by Thom J Poore
The two boys stand outside the institute facing one another, their clothes clinging to their skin, saturated with sweat brought on by the humidity.
“Ok, so can we go home now? I need to take a shower.”
“What’s wrong with you, dude? We’ve only just got here! Come on, look over to the other side of the road and tell me what you see.”
“I see a small child taking a dump!”
“No, not the kid, over to the right.”
“A bus stop.”
“Exactly, Karl, a bus stop! That bus is going to take us right to where we need to go, then it’s just a quick walk into the forest, I’ll collect the plants we need and then we go back to the Casino in Lima. Ok?”
“Ok, I guess.” Says Karl, reluctantly dragging his feet.
The boys make their way over the road and walk into the old bus shelter to join the mixed bunch of locals and tourists already waiting there. Emilio takes the map from his backpack and turns it around several times, trying to get his bearings.
“So Emilio, how long is this bus ride going to take?”
Emilio hesitates as he tries to get a rough idea, based on what he can fathom from the map. Although he’s studied the map dozens of times, it begins to dawn on him that he may have miscalculated the distance.
“It’s looking like it could take around 4 hours.”
“Great! That’s just great Emilio, that’s four times longer than that damned flight I just shit myself through.” Karl starts pacing around in front of Emilio, ranting.
“Sorry man, I thought it was closer.” Says Emilio honestly.
“This place is going to end up costing us an entire day to get to. That’s if we ever fuckin get there, and then we’ve got to live in the jungle like bloody Tarzan and Jane. And I’m not Jane by the way, before you say it.” Karl kicks a cluster of stones around the shelter under the judgmental gaze of the tourists.
“It’s short term, Karl. Remember what we're here for. Keep thinking of the bigger picture. Never lose sight of your goals.”
“This was never one of my goals! My goal in life is to take over my stepdad’s doughnut business and hire people to run it for me, while I sit back and concentrate on quality control taste testing. I’m heading back tomorrow, no matter where we are, you hear me, Emilio? I mean it!” Karl takes a defiant stance.
“Relax, we're both heading back tomorrow, ok. Done and dusted!”
Out of nowhere a clapped out dishevelled yellow bus coughs its way to a spluttering standstill. The glass in most of the windows is missing, as is the door.
“This is us, Karl. It should take us most of the way.”
“I’ll be surprised if that thing gets to the end of this road.”
Emilio grabs Karl and jumps the queue, before his friend has a chance to back out, pushing him onto the decrepit bus, before settling into the prized seats in the left hand rear corner, so they can view each person that enters. A group of Canadian tourists take the middle rows, and two local men sit at the front behind the driver. The bus sits motionless for fifteen minutes, before starting up and heading off on schedule. Emilio and Karl gaze through the empty window frame at the strange city where motorcycles dominate. The city is very basic, chaotic and loud. Motorcycle repair shops are seen in abundance until drab threadbare shacks take their place. The dwellings, packed together at first, become ever more sporadic until they are completely replaced by vibrant tropical scenery. Karl is a wreck of emotions, with an expression like he’s being transported to his own funeral. At the same time, his mind is awash with wonder and awe at the array of exotic wildlife, strange trees and plants that he never could have imagined existed. Adrenaline swirls around Emilio’s body. He feels as if he is travelling on the path he was always destined for. The imagery he is experiencing is conjuring a strong sense of deja vu. Forty-five minutes of sight seeing later and Karl finally starts to relax. As the scenery becomes familiar, his attention wanders, and he begins toying with his bus ticket, folding and unfolding the paper between his fingers, until he unintentionally flicks it at one of the tourists a couple of rows in front. The man takes the ticket, which has nestled uncomfortably in his loose collar and turns around to glare at the boys, who are struggling to contain juvenile laughter. With a scathing look, he remarks in a camp manner.
“Cute, boys! Very cute.”
Mischievous smiles are replaced by blank bewilderment, as they are unsure how the comment should be taken. As the man turns back to his previous conversation Emilio mutters under his breath.
“Fuckin weirdo.”
Two hours pass, and the babble of voices has trickled into a weary silence. Karl lazily watches the other passengers, wondering where they are heading and how they might lead their daily lives. His daydream is interrupted when one of the local men turns around briefly, before leaning in to whisper something to his companion. The two men then nod and return to their tranquil state. Five minutes pass. The bobbing of the bus is causing the majority of the passengers to drift in and out of sleep. Karl watches as one of the men stands up. He has a bowl haircut and a faint moustache. He turns to face the passengers, with his arms folded against his thin murky green coat, as the bus ventures on. The docile passengers, including Emilio, perk up and stare directly back at the man, wondering what he is doing. He remains standing, resolute, despite the bumpy ride. The man is staring straight out through the back window, avoiding all eye contact with the passengers. Emilio and Karl look at each other with concern. As the man stands, trance-like, he slowly reaches inside his coat and pulls out a short, stubby, black, automatic Uzi from his brown leather belt.
