we should play war. it's more fun. jeff takes a card from his hand, lays it down on the table.
sure it is. i'll teach you. she starts-to fold her hand,'but jeff shakes his head.
but i keep losing.
i wouldn't have to concentrate if we played war.
i'd win sometimes. it's not fun if we both can't win.
of course it is. if we flipped a coin, and i called heads, and it--
maybe you should just be honest, sweetie.
so there was this king, who lived in a castle. amy turns, gives her a pained look.
so he decided to move.
so he left by himself.
so he bought a dog.
so he gave it a bath.
so he gave it some medicine.
so the dog died. amy rises, steps toward the pool. jeff lays down his cards, joins her beside the water. they both peer into it.
or grass. or cement. or carpet.
i'll dance.
how many miles is that? they all glance at jeff. he shrugs.
eric has his phone. can't we just call someone?
just go with it, honey. you'll see--it'll all work out. she hooks arms with her, pulls her into motion.
so-there was this girl who bought a piano. amy gives a loud moan.
so she signed up for lessons.
you can play, too. if you want.
so she became a prostitute.
me, too.
maybe it's not the right path. no one speaks. they keep staring from the boy to the newly revealed path, trying to make sense of it. we can still hear the squeaking of the bicycle, growing steadily fainter.
and it was hidden. why would it be hidden? jeff steps forward, shields his eyes, tries to peer into the dimness of the narrow path. then he glances back toward the little boy, who continues to stand there, watching them.
it's beautiful.
and the mosquitoes are gone. you realize that? they've stopped biting. she smiles at the others, delighted by this development. amy removes the cap from her camera, starts to take pictures.
what's he saying?
he's got a gun, eric. this silences eric--silences all of them. mathias turns, shouts toward the tent again.
what do we do? jeff shrugs, starts forward again.
shut up, eric.
let's go back up. jeff takes a step forward into the clearing--slowly, warily. stacy i wanna go back. jeff takes another step, edging toward the mound, his eyes on the mayans, their raised weapons. they just watch him.
maybe we should just wait, honey.
can't we sneak away when it gets dark? eric said we--
a cell phone.
mathias? her voice echoes back at us. there's no response.
i can do it.
what?
i'm not at the bottom.
a little.
i can't tell. i don't think so.
fifteen feet? he's just lying there. she lifts her head again, peers upward.
jeff .  ? jeff's head reappears.
wait! the rope has almost stopped its swaying.
i want to stay with him.
i'll jump. jeff glances at the others. eric shakes his head. jeff calls down to her:.
what about him? we can't just leave him.
i'm sorry. oh, god. i'm so sorry. she pulls herself into a crouch, staring down at him through the dimness, his shriek fading to a steady moaning.
i didn't want him to be alone.
it blew out. jeff turns from the shaft, picks up the box of matches. he yanks off his shirt, ties the box inside it, then steps back to the edge of the hole. he calls down to stacy:
okay. jeff holds the knotted bundle over the shaft, lets it go. it falls into the darkness. a long beat, and then, very softly, we hear the thump as it lands. stacy got it. the three of them stare into the hole, waiting for the light.
mathias? he doesn't respond; it's hard to tell if he's conscious. stacy lifts the lamp, peers about the shaft. the vine has taken root even at this depth, its flowers and leaves pale to the point of translucence. beyond mathias, there's an opening in the dirt wall, another shaft cutting perpendicularly into the earth. its roof is supported by a stone archway, intricately carved. stacy rises, as if to investigate, but then winces, nearly falls. she peers down at her right leg. a large piece of glass is imbedded there, just beneath her knee. it's the size of a playing card, gently concave,'dark with her blood. she reaches and, grimacing, pulls it from her body.
i cut my knee. eric hurries to the shaft, followed by jeff and amy. they peer over its edge, toward stacy, so far beneath them, in her flickering circle of lamp light.
my shoe's full of blood.
hey.
i think he broke his back. they fall silent, staring down at her. stacy he can't move his legs. and it smells.
like he lost his bowels. his bladder.
okay. amy is shaking her head, growing frantic:
no. she keeps peering into the shadows, not moving. the ringing falls silent. stacy turns, hobbles back toward mathias, and the light shudders, dims for a moment. she squints at it: the oil is nearly gone. she shouts up to the others: stacy the lamp's almost out of oil.
blow it out?
what?
we'll have to send it back up, i guess.
it's only a few feet. . "- once more, amy is silent. stacy lifts the lamp, examining it, the diminishing pool of oil. stacy we have to decide. the light's not going to last. jeff's voice comes toward them from above again:
you sure?
but if i lift at his hips, won't he arch his back? they both stare down at mathis, imagining these two different scenarios. amy glances toward the lamp, its dwindling oil.
i have to pee. she limps toward the wall, lowers her pants, gingerly crouches. she stares toward the other shaft as she pees: its stone archway, the shifting shadows, the vine rustling softly in the steady draught. amy binds mathias at his thighs. she whispers to him:
amy? what?
