that's not even a game.
i know how to play. i mean it's just chance--there's no skill involved.
'cause you're not concentrating.
exactly. so where's the fun?
but it's not winning if it's just chance.
so maybe you should.
i've read it.
this world nys but a thurghfare ful of wo, and we been pilgrymes, passing to and fro. deeth is an ende of every worldly soore.
you're burning. i can see it. she finally opens her eyes, lifts her head, peers at her shoulders. she presses at the pink skin.
you're hot because you're burning.
wait. . .want a beer? he waves toward their chairs, the cooler beside them.
nurse sharks.
school.
they're not dangerous. eric turns, stares at jeff.
but they're not dangerous. they eat lobsters. sea urchins. that sort of thing. eric considers this, frowning. then he takes a sip of beer. he shrugs, turns back toward mathias.
he's here? mathias shakes his head.
to?
i'm gonna head back. eric gives him a look of disappointment,
what?
gone to bed earlier. eric stares at him; this wasn't the direction he was heading. jeff if i'm gonna be so short on sleep, i should get as.much as i can now, don't you think? he stands up, brushes the sand from his shorts. eric shrugs, lifts his cup toward him.
makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. with that, jeff nods good night to them, then starts off toward the hotel. eric and mathias turn back toward the bonfire. they sit in silence, watching the girls dance. after a moment, amy staggers away from the other dancers, toward a group of young men, drinking together in the shadows. she reaches down, pulls one of them to his feet, starts to drag him back toward the bonfire. the young man is tall, with long blond hair. he laughs, tries to free himself, but amy is insistent; she keeps pulling at him, and finally he surrenders. they begin to dance. stacy is dancing on her own, eyes shut, oblivious. mathias glances toward eric. eric shrugs.
you're up early. mathias lifts his head: jeff is standing there in his sweaty shirt, smiling down at him.
to? mathias slides the sheet of paper toward him. jeff bends to look. there's a paragraph in german scrawled above a hand- drawn map, with four place names: cancun, valladolid, tizimin, coba. a large x has been drawn to the west of coba.
and you don't?
impetuous?
responsible.
it's what? one of those pyramids?
de oro? 0 plata? mathias just stares at him. jeff you don't speak spanish? mathias shakes his head. jeff so how will you find this place?
well, good luck.
you okay? amy doesn't answer. she coughs, spits. jeff you don't have to come, you know.
you don't look fine.
we'll be back by nightfall. you can just-- amy is raising the brush to her mouth, but she stops, gives jeff a look in the mirror.
that's not what i'm saying.
you're hungover, under slept,
all right. my mistake. amy bends over the sink, starts to brush her teeth.
pants. amy stops, the shorts around her ankles.
there's gonna be mosquitoes. he picks up a knapsack, steps to the mini-fridge, opens its door. amy stares down at the khakis for a beat, then drops back onto the bed. she lies there, looking up at the ceiling, her shorts still caught around her ankles.
and?
if you and i were traveling together, somewhere you didn't speak the language, and i'd vanished somehow, wouldn't you want someone to help find me?
aren't you getting bored? honestly. the beach, the pool, the beach, the pool. this'll be fun. an adventure. jeff pulls two protein bars from the bag, a box of raisins, a plastic bag full of grapes; he drops them into the knapsack. jeff you said you wanted to go;hiking, didn't you? see the ruins. amy is silent, unmoving, clearly not swayed.
now or never, any. .we're gonna miss the bus. amy gives a loud groan, sits up, reaches for her khakis.
eleven. a little more.
two and a half miles.
hola. the man gives him a somber nod; the dog keeps barking. jeff takes the map from mathias, then steps warily forward. jeff habla ingles usted? the man half-nods, half-shrugs. jeff how much to drive us to here? he offers the map to the driver, who reaches to take it. the man frowns at it. then, in heavily accented english:
there are these ruins. this old mining camp?
to here? jeff points at the map. the driver shakes his head.
no good?
how about we pay you fifteen dollars to go here? he holds the money out. the man doesn't even look at it.
we're looking for his brother. su hermano?
gracias, senor! the driver doesn't even look at him; he just pulls out onto the road, heading back in the direction from which they came. there are mosquitoes; stacy starts to slap at herself. jeff unslings his pack, pulls out a can of insect repellent. jeff here. he begins to spray her, then eric. amy is peering off after the truck. they can still hear the dog's barking, but very faintly now. jeff finishes with eric, starts in on mathias.
