"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"Well enough, I suppose. You know, I never got a chance to thank you."
"For what?"
"For saving our lives. If you hadn't killed Votan …"
"No problem." I glanced at his notebook. "What are you doing?"
"I wrote down every symbol I could remember from the Library of the Mayas. Fortunately, my memory is pretty good. Plus, I hired a translator to help me make sense of them." He shrugged. "I don't know what happened to Emily. But if she didn't make it, I'd like to use this information to at least try to keep her company alive."
"Did those symbols say anything about the Classic Maya Collapse?"
"Well, it's not definitive. But a few passages point to overcomplexity."
Beverly frowned. "How so?"
"According to Xbalanque, the Maya cities in the southern lowlands faced many problems over the years. Invasions, plagues, and droughts were but a few of them. For each problem, the elites created complicated solutions that ate up resources and caused even more problems. Eventually, people started to flee the cities, probably because they figured they could get a better life outside of organized society."
"Are you saying the collapse was a good thing?"
"It appears so, at least from the perspective of Maya peasants. It makes a lot of sense when you think about it. For hundreds of years, they were forced to build giant monuments and agricultural projects. They were required to produce food for elites, bureaucrats, scholars, and artisans. And they were used as cannon fodder in countless wars. Lots of other people benefitted from their hard work. But the peasants themselves lived short, brutal lives."
"So, they just left?"
"You have to realize I only saw small bits and pieces. But it appears to have been a protracted phenomenon. The peasants snuck away at night in small groups. Some of them headed north to a magical place called Chi'ch'èen Ìitsha'. Others apparently struck out on their own and set up small farms on empty land far away from the southern lowlands." He shrugged. "It's quite possible droughts exacerbated the problem. But it appears the Maya peasants had already grown tired of their lives. They would've left sooner or later. And since they were the backbone of society, it couldn't exist without them."
"In other words, the Classic Maya Collapse wasn't really a collapse," I said slowly. "It was a gradual simplification."
"That appears to be the case. But like I said, I only saw a small amount of text. So, I could be wrong."
Beverly flashed him a sly grin. "There's one way to know for sure."
"What's …?" He trailed off as Beverly handed him a digital camera. His brow tightened as he scrolled through the memory. "I don't understand. When'd you take these?"
"That's Emily's camera," I replied. "I offered to take pictures of the two domes for her. Turns out I forgot to give it back."
Multiple days of searching had failed to turn up any other survivors. Emily, Miranda, Tum, Dora, and Votan, along with numerous other people, were presumed dead. At the same time, the georeactor explosions had caused a partial collapse of the extensive cave system. The pyramid, along with everything else in the crater, had crumbled. Presumably, it was now buried deep beneath the surface.
"I checked the memory," Beverly added. "There are a couple hundred pictures, including some of the pyramid and the artificial marsh. It might not be the library. But it's the next best thing."
"What are you going to do with them?" Dr. Wu asked. "You could make a lot of money with—"
"They're yours," I said. "We already talked it over."
"But they could be worth millions."
"True."
He frowned. "What kind of treasure hunter are you anyway?"
"The type who prefers to keep hunting." I paused. "Look, maybe the Mayas really did invent a few miracle cures. And maybe the secret behind those cures along with the collapse can be found in those photographs. But they need someone with passion to dig them out. And frankly, my passion lies in the hunt. Always has. Always will."
"If there's any money in this, I'll … well, you know you'll get your share and then some."
I smiled.
As he studied the pictures, Beverly and I walked to a grove of trees. I ducked under the branches, allowing the cool shade to engulf me. The heat, although still sweltering, eased a bit.
She stopped just short of the tree line. Her chest, adorned in a halter-top, stretched backward. She stared up at the bright sun, soaking in the powerful rays. "So, simplification, huh? It makes sense. I wonder why no one's ever thought of it before."
"Actually, I remember Miranda mentioning it in one of her books. She blew it off, of course."
"I'm still amazed she faked her research."
"I did some reading these last few days. It turns out theories of the Classic Maya Collapse have changed with the times. During the Vietnam War protests, archaeologists blamed it on war. The rise of the environmental movement in the early 1970s caused scholars to blame it on poor agricultural methods. During the religious revival, people decided Maya prophecies about the end of the world had become self-fulfilling." I shook my head. "Unfortunately, a lot of scholars let their personal beliefs guide their work. Of course, Miranda took it to a whole other level."
"I guess we're all influenced by the world around us." Beverly peered at me. "How about you?"
"I suppose I'm the same way. But at least I can admit it."
"As I recall, you were pretty influenced by what happened in the Maya Mountains."
"Not anymore." I looked into her violet eyes. They swirled, forming ever-changing patterns. "I think retirement can wait a few more years."
Her eyes shone brightly.
I took her by the hand. Led her behind a giant ceiba tree. We strode over a couple of large roots and then ducked into a hollow niche.
I pressed her against the bark.
She pushed me away.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"The Mayas weren't the only ones who had to deal with overcomplexity," she said. "What about us?"
I studied her face.
"If we go back to treasure hunting, our lives instantly become complicated. We won't be able to live in the suburbs, collect regular paychecks, or go to movies on Friday nights. Instead, we'll have to keep moving, keep fighting, keep hunting for the next artifact."
"Is that so bad?"
"Depends on how much you like chaos."
I cocked my head. "How long until dinner?"
"Four or five hours, I guess."
"Trust me. Chaos is a good thing." A wily grin crossed my face as I kissed her. "And I've got four or five hours to show you what I mean."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
David Meyer is an adventurer and author of the Cy Reed Adventure series. His books take readers across the globe, from New York's lost subway tunnels to forgotten laboratories buried deep beneath Antarctica's frozen tundra. To find out more about David, his adventures, and his books, visit http://www.DavidMeyerBooks.com.