The Ruins

Finally, very softly, Mathias said, 'This was on his head. On his skull.'

He held something up in the darkness, extended it toward her. Stacy reached out, warily took it from him. She moved her hands over it, tracing its shape. 'A hat?' she asked.

'It's Jeff's, I think.'

Stacy knew he was right-immediately-yet didn't want to believe him. She searched for another possibility, but nothing came. The hat was saturated with water; it felt heavy. She had to resist the temptation to throw it aside. She leaned forward, handed it back to Mathias. 'How did it get there?' she asked.

'The vine must've, you know…'

'What?'

'It must've taken it and passed it up the hill from tendril to tendril, then set it there, and called us out to find it.'

'But how did it get it? In the first place, I mean. How did it-' She stopped, the answer coming to her even as she asked the question-so obvious, actually. She didn't want to hear Mathias say the words, though, so she veered in a new direction, straining to assert a different possibility. 'Maybe he dropped it. Maybe as he was running across toward the trees, he-'

The voice from the clearing interrupted her, calling out again: Dein Bruder ist gestorben. Dein Bruder ist gestorben.

'What's it saying?' Eric asked.

'First, it asked where Henrich is,' Mathias replied. 'Then it said he's here. Now it's saying he's dead.'

Wo ist Jeff? Wo ist Jeff?

'And that?'

Mathias was silent.

Jeff ist da. Jeff ist da.

Stacy knew what it was saying-it was easy enough to guess-but Eric hadn't made the leap. 'It's something about Jeff?' he asked.

Jeff ist gestorben. Jeff ist gestorben.

Eric squeezed her hand, tugging at it. 'Why won't he tell me?'

'It's the same thing, Eric,' Stacy whispered.

'The same thing?'

'It's asking where Jeff is. Then saying that he's here. Saying that he's dead.'

Outside, the voice multiplied suddenly, surrounding them, spreading itself across the hilltop. It became a chorus, which steadily rose in volume, chanting: Jeff ist gestorben… Jeff ist gestorben… Jeff ist gestorben…

The rain stopped just before dawn. By the time the sun began to rise, the clouds had already started to thin and part. Eric and Stacy and Mathias emerged from the tent at the first hint of light- hesitantly, stiffly-surveying the night's damage.

The vine had spread over the backboard, covering it, completely burying Pablo's remains. Half a dozen tendrils had pushed their way into the blue pouch, draining whatever water it had managed to capture during the storm. And Amy's bones had been dragged free of the sleeping bag, scattered haphazardly across the clearing. Eric watched Stacy move about with a dazed expression, stooping to collect them. She laid them in a small pile beside the tent.

Eric had developed a cough during the night, a deep-chested, hacking sort of bark. His head ached; his clothes were wet, his skin chapped from sitting in the puddle. He was hungry, exhausted, cold, and found it hard to believe that any of this would ever change.

Mathias crouched beside the backboard, started to pull the vines from Pablo's corpse. Eric was tired enough that he didn't feel quite awake; everything had once again taken on that faraway quality, both comforting and frightening. So when he idly scratched at his chest and felt the bulge there, lurking just beneath his skin, he reacted with a remarkable air of calm. 'Where's the knife?' he asked.

Mathias turned to glance at him. 'Why?'

Eric lifted his shirt. It looked much worse than it had felt, as if a large starfish had somehow surfaced between his rib cage and his skin. And it was moving, too, inching slowly but visibly downward, toward his stomach.

'Oh my God,' Stacy said. She turned away, covering her mouth with her hand.

Mathias rose to his feet, stepped toward him. 'Does it hurt?'

Eric shook his head. 'It's numb. I can't feel it.' He showed him, pushing at the bulge with his finger.

Mathias scanned the clearing, searching for the knife. He found it lying near the tent, half-buried in the mud. He picked it up, tried to wipe some of the dirt off its blade, rubbing it against his jeans. They were still wet, and the knife left a long brown streak across them.

'It's down there, too,' Stacy said. She was pointing at his right leg, but with her gaze squeamishly averted.

Eric bent to look. And it was true: there was a snakelike lump winding its way upward from the top of his shin to his inner thigh. He touched it hesitantly; it also felt numb. The swelling coiled almost completely around his leg, starting in front, then angling up behind his knee, before stopping just short of his groin. I should be screaming, Eric thought, but for some reason he maintained that lofty sense of distance. Stacy was the one who appeared most upset; she couldn't seem to meet his eyes.

Eric held out his hand for the knife. 'Give it to me.'

Mathias didn't move. 'We have to sterilize it,' he said.

Eric shook his head. 'No way. I'm not waiting for you to-'

'It's dirty, Eric.'

'I don't care.'

'You can't cut into yourself with something this-'

'Jesus Christ, Mathias. Would you fucking look at me? Do you really think it's an infection I have to worry about? Or gangrene? Either somebody comes and rescues us within the next day or two or this shit's gonna kill me. Can't you see that?'

Mathias was silent.

Eric held out his hand again. 'Now give me the fucking knife.'

Jeff wouldn't have done it, Eric knew. Jeff would've gone by the book, would've gotten out the soap and water, would've built the fire, heated the blade. But Jeff wasn't there any longer, and it was Mathias's decision now. The German hesitated, staring at the starfish in Eric's chest, the snake coiled around his leg. Eric could see him making his choice, and he knew what it would be.

'All right,' Mathias said. 'But let me do it.'

Eric took off his shirt.

Mathias glanced about, appraising the muddy clearing. 'Do you want to lie down?'

Eric shook his head. 'I'll stand.'

'It's going to hurt. It might be easier if you-'

'I'm okay. Just do it.'

Mathias started with his chest. He made five quick incisions, in the shape of an asterisk, directly above the starfish-shaped bulge, then reached inside and slowly pulled the vine from Eric's body. There was an astonishing amount of it; Mathias had to tuck the knife in his back pocket, then use both hands to drag the slimy mass free. It emerged thrashing, covered in half-clotted blood. The pain was intense-not the cutting, but the drawing forth-it felt as if Mathias were ripping out some essential part of Eric's body, a vital organ. Eric thought of those images from Jeff's guidebook, the Aztecs with their long knives, yanking the still-beating hearts from their captives' bodies, and his legs almost buckled. He had to grab Mathias's shoulder to keep from falling.

Mathias tossed the writhing mass aside; it landed with a wet sound in the mud, coiling and uncoiling. 'Are you okay?' he asked.

Eric nodded, let go of Mathias's shoulder. Blood was streaming down his torso, running into the waistband of his shorts. He balled up his T-shirt, pressed it to his wound. 'Keep going,' he said.

Mathias lowered himself into a crouch, drew the knife in one smooth movement up and around Eric's leg.