the guidebook said you can always flag down a passing bus. so i--
it also said you can hitch--
they must-have a way to get supplies in.
the archaeologists. they must have a truck. or access to a truck. when we find mathias's brother, we can just ask them to take us all back to coba. right? mathias seems startled by the question.
eleven.
it's eleven miles.
let's just find this place, okay? then we can figure out how to get back. amy is silent. jeff turns to the others. jeff ready? mathias and eric nod, and the boys start down the path. amy stands there, watching them go. stacy steps toward her.'
the stream. thirty feet in front of them, the trail dips toward a small stream, studded with boulders. it resumes on the far bank, rising gradually uphill in a long straightaway. the stream is slow moving, the water dark brown. eric sniffs the air.
they must use it as a latrine.
the village. the mayans. they start toward it, gingerly, the girls covering their noses. jeff crosses the stream, hopping from boulder to boulder, and the others follow. stacy almost falls in; she only catches her balance at the final instant, yelping. jeff is already starting up the trail, searching for the turnoff. there's no sign of it; the dense foliage extends unbroken as far as the eye can see. he turns to mathias. jeff how far past the stream?.
it's on the map.
maybe the archaeologists don't want people to find the mine.
maybe they've dug up something valuable. emeralds or something. or silver. whatever they were mining in the first place. and they don't want anyone to come rob them. so they've asked the mayans to help keep people away. he falls into silence, staring at the boy. no one appears very convinced by his theory, not even jeff. he shrugs. jeff how much farther is it? mathias takes the map from his pocket again, glances at it.
be silly to stop now, don't you think? no one answers; no one moves.
so we what? turn around? walk all the way back to coba? silence. they all turn to stare back down the trail, then toward the mayan boy, who's still watching them. stacy slaps a mosquito, leaving a bloody smear on her bare arm. jeff lifts his hand, gestures at the path.leading into the trees. jeff come on. we're almost there. the others glance at one another, waiting for someone to argue; no one does. finally, mathias steps forward, slipping through the narrow opening. eric follows him, and then, with just the slightest hesitation, so do amy and stacy. jeff throws one last glance toward the boy--who's still standing there, sixty feet away, watching with his anxious expression--and then he, too, vanishes into the trees.
it's a mine. an old mining camp.
there's nothing sacred about it. eric considers this as they walk. the others are also quiet: too hot to speak. the sunlight falls through the trees in thin, shifting columns, hazed with mosquitoes.
a horse. it's true: hoofbeats are approaching at a gallop. instinctively, jeff and the others back a handful of steps toward the hill. a long. beat, then a horseman bursts into the clearing, rearing to a halt. amy lifts her camera.
dinero? the man ignores the proffered bill, makes a shooing motion, waving them from the clearing. mathias turns toward the hill, cups his hands around his mouth, shouts:
why don't you hike up, see if you can find him? we'll try to sort this out. mathias nods, starts across the clearing. the bald man shouts at him in mayan, and then, when mathias doesn't stop, pulls his pistol from its holster, fires into the sky. everyone flinches, half-ducking. stacy screams. mathias goes still. the man waves at him, yelling in mayan, and mathias comes back, his hands raised, to join the others. hoofbeats are approaching from the jungle again. they come closer and closer, and suddenly two more horsemen burst into the clearing. they're younger than the bald mans in their twenties, dark-haired, muscular. one has a mustache. their mounts are white-eyed, snorting, rearing, just like the bald man's. the two men jump to the ground, dropping their reins, and the horses immediately turn and gallop back into the jungle. amy lifts her camera again.
quiet.
wait. wait and see. amy is a bit farther into the clearing than jeff and the others. she keeps swinging her camera from them to the mayans, trying to capture the whole scene in one shot. she's too close, though,-and she retreats another handful of steps.
