proper. But as they made their way closer, Stanton could see in the high beams what must’ve been the source of the black smoke they’d seen at the landing strip. It was a smoldering building about the size of the medical facility. The walls had collapsed; limestone had shattered. There was no roof.
“That’s the school,” Chel said, all emotion gone from her voice.
They kept going. The remains of single-room houses cropped up on both sides. Four or six stood in clusters every several hundred feet, each with its single door and no windows. Adobe-covered wooden walls had been knocked down; palm fronds that once covered roofs, pulled off. In the middle of the road were dozens of hammocks that looked as if they had been dragged from one of the houses and abandoned. Red and yellow and green and purple cloths were cast aside and covered in mud, and the jeep’s tires ran unsteadily over the graveyard of color.
Part of Stanton wanted to drive the car out of town and stay the night in a field. They were done looking for others; now they were trying to avoid them. But he also thought the jeep might draw more attention to them than they’d elicit if they hid it and sheltered themselves in one of the abandoned buildings.
He pointed at one house they drove by that still appeared untouched. “Do you know the people who live there?”
Chel didn’t seem to hear him. She was somewhere else entirely.
Stanton decided it looked as good a place as any. He parked the jeep and led Chel toward the house, holding the gun with his free hand. He knocked at the door, and, when there was no answer, he kicked it open.
The first things his flashlight caught were two bodies in a hammock. A young woman and a toddler. It looked as if they’d been dead for at least a week.
Stanton tried to stop Chel from getting any closer, but she was already in the doorway, staring at the bodies.
The sound of her voice surprised him. “We need to bury them. I need incense.” She obviously wasn’t thinking clearly.
“We can’t stay in here,” he told her.
He grabbed her hand again, and they kept going. In the next dwelling, there were no corpses, just clothing strewn on the ground, a broken hoe, and ceramic bowls. Stanton cleared everything out.
“You think it’s safe?” Chel managed.
He had no proof, but it was the best they had. “We need to keep our eye shields on.”
They collapsed against a wall, huddling together, exhausted. Stanton pulled granola bars from the supply pack and forced Chel to swallow several bites. Finally he turned off the flashlight, hoping she might be able to sleep. He would try to stay awake, on guard.
“Do you know why we burn incense for the dead?” she whispered.
“Why?”
“When a soul is taken, it needs the incense smoke in order to pass from the middleworld to the underworld. Everyone here is stuck between worlds.”
Over the last couple of days, Stanton had heard her talk quite a lot about her people’s traditions, but not this way. He wanted to reassure her but didn’t know how; only the faithful had the right words for times like these. Instead, he turned to what he knew. She was still convinced that something had protected the king and his men from VFI before the outbreak of disease in Kanuataba. Tomorrow they would find it. “We have the map and the coordinates for Lake Izabal,” he told Chel, “and as soon as it’s light, we’ll start searching.”
She nestled her head in the crook of his arm. Stanton felt the weight of her on him and the touch of her skin on his.
“Maybe Victor was right,” she said. “Maybe all we can do now is run.”
STANTON WOKE WITH A START and pulled out the gun. Something was trampling wet leaves just on the other side of the wall. Chel was already crouched by the back wall, listening. There was a high-pitched noise, something squeaking in the rain.
Chel made out a voice speaking in Qu’iche. “Let the evil winds out, Hunab Ku.”
“What’s going on?” Stanton asked.
“My name is Chel Manu,” she called back in Qu’iche. “I am from Kiaqix. My father was Alvar. I have a doctor here. He can help if you are sick.”
A tiny old woman with hair to her waist appeared in the doorway.
She wore thick eyeglasses over her wide nose.
Stanton lowered the gun. Thunder groaned in the distance, and the woman stepped toward them, looking like she might tip over.
“Are evil winds in this house?” she called out in Qu’iche.
“We are not sick. We are here to find where the sickness has come from. I’m Chel Manu, daughter of Alvar. Are you sick?”
“You came by the sky?” the woman asked.
“Yes. Are your people sick?” Chel repeated.
“I am not cursed.”
Chel glanced at Stanton, who pointed at his own eyes. Her glasses must have saved her. The same thing that might have saved both of their lives back in L.A. a week ago.
“When did you come here?” the woman asked.
Chel told her they’d arrived in Kiaqix about five hours ago.
“Ask her if there’s anyone else alive in the village,” said Stanton.
“Fifteen or twenty are in the houses still standing,” the woman replied. “Mostly on the outskirts. There are more hiding in the jungle, waiting for the evil winds to blow away.”,
“When did this begin?” Chel asked the old woman.
“Twenty suns ago. You are really Chel Manu?”
“Yes.”
“What was your mother’s name?”
“My mother is Ha’ana,” Chel said. “You know her?”
“Of course,” she said. “I am Yanala. You and I met many years ago.”
“Yanala Nenam?” Chel said. “Daughter of Muram the great weaver.”
“Yes.”
“Is there anyone from my family who is alive?”
“One of your aunts is among the few survivors,” Yanala said. “Initia the elder. She might have come and found you herself, but she does not walk easily. Come.”
THEY TRAILED THE old woman down a series of side roads and across milpas. When they turned in to a clearing toward a set of houses nestled on a hillock, Chel was struck by her one and only childhood memory of this place. For a moment, she was a little girl again, bouncing on her father’s shoulders as he carried her down the causeway.
But now there was no one trading cornmeal, no music coming from the houses. There was only silence.
They approached the entrance to a small log-built house with a strong thatch roof, still intact. The woman led them into a room stuffed with aging wooden furniture, hammocks, and an indoor clothesline. A stack of tortillas was baking on top of a hearth with large stones, filling the room with the smell of corn.
Yanala disappeared into a back area of the house. A minute later a door swung open, and an even older woman emerged. She had long silver hair braided into a crown above her head, and she wore a purple and green
Without a word, the woman walked slowly toward them, leaning on the furniture. “Chel?”
“Yes, Aunt,” she said in Qu’iche. “And I’ve brought a doctor from America.”
Initia stepped into the light, and her eyes became visible. Both her irises were covered in a milky white film. Cataracts, Chel realized. They’d probably saved her from VFI.
“I can’t believe you are here, child.”
“You’re not sick, Aunt?” Chel asked as they embraced. “You can sleep?”
