Tuck flashed a smile. "Oh, that's the distinctive red wax seal with the drip marks. They hand-dip every single bottle. That's how you know it's the real deal. Now taste this."

Tuck poured me a glass, and I took a sip. It was smooth and elegant, like drinking an angel.

"This tastes expensive," I commented.

"And it is," Tuck said. "It's America's only handmade bourbon, made in small batches and never mass produced. They say that T.W. Samuels found the perfect taste by baking loaves of bread with different grain proportions. When he found the best tasting loaf, he used the same mixture of grains in his bourbon."

I took a closer look at the bottle. "They misspelled whiskey," I noticed. "They left out the 'e.'"

"Whiskey with an 'e' is the historic American spelling," Tuck explained. "Whisky without an 'e' is the Scottish spelling, and also the official American spelling. But most American whiskeys have an 'e.'"

I also noticed on the bottle that Maker's Mark is 90 proof. That was eerily appropriate, seeing as how 90 percent of the population was now marked to meet their maker. But I was trying not to think about that.

"You know what?" Tuck said. "While we're enjoying this bottle of Kentucky's finest, I have an idea about how to really go out with a bang."

"I'm up for anything," I said.

"Now this is going to sound a little strange," Tuck said, "but hear me out. The ancient Mayans were really big on ritual sacrifice. And they believed that eating the flesh of your enemy gave you power over them. So wouldn't it be a major insult to Mrityu, if we ate him before he killed us?"

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