don't move. the bald man continues to frown and shake his head. he points to amy, then the others; he waves toward the jungle. but the young men are implacable--they keep arguing, gesturing--and finally the bald man gives in, falls silent. a beat, then the bald man raises his pistol, aims it at jeff's chest. he makes a shooing motion with his other hand, but now it's toward amy, and the hill beyond her. he begins to shout; the other men do, too. then the bald man fires a bullet into the dirt at jeff's feet. everyone jumps, starts to retreat. the men with the bows are swinging them back and forth, herding them toward the hill. when jeff and the others reach amy, the bald man points toward the trail, waves them up it. he watches--his expression looking stricken, close to tears--as the five of them obediently begin to climb the vine-covered hill.
check your phone, eric. eric pulls out his phone, flips it open, stares at it.
hello? silence. the vine covers everything but the trail and the clearing. we glimpse more rubble beneath its greenery: time- worn stelae, a low stone wall. in some places the vine folds back upon itself, forming waist- high mounds, tangled knoll-like profusions of green. and everywhere, hanging off it, are those bright red flowers. mathias moves toward the orange tent, and jeff follows him. they unzip its flap, stoop to peer inside.
nothing. some camping supplies. mathias starts across the clearing toward the blue tent, followed by jeff and the others. he unzips its flap, sticks his head inside. jeff leans to look, too.
keep going, i guess. saying this, he slings his pack onto his shoulder. then he starts forward, the others falling in behind him.
we'll see. the others hesitate, and then, one after another, resume their downward march.
easy. all right? easy and slow. we'll stand up and we'll walk away. we'll walk back up the hill. the young man's t-shirt is stiff with dried blood. there are. three slender arrows impaled in his chest.
i know.
shh. not here. up the hill, okay? mathias is struggling to control his breathing; the moans keep coming. finally, he manages a nod, and they both stand up. stacy and amy are holding hands, looking stricken. stacy has started to cry. eric has his arm around her. the mayans keep their weapons raised. they watch in silence as jeff and the others turn to start back up the hill.
there's something in the plants. the sap--it burned his skin. mathias rubs at his hands with his shirt, grimacing. amy reaches to take the water back from jeff. she starts to lift the bottle to her mouth, but. teff leans forward, grabs it. jeff don't. we need to save it.
we all are.
we don't have that much. we need to ration it. we'll have to figure out a way to catch the rain. everyone but amy peers up at the sky: it's a perfect, cloudless blue. amy remains focused on jeff.
fine. let's vote. but first you should understand that each of us is gonna need half a gallon of water a day, at a minimum, to survive here. that's two and a half gallons total, every day. and right now, until it rains, we don't have it. okay? not even one day's worth. now who wants to give amy more water? a long moment of silence. no one can meet amy's eyes. finally, very quietly:
another hour or so. then we'll all have a sip. okay? amy can see that she has no choice. she gives a grudging nod, and jeff slides the bottle into his knapsack. jeff we have to get organized. now. while we're still fresh. we'll have to stay out of the sun, spend as much time as possible in the tents. we'll have to--
they keep coming. more and more of them. they're all armed, and the bald one sends them out along the clearing. they're surrounding us. amy, stacy and eric struggle to absorb this. finally:
it's got something to do with the hill, i think. once you step on it, you're not allowed off. something like that. they won't step on it themselves, but now that we're here, they won't let us leave. so we have to figure out a way to survive till someone comes and finds-us.
people'll start to worry when we don't return home. right? and
if we try to leave, they'll shoot us. that's the one thing we know for certain. an electronic chirping comes from the shaft: it sounds like a cell phone ringing. mathias turns his head, listening. no one else notices it.
that's a cell phone, amy. definitely.
it could be a different network. something local.
there's a lamp in the orange tent. see if you can find some matches, too. amy hurries off toward the orange tent, vanishing inside. there's a final ring, and then silence again. mathias is knotting the rope tightly around his chest. amy returns, carrying an oil lamp, a box of matches. everyone watches as jeff crouches to light the lamp. then he rises, turns toward mathias, looks at him closely. jeff you sure? mathias nods, takes the lamp, steps to the edge of the hole. jeff and eric move to the windlass; they position themselves at the hand crank, leaning into it, so the rope goes taut. mathias girds himself, steps out over the hole. he dangles there for a moment, hanging beneath the sawhorse, the windlass groaning on its mount. then jeff and eric begin to reverse the crank, letting the rope slowly spool out. stacy and amy stand beside the shaft, peering into it, watching as mathias begins his descent--ten feet, twenty feet, thirty feet down, and still only darkness beneath him, with no sign of the shaft's bottom. the windlass creaks as it turns; jeff and eric strain against it, sweating, muscles taut. amy has turned from the shaft, is watching: the rope as it slowly unspools from the barrel.
