her-underwear and t-shirt. they huddle close together in the darkness.
the same.
tired. thirsty. hungry.
birds?
it's okay. it's just--
i know. you're hurt. but we're., gonna get you--
shh. but he fights her; he won't be quieted:
jeff? they all turn toward the flap. mathias begins to scream. amy's voice jumps in volume: amy of .i jeff rises, moves toward the flap.
what about mathias? she nods toward him, and they all turn to look. from his knees down, mathias's legs are nothing but bone, tendon, and ropy clots of blackened blood. his face looks gray. his eyes are shut, and his breathing sounds terribly ragged.
without anaesthesia?
no, jeff. no way.
you'll kill him.
he felt it, didn't he? the whole thing. jeff lifts the canteen away.
he was screaming. be was telling you to stop.
this is bad, jeff. so bad. jeff leans to loosen first one tourniquet, then the other.
you cut off his legs! you-- stacy screams, pointing toward mathias's amputated limbs. they're lying in the dirt at the base of the backboard, the bloodstained bones held together with a few remaining cords of flesh. a vine has come snaking into the clearing: it's wrapping itself around one of the feet. as the tendril begins to drag. the bones away, a.second one slithers forward and lays claim to the other foot. eric grabs the knife, jumps up, steps on the first tendril, bends to slash at it with the blade. he swoops toward the second one. even as he does so, though, a third tendril slithers into the clearing, then a fourth. stacy screams again, short and loud, and backs toward the tent; eric bends and slashes, bends and slashes, and the'vine keeps coming, from all directions, reaching for the bones.
it's okay. i'll go alone. jeff ignores this. he rises to his feet, still focused on stacy. we can hear his growing anger in his voice:
'-11 be right there. okay? we'll be together the whole time. a long beat, then stacy manages a nod. it's enough for jeff; he pushes past eric, moving toward the windlass.
pull it up! the creaking resumes. she stands there in the dimness, watching the sling rise away from her. she has the makeshift torch in one hand, the box of matches in the other.
wait.  she pauses, lifting the torch, but stacy keeps going. amy peers at the vine hanging from the wall. there's a fifth ring, echoing eerily, and the flowers move in exact unison with the sound, their stamens vibrating, like so many miniature tuning forks: the plant is making the noise. amy stacy.  the shaft dead-ends at a blank wall, which is just materializing out of the darkness, fifteen feet in front of them. there's a sixth ring. stacy points at the wall, quickening her pace.
you. but stacy is too hysterical: she just stands there, sobbing, screaming. jeff's voice comes toward them from above,
pull us up!
it's okay, sweetie. you're okay. stacy keeps weeping, uncontrollably, shaking her head.
stacy.  stacy keeps wailing, rocking, eyes shut. amy leans in close. amy let's play the game. can you do that? huh? can you give me a "so"? stacy continues to cry. amy come on. just try. can you try? so there was this girl who wanted to be a pilot. stacy's tears keep coming. amy looks at eric, gives him a nod,'prodding him into speech. he hesitates, then:
so she became a lifeguard instead. (she squeezes stacy's
so she wore a life vest. (she squeezes stacy's hand
yeah? everyone what?
good. that's good. so she-- very suddenly, it starts to rain--a dozen large, heavy drops. they all glance skyward.
there was water in it. he spins toward her, turning his fury with himself on her:
you said--
don't, jeff.
please, don't.
shut up!
he's gonna die, isn't he? if there's no phone, then there's no--
the mayans.
i don't mind. i can't sleep. eric checks his watch again, its glow briefly illuminating his face. he gestures toward the tent.
they both are. there's a slight breeze, and the tent makes a flapping sound in it. they both turn to stare at it. then: amy do you think it's inside her?
but she says she can feel it. moving. shifting about. eric waves this aside.
i'm sorry . i'm so sorry.  it's my fault.
if i hadn't stepped onto the hill-- her crying increases. eric leans, touches her hand.
jeff said it. he said-- eric reaches, puts his arm around her, trying to quiet her.
we might not have.
what? jeff reaches, touches stacy's arm, struggling to calm her, but she flinches from him.
nothing happened, stacy. i was crying. and eric--
stacy.
shi i up. right now. a second tendril has slithered under the lean-to. it covers mathias's nose, drawing itself tight. the steady rasping of his breathing is cut off. yet again, no one notices.
you bitch. you stupid cunt. stacy spins on her, venomous:
it didn't happen. jeff turns, stares at her. she waves back toward the tent. amy eric and i, we were just---
and what she said. about spring break. i-- jeff reaches, presses his finger to her lips.
but i want to tell you--
can i give her some? the knife is placed in the fire, and we pull back to reveal:
shh. stacy sobs into amy's shoulder, her body jumping. amy strokes her. eric steps across the clearing, picks up the bottle of tequila. he glances at jeff, and jeff nods. amy you're scared, honey. you're just scared. you know? stacy nods; she's still crying, but it's growing quieter. eric crouches beside her, holds out the bottle of tequila. stacy just stares at it. amy encourages her: amy it'll help. stacy accepts the bottle, takes a long swallow. then another. the others watch her in silence. finally: amy can you rest some? in the tent? stacy is silent. she wipes the tears from her face.
oh my god. stacy is on the far side of the clearing. she's pulled off her shirt, her shorts, and has cut much of the skin from her body. she doesn't notice them. she's bent over, slicing into her left thigh, peeling the skin back from the muscle.
please, honey. just-- stacy shakes her head; she's crying, too, her whole body shaking. her hair is matted with blood; she looks terrified.
jeff i she points toward the tent. jeff turns to see.
shh. shh. the vine's laughter grows steadily. louder, punctuated by stacy's shouts:
i still think we should wait. jeff sighs: it's clear they've already been through this.
they'll come looking. you said
our parents--
i don't want to. i don't.  she shakes her head, wipes at her face: the tears, the snot, the sweat, the dirt. her clothes are falling off her body, eaten to shreds. jeff's, too. amy why can't we both? jeff hesitates a.beat. then, clearly not believing it:
how?