“GP and I have it covered.”
It’s like being picked last for a team in gym class when your best friend is the captain. My body contracts like a snail hiding in its shell and I pretend to watch a bird fly overhead so they can’t see my pink cheeks. “Um. Is that bug spray handy?”
Cougar shakes his head. “It needs to last, so we have to save it for dusk and dawn. That’s when the mosquitos that carry dengue and malaria are out.”
“Sure, of course.” I head in the direction my dad pointed, skin crawling with mosquitos. While he can see me, I resist the urge to fight them off.
Cougar calls, “There are a lot of snakes out here. Keep your eyes open. Please don’t go too far. It’d be dangerous to search in the dark for you.”
It’s embarrassing being treated like I have zero common sense. But I get it. My dad remembers who I was. It’s up to me to change his perception.
The plane is tipped down, its nose burrowed into the ground. How could anyone survive the impact with only a few bumps? The edges where the front of the plane tore off are jagged, dangling wires, bits of insulation. Sean’s mangled body flashes. I push the vision away. There’s a half-empty water bottle resting beside bright pink blooms alive with bees. Two full plastic bottles of lemonade peek out from deep inside the flowering bush. I absolutely cannot do this. I move slowly. The bees tickle in a not-funny way. Two stings that hurt like hell later, I’ve got the lemonade plus the water.
I move on. A bag of potato chips and a silver keychain lie side by side. There’s a yellow sweatshirt draped on a bush. In its pocket is Jupiter’s paperback, The Stand. There’s also a roll of butterscotch Life Savers. I drop the book, think for a second, then retrieve it. Paper burns. A few feet later, I spy something dull, silver. It’s a roll of duct tape. Beside it is an unopened bag of strawberry Twizzlers. I would’ve rather found my malaria pills. I take a few more steps. Peeking out from beneath a shard of aluminum is a bright red wing. I glance around to make sure no one can see me, then breathe in the dead bird. Stress has buoyed my old habit to the surface, but I need all the help I can get.
Something rustles above. My body flushes with adrenaline, skin prickling with a thousand needles. I move back toward the clearing, the forest’s foliage closing around me with each step, like it’s eager to absorb what doesn’t belong. Dumping my loot in a small pile by the useless beacon, I rest my hands on my knees and focus on breathing as the adrenaline slowly drains.
“You hurt at all?” Gus asks.
Again I didn’t hear him, and I jump. Did he play some kind of ninja in a movie? “I thought you were helping Cougar build a shelter.” My tone sounds a little bit like an accusation. It’s not Gus’s fault that my dad picked him.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. It’s getting dark. Smells like rain, too.”
“No worries. I’m from Oregon.” Gus tips his head to one side. He doesn’t get the joke. “It rains a lot. There, in the Pacific Northwest. Um. We’re in a rain forest?”
“Oh.” Gus manages a sympathy laugh. “Got it.”
My fingers push glasses up my nose, but of course they’re not there. I took them off so that I’d look cool, which is a joke in itself. Now I’m lost in the middle of the rain forest with nothing to protect the only eye I have left. Gus is staring at me. He’s probably so used to being around perfect people that I’m like a fascinating lab specimen. There’s a piece of blue fabric wrapped around his forearm with blood soaking through it. “What happened?”
“Just a cut. The bruise from my seat belt hurts worse.”
He lifts up the bottom of his shirt, revealing a dark purple stain that’s at least six inches by three inches. I have a matching one but don’t show it to him.
“Secret? I hate flying. Especially on small planes. If I could’ve driven here, taken a bus, even walked, I would’ve done it.”
“You seemed comfortable.”
Gus flashes a million-dollar smile. “I’m an actor. This trip is a job. If I do it well, it’ll help my career.”
It still feels like I’m only part here, part floating, which is maybe why instead of being overwhelmed that Gus Price is showing me his cut abs and telling me a secret, I’m more focused on the mosquitos bellying up to the blood bar that is my body. With effort, I focus. “Your arm?”
“It’s not deep.”
“Did you wash it out?”
Gus looks around, laughs. “With what?”
I dig out the half empty bottle of water. It’s not totally sanitary since someone drank from it, but it’s the only option. “Things in this environment will get infected really fast. That leads to sepsis.”
“Sepsis?”
“It’s when your immune system overreacts to an infection. You can get a fever that leads to septic shock.”
“Is that really bad?”
“Only if organ failure and death bother you.” Gus hesitates, maybe waiting for me to say that I’m kidding. But I’m not and a little bit of me relishes that my dad’s new best friend is now worried.
Gus says, “Let’s wash it out.” He sits on the ground and unknots the cloth around his arm. “How do you know this stuff?”
I kneel next to him. “My mom is a nurse. She talks a lot.” I unwind the blood-soaked cloth. The cut is uneven, three inches long and deep enough that I can see a glint of bone. If I had nylon thread for sutures, I could close up the cut, minimal scarring, probably important to a guy whose looks are tied to his job. But that’s not an option. There’s a lot of dirt in the gash. I prod at the edges while slowly pouring water, doing my best to dislodge the debris. Gus sucks in a breath. “Sorry.”