pull him up ! eric hasn't grasped what's happening. he hesitates. jeff
he's moaning. they listen for a beat, but there's only silence. jeff i heard him moan. the others don't seem so certain; jeff turns to the girls. jeff one of you will have to go.
down. we'll clear the vine off the rope. and you can--
we have to work the crank. you won't be strong enough.
mathias? more silence. jeff turns to the girls. jeff see if you can find a knife. and another lamp.' he waves them toward the tents; then he and eric begin to unspool the rope from the windlass, laying it out across the clearing in long, looping circles.
once we get him out, we'll drop the rope back down and pull you up, too. amy offers stacy the lamp. stacy is scared, yet struggling not to show it. her hands are trembling, and the lamp rattles as she takes it. the boys are stepping toward the windlass; eric stops, glances back at her.
ready? she nods, but doesn't relinquish her grip on the sawhorse. jeff you have to let go, stacy. for a moment, it doesn't seem like she'll be able to, but then--with a visible act of will--she does, and they slowly. begin to let the rope out, dropping her into the shaft.
stacy? his voice has an echo to it.
can you see him? stacy looks down again, holding up the lamp, peering toward mathias's motionless body. she lifts her head.
is he conscious?
how far are you above him? stacy glances down once more, trying to quess,the distance.
we have to figure out a way to lengthen the rope. we're gonna pull you up. he pulls his head away.
you can't. we have to--
we might not be able to make it longer. you'll be trapped.
we'll pull you up. then we'll see. he starts toward the windlass again.
what happened to the lamp?
i'm dropping the matches. okay?
we need fifteen feet. twenty to be safe. no one speaks. the windlass turns with that steady creaking, but it's higher-pitched now, with no weight on the rope. jeff come on. think. how can we--
would they hold? eric frowns, uncertain. jeff finishes with the rope, stands there, catching his breath. stacy's,voice rises toward them from the shaft:
put pressure on it. use my shirt. they all stare down at her, waiting.
what about the tents? we could take one down, cut the nylon into strips. eric and amy glance toward the tents, debating.
we can braid them--three strips for each section. then knot the sections together, for strength. before either of them can respond, stacy's voice emerges from the shaft, sounding scared:
smells?
how can we make a backboard? amy starts to shake her head, looking horrified.
one of the frames from the backpacks? and the tent poles. there's tape in the orange tent. he doesn't wait for a response; he leans over the shaft,
we can't just leave him down there. you know that, don't you? she starts to back away, toward the edge of the clearing.
who?
they're not gonna---
amy! but she's gone. jeff turns to eric. jeff stay here.
they can't understand you. she turns, her voice quickened with panic:
they don't speak spanish.
they killed henrich. why would- amy tries to tug free, but he won't let her. she starts to shout at the mayans:
we have to get back. amy turns toward him, her face smeared with tears.
listen to me. mathias needs our help. right now. he--
yd-q stepped onto the hill. amy stares at him, startled into silence. jeff they wouldn't have forced us up it if you hadn't. he holds her eyes, making sure she understands. then: jeff now let's go, okay? he starts to pull her back toward the trail. she allows herself to be led; she's begun to cry again:
they're not going to.
they have guns, eric. and bows. what do you think they'll do if we start throwing the vine at them? eric is silenced by this. he cuts another long strip of nylon, passes it to amy. but he can't seem to stop himself from talking:
come on. you're burning. she reaches for the hat, puts it on, then wipes at her eyes again. jeff leans forward, touches her. jeff we're gonna get through this. all right? we'll pull them up. and then . i don't know--we'll figure things out. it has to rain at some point. and maybe we can snare some birds. or--
stacy? stacy ignores him; she limps around mathias, starts toward the opening. she hesitates at the mouth of the shaft, lifting her lamp to see better. there's another ring.
can you see it? stacy lifts her head, shouts:
then blow it out.
have you reached them?
amy? they both look up; the sky has grown too dark to see him. amy hesitates one beat more, then yells:
we can't.
he's gonna keep leaking urine.
