Roger was puzzled. “Why did they just stand here and let the fungus grow on them?”
“Quien sabe. Who knows?” Hutapec pointed to a nearby ravine and spoke. “Hutapec says six others, all native guides, are also dead, mauled, as if by a jaguar, but he thinks these men did it. Look at their hands.”
Roger saw that three of the dead men’s hands were crusted with dried blood. He refused to believe civilized men could do such a thing. “They wouldn’t kill anyone. They’re scientists for Christ’s sake.” He glanced down at the Chiquibul River flowing westward into Guatemala after emerging from the caverns. The late afternoon sun glinted off its surface like a ribbon of glass stretching through the jungle. “Where are the caves from here?”
Saldo pointed below and to the east. “There, but Hutapec will not go, nor will I. The natives think the caverns are the entrance to hell.”
“You don’t believe that?”
“Hutapec does, and he will not go,” Saldo replied, as if it were explanation enough. He glanced at the bodies and made the sign of the cross. “After seeing this, I will not go either.”
“We have to bury them and call the authorities.”
“We must go back. It will be night soon. Hutapec believes the moon, Uh, will be an evil one. Bad things are happening in the land.”
At this, Roger turned on him. “Why did we avoid San Antonio?”
Saldo paused as if reluctant to speak. Finally, he said, “There were mobs of men, violent men who killed like animals.” He glanced with revulsion at the ravine where the dead natives lay. “Like them.”
Roger was appalled. “You can’t be serious. Men killing like animals.”
“It is so,” Saldo insisted. He pointed to the river below them. “The river flows through San Amelia in Guatemala. There are rumors of much violence there as well.” He crossed himself. “It is a time of much evil.”
Looking at the erect corpses of his colleagues, sent a shudder running through Roger’s body. “We have to bury them,” he insisted.
Saldo nodded. “I will help you, but Hutapec will not touch the dead.”
Two hours later, Roger and Saldo had managed to scrape five shallow graves in the hard earth of the slope and cover the bodies with rocks. Neither Saldo nor Hutapec offered to bury the natives, so Roger ignored them. The jungle would quickly reclaim their bodies. Roger started at the five cairns of stone and the small pile of personal effects he had removed from the bodies. One item was Harris’ journal, slightly moldy and smelling of death. He was loathe to touch it, but hoped some clue to the men’s bizarre deaths lay within its crumbling pages.
After they had interred the bodies and he had intoned a few words of parting over his friends, Roger was eager to read the diary, but Hutapec refused to linger in the area. The guide set a quick pace back down the mountain toward Punta Corda where a boat waited on the coast to transport Roger back to Belize City. From there, he would alert the authorities about the deaths. The authorities, he assumed, would exhume the bodies so they could have a proper burial in the States.
The jungle, normally thriving with wildlife and filled with the sounds of predators hunting prey and with raucous territorial calls, was eerily silent. Hutapec remained silent as well, refusing to speak even to Saldo. As they hacked their way through the jungle, Saldo kept his eyes on the surrounding trees. He, too, was strangely reticent, speaking only when Roger initiated conversation, and even then, he answered succinctly, ignoring any of Roger’s attempts to draw him into any discussion pertaining to what they had seen. His nervousness fed Roger’s growing apprehension.
At dusk, they made camp in a small clearing beside a quiet stream. Neither Hutapec nor Saldo laid out their bedrolls for the night, choosing instead to remain awake and watchful through the night. Saldo kept the campfire banked low, as if afraid of attracting unwanted visitors. He kept his rifle across his knees. After a hurried meal, Roger opened Harris’ diary and began reading by flashlight. He skipped the first part concerning the journey and began at the point where Harris had reached the cavern.
* * *
June 6 – Chiquibul
“The caverns are spectacular, true wonders of the world! I have delved the depths of many systems in my lifetime but none as beautiful as these. They remind me of Cumberland Caverns in Tennessee. I hope we will find unplumbed depths.”
June 8 –
“Mapped out a great deal of the cavern. We discovered a new grotto deep within the caverns hidden behind an ancient rock fall. It proved a dead end, but inside, Louis Masters found a strange fungus growth which he claims should not survive in total darkness. Since his field is biology, I don’t doubt his word. He has taken samples for further analysis.”
June10 –
“I am feeling feverish and exhausted, but perhaps it is due to the rapid pace I have set for our expedition. There is much to be done and little time in which to accomplish all our goals. Masters is complaining of chills, and Doug Seals is coughing incessantly. Perhaps my fatigue is related. I issued aspirin and Chloroquine for all of us, just to be safe. I hope we will not have to cut our survey short.”
June 11 –
“Seals has gone insane. I can think of no other word for his state. We awoke to find him missing from camp. We later spotted him rushing through the caverns in complete darkness, screaming like a wild man. He attacked us when we attempted to subdue him. We finally managed to sedate him. The chase weakened me severely. I must rest.
“Masters says he has identified the mushrooms as an unknown species of the genus Orpicordyceps unilateralis, known as the ‘zombie fungus’ because of its bizarre effect on some ants. It produces cyclosporine, an immunosuppressant. Perhaps that is why we feel ill. The jungle is awash with insect-borne diseases. In our weakened condition, our bodies cannot fight them off. I am gravely concerned.”
June 12 –
“My mind reels with insane thoughts. It burns as if on fire. Seals has escaped and I cannot rouse Ellis to help me search for him. I believe this fungus we have discovered is to blame. I found tiny strands of mycelia in my sputum. We are all infected. The native workers are frightened and threaten to abandon us.
“I have been wondering if the presence of this strange fungus is the cause of the sudden disappearance of the ancient Maya from the nearby ruins of Lubaantun and Cahal Pech. Their abandonment was rapid and mysterious. Perhaps, I’m wrong, but the coincidence is frightening. We must leave this place.”
June 13 –
“Now Masters is missing. I feel I am going insane. I can feel this fungus coursing through my body, devouring it bit by bit. It’s in my head. My thoughts are wandering, boiling into bouts of barely controlled rage. It is difficult to concentrate on this journal. I am very ill and I anger easily. I lashed out at McNeil for no reason. We almost came to blows. The damned natives are in the jungle singing some screeching gibberish that is grating on my nerves. I must stop them.”
The journal ended at that point. The last few entries were almost illegible, hastily scribbled in a trembling hand. Roger closed the book with a sickening feeling. An intense sense of dread swept over him. If the fungus had escaped the cavern system, it could even now be flowing in the waters of the Chiquibul River into Guatemala, or riding on the winds into Belize. He wondered if he was infected. He tried hard to convince himself that his aches and pains were due to the hardship of the journey and not the first signs of infection. Sleep did not easily come to him. Instead, dire visions of the end of the world and quivering mushroom men stalking the streets of Nashville played like a horror movie through his head. He awoke exhausted an hour before dawn. Hutapec and Saldo were already breaking camp. Their haste fed his trepidation.
“Leave the equipment,” he snapped at them, “I want to reach Punta Corda as soon as possible.”
Neither man argued. Hutapec dropped the supplies and plunged into the jungle with his machete breaking a trail. Saldo left his pack but cradled his rifle in his arms as he followed Hutapec. With a final glance back toward the Chiquibul Caverns, Roger followed them.