Cougar shouts, “For Christ’s sake, Danny, don’t waste water!”
My insides lurch like the ground has vanished and I’m in free fall. “I was trying to—”
Cougar dumps the armful of bamboo he’s carrying and stalks over. “There’s no excuse. Even you should know basic rules for survival,” Cougar says.
My tagline roars in my head: Defective. Inferior. Embarrassment.
Gus holds up his arm. “My fault, man.”
Cougar squats beside us. “Damn,” he says, taking in the gash. “Way to be stoic. Looks pretty clean now.” He winks at me. “Playing nurse with the hottest teen actor in the world? Best sixteenth birthday present ever, right?”
If you don’t count the plane crash, Sean’s death, the fact that we’re lost in the Amazon and that you don’t know I’m turning seventeen.
“You two can get to know each other later, on camera.”
Gus and I ask in unison, “On camera?”
Cougar gives Gus’s shoulder a squeeze. “We’re still going to film this episode as planned. It’s an opportunity to make something of this catastrophe, show resiliency and honor Sean. Agreed?”
I’m not sure how filming will honor Sean, but I nod.
“You sure about this, man?” Gus asks.
“Yes. I need you to be a team player.”
The muscles in Gus’s jaw clench like he’s gathering his resources. “GP’s always a team player.”
“Good. So is Cougar Warren. We’ll use Cass’s handheld that she was smart enough to bring in a waterproof case. Sound will be shit, but Jupiter can work some magic later. Like it or not, our episode is now about true survival.” Cougar nods at Gus’s arm. “Wrap that up and we’ll finish the shelter.”
I mumble, “We should, um, seal it.”
My dad knocks his knuckles on my head. “Earth to Danny, do you see a hospital or even a first-aid kit around?”
I pull out the roll of duct tape. “We could use strips of this?”
Cougar throws up his hand. “My kid is brilliant.”
I hand him the duct tape, then push the jagged edges of Gus’s cut closed while he tears off strips, securing them. It’s hard not to smile a tiny bit. Despite ever
ything, I’m being a propeller.
15
The shadowy light in the rain forest fades as dusk approaches. It’s not raining yet, but the air smells like ozone. I find Cass beside a thorny shrub. She’s digging through a red duffel bag. When she turns, it’s hard not to step back. Blood weeps from a gash that runs the length of her forehead. It glues strands of black hair to pale cheeks.
“I need my computer,” Cass says.
“O-kay.”
Cass shakes her head hard. Red droplets fly sideways. “I have to email Production. Keep them apprised so we remain on schedule.”
There’s no way she’ll get a signal but I get that she’s freaked out. Gently, I seat her on the duffel bag. There’s a T-shirt on the ground beside her, Dispatch concert dates on the back. I shake off the dirt, then use it to clean the blood from her eyes. “Cass, did you get knocked out?”
“I don’t remember.”
Swiping the cotton across the cut, I can see it’s not that deep. My mom says head wounds bleed a ton.
Cass starts crying, salt water mingling with blood. “This is my fault—I picked Mack. Cougar is going to fire me.”
“He won’t. Anyway, Gus was the one who was late.”
Cass sniffles, then asks, “Do you think Gus is hot? I thought you might not be open to it. He’s too good-looking. It makes a difference.”
She’s lost me. When I look into Cass’s eyes, her pupils are dilated from the hit she took. No wonder she’s not making sense. I focus on her cut. Hopefully the blood flow is doing an okay job of pushing out the bacteria. I’m not going to make the mistake of wasting water again. Doubling over the T-shirt, I tie it snuggly around her head. Later we can use the duct tape to close the wound.
Cass goes back to her search, discarding useless items over her shoulder. When she tosses a long-sleeved blue sweatshirt, I grab it. She’s wearing leggings with a sleeveless top. There’s a carpet of insects feeding on her bare skin. “Hey, want to put this on?” I help Cass slide the sweatshirt over bare arms. Curious George stares at me from the back. “If you find any medicine, like malaria pills, that’d be great.”
“All our meds are with the team in Iquitos,” Cass says.
Great. My backpack is nowhere in sight, probably snagged high in a tree. The bush to my right rustles. Nerves firing, I leap back, but before I can run Jupiter appears.
“Danny! Damn, kid, I was really worried about you.”
“I’m okay. But Sean—”
“Yeah.” Jupiter kicks at the dirt and blinks. A tear escapes and leaves a shiny track down his cheek. “He’s... He was a really good guy.” Jupiter clears his throat. “His gal will be devastated.”
Again, I feel guilty. My stomach twists into knots.
Jupiter wipes his face, takes a few deep breaths, then gathers his dreads and ties them into a thick ponytail. “I wanted to keep looking for you guys while it was light, but Cougar said our priority had to be staying together, salvaging what we could, building a shelter.”
Sticking together, taking care of the essentials, searching in the light make sense. The knots in my belly tighten. I found them; that’s what’s important. “Are you hurt?”