we'll rig a shelter. with what's left of the blue tent. jeff pulls the second belt free. mathias's eyes remain shut. jeff one of us should stay on watch while the others sleep. two hour shifts. he reaches for his knapsack, unzips it. he pulls out a liter bottle of water. jeff .once it's light, we'll figure out how much water we have, and how to ration it. food, too. for now, i think we should each just take a single swig. he uncaps the bottle, hands it to amy. he watches her drink from it. when she's done, she passes it to stacy. jeff eric and i'll build the shelter,. then i'll take the first shift. you two should try to sleep. stacy takes her single sip, passes the bottle to eric.
we have to keep him clean. he slices the jeans, from ankle to hip, first one leg, then the other, struggling not to jostle mathias's body. jeff that's how it'll happen, i think. if it does.
if he dies here. infection. blood poisoning--something like that. eric seems startled by this.
his back is broken. who knows what else. eric is silent, motionless, the tape in his hand. mathias's breathing seems to be getting steadily worse. jeff bends to cut off his boxers, first one leg, then the other. he tosses the soiled fabric aside. jeff we should go back down in the morning.
into the shaft. try to find the phone again.
there's tequila. we could pour it on some of the clothes, tie them around one of these poles, make a torch. a sleeping bag is lying in the clearing among the strips of nylon and aluminum poles. jeff steps over to pick it up. jeff without the phone, he's dead. if we have to wait for someone to come searching.  he shakes his head. then he leans forward and carefully drapes the sleeping bag across mathias's broken body.
how is he?
and you?
once the others are up, we'll have some water. his face is stubbled, sweat-stained. he looks ragged; they both do. he steps to the opposite side of the clearing, unzips, begins to urinate, with his back to amy.
bodies. all of them. he waves across the hilltop, at the other mounds: there are more than a dozen. amy takes them in. the light is gaining strength, the green leaves seeming to shine in it, the red flowers to glow. jeff's face assumes a puzzled expression. jeff where are the birds?
it's dawn--there should be birds. they both stare off across the hillside: so quiet, so still.
stay with him. then he ducks in through the tent's flap.
what is it?
the blade's dirty. we should-- stacy starts shaking her head, frantic:
it's gonna hurt.
get me a shirt or something. he gestures toward the backpacks, and eric unzips one of them, starts to dig through it.
i got it out.
that's just your body. your muscle twitching.
they must've dug it up.
the miners. he puts the liquids in a third pile: three bottles of water, two of iced tea, a can of coke. that's all there is. jeff and then the mayans cleared the jungle around the hill, i guess. to keep it quarantined. that's why they won't let us leave, don't you think? they're afraid we'll spread it? the others are silent. jeff reaches for the tuna fish sandwich. he carefully unwraps it. jeff or else. i don't know. maybe it's something religious? and we're some sort of sacrifice? he glances at the others, but once again no one responds. they all look dazed: knocked back into themselves. jeff picks up the knife, wipes it on his jeans. jeff they must've done the same thing with the archaeologists. and henrich. trapped them here. like us. he cuts the sandwich into four equal sections. jeff and then somehow it killed them off. all of them. one by one. this is too much for eric; he.leaps up, looking panicky.
we'll eat first. drink some water. we have to stay calm. not rush at things. he holds out one of the tiny squares of sandwich. eric hesitates, then accepts it, dropping back into a crouch. jeff hands amy her square.
he wouldn't be able to stomach it. jeff offers stacy her ration. she takes it, but almost absentmindedly. she seems distracted; she keeps prodding at her wound with her fingertip. jeff stop it, stacy.
i told you. i got it out. jeff pops his square of sandwich into his mouth; eric and amy eat theirs, too. stacy's ration remains in her hand; she seems to have forgotten it. she's sunburned, sweat-stained, glassy-eyed. eric leans toward her, looking worried.
it's what happens when you get hurt. jeff picks up one of the water bottles, twists off its-cap. he offers the bottle to stacy. jeff one swallow apiece. the bottle makes its way around their little circle. when it returns to jeff, he takes his sip, caps the bottle. eric is watching stacy, her anxious probing; he looks increasingly distressed by it. he jumps up again.
we need to take care of mathias, first. he won't last much longer like that. amy looks appalled; she makes a shushing motion.