“Holy shit, he’s got a machine gun!” Karl presses his feet into the chair in front, bracing himself. The Canadian women shriek and gasp in horror. The man aims the weapon at each and every passenger in turn. His accomplice makes his way slowly down the bus and puts an identical weapon to the driver’s head, instructing him to keep driving. With terrible broken English the man with the green jacket gives orders.
“Now pass you bags down me. Slow! No fun business!”
Emilio nudges Karl who’s stopped breathing, and signals to the wide windowless frame behind them. Emilio knows that if he loses his bag and the map, then their chances of survival in the Amazon would be ruined.
“Karl, after three were going to jump out of this window.” Emilio whispers.
Karl shakes his head profusely, shuddering at the thought, but gets himself ready regardless. Terrified of jumping, he is even more afraid of being left behind, knowing Emilio will leap without a second thought. The gunslinger notices movement at the back and takes aim at the boys.
“Hey, no fun business, I say!”
“Three!” Shouts Emilio, as he launches himself horizontally out of the window. Karl scrambles awkwardly after his friend as the gunman fires, perforating Karl’s backpack, narrowly missing his torso and ripping a chunk out of the rear window frame. Tumbling six feet to the ground in a heap of intertwined limbs, Emilio takes the initial impact, hitting the mud with his right shoulder. Karl falls on Emilio’s back, winding and pinning him to the muddy road. Bruised and in immense pain they scramble sideways into the dense undergrowth. The gunman turns to his accomplice and talks rapidly in Spanish.
“Forget them, we’re miles from anywhere.”
The bus drives on with the petrified tourists left at the mercy of the twisted gunmen.
Hobbling as quickly as they possibly can, propelled by adrenaline and fear, Emilio and Karl rush through masses of damp leaves and sharp branches, which tear and tug at their damp clothes. They jog until they reach a fallen tree surrounded by an expanse of dead leaves, where they collapse, exhausted and quaking. Macaws and toucans squawk through the lush canopy overhead. After a few minutes Emilio gathers his composure and sits up, looking over at Karl, who is lying face down in the mud. Karl rolls slowly onto
his back, his face encrusted with leaves and dirt.
“We gotta keep moving, Emilio, they could be after us.” Karl breathes rapidly, with his eyes fixed on the direction from which they came.
Emilio controls his own breathing and starts to think rationally. His chest is in immense pain from the weight of Karl falling on him, but he doesn’t think he has broken anything.
“The bus kept on driving, Karl, but yeah, we should keep moving, just in case.”
“We nearly fuckin died back there, Emilio. That’s it! I’ve had it! I draw the line at death. I’m going home.” Karl blurts angrily.
“What do you mean you're going home? We’re so close, it would be crazy to turn back now.”
“Crazy to turn back! What are you talking about, Emilio? We just jumped out of a moving bus while being shot at by some lunatic. This isn’t normal.”
Karl sits up and puts his head in his hands.
“Those guys were never going to kill us, Karl. They were just some small time crooks stealing people’s bags.” Emilio is keen to play down the incident, fearing it could put an end to his mission before it has come to fruition.
“Small time crooks! Are you fucked in the head! They just held an entire bus to ransom! With Uzis! They're probably after us now.”
“Look chill out, shit happens. It happens in New York all the time, what’s the difference?”
“The difference is, until today, it hadn’t happened to us!”
“Well, welcome to the hijack club, Karl. At least you’ve got a cool story to tell all the good people back home, instead of the boring ass things you normally talk about.”
Karl gets to his feet and storms off, having an argument with every branch that swings into his face, before stopping dead in his tracks. Walking slowly backwards, he eventually steps into Emilio’s oncoming path.
“What’s up?” Emilio is concerned by his friend’s strange behavior.
“We’re going back to the main road right now, Emilio, I don’t care if we get shot.” Karl is rooted to the spot, with his arm and index finger stretched out, pointing straight towards a hollowed out tree several feet in front of him. Emilio looks forward, trying to focus on what Karl is pointing at. He notices a subtle movement. Edging closer he makes out the contours of a snake, with a broad, flattened dark brown head and a pale yellow underside. The venomous pit viper is erect and glaring, watching the cowering boys attentively.
“Come on, Karl, let’s just walk around it slowly, no sudden movements.”
“You’re crazy, that snake’s looking straight at me, and it looks pissed off.”
“Follow me, Karl.”
Moving cautiously, they stick close to a thick mass of vines just a metre away from the hollowed out tree, until they become level with the snake. In a blind panic, Karl jolts forward, trying to get past as swiftly as possible. The snake reacts, flaring out towards Emilio, missing him by millimetres before sliding away into the shadows.
“Which part of no sudden movements did you not understand?” Emilio scowls.
“Yeah, I freaked out. We’ve been in this rainforest less than half an hour and already I’ve been nearly killed by a giant snake. Cut me some slack here, Emilio.” Karl quivers.
“It wasn’t even that big, Karl. It was just a grass snake. I’m sure it was harmless.” Emilio lies, fully aware of how poisonous the reptile actually is. They walk on cautiously, paying more attention to every detail with each step they take. The enclosed rainforest atmosphere is sweltering, even more humid than the open city.
