Sam had arrived at the hotel.
"Shall we leave, sir?" he asked.
"Yes, Sam. David?" Vincent called out.
"I'm coming, Vincent," David replied, walking out.
"Guys… do we have all the research equipment?" Vincent asked.
Rebecca nodded.
"Yes, Vincent. Everything's here.
Amanda, give me your bag. You carry mine."
"Okay, Rebecca. My bag has a bit more stuff," Amanda said.
"That's fine. It doesn't feel heavy to me," Rebecca replied confidently.
Sam's jeep began its journey toward the Calandria Cave.
Vincent looked outside.
"What, Sam… we're climbing uphill?"
"Don't worry, sir. We're almost there. The jeep can go a little further. After that, we'll have to walk."
As the jeep climbed higher, the dark mouth of Calandria Cave slowly came into view.
"From here, we'll have to go on foot," Sam said.
"Okay, Sam. Come on, guys."
Rebecca frowned, looking around.
"Why is this place full of mud and rocks?"
"This was once an agricultural hill, Rebecca," Vincent explained.
"Farming happened here long ago."
"Wow… it actually looks like that," she smiled.
"This hill once belonged to the Caracol region," Vincent added.
"Yes, sir. Now it's part of Mexico," Sam said.
Vincent hesitated for a moment.
"Sam, why don't you stay with us? It'll be helpful."
"Sorry, sir. I have some work nearby. I'll go home and return immediately. If you need help, call me. I'll be here within ten minutes."
"Alright, Sam. Take care."
Vincent turned to the group.
"Guys, let's go inside."
Inside Calandria Cave
The cave was abandoned, neglected, and decaying.
Dust covered every surface as Beulah brushed it away while walking.
After a short distance, a foul stench filled the air.
"Ugh… something's rotting here," Beulah said, gagging.
"What happened?" Rebecca asked.
"Amanda, don't come this way. The smell is unbearable," Beulah warned.
"Don't stand there, Beulah," Rebecca said.
"You'll throw up. Come back first."
David looked around nervously.
"Vincent, you sent them off separately… this cave just keeps going deeper."
"Don't worry, David. They couldn't have gone far. Take the torch from the bag."
David handed it over.
Vincent switched it on and scanned the cave. Darkness swallowed the light.
"This isn't enough," Vincent said.
"Wait… let me check if there's another one," David muttered, searching.
"No, Vincent. I checked all the bags."
"Then let's go back outside. We can't stay here without proper lighting."
Vincent and David stepped out of the cave—unaware that a rattlesnake slithered behind them.
Outside the Cave
"Hey! Rebecca… you're here too?" David asked.
"It's pitch dark inside," she replied.
"Same where we went," David said.
"Wait, guys. Let's call Sam," Vincent suggested.
After struggling with poor signal, the call finally connected.
"Yes, sir. I'm already near the cave. What's the matter?"
"We need four high-quality lights, Sam. I'm sending Rebecca with you. Bring them here."
"Okay, sir."
Rebecca turned to Vincent.
"Stay here until we return. And don't go inside out of curiosity. I heard rattling sounds… like a rattlesnake."
"Okay, okay. Go carefully," Vincent said.
David muttered,
"Why send her around now? There's nothing inside except walls."
"Relax, David. I don't mind going," Rebecca replied calmly.
She walked toward the cave entrance. Sam's jeep had already arrived.
Rebecca didn't know…
this would be the last time she was part of this journey.
A Dark Shift in History
By then, one of the two major regions in Mexico had fallen under Spanish control.
Only the Mayan territories remained—and they stood out clearly in Cortés's eyes.
With the fall of the Aztec Empire, Spain expanded Cortés's authority.
Cortés picked up his gun and, without informing anyone, entered the Mayan lands alone.
Seeing civilian movement ahead, he returned to camp.
A man of the 15th century, Cortés thought like someone from the 21st.
That was when biological warfare was unleashed upon the Mayans.
The Plague
The next day, Cheran was walking through the forest path to meet Pachama.
Suddenly, cries and screams erupted from the Siddha medical hut nearby.
Alarmed, Cheran ran inside—but elders stopped him midway.
Smallpox had begun spreading rapidly—not just in Caracol, but across all Mayan regions.
Children, elders, and youths lay covered in painful boils.
None of the herbs—bean paste, bark, or roots—worked.
Cheran confronted the healer.
"What's happening? What disease is this?
Yesterday they were walking… today they're dying."
"I don't know, Cheran," the healer said helplessly.
"I'm seventy years old. I've never seen anything like this."
"Then what do we do?"
"There's only one way. Bring the Muliyo plant, roots and all, from the mountain peak."
"I'll go now," Cheran said firmly.
The Mountain Trial
Climbing the steep mountain, Cheran struggled as medicinal waterfalls drenched the rocks.
At 110 feet, his hands slipped—but he climbed on.
As he reached for the Muliyo plants, two black cobras lunged at him.
With precise movements, Cheran caught one near his face and the other biting his arm—both in a single grip.
He threw them into the waterfall and gathered the herbs.
Night fell.
Hearing snakes everywhere, Cheran climbed a tree and slept on its branches.
That night, he was the only Mayan who slept alive.
A Village of Death
At dawn, Cheran returned.
The village looked like a graveyard.
Parents cried for children.
Children cried for parents.
Death had struck everywhere.
Unable to bear it, Cheran ran straight to Pachama's house.
She was gone.
"Pachama… Pachama!"
He found her sitting behind the house, hands on her cheeks, crying.
When she saw him, she stood up.
"You're safe, Cheran?"
He didn't answer.
He moved closer… toward her lips.
Thinking he was about to kiss her, Pachama closed her eyes.
Cheran suddenly covered her nose with herb-coated powder.
She collapsed unconscious in his arms.
Escape
Carrying her on his shoulder, Cheran walked a kilometer to the Kolas River.
He placed her in a boat and climbed in.
Looking one last time at Caracol, he cut the rope.
The boat drifted away—taking his life with it.
Facing the statue of Itzamna, Cheran whispered in his heart:
"Forgive me… I had no other choice.
I cannot live without Pachama.
I don't have the courage to lose everything."
The boat approached the mountain where Calandria Cave lay.
Pachama was still unconscious.
"I don't know how I'll explain this to you… please understand."
With firm resolve, Cheran stepped ashore.
The Fall of Kingdoms
The disease tripled in speed.
Tikal, Kanakmul, and Dos Pilas suffered the same fate.
Priests demanded sacrifices.
Kings fell ill.
People believed it was divine punishment.
They didn't know what was coming.
Cortés prepared for war.
That day, the King of Caracol died within seven hours of infection.
Princess Jajilsha wept in the palace.
Guerrero rushed in.
For the first time, he felt his duty was not just to his wife—but to her people.
He accepted the crown he once refused.
The nobles had already chosen him.
Kingdoms collapsed like cards.
Guerrero ordered human shields to protect Caracol.
Spain stumbled.
Cortés demanded cannons.
They arrived.
To the Mayans, cannons looked like monsters.
Swords were useless.
Cortés entered Caracol with Geronimo.
"Where is Guerrero staying?" he asked.
"Near the palace, in that mansion."
"Then we arrest him."
"No, Geronimo."
Cortés climbed the cannon.
He aimed.
Multiple shells flew.
Inside, Guerrero kissed his wife's forehead and spoke to his unborn children.
At fifty, Guerrero fell.
Yet even today, his statue in Yucatan shines—
a symbol of how deeply the Mayans honored him.