jeff hesitates, wavering. then he pushes open the door again, steps outside. we watch--
amy turns to jeff; so do the others.
amy lowers her camera, turns to look.
they all stand there, peering up the hill. faintly, but growing steadily louder, a thudding noise comes from the jungle. the five of them turn, heads cocked, listening.
the bald man shouts at them in unsubtitled mayan. his horse is lathered, snorting, rolling its eyes. it rears yet again, and the man half-falls, half-jumps to-the ground. jeff and the others back a few more steps into the clearing.
the man can't gain control of the horse. finally, he drops the reins, and the horse gallops into the jungle, crashing through the trees, its hoofbeats gradually diminishing. the man turns toward them, starts yelling in mayan again, pointing back down the trail. sweat shines on his forehead. there's a gun on his belt, a black pistol in a brown holster. stacy is clutching eric's arm, looking frightened.
as they continue to interrogate the bald man in mayan, the young men unsling their bows, each of them nocking an arrow. reflexively, jeff and the others retreat another handful of steps into the clearing. mathias still has his hands raised.
jeff and the others turn, too, staring at amy in surprise. she's nearly at the far edge of the clearing, peering through her camera; she retreats another step. the young mayans raise their bows, drawing them; the bald man keeps yelling.
amy lowers her camera. the mayan with the mustache turns to the other two, points toward her feet, spearing urgently. the bald mayan slowly lowers his pistol, looking dismayed. amy glances down.
both of the younger mayans are speaking now, their voices rising. the bald mayan is shaking his head, protesting, but they talk right over him. amy steps clear of the vine, starts back toward jeff, and the younger mayans draw their bows taut again, aiming at her chest. she freezes.
eric turns, glances back down the hill, shielding his eyes.
eric turns to the others, excited:
jeff and mathias zip the flap back shut. eric, stacy and amy are fifteen feet away, watching.
ten yards beyond the tent, there's a hole cut into the dirt. stacy, amy, and eric have gathered at its edge; jeff and mathias join them. the hole is rectangular--ten feet by six feet--and very deep; we can't see its bottom. a windlass has been constructed beside the hole, a horizontal barrel with a hand crank welded to its base. rope is coiled around the barrel. from there, it passes over a small wheel, which hangs from a sawhorse straddling the hole's mouth. then it drops straight into the earth.
the five of them stand there, staring down at the man.
jeff and mathias stand there, grim-faced, watching. mathias lifts his hands, stares at them. they've turned a deep, raw- meat red, as if scarred. he flexes his fingers, wincing.
stacy turns toward the others, pointing, terrified.
jeff, eric, and amy join stacy at the edge of the shaft, all of them staring down into the darkness, looking horrified.
stacy smiles up at her. she starts to wave back, but is too scared to let go of the sling. she glances down.
stacy lifts the lamp, peering downward, struggling to see more clearly, and the sling suddenly jerks to a halt, making her squawk. she looks up.
the three mayans nock arrows. two other men step forward to join them. one has a bow; the other is the bald mayan, with the pistol. he unholsters it, and--as amy reaches the bottom of the trail--raises it, aiming at her chest. amy stops just short of the clearing: sweating, breathless, scared-looking. she lifts her hands, palms-up, beseeching.
stacy stands there, looking scared. there's another ring.
stacy rises to her feet, lifting the lamp.
jeff finishes, shakes, zips, then steps out into the vine, wading toward the tiny mound. amy remains beside the backboard; she watches him crouch, part the tendrils, stare.
amy glances toward the arch again. a slight draft blows steadily from it, and the vine shifts and trembles in it. a beat, then the ringing starts up once more. it's coming from within the shadowed passageway. amy opens the box of matches, plucks one out. she's too jumpy, though; her hands are-trembling so much that she shakes the match out as soon as it's lit. there's a second ring. stacy has nearly reached us. amy digs another match from the box. stacy's feet touch the bottom of the shaft; she yanks off the sling. there's a third ring.
jeff hesitates just for an instant, staring in astonishment, then he's sprinting across the clearing. he bends, struggles for the zipper.
the bald mayan emerges from the tree line, followed by yet another man with a bow. they join the other three mayans in the center of the clearing. they all watch as jeff reaches the base of the trail, where he carefully lays amy down. jeff crouches over amy, laying her arms across her chest, pushing the hair from her face. he bends, kisses her blood- smeared forehead. then he glances up at the mayans.