After half an hour rain begins to pour heavily, spraying them from every angle, as it bounces off the branches, leaves and vines around them.
“Great! It’s pissing it down! Plus, I stink. And to be honest, Emilio, the jungle is scaring the crap out of me."
“Stop being such a pussy! Look, I’m close on this one, I can feel it, and do you know what they’re gonna say, Karl?”
“Spare me, Emilio.”
“They’re gonna say Emilio Winters, there’s a man who can really achieve things.”
“I really don’t think we're going to find anything out here, Emilio. Let’s just turn back.”
“Shut up, Karl. You really need to start being more positive with your life instead of wasting your time, lazing around all day watching the Red Hot channel.”
“Hey, I’ve learned a lot from that channel.”
“Like what?”
“Ask Joanne Tully.”
“You couldn’t score with J.T even if some genie appeared, blessed you with two dicks and sculpted your face into that of Johnny Depp. You’d still bore the shit out of her.”
Karl’s eyes flash at Emilio.
“That’s not true, there was this time I ran away from home, hiked to Las Vegas and spent the night with Jessica Channing in the penthouse suite at the Golden Nugget. You’ve heard this story before?”
“So many times, Karl, I'm starting to think it happened to me." Emilio ducks and dodges between branches, which lash back into Karl's face as he tries to keep up with his fitter companion. "Hey, I can see a way out.”
Emilio signals towards an opening in the forest. As they get closer they hear a muted rumble, which becomes a roar as they step out of the dense jungle and onto a muddy cliff edge. The first thing they see is an old, worn out bridge, hanging over a vast gorge. The bridge sags and sways in the pelting rain. What’s left of the wooden slats are slippery, and in danger of giving way with the slightest pressure. From their elevated position the boys can see for miles across the thick green blanket of the forest below. The sun is setting in the distance, projecting a tranquil orange glow that bends with the rounded contour of the horizon, exposing the scale of the jungle wilderness.
“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Emilio is besotted with the stunning view. Karl’s attention is completely absorbed by the worrying thought of crossing the dilapidated bridge. He wipes the torrential rainwater from his brow. “No, I haven’t, and I’m not crossing it, it looks like it can barely support itself, let alone me.”
Emilio turns his attention to the bridge.
“It’s fine, it’s stronger than it looks. It will take us right across, no problem.”
Emilio walks out confidently over the first eight desperately thin, moss-covered slats. He slips slightly as he turns back to face a bewildered looking Karl. Confident with his own body weight, and in an attempt to quash Karl’s unease he starts bouncing up and down on the spot.
“See, there’s nothing to worry about.”
The ancient bridge creaks pathetically and gives way, sending him hurtling down into the churning depths.
“Emilio!” Karl shouts frantically at the top of his voice, as he helplessly looks on, petrified for his friend. Emilio hits the surface and Karl hurries in the same direction along the gorge’s edge, terrified that he’s lost his friend forever. Emilio’s body is dragged under by a strong current. He opens his eyes, staring at the blurry fast moving surface, convinced his life is about to end, as he can't move from being pinned by the immense water pressure. A boulder smacks into his side, leaving his legs pointing downstream. Unable to breath, he panics. The relentless river drops steeply and throws Emilio’s body like a rag, slamming him into the muddy banks on the opposite side from where he fell in. Gasping for air he sets about dragging himself clear of the river. Shaken and bruised, but otherwise uninjured, he gets to his feet and looks back up at the top of the gorge. He tries to spot Karl, but the water has carried him too far downstream. He decides to find a spot that could hopefully be seen from Karl's perspective. After a few minutes, he finds a small clearing next to a calm stretch of river and sets up camp, taking a small blue tent from his sopping wet backpack, which springs out to form a paltry looking shelter. Looking around for something dry to set light to, he
resigns himself to the fact that everything around him is as soaked as he is. He rummages through his wet clothes and pulls out his cell phone, trying in vain to turn it on. Vulnerable and isolated, worried sick about Karl’s welfare, Emilio starts to feel disillusioned. Maybe Karl was right; maybe they should have turned back. Trying to remain positive, he forages around for anything dry that he could possibly use to build a fire. Eventually, he finds a piece of dry bark, which has fallen and got caught up in the lower branches of a nearby tree, protecting it from the downpour and holding it away from the damp ground. He rips some of the large leaves from the tree to make a dry base for him to stack the bark on, making sure to leave gaps for oxygen to circulate. He takes a lighter and eventually manages to create a smouldering mound of tinder. Blowing lightly, he coaxes the smoking bark into life, until he is crouching proudly in front of a small fire. Standing back, he feels temporarily elated. Putting his hand in his pocket he takes his phone and throws it in the newly formed blaze. As the phone starts to melt it turns on. Seeing it illuminate he quickly puts his hand in the fire to try and salvage it, retracting it instantly, shaking and blowing on the burn to ease the pain as he kneels down to dry himself. As the evening dusk starts to settle in something moves in the shadows on the opposite side of the river, but it is too dark to make out what it is. Half paranoid and half hopeful, he jumps to his feet and scurries down to the bank of the river to investigate.
Chapter 9: Savage pond