“You’re going to tell me to keep going, aren’t you?”
“I don’t see any treasure yet, do you?”
“Did I mention this is freaking me out?” Drake asked.
“Not yet.”
“Okay, then I won’t.” Drake touched the hilt of his knife and felt the odd calming effect flood through him as he made his way through the floor-to-ceiling piles of bleached bones. They pushed thick cobwebs aside, the gossamer strands hanging from the stalactites above like ectoplasm. Rows of skulls fixed him with sightless stares as he put one silent foot in front of the other, and he wondered whether the experience would haunt his dreams forever, like the memory of Palenko’s Saint Vitus dance, and the last light of life in Jack’s eyes before he closed them the final time.
They reached the end of the crypt and entered an even larger one, legions of skeletons observing their progress, mute sentinels in the hall of the dead. The air smelled leaden and damp, with a musty odor of decay. The wind’s moan followed them like a curse as they made their way toward the narrow gap at the far end, the aperture as black as the devil’s heart. A distinct feeling of unease twisted in Drake’s stomach as they neared it, and the odor in the air changed again — this time, a whiff of methane mixed with the unmistakable scent of water.
Drake and Spencer stopped at the threshold together, their lamps illuminating four mummified guardians in full battle gear framing the opening. All of the warriors had copper chest plates and bronze helmets adorned with elaborate multicolored feathers. They stood with round wooden shields and wooden clubs studded with stone spikes, their bodies positioned to give the impression of an attack, their leathery skin, protruding teeth, and gaping eye cavities as menacing in death as in life.
“I’ve had nights like that,” Spencer quipped. The tension in the vault evaporated with the sound of his voice echoing off the stone walls.
“You ready to do this?” Drake asked.
“No time like the present.”
The cavern they entered was smaller than the last but with the highest ceiling yet, and Drake estimated from the slope that they must have traveled forty feet below ground level, if not more. The temperature seemed cool as a wine cellar after the heat of the jungle above, and the endless rows of skulls gave way to bare walls. In the center of the cave was a hole in the floor the size of a truck, the rim around it crusted with small emeralds embedded in the smooth stone.
“It’s a cenote,” Spencer whispered, pronouncing the word see-no-tay. “See how steep the edges are?”
“Forgive my ignorance, but what’s a cenote?”
“A Mexican term. Think of it as a really deep sinkhole filled with water. I’d guess that this one was formed by the roof of a cavern below us eroding away and finally collapsing, creating the hole we’re looking at.”
“I don’t see any water dripping into it,” Drake said as they approached the edge.
“That could have been fifty thousand years ago. But you can smell water.”
Drake blinked as he looked around the cave. “Am I losing my mind, or do the walls in here seem to be…glowing?”
He extinguished his flashlight. Spencer did the same. A vertiginous disorientation hit Drake, and then his eyes adjusted and he could make out thousands of tiny pinpoints of light.
“What the hell?” He felt his way to one of the walls and examined it, and then pulled away in revulsion. The lights were moving, ever so slightly, and he could see that the neon points were the tips of gelatinous tubes.
Spencer’s voice greeted him from a few feet behind him. “Glow worms. That’s a first. I’ve seen fireflies and beetles with glowing tails, but never these. Apparently we can add them to the discoveries for the record books we’ve made today. The Amazon never fails to surprise, that’s for sure.”
“What do they feed on?”
“Any kind of flying insects. Wanna bet the water attracts mosquitoes, and when they hatch, they buzz around, attracted to the lights, and get stuck in that stringy goop?”
“Nice. I won’t be eating dinner tonight.”
They turned back to the sinkhole and switched on their flashlights again. “This seems like it’s where the treasure would be. Look at the number of emeralds. There’s a small fortune right there,” Drake said.
Spencer nodded. “Promising. But how do we find out for sure?”
Drake pointed his light down the sheer walls of the sinkhole and saw water twenty feet below. He hesitated and then turned to Spencer.
“You have that rope in your backpack?”
“Of course. Why? What are you planning to do?”
“Did you know I was on the swim team in school?” Drake asked as he slipped the straps of his backpack off and set it on the stone floor.
“That’s nice. I always wanted to be a cheerleader. What’s your point?”
“I once won a bet for being able to hold my breath underwater for over three minutes. I mean, that’s nothing compared to some free divers, who can go ten, fifteen minutes, but still, it’s longer than most. It was a while ago, but I bet I could still manage two minutes, even if I was swimming. But this would work way better if I didn’t have to.”
“Didn’t have to swim?”
“Exactly. I’m thinking if I could hold sixty or seventy pounds of rock in my arms, that would help me sink with the least amount of effort.”
“You’re going to dive into…that?”
“Not dive. You’ll lower me down with the rope attached to my belt, and then I’ll drop to the bottom and see what I can feel. My only question is about my wounds. You think that will increase my infection risk?”
“It might. But you’re taking horse pills of antibiotic. And cenote water is supposed to be very clean. I forget why.”
“How do you know so much about them?” Drake asked.
“I read about the famous ones in Mexico, and got curious.” Spencer held up the coil of rope. “A hundred feet of nylon. Hopefully that will be enough.”
“If it isn’t, I can always untie the rope and keep going. Coming up’s way easier than going down.”
“Good to know if I ever have to do hundred-foot free dives.”
“Come on. Let’s go back and get a couple of those rocks at the entrance. Those should do it.”
Spencer shook his head. “You’re in no shape to carry heavy rocks that distance. I’ve got a better suggestion. Those four guards have copper breastplates. Want to bet each one weighs at least ten or fifteen pounds?”
“And a helmet should add some weight, too.”
“Tell you what. You wait here and do breathing exercises or whatever you need to do to prepare, and I’ll go do a little grave robbery.”
Five minutes later Drake was at the edge of the cenote, stripped down to just his shorts, the breastplates slung around his neck and an Inca ceremonial helmet on his head. He tugged at the rope tied to his belt and nodded, his flashlight on the floor throwing light toward the opening.
Drake gave Spencer a thumbs-up. “Let me down easy, and once I’m in the water just feed the rope out until we’re out of line. If I have to disconnect, leave the rope down and brace yourself, because that’s my lifeline out of there.”
“You ready?” Spencer asked, studying Drake. “I do wish I had a camera…”
“You sure you’ll be able to support all this weight?”
“No problem. Just hope the rope holds.”
“You’re not giving me a lot of good vibes.”
“That’s why most people don’t go cenote diving in the middle of the Amazon. Bad vibes.”
“Okay. Here we go.” Drake concentrated on taking deep breaths to oxygenate his blood, and then lowered himself over the edge, his arms straining from supporting himself with the additional burden of the copper. He dropped below the edge and felt himself descending as Spencer, true to his word, controlled his drop.