The Mayan Threat By Nathan Boole Allen stumbled from the trees toward the research base’s dirt yard, Jill’s limp form slung over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. His thighs burned with fatigue, and his knees threatened to give way before he reached the small bungalow. He forced himself to take one more step, and then another. He looked up at the bungalow. Although it appeared undisturbed from where he stood, he had no way of knowing if someone hid inside. He tripped on a creeper buried in brown leaves and almost fell. He focused on the ground and kept walking. The strange warriors, the ones who ambushed Jill at the temple, had fled after Jill shot one through the head with her father’s old revolver. Allen still worried …