Chapter 1

The young woman sat on the cot watching her husband die, and there was nothing she could do about it. He looked even older now than his 51 years, his thin face even thinner, his eyelids fluttering, his breathing coming in short, rasping gasps. She pressed a damp cloth to his parchment-dry skin, trying to ease his discomfort. That was all she could do for him now.

At 29, Veronica Ramos Lewis was twenty-two years younger than her husband. The young Mexican-American woman and Carter, Dr. Carter Lewis, PhD, head of Arizona State University's New World Archaeology program, had only been married five years, and now he was dying. And they would never be able to make their failing marriage work. That's why she was here with him, at Colcon, the ruins of this recently discovered Mayan city, here to try to work with him, to try to make their marriage work. But now, that would never happen, no matter how small the possibility. Now even that small hope was gone.

Once more, she pressed the damp cloth to her dying husband's skin, then stepped outside, looking around the campsite. It seemed so quiet - unnaturally quiet. It seemed like the usual morning songs of the birds in the surrounding jungle were silenced by the overwhelming death in their midst. Then she heard something, a sob, as Brianna came out of the tent she shared with Linda, the one female grad student with them at Colcon. Matt had one of his big arms around Brianna's shoulder, trying to comfort her.

Seeing her step-mother standing in front of the tent, "Oh, Ronnie, she's gone," Brianna sobbed, running to Veronica, her head on her full bosom.

Veronica pulling away a little, looking into Brianna's blue eyes, "You better go inside, in our... in your father's and my tent. It might be your last chance to... to say goodbye to your dad."

"Oh, Ronnie," Brianna's voice breaking. "Are... are we all gonna die?"

"I don't know, but so far you and I haven't got it, and Matt seems alright. The information we got from the radio is that the plague is spreading all over, but some are surviving. Bree we've gotta stay strong and keep going. We've gotta take care of those who've got it - maybe with our help they'll be able to make it. And we've gotta take care of ourselves. Now come on. Let's say goodbye to your dad."

Inside the tent again, it seemed to Veronica that Carter's breathing was even more labored. Sitting on her cot opposite her husband, Veronica again pressed the damp cloth to his dry skin, over his forehead, his neck, reaching under his shirt to rub the cool cloth over his chest. Bending forward, her mouth close to his ear, "Carter... Carter, Bree's here, can you talk to her?"

Brianna moving to kneel next to her father's cot, taking his dry hand in hers. "Daddy... daddy, do you want to talk to me?" her voice breaking.

Miraculously, Carter stirred, his eyes fluttering open, his head turning. "Bree," he croaked.

"Daddy, talk to me, please, daddy," she begged, moving closer.

"I'm not gonna make it Bree, I... I know that."

"Oh, daddy," she sobbed.

"Bree, I just wish I was a better father. I... I tried, but there was too much - my work, then the divorce and Ronnie. I'm sorry, sorry I wasn't a better father, sorry I didn't do more. Goodbye Bree," his hand feebly squeezing hers, his weak gaze shifting from her face to Veronica's. Brianna bent forward, softly kissing his brow, so hot, so dry, before letting go of his hand, moving to sit on her step-mother's cot.

Veronica knelt beside her dying husband, taking his hand, again wiping his brow with the damp cloth. His eyes focusing weakly on her face, "I haven't been a very good husband either," his voice so low she needed to move even closer.

"Carter, don't think about that now. Just remember how happy we were in... in the beginning."

He gave her a weak smile, "Yes, in the beginning it was good. Now... here, you tried to make it work, harder than me, but you know, I know, we weren't going to make it. We're just too far apart, in age, in temperament. I'm sorry, Ronnie, I... I loved you."

As his eyes fluttered shut, "Carter, I loved you," she whispered, bending forward to kiss his dry lips, tears flowing down her cheeks.

They waited. It seemed like forever, but when Veronica looked at her watch she saw it was just a little more than a half hour. Finally, Carter drew a long, rasping breath, his body trembling as he exhaled, and then he was gone. Their eyes dry now, they stood, embracing, the young wife and the teen-age daughter, comforting each other. After a moment, they stepped out of the tent.

Matt Warden, the big ex-Marine who was their camp foreman, was sitting on a stool, a cigarette dangling from his lips, a mug of coffee in his hand. "He didn't make it?" he asked, his gaze moving from Brianna to Veronica.

"He's gone," Veronica answered. "How're the guys?"

"Pretty bad," the big man said, standing, drinking out of the mug. "Looks like won't be long for them."

"Oh, not them, too!" Brianna cried.

"That's four gone now," Matt said, taking a drag on the cigarette. "If we three make it, that seems like a better survival ratio than what we've been hearing about on the radio. Dropping the butt, grinding it out in the dirt with his boot heel, "I've been doing what I could for them - just stepped out for a smoke. Come on, you can take a look."

The three of them crowded into the tent where Rob and Paul, the two male grad students, were lying on their cots, quiet except for their labored breathing. Veronica knelt on the floor between the cots, touching their foreheads, finding them hot and dry like the others who contracted the plague - and died. Turning to Matt and Brianna, "Doesn't look good. Well, the least we can do is try to make them more comfortable."

Brianna joined her, taking a cloth, dipping it in the basin, pressing it to Paul's hot, dry skin. As Veronica began doing the same for Rob, "I'll get more water," Matt said, ducking his head as he exited the tent.

He walked over to the cook tent where the little generator was still humming away, powering the cooler. "Wonder how long this'll last," he thought to himself, staring at the generator, mentally calculating how much fuel was left. He took a bottle of cold water from the cooler. Suddenly feeling very warm, he poured a glass for himself, downing it quickly, then carried the bottle back to the tent.

As she took the bottle of cool water from Matt, Veronica noticed his face was flushed, he was perspiring heavily. "Matt, are you alright? You're not getting it, are you?" she asked, standing.

The big man grabbed hold of the tent pole, "I... I don't know. But I feel hot, and I've got a splitting headache."

"Come on," she said. "Let's get you to your tent."

With Veronica and Brianna on each side helping him, Matt was able to stumble to his tent, the only single in the camp. By the time they got there, all he could do was fall onto his cot, his eyes closing, his face flushed, his body covered in perspiration. After they loosened his clothes, removed his boots and socks, "Get some cool water," Veronica told Brianna, "and the ibuprofen too. There's some in my tent, on top of my foot locker."