Page 169 of The Lost Guardian

“Come on, come on, come on!”

He hauled with as much strength as he could muster and felt his leg slip free…leaving his boot in the squelching Amazonian mud. The dock rattled as Thiago reached it.

José abandoned the boot. He had already left his jacket—what more was his dignity?

He reached the end of the dock just as the peque peque drifted out of jumping distance.

José jumped anyway.

And immediately regretted it.

I’m not gonna make it, he had a moment to think, dangling in the air before he collided with splintering wood. His breath exploded from him in a violent huff, and he scrambled for the edge, trying to keep from plunging into the Amazon. The movement caused the scroll case to slip from his arm, and he instinctively clasped it tighter.

Which, of course, loosened his grip on the ship—if this dilapidated, sun-bleached little boat in the middle of the Peruvian Amazon could be called a ship.

For one horrifying heartbeat, he dangled over the river, one arm wrapped around the map, the other slipping quickly off the wood.

Then the boatman grasped him by the back of his collar, hauling him properly aboard with an irritated huff.

José collapsed, coughing and laughing at the same time.

On the deck, Thiago stood, vibrating with ire.

“You’ll regret this!”

An older version of José would have a witty retort prepared. Today, he just sat up and watched the man grow smaller as they drifted away. Only when Thiago was completely out of view did José look down at the leather case clutched tightly against his chest.

“Worth it.”

…

José knew his theory would never hold up in archaeological communities. If he tried to raise money for an expedition, he would be laughed right out the door. But that didn’t matter. Because José wasn’t an archaeologist.

He was an explorer.

So he had followed this map, rumors from communities that lived deep in the jungle, photographs from an old topological survey, and his own intuition forward. He had travelled the past week into the Amazonian rainforest.

Every landmark seemed impossible. Like something from a fairy tale. Until, of course, he was standing right in front of them.

A boulder strangled by vines like giant, skeletal fingers gripping a ball. A boiling river that hissed and spat, incinerating any creature that came too close.

And finally, the face. Impossibly large on the side of a hill.

José pulled out the copy of Thiago’s map from its case. He unfolded it with shaking hands, holding it up to the cliffside.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “I knew you were real.”

His pulse hammered in his ears as he compared the map to the carving one last time. The path wouldn’t be obvious. It would never have remained undiscovered for this long if it was. But it was near. He just had to find it.

José managed about six steps before it found him. The ground disappeared. There wasn’t even time to shout.

What had looked like solid jungle floor was nothing more than a paper-thin roof of fallen leaves stretched across a massive sinkhole hidden beneath the canopy. The vegetation collapsed with a deafening swish, taking José with it.

For one impossible heartbeat, he hung suspended in sunlight.

Then gravity claimed him.

I’m too pretty to die, he thought desperately as he tumbled.