we have to cut them off.
his legs. he's finished with stacy's khakis; they've been transformed into a pair of shorts. he tosses them toward her. eric and amy are staring at him, shocked into silence. then:
he'll die if we don't.
there won't be any pain. he has no feeling beneath his waist.
the tourniquets are already in place. we'll cut below them.
we could break the bones. then cut. amy is shaking her head; she looks mortified.
we'll sterilize it. build a fire. heat the blade in the flames. it'll cauterize as it cuts.
or save him. one or the other. we can't just--
it'11 take too long.
and mathias will already be dying. you understand? there's no flesh covering his bones. they're-- mathias's voice interrupts him, from the backboard. very hoarse, barely audible:
i'll have to break the bones first. an amber liquid is being poured onto the clothes, very slowly. we pull back to reveal:
with the stone. then i'll use the knife to cut. a large stone sits beside the pile of clothes, shaped like an ax head. there's the knife, too, and the metal canteen from the orange tent. jeff we'll heat the canteen, and cauterize the wounds with it. to stop the bleeding. eric strikes a match: the clothes catch instantly, burning with a low blue flame. he sets the knife in the fire, then the stone, and splashes more tequila on them. the girls stand in the center of the clearing, watching. jeff you shouldn't be able to feel a thing. but you can bite this if you want. just in case. he holds up one of the belts. mathias hesitates, then opens his mouth, and jeff sets it carefully inside. mathias clamps down, gripping it between his teeth. jeff glances at eric. jeff ready? eric nods.- the stone is making a cracking sound in the fire, glowing a.deep red. jeff turns back to mathias. jeff you? mathias also nods, shutting his eyes. there's a small towel in the dirt beside jeff, and he. picks it up, wrapping it around his hand. he looks over his shoulder at the girls. they both seem terrified, shaky with it.
reep him still. he turns, smashes the stone into mathias's right leg. mathias begins to scream, bucking against eric's grip.
he couldn't have.
we've bought him some time. he wouldn't have--
leave it. eric ignores him, cutting and stomping and tearing at the tendrils, faster and faster, but still too slow, the vine fighting back, wrapping itself around his legs. jeff eric. he steps toward him, grabs his arm, pulls him away. they stand side by side, watching as the vine pulls the severed limbs into itself, the white of the bones vanishing into the larger mass of green. stacy has begun to cry again. there's a beat of stillness, and then, once more, echoing up toward them from the shaft, comes that faint electronic ringing of the cell phone.
i don't know how long it'11 burn--
so you'll have to be quick. he has one of the aluminum poles from the blue tent. he's wrapped duct tape around its bottom for a grip, tied some of the archaeologists' clothes around the top. he's dribbling tequila on the knot of fabric, saturating it. jeff wait to light it till you're both down there. then--
who what?
you and amy. they all look bad, but stacy looks the worst: her wounded leg,, -her greasy hair, a panicky edge to every gesture. she shakes her head, with vehemence.
we've already been through this. eric and i need to work the winch. you're not strong enough. eric has reached the end of the rope; he stands up, wiping his hands on his pants.
the torch won't last that long. we need you both there, searching. stacy starts shaking her head again, terrified:
you don't have a choice, stacy. amy can see where this is headed; she tries to divert it.
if we don't find the phone, mathias will die. understand? stacy is silent, hugging herself, staring at the ground. eric has finished winding the rope onto the windlass. he tries to intervene:
so that's what you're saying. just to be clear. that you're not willing to help him live.
i don't give a fuck. i'm scared, too. we all are.
and we got it out. now she needs to stop being such a fucking baby, stop being so selfish, and-- eric is stepping toward him suddenly, right up against him, forcing him back a step.
hard?
i'm the only one thinking. i'm carrying the whole fucking load.
this isn't just going to work out on its own, eric. you know? magically?
we could end up dead here. all of us. is that what you want?
then get the fuck out of my way, and start helping me. he holds eric's eyes long enough to confirm that eric isn't going to protest, then he glances past him at stacy. jeff you going or not? stacy-is still staring at the ground, her hand probing at her chest. it's clear she doesn't want to go, but jeff has shamed her into silence. amy reaches, touches her arm.
get in the sling, amy. amy turns, reaching for the sling.
