fuck;this.  shit.
i said i had.
the canterbury tales? you ever look at that shit?
fuck off. it's not even english. jeff watches stacy take another card; she examines it, sets it on the discard pile. then, reciting:
but what he really wanted was a beach house.
but the queen didn't want to.
but he got lonely. amy covers her ears with her hands, blocking out their voices, but then inmiediately reaches to feel for her earrings: one of them is missing.
but it had fleas.
but the dog caught. cold. amy sits up, glancing about. stacy and eric keep going:
but it was the wrong kind.
we went sailing yesterday. out toward cozumel? and there were these seven foot fish, these huge--
like thirty of them. a whole, you know, flock.
the water was, i don't know, ten feet deep? and they were lying on the bottom, just waiting for somebody to come swimming by--
you said they're sharks.
i wouldn't be snorkeling on my own.' that's all i'm saying.
you should hang with us, then. if you're on your own. right? everyone nods, smiling. eric reaches into the cooler, pulls out another beer, holds it toward mathias.
jeff doesn't dance, amy--he has no rhythm. of all his many gifts, rhythm is not one.
seriously? amy nods. she drains her beer, tosses the cup aside.
i don't dance on sand. stacy makes a snorting sound.
i dance on teak.
it's a type of wood. very rare. find me a teak floor and i'll be a dancing fool. amy shifts toward mathias, holds out her hand. he stares at it, then glances at jeff. before he can speak, stacy pushes herself to her feet; she's almost as wobbly as amy.
you're kidding. jeff seems startled by this:
how long is med school? four years? jeff nods. eric and then you got, whaddya call it, residency? another nod. eric turns toward mathias. eric he's gonna be grinding away all that time. sleepless. fucking miserable. and know what? he's gonna look back on this night, us right here, and he's gonna say to himself, shit, i wish i'd--
all work and no play--
amy drifts sometimes, when she drinks.
like a boat--she bumps into other boats. they continue to watch. amy and her partner's dancing is becoming steadily more intimate, the gap between their bodies narrowing, then disappearing altogether. finally, eric pushes himself to his feet.' eric come on. let's save everyone some grief. he starts. forward, followed by mathias. they join stacy and amy, and eric subtly interrupts amy's pas de deux. the blond- haired young man disengages, drifts back toward his friends.
ready? the both answer at the same time:
now what? mathias has his brother's note. he holds it out, pointing, and they gather around him to look.
how far?
but she didn't know how to play.
but she couldn't afford them. stacy reaches, taps mathias's shoulder.
but was fired for being late. amy takes off her hat, wipes the sweat from her face.
but she fell in love with her first client. amy puts her hat back on. she looks hot, sweaty, tired.
fucking smells.
who?
why don't we-- he stops, noticing mathias. the german is staring toward the edge of the trail, where a large bush sits. one of its fronds is very slowly dropping toward them, pulling itself free of the soil. mathias steps forward, tugs at a second frond, which slips easily from the dirt. he tosses it aside, reaches for another frond: this, too, slips free. someone has pushed them into the earth, arranging them to look like a bush. mathias pulls a fourth frond free, then a fifth, and an opening is revealed in the brush, a narrow path winding its way off through the trees. they stand there a beat, staring at it. then there's a squeaking sound, and they all turn.
maybe the ruins are sacred. you know? and they don't want people digging them up. he glances about, off into the trees, a little spooked. eric we could be walking through some sort of ancient graveyard right now. and they've--
so?
maybe it leads to a marijuana field, then. maybe the village is growing pot, and that boy rode off to get them, and they're gonna come with guns and--
what?
maybe he wants money? a toll or something? the mayan continues shouting, waving his arm. jeff reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, removes a twenty.
what the fuck?
nothing.  he snaps it shut. they stand there: sweating, scared looking. mathias cups his hands to his mouth again, shouts:
there's another one. he points toward the clearing below them.
let's run back down. quick. while there's just him and the kid. we can rush them.
what's inside?
now what? jeff shrugs, waves past the shaft. the clearing ends just a few yards from them;
fuck. the man slides his bow off his shoulder, nocks an arrow. he shakes his head at them, calls out in mayan, waves them away.
we should rush them. all at once.
or go make shields. if we had some shields, we could-- he falls silent as another mayan comes running toward them. along the clearing. this one is bearded, heavier than the others. and he's carrying a rifle.
we can sneak past once the sun-' sets, i bet. you know? just reep by them in the dark? stacy and amy hardly seem to hear him; they look dazed, distraught. eric passes the bottle to stacy. a beat, then: eric and then there's the girl.
the one his brother met. what happened to her? amy and stacy are silent. stacy lifts the water bottle to her lips, but immediately lowers it, and starts to cry again. amy takes her hand. eric watches them, silent. then: eric and the archaeologists. you think-- stacy's crying deepens toward a sob. amy gives eric a look.
what?
what happened? jeff takes the bottle from stacy. he pours a tiny bit of water on mathias's hands.
why don't they just kill us?
what else can it be?
oh, jesus. oh, fuck.
