Life Blood ---XX---Page No--64

I awoke as a sliver of sun flashed through the stone doorway
of the room and forest birds erupted around me in celebration. As
I pulled myself up and moved over to the opening, a quick tropical
glare burned into my face. My God, the dawn was electric; it was
the purest blue I'd ever seen, a swath of artist's cobalt. An azure
radiance from the sky glistened off the rain forest leaves around
me. Had I dreamed the stormy, haunted world of the night before?

When I looked down, everywhere below me was a bank of
dense, pastel mist. Was the plaza really there or had I imagined
it? I felt like the top of the pyramid was floating on a cloud.

"Babylon." That was what Sarah had called this place.

Ancient and mysterious. I took a breath of the morning air and wondered what would draw her back here. Was Baalum the
ultimate escape from her other life? Even so . . . why would she want to return after somebody had tried to murder her? What was waiting down there in the fog?

Turning back, I noticed that the room's inside walls were

embossed with rows and rows of classic Mayan glyphs, like little
cartoon faces, all molded in newly set plaster. To my groggy sight
they seemed playful, harmless little caricatures, though next to
them were raised bas-reliefs of warriors in battle dress. It was
both sublimely austere and eerie, even creepy.
        I knelt down and rolled my sleeping bag, trying to clear my
head. Then I stuffed my still-moist clothes into my backpack and
thought about the river, the Rio Tigre, down somewhere at the
back of the pyramid. And I felt my pulse rate edging up. The first
thing I wanted to do was see it in the light of day. It had been
Sarah's way out, the only thing I knew for sure she'd touched.
        Get going and do it.

I headed through the rear door and down the back steps.

When I reached the ground, the dense forest closed in around

me, but I was certain the river lay dead ahead, through the tangle
of trees. As I moved down a path that grew ever steeper, the
canopy up above thickened, arching over me till it blotted out the
pure blue of the sky. And the air was filled with nature sounds—
birdcalls, trills, songs, and clacks, all mingled with the hum and
buzz of insects. Then suddenly, from somewhere up in the

canopy, a pack of screeching spider monkeys began flinging

rotten mangos down in my direction. I also thought I heard the

asthmatic, territorial roar of a giant howler monkey, the lord of the
upper jungle. And what about snakes? I kept an eye on the vines
and tendrils alongside the path, expecting any moment to stumble
across a deadly fer-de-lance, a little red-and-black operator
whose poison heads straight for your nervous system.
        On the other hand, the birds, the forest birds, were
everywhere, scarlet macaws and keel-billed toucans and darting
flocks of Amazon parrots, brilliant and iridescent, their sweeping
tails a psychedelic rainbow of green, yellow, red. Then the next
thing I knew, the path I was on abruptly opened onto a mossy
expanse of pea-soup green, surely the Rio Tigre, and . . .
        My God, those dark-brown bumps scattered everywhere . . .
they're the eyes and snouts of . . . yes, crocodiles, lurking there in
wait, hoping I'm dumb enough to wade in. Forget what Alan Dupre
said. This is definitely not "Disneyland."

Then I glanced upstream and caught sight of a string of

mahogany dugout canoes tied along the shore. They were huge, about fifteen feet long and three feet wide, and clearly designed to be crocodile-resistant. They . . .

Wait a minute. Lou said Sarah was found in a dugout canoe

that had drifted all the way down the Rio Tigre to where it joins the Usumacinta. One more clue she might have been here. Maybe I was closing in. Yes!

I glared back at the crocodiles' unblinking reptile eyes and

tried to get my mind around the fact Sarah could have stood right
where I was standing, or been set adrift from here in a coma, to
float downstream. Seeing that vision, I felt unbidden tears trailing
down my cheeks. And the questions I had kept piling up. Was this
the location of Alex Goddard's "miracle" clinic? Why was Baalum
such a high-security secret? What was the connection between
this place and Sarah's ravaged mind and body? I wanted to know
all of it, and by God I would.

This was the farthest I'd ever been from "civilization," though I
was trying not to let that fact sink in too deeply. The water was
green and full of small aquatic creations, but I managed to find a
reasonably un-mossy spot and—still keeping an eye on the leering
crocodiles—splashed my face. It felt good, even if it was filthy. . .
        Okay, I'd seen enough of the river. I raised up and stretched.
Time to go.