did you find it?
but she couldn't swim.
shit€ he springs to his feet. and then: a downpour, a deluge, as if a trap door has swung open in the clouds. the rain falls in a loud, drumming rush, turning the clearing to mud. eric jumps up, too. he and jeff start digging through the backpacks from the. blue tent, searching for something-- anything--in which to catch the water. they find a small plastic bag, a nylon toiletry kit, a frisbee. jeff sets these in a row on the ground, open to the rain. eric rushes to the orange tent, vanishes inside. amy tilts back her head, tries to catch the rain in her open mouth. stacy just sits there, hugging herself, shivering, still half- crying. they're all drenched, back-spattered with mud. and then, as abruptly as it had begun, the rain starts to slacken. eric reemerges from the orange tent, carrying a thermos, a plastic cup. he sets them next to the other containers, but it's pointless; the rain is already stopping. they all stare at these meager receptacles: they've managed to catch less than half an inch of muddy-looking water. jeff. groans; he's furious with himself:
it doesn't fucking matter.
how much, amy? two and a half gallons? 'cause that's what we need. for today--just to make it through today. and then tomorrow the same all over again. and for how long? another week before our parents start searching? and then what? how long till they track us to coba? or to this fucking hill? how long will it take, amy?
it's not gonna happen. we're not gonna make it. the others stare at him in astonishment, too 'stunned to speak. he gives them all a look of disgust: jeff and you're fucking playing games. so there were these people trapped in the jungle.
but they didn't have any water.
so they're gonna die of thirst. amy covers her ears with her hands.
but this fucking vine might kill them first.
i'm sorry . i'm sorry. he steps back toward the dismembered orange, crouches over it. the fruit and peels are muddy now, spoiled looking. he waves for the others to approach. jeff come on. we need to eat. no one moves. they're all staring at him with their shocked expressions. he can't seem to meet their eyes. he gestures at the orange again. jeff the peel, too. everything. abeat, then the others step forward to claim their portions: first eric, then stacy, then amy. they eat without speaking. finally, almost as if talking to himself: jeff it'll rain again. it has to. and we'll figure out a way to catch it. we'll be fine. we'll ration the -food. and then, you know, we'll just. we'll tough it out.
i don't think it can hurt us. not directly. if it could, it already would've, wouldn't it? why would it wait? the others are silent, considering this. then: jeff it's not strong enough to overpower us. and it-- mathias gasps suddenly, his entire body spasming for a moment, before the watery rasp of his breathing resumes. he doesn't regain consciousness; his eyes remain shut. everyone watches him for a beat: he, also, is spattered with mud.
don't, stacy. don't start. she jumps up, begins to pace, agitated.
put it down.
give it to me. right now. amy and eric stand, too.
a il h¿½ f down i he shoves her down, onto her back, then picks up the towel he'd used to hold the heated stone. he balls it up, presses it to stacy's wound. eric retrieves the bottle of tequila from the mud, uncaps it. he crouches beside stacy.
what're you doing? he's lifting the bottle toward stacy's mouth, but he hesitates now, turning toward jeff.
it'll dehydrate-her.
i said q.
you realize how stupid you're being? sticking that dirty knife
of ina's.inside you. you're imagining it, and you just--
get infected. understand? you're gonna get yourself killed.
no--it's the vine. it's mimicking her. stacy has started to cry; she covers her ears with her hands.
wh--? stacy holds her finger to her lips, silencing him.  from outside, there's another moan. jeff sits up, listening. the panting is building toward a climax. jeff leans toward the pile of supplies at the tent's rear, squinting at the tangle of vine growing across it. he points, whispering: jeff it's the-- but stacy is already pushing herself to her feet. she moves quickly to the tent's flap, unzips it, crouches out into:
the vine. it made it sound as if you two-- stacy turns toward him, snorting, shaking her head.
i could hear it. at the back of the tent. it was--
then it's heard someone having sex at some point. slowly, quietly, a tendril has begun to slither forward through the darkness, creeping in beneath the lean-to, snaking toward mathias, toward his head. jeff and the others are all too focused on one another to notice.
it's doing this on purpose.' can't you see? it thinks you're the weakest--because you're hurt. so it's trying to upset you. trying
we heard the vine. it--
enough, stacy. stoll.
