“The legend of El Dorado originated in Colombia with the Muisca people. The legend actually pertains to a man and not a city or place. During initiation ceremonies the Muisca’s tribal chief would cover himself in gold dust, surround himself with golden treasure, and then submerge in the lake. They called him El Dorado, which translates to ‘the Golden One.’ Legend has it that one day the chief walked into the lake and disappeared, taking all the golden treasure with him. Spanish explorers heard this story, and over time El Dorado became synonymous with any undiscovered place filled with treasure.”

“Great stuff,” Libby chimed, then asked, “Back to Paititi. How many expeditions have gone looking for the lost city?”

“Over a hundred. It goes back centuries. Percy Fawcett, the explorer who inspired the movie The Lost City of Z, was looking for Paititi. There have been countless others, explorers and adventurers from all over the world. Sadly, many never returned. They were either lost or killed by natives, or more recently, drug traffickers, illegal loggers, or the many other scary things Holland talked about at orientation.”

“Okay, last question. Did you see anything at the archaeological site yesterday that leads you to believe these ruins are in fact, Paititi?”

Andy didn’t hesitate. “No. No, I did not.”

≈

Eleven more minutes.

Eleven more minutes of bad luck.

After his interview with Libby was complete, Andy made his way to his tent. He wasn’t taking any chances. He was going to sit in his tent, listening to the slap of the rain, and watch the change happen on his watch. Only then, would he rejoin the outside world.

Andy pulled off his boots and set them on a towel across from him. He laid down on top of his sleeping bag and flipped open his graphic novel and began reading. Two pages. Three pages. He again checked his watch.

Seven minutes.

On the page, a blond character entered the fray. She was voluptuous and clad in a tight crime-fighter outfit. Something about her reminded Andy of Libby. While Libby wasn’t what you might call stunning, she was definitely cute, even more so when she smiled, which Andy had seen several times over the past two days.

“Wakanda forever,” Andy repeated, allowing himself a laugh.

That’s when Andy saw it. It was crawling into one of his boots.

A scorpion.

It was red, and Andy could see the stinger on its coiled tail.

“Oh, brother,” Andy said, backpedaling until he was tucked into the wall of the tent.

His first thought was to bolt, to unzip the tent and run. But maybe this was a ruse by the universe to get him outside, where something even worse might happen.

No, Andy would take his chances with the scorpion. According to Holland, the little red scorpion wasn’t deadly. It would give him a healthy sting, but he would survive.