you okay? stacy nods, but without much conviction. eric steps toward her, gives her a tight hug. he holds her eyes for a moment, kisses her. then he joins jeff at the hand crank. they lean against it, and the rope goes taut. stacy steps out into the open air over the shaft, the lamp in her right hand. with her left hand, she lunges, grabs at the sawhorse, clings tightly to it. jeff glances toward her from the hand crank.
stacy? stacy's voice rises toward them, sounding. very far away:
the clothes? from the backpacks? we could knot them together?
bad?
would it be strong enough?
maybe we could use it as a weapon, you know? wrap it around some stones or something. and throw them, like grenades. i mean, if they're that scared of it-- jeff tears off a piece of tape with his teeth.
shouldn't we carry him into the tent first? jeff pulls free the first belt, shifts to the second one.
because?
what're you doing?
if what does? jeff slides the soiled strips of-denim out from under mathias's body, tosses them aside. he lowers his voice:.
you think he's gonna die?
down?
there's no oil for the lamp. jeff waves toward the orange tent.
the vine. it's inside her. stacy points to her wound, sobbing now:
it's on our clothes. stacy and jeff both glance at him. there's a faint, almost fungus-like green growing on his shirt, an infantile version of the vine covering the hillside all around them. it's on all of them: their shirts, their pants, their shoes. before any of them can respond to this development, amy starts to call from the clearing, sounding scared:
we have to find the phone. we have to go back down and-- jeff makes a calming motion.
eat, stacy. you have to eat. she places the tiny sandwich into her mouth, chews, swallows, staring at her wound the whole time. then:
that's just swelling. it's natural. right?
the phone. let's find the phone. jeff doesn't move. stacy's bloodied khakis. are lying in the dirt beside him, and he reaches for them, starts to cut off their legs with the knife, just above the knee.
cut what off?
you're joking.
he'll lose too much blood.
with what? jeff holds up the knife. eric scoffs at the idea: eric that wouldn't do a thing. you'd need a bone saw.
what about infection? cutting into him with a dirty knife?
there's nothing there, stacy. it's
you're imagining it. you're scared, and you--
you have to calm down. can you do that? can you try to calm down? stacy pulls free of him, drops into a crouch, hugging her knees to her chest, her eyes shut.
a what?
we go back down. we find the other phone. we call for help. that's how we get out of here. that's how we save him.
one call, jeff. they'll be here by sundown.
oh, jesus. jesus christ. amy emerges from the tent, then stacy. they stand staring.
it's clear. he moves to the windlass, starts to wind the rope back onto the barrel. they've tied a sling on the rope's end again. stacy is pressing her right hand against the bottom of her rib cage: massaging, probing
come on, man. she's too scared.
it was inside her.
,hut up. okay? he's bigger than jeff, stronger, and this is suddenly very palpable. their faces are three inches apart. a tense beat, and then, more quietly: eric you're being too hard. jeff gives him a look of incredulity, almost disgust.
just leave her be. jeff turns away from him, from all three of them. he stares off across the hill for a beat, then shakes his head.
so stop. lay it down. jeff turns back to him, gives him a look of pure contempt; we can hear his fury rising again as he speaks:
i'm not saying--
of course not.
shh. but her crying increases; she begins to sob. jeff is bent' over the orange, dividing it into four equal piles--its peel, too--concentrating. he lifts his head, stares. amy stands up, hurries over., kneels in front of stacy, takes her hand.
shh.  she's wailing, rocking back and forth; she can't seem to stop. amy struggles to calm her.
but she was scared of heights.
what about the vine? jeff takes his sip, caps the bottle. he's reclaiming himself, his voice strengthening, his confidence returning.
don't yell. she's just scared.
just a sip. to calm her.
a sip, jeff. he starts to lift the bottle again. jeff shoves it aside.
what the-- stacy's voice keeps coming, switching locations, seeming to float across the hilltop; they turn, tracking it.
i still have forty minutes.
is stacy?
jeff cut it out. i saw him.
you know how stacy is. she's just scared. she gets things in her head, and--- mathias makes a retching sound--loud, wet, painful--and they both turn,€peering at his gaunt form through the darkness. he falls quiet; his eyes don't open. a beat, then: eric i've been sitting here, you know, making all these deals in my head with god. you ever do that? amy just stares at him. he has his arms wrapped around his knees, hugging them to his chest. eric like i say, okay, you can fire me on the first day teaching if that's what you want--just let us make it home. but that doesn't mean shit, 'cause i don't even really want the job, and he has to know that, doesn't he? so i say, all right, stacy can leave me, you know, or even, i don't know, i'll give up a finger, okay? or two fingers. or fuck it, take a hand, take my left hand, but let us just get home, all of us. and then i look at him-- --and i can't help it, i'm, like, take him if you need to, take mathias, and let the rest of us go. that's fucking horrible, isn't it? and once i've said it, i feel like i can't take it back, you know?
what is?
that's stupid, amy. that's--
he didn't mean it. there's no way. he was just--
shh. don't. she rests her head on his shoulder, weeping, her body shaking with it, while he pats her, stroking her hair.
what?
heard me what?
what're you talking about?
i guess.
should we say something?
there's nothing there, stacy.
you can't. you can't keep-- stacy is starting to cry; her mouth is trembling.