they must've salted the soil. that's the only way i can think. he turns, glances at amy. she has no idea what he's talking about. he waves down toward the mayans.
i know.
shh. amy falls silent, watching him. he lowers his finger. jeff have you made it up with her? amy half-nods, half-shrugs. jeff good.
i wish it mattered. amy gives him a confused look. jeff throws out his hand,. gesturing at the hilltop, the vine, their tattered clothes. jeff look at us. would it matter to you? amy hesitates, considering. then she shakes her head. and with that, jeff turns, starts back toward the orange tent. we hear a zipping sound, which carries over into:
head first? eric considers this, staring down at mathias's body. mathias's face is burned red from the vine's sap; his legs are two blackened stumps. eric shrugs.
you'll have to lift him. eric hesitates; he seems reluctant to touch the corpse. finally, he girds himself, straddles the backboard, grabs mathias under his armpits, lifting him. jeff leans forward, starts to pull the sleeping bag over mathias's head. the corpse seems intent upon resisting them; its arms keep getting tangled, catching and snagging. jeff and eric have to wrestle with it, both of them panting, sweating, before they manage to shove it into the bag. jeff zips the bag shut, and they stand over it, catching their breath, wiping the perspiration from their faces.
hold her hands.
should i stop? stacy shakes her head, vehemently. jeff glances at the others. eric shakes his head, too. amy's eyes, like stacy's, are tightly shut. jeff you'll have to roll over. stacy lets go of the others' hands, rolls onto her stomach. she hitches up her shirt, revealing the small of her back, the starfish-shaped bulge. jeff crouches at her side. jeff ready? she nods, and he leans, makes five quick incisions, in the shape of an asterisk, directly above the bulge. stacy's body goes rigid, and eric takes her hand again. once more, we can see the tendril through the incision: dark with her blood. jeff reaches in and slowly pulls the vine from her body. there's an astonishing amount of it; he has to drop the knife and use both hands to drag the slimy mass free.
can you eat? stacy sits up, wincing; her bandages are soaked through with blood. she takes the grapes from him; eric does, too. they- all begin to eat, in silence. when they're done, jeff passes the water bottle around their circle. then: jeff we should try to rest, i guess. get out of the sun. we're losing moisture out--
you're losing too much blood. and if any of these get infected---
no more cutting. not unless--- the knife is in the dirt beside him, and stacy leans forward, tries to grab it. jeff is too quick for her, though: he snatches it up, tucks it into his belt. stacy is becoming more and more upset. she holds out her hands, begging:
give it. now. eric follows him. amy stays by the tent; she's begun to cry.
easy. try to-- stacy clutches at amy, begging, her voice hoarse with pain:
it's okay. i'm right here. i'm-- he unzips the bag, and an immense tangle of vine cascades out onto the dirt. its flowers are a pale pink; they're opening and closing, still calling, louder now:
come on. you'll need the energy. he reaches for her hand, puts the banana in it. she holds the fruit, but makes no move to eat. finally, very quietly:
you'll only get weaker.
nobody's coming.
all they'll find are our bones. amy is silent, staring down at the banana. jeff we don't have time for this, amy. you'll need as much daylight as possible. he waves upward, toward the sun, which has passed its peak, begun its slow slide westward. amy squints toward it for a beat, and then, almost despite herself, lifts the banana to her mouth. she bites, chews, swallows, still mutely crying. jeff peels the second banana; he hands it to her as soon as she finishes the first. be watches her eat,.silent. he's tearing open the bag of pretzels when another tendril snakes into the clearing.
we might. he hands her the pretzels; she takes them, watching his face.
it'll take them a moment to react. if i can make it to the trees.  he trails off, shrugs. amy keeps staring at him; she doesn't believe this either. he sighs again, holds up his hand, pulls the bandage from his wound: it's three inches long, a deep gash into his palm. jeff how long till it's inside me? amy is silent. he flexes his hand, and the wound opens, mouthlike, blood oozing thickly from it. jeff it already is, probably. i'll be just like stacy soon. he turns, glances toward the spot where her body has disappeared. amy looks, too.
you don't even know her name. the mayans just stare at him. he rises to his feet, pulling the knife from his belt: it's darkly stained with. blood. jeff you should. you should know who you're killing.