Field Trippin
Copyright© 2026 by Sci-FiTy1972
Prologue
The bus coughed, rattled, and finally surrendered.
The doors folded open with a tired hydraulic wheeze, and heat rolled in like it had been waiting. Tyler stepped down last, backpack tugging at one shoulder, the stone under his sneakers already warm—too warm for nine in the morning.
This wasn’t museum heat.
This was been-here-all-along heat.
“Alright, chicos,” Mr. Miller called, clipboard tucked under his arm like it had opinions. “Water bottles out. Sunscreen on. Stay with your groups.”
Then, with a grin that said he’d rehearsed this in the mirror:
“And today, it’s Señor Miller.”
A few kids laughed. Tyler exhaled through his nose.
Teotihuacan stretched out in front of them—wide, deliberate, unapologetic. It didn’t announce itself. It didn’t need to. The stones felt placed, not piled. Like someone had measured the world first, then built.
“Man,” Randy muttered, shading his eyes, “this place looks like it runs on rules nobody bothered to write down.”
“Everything does,” DeAndre said calmly, already scanning the crowd the way he always did—half instinct, half habit. He stood out without trying, tall and solid, backpack cinched tight like he’d packed it with intent instead of panic.
Eric stepped off the bus without looking up, phone already in his hand. Not scrolling. Never scrolling. Camera app open, battery checked, storage checked. Old habits from too many devices that failed when you trusted them.
“Okay,” Eric said, eyes flicking between screen and skyline. “Yeah. This is ... not exaggerated.”
Mr. Miller herded them toward the rope barrier, launching into practiced enthusiasm.
“Teotihuacan. Pre-Aztec. Even they thought it was ancient when they found it.”
Randy raised a hand. “So basically, history walked in and said, ‘Whoa.’”
Mr. Miller closed his eyes for half a second. “Yes, Randy. History said ‘whoa.’”
Tyler wasn’t listening anymore. He was watching the stone—how light slid across it, how angles mattered. The shadows weren’t accidental. Nothing here felt accidental.
“And remember,” Mr. Miller continued, “we’re guests. No climbing. No touching anything that looks like it might crumble. And absolutely no reenacting sacrifices.”
Randy held up two fingers. “We’ll keep it symbolic.”
Eric had drifted a few steps off, careful not to get too close.
“Señor Miller?”
“Yes?”
“That doorway,” Eric said, pointing. “It has no ropes.”
They all turned.
It wasn’t much—just a squared opening in a freestanding stone wall. No door. No interior. A doorway framing sky and distant stone like someone had started something and never finished it.
“Sí,” Mr. Miller said, nodding. “It’s ceremonial, most likely.”
“Ceremonial how?” Randy asked.
Mr. Miller shrugged. “Processional. Symbolic. We don’t know.”
Eric didn’t look convinced. He lowered the phone slightly.
“It’s aligned.”
“With what?” Tyler asked.
Eric tilted his head, squinting. “Sun, maybe. Hard to tell without—”
“—without a degree in ancient people doing weird stuff?” Randy finished.
DeAndre smirked. “Take the picture, man.”
Eric nodded and stepped back, moving onto a flat stone platform just in front of the doorway. It looked like a wide bench until you noticed the shallow, round recess worn smooth at the center.
He slipped his phone into it automatically, Mr. Miller’s words about respecting the site going right out the window.
“Tyler, D, Randy,” Eric said. “Stand there. In the doorway. I’ll use my watch to get the group shot.”
Tyler hesitated, then shrugged and moved into place. The stone was cool against his back. The opening framed him perfectly.
He felt ... positioned.
Like the place had opinions.
“Don’t pose,” Eric said.
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
The sun shifted.
Not dramatically. Just enough.
Light caught the phone’s glass at the wrong angle—too sharp, too clean—and reflected forward in a narrow line that struck the sun symbol etched into the top of the doorframe.
The air snapped tight.
Tyler’s ears rang, sudden and painful, like pressure change in a bad elevator.
“Uh,” Randy said quietly. “Guys?”
The doorway darkened.
Not shadow—absence. Like the sky had been deleted and replaced with depth.
Eric automatically reached out and grabbed his phone.
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