we shouldn't have lifted him, should we? amy reaches, pats stacy's hand.
he's never gonna walk again.  he's--
oh my god.  the vine is clinging to her; she has to tear it, the sap shining slickly on her hands, visibly beginning to burn the skin. she yanks at the tendrils, tossing them aside. stacy help me. eric sits up, still only half-awake. he just stares. stacy . it's inside me.  it's true: one of the tendrils has pushed its way into the wound on her leg, widening it, thrusting itself a full three inches into her body, like a thick finger. stacy oh, jesus--it's fucking inside me. she tries to pull the tendril out, but she's too panicky, too quick, and the vine breaks, leaving a piece of itself snagged under her skin. stacy starts to scream: stacy get the knifes eric is too shocked to stir. he's staring down at her leg, at the bulge beneath her skin: it looks as if it's moving.
get the knife! jeff bends, scoops up the knife, starts toward the tent. he waves toward mathias.
cut it out. you gotta cut it out.
it's moving! can't you see? jeff stares at the bulge, hesitating. then it moves, unquestionably: contracting and expanding, like a worm. stacy shrieks: stacy jeff! be gives in, crouching over her leg.
please. hurry. he leans forward, slices into the skin above the bulge. stacy cries out, starts to jerk away, but jeff presses down on her leg, holding her still. he reaches into her wound with his finger, digs out the piece of vine, tosses it aside.
i can still feel it.
i can feel it moving.
but€
it's still in there. i can feel it. she keeps probing. jeff shakes his head, a little it' atient:
see? how puffy it is?
cut me first. right here. stacy has stood up, pulled on the shorts jeff has fashioned for her. she's bent over, pointing at a spot on her leg, a few inches below the last incision. stacy sterilize the knife and-- eric steps toward her, tries to soothe her.
it's moving. i can feel it moving.
i gotta get out of here. i gotta get to a hospital. i gotta-- eric takes her hand, squeezing it. stacy blinks at him, close to tears.
see if there's a signal.
your phone. check your phone. eric doesn't move: he knows there's no point. stacy check it. eric sighs, steps to his pack, crouches to remove his phone. he flips it open, holds it out to stacy. she stares down at it: there's no signal. eric drops it back into his pack. then he turns to jeff.
who? jeff looks up at her, startled by the question. eric is moving along the length of rope, bent low, checking its hemp for signs of weakness.
who's going?
no, jeff. no way. not me. jeff caps the tequila bottle, gives stacy a tired look.
why can't amy go on her own?
i'm not going. i can't.
hurry. amy strikes the match, holds it to the knot of clothing at the end of the aluminum pole. the alcohol catches with a fluttering sound, a cloud of pale blue fire materializing around the torch. amy lifts it, and they start into:
it's right here. i can-- amy jumps forward, reaching for her.
what? a seventh ring sounds, seeming to come from beneath the vines on the floor of the shaft, directly in front of them. stacy tries to pull free, to bend and reach toward the sound.
no. it's-- she pulls free, steps forward, and her foot seems to punch straight through the shaft's floor. she screams, losing her balances amy throws down the torch, lunges for her. the torch flutters, pales, but remains lit. the vines growing across the floor fall away, revealing an opening, another shaft, dropping into the earth. stacy is slowly sliding into it, scrambling to stop herself. amy grabs stacy arm. stacy is dangling, from the waist down, over the hole's edge. there are vines in the hole, too, and. they begin to coil around her legs, pulling at her, dragging her downward. stacy screams again, kicking to free herself, scrambling upward, monkey-like, while amy pulls at her, and finally they manage to drag her to safety. a beat, then amy retrieves the torch, holds it out over the hole. the bottom is twenty feet down, almost lost in shadow. dimly, we see a woman, lying curled against the wall--she has long dark hair. stacy oh my god. the woman stirs, her body rolling, as if to turn and look at us, and we see her face: she's a corpse. the vine has invaded her flesh--it's in her eye sockets, the hollow of her mouth, writhing and churning. stacy and amy scream. there's a whistling sound, like a whip, and a tendril lashes out from the shaft's wall, wraps itself around the torch's handle, yanks it from amy's grip. the torch falls into the hole, still burning. when it hits bottom, a mass of vine surges across it, smothering its flame. it's very dark after this: amy and stacy are barely discernible. a beat of silence, then an odd, high-pitched cackling rises all around them; it sounds like laughter-- eerie, childlike, full of echoes.
check your phone. eric pushes himself to his feet, steps toward his pack. he pulls out his phone, flips it open. he shakes his head. stacy let me see. eric carries the phone to her, then stands over her while she opens it, stares down at it. she shuts it, opens it again. then again, and again, and suddenly she's crying, bent into herself. eric drops to a crouch, rests his hand on her knee.
i wanner go home. i wanna leave.
but everyone.  she trails off, crying again. amy nods, encouraging her.
they laughed at her.
me, too. they all turn to look at her. she's massaging that spot on her rib cage again, digging into it with her fingers. stacy it's eating me. just like him. and her. she waves toward the shaft. jeff gives her a weary look.
