When they reached the top, Gina was surprised to see a bustling village of solidly built wooden houses. Over fifty villagers congregated outside their homes, cooking over open fires or tending to flocks of chickens. The women wore ornate long blouses with a sash around their waists. The older men and the children wore long sleeveless shirts.

The villagers stopped and stared as Gina and the others were marched to the far side of the village, where a row of five tall wooden poles jutted from the earth. The poles were eight feet tall, six inches in diameter, and spaced roughly three feet apart. There was another set of five poles sixty meters away on the opposite side of the village. As Gina drew closer to the poles nearest her, she noticed heavy slash marks cut into them. All the slash marks were at neck level.

She thought back to what Martin had said about the tribe.

They are headhunters.

A chill ran up Gina’s spine. She imagined how the next few minutes would play out. Each of them would be forced to stand with their back against the pole, then, one by one, their heads would be severed from their bodies.

But then why did the villagers appear so civilized?

They looked nothing like what Gina imagined a ruthless tribe of headhunters and cannibals would look like.

She glanced over her shoulder. Twenty-odd tribesmen had their spears held above their shoulders, ready to throw. Gina considered slipping through the poles and into the surrounding jungle. What were the chances of them hitting a moving target with their spears?

Pretty good if the spear that struck the tree right in front of their group was any indication.

But if she could get to the jungle, she could outrun them. Or could she? Maybe on her trail near her village she could, but here on their home turf?

Probably not.

Martin, who was standing next to her, whispered under his breath, “Don’t do it.”

Gina raised her eyebrows.

“Just trust me,” he whispered.

“What are we going to do?” Bill said quietly. “They’re going to kill us.”

Gina turned and gazed at the group of tribesmen surrounding them.

A moment later, there was a rustling, and the tribesmen separated. A thin old man shuffled forward. He was wearing a long blue tunic and his white hair was adorned with golden feathers.

Martin took two steps forward and said, “Parlasqayki.”

The old man, who Gina knew must be the village shaman, nodded and with a toothless smile, said, “Yaykuykuy.”

Martin turned to the group and translated, “Shaman Yapunqui welcomes us.”

Gina was trying to figure out what the heck was going on, when there was a loud series of thunks. It was the sound of thirty spears being thrust into the ground.

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