it's inside me. in my leg. my chest. i can feel it. right here.  she stops pacing, lifts her shirt. she points to the base of her rib cage. stacy see? jeff stares; there's nothing there. he shakes his head. the knife is lying in the mud beside him, and stacy steps forward, snatches it up. jeff reaches to stop her, but he's too slow. she stands before him, hefting it. in her hand.
i'll show you. she lifts her.shirt again, pressing at her rib cage with her .fingertips. jeff stands up, holds out his hand.
i thought it would just come tumbling out. she probes at the cut with the point of the knife, prying it farther open, the bleeding increasing. jeff reaches, grabs the knife from her. he looks furious:
it's hiding. it's right-- she pokes her finger into the wound, digging. jeff slaps her hand away. he yells:
leave him alone. she tries to sit up, but jeff pushes her back down, hard.
it's growing.
i'm gonna end up like her. that girl. i'm gonna--
you're not listening.
make it stop.
please. make it stop.
shut up! stacy's voice continues, but now that high-pitched laughter is coming, too, a chorus of it, growing in volume:
shut up! shut up! the laughter grows steadily louder, obscuring stacy's voice: we see the flowers trembling, visibly vibrating as they sculpt the sound.
we heard you.
fucking her.
you're so blind.
it doesn't make things up. it mimics things. things it's heard.
that was ay, jeff. moaning.
you're not upset? he had his arm around her. he-- amy leans forward, hands out, beseeching:
we he-ar you. the vine starts to push its way in between mathias's lips, into his mouth. mathias makes a gagging sound, but doesn't regain consciousness: once more, no one notices.
you're such a fool, jeff. you think she's never cheated on you? perfect little angelic amy?
i could tell you secrets. i could open your eyes.
spring break? senior year?
fuck you. slut. twice, jeff. two different guys. and one of them-- jeff grabs her arm, grips it, silencing hers
oh, god. oh please no.  jeff bends close to mathias's face, listening; he checks mathias's neck for a pulse. a beat, then he turns toward the others, shakes his head. stacy begins to sob: stacy i'm sorry. i'm so sorry.  eric reaches, takes her into his arms, hugging her.
where's the knife? they all turn. her hand is under her tattered shirt, pressing at her lower back. jeff sighs:
i want to see. jeff hesitates; for a moment it seems-as if he might argue. but then, very quickly, he leans forward and draws the knife in one smooth movement up and around stacy's leg. stacy moans, her body tensing, but she doesn't cry out. the incision reveals the vine, a foot long, its leaves and flowers clotted with stacy's blood, which is oozing from the wound. jeff reaches in, pries the tendril from her flesh. stacy moans again, arching backward, as the vine emerges: writhing and twisting. the blood comes more thickly now, pumping from the wound, running down her leg. jeff drops the tendril into the dirt, steps on it, grinding it into stillness. stacy is breathing hard, almost hyperventilating. she's shut her eyes.
there's more of it. she leans forward, probes at her right thigh, prodding the skin. the others watch her; there's no bulge visible, no sign of the vine-at all. eric gives her a pained look.
it's under the muscle. down by the bone.
my calf, too. she lifts her right leg, turning it to show the others. jeff bends to look. again, there's no visible sign of the vine. he shakes his head.
please, jeff.
it's everywhere. she's prodding at her body: her legs, her chest and stomach. amy scoots toward her, grasps her hand.
it's in my head! i can feel it in my head! amy takes stacy in her arms, hugging her tight.
that girl-- i keep seeing her. when i shut my eyes.
i have to get it out. it's-- jeff darts forward, tries to grab the knife from her, and she slashes at him, shouting: stacy leave me alonel the blade slices into his palm. jeff jumps back, cradling his hand at his chest. stacy i have to-- eric steps toward her, from behind, reaching around her body for the knife, and she spins, reflexively, trying to fend him off. but the knife is in her hand, and it punches into his chest, just to the right of his sternum, sticking there.
please. just--
it hurts. it hurts so much. eric tries to rise again. the blood surges from his wound when he moves. jeff presses him back down.
kill me. i can't she stops in mid-sentence, staring. jeff and amy follow her gaze. a half dozen tendrils are snaking into the clearing, reaching toward eric's body. jeff jumps to his feet. the tendrils begin to wrap themselves around eric's limbs, and jeff bends to tear them away. more and more keep coming, though. eric has started to convulse, gagging, his head cocked back. jeff keeps yanking the tendrils away, but there are far too many of them; they coil around eric's legs, pulling at him. the blood has stopped pumping from his wound; his body has gone still.
kill me! kill me! jeff stands there, perfectly still. amy is holding stacy, struggling unsuccessfully to quiet her:
kill me! kill me: amy turns, stares at jeff. blood is running off stacy's body in strings. the vine has dragged eric to the edge of the clearing; only his head and torso are still visible. jeff strides toward him. stacy
kill me! kill me. i kill-- and then, abruptly, it goes silent.