“A bruise from my seat belt, scratches and a sore shoulder. Probably tweaked it trying to get out of the prickly bush I landed in. Who knows what might’ve been in there with me.”
Mack tromps over to us. “How’s it going, kid?”
He’s dripping with sweat even though the temperature has dropped in the last hour. How’s it going? Seriously? You flew for more money when you should’ve told Cass and my dad they had to wait until tomorrow. Sean will never get married because you were greedy. On top of that, you forgot to check your safety equipment. Who does that?
Mack groans, drops to his knees, then collapses onto the ground.
“Cougar!” Jupiter shouts.
The lingering sense that I’m not quite inside my skin vanishes as I kneel beside the pilot. “Where does it hurt?” He grips his chest. When I unbutton his shirt, his entire torso is bruised, the skin dark purple, almost black. I touch his ribs and feel sharp edges.
Samantha once told me about a high school football player who’d been tackled so hard that a rib fractured, lacerating his lung. The kid thought he was having a heart attack—shortness of breath, terrible pressure across his chest. My mom said he would’ve died if the ER doctor hadn’t put in a chest tube to relieve the pressure.
Cougar breaks through the brush, Gus at his heels. He moves me aside, crouches by Mack and asks, “What’s going on?”
“Chest feels like a semitruck...is parked on...it.”
Cougar scans the pilot’s bruised body. “You might’ve cracked some ribs. I remember breaking three in Utah. Flash flood.” He turns to Gus. “Hurt like a motherf-er but I managed to climb my way out of a sheer three-hundred-foot canyon.” He pats Mack’s arm. “You’re gonna be fine, old tiger, just sore as hell.”
“I won’t...be able to trek...out of here.”
“Bullshit. Things will look better in the morning. Promise.” He glances over his shoulder at Cass. “Let’s make him comfortable for the night. Tomorrow we’ll find help.”
Cass nods. “Okay. First, though, I’m going to shoot off an email.”
I’m starting to wonder how hard Cass hit her head but Mack is in bigger trouble. “Um...it could be a hemothorax?”
“A hemothorax?” Jupiter asks.
“Under each rib is a neurovascular bundle—that’s a collection of nerves, arteries and veins,” I explain. Everyone is staring like I’ve grown horns. “Um.” I glance at my dad but he looks away. “Sometimes, with rib fractures, the blood vessels can get torn? That causes bleeding into the space between the chest wall and the lungs. It’d explain Mack’s chest pain and difficulty breathing.” What I don’t say is that I’m pretty sure without a tube put in the chest to drain the blood, or emergency surgery, patients with a hemothorax... They die.
Cougar’s smile is tight. “Danny, come on, you’re not here to play pretend nurse. Gus, help me carry Mack to the shelter. Cass, film us.” Cass follows them, computer under one arm, camera recording in the dim light.
Jupiter asks, “You good?”
I stare at the ground wishing I could burrow into a deep hole like a rabbit. “Yeah.”
“Danny, he’s not... Just don’t...” Jupiter trails off. “You think Mack is going to be okay?”
“I don’t know.” Jupiter hands me a pair of black leggings he found. I peel off my shorts and tug them on. Screw modesty when mosquitos are sucking me dry. It starts to drizzle. By the time we get to the shelter, an angled lean-to tied between two trees with a roof of piled palm leaves and rows of bamboo on the ground to keep us off the dirt, rain is falling in solid sheets. I’ve never seen anything like it. Cougar has the bottles we found set out to collect water, plus he’s made containers from sections of green bamboo. I know from his shows that if we do need to boil water, the bamboo, heated along its thick sides, not the thinner bottom, will work.
“Everyone, make sure you drink,” Cougar says. “Mostly in the morning and night. Drinking too much during the day will make your feet and hands swell.”
I take several gulps. It tastes like grass. My dad holds a plastic bottle to Mack’s lips, but the pilot can’t swallow. When he passes around a neon-red tube of bug repellent, I want to slather it on but dab instead. Even a little bit helps. A lot. We share the bag of potato chips, each getting three chips, a Twizzler, a butterscotch Life Saver and a few swallows of lemonade, plus all the water we can drink.
Cougar says, “I think we can do without a fire tonight.” He gives me one rain poncho and Cass the other one. “You two will be colder than us so put them on to keep in the heat. We can share them later if need be.”
It’s still warm but my clothes are wet and a light wind is sucking the heat from my
body. Grateful, I pull on the clear plastic poncho.
Cougar carefully folds the empty chip bag and puts it in his shirt pocket. “Highly flammable. Tomorrow night, once we’ve collected some tinder, we’ll use it to help start a fire.”
“Unless we’re rescued by then,” Cass says with the computer on her lap, tapping at buttons on the keyboard.
Cougar ignores her. “Here’s the deal. Chances are we’ll find help in a day or two, but if it takes longer we’ll be fine. There’s plenty of fruit and nuts to eat if you know which plants won’t kill you.” He winks. “I do. But for now, we conserve our energy and rest. If you get cold in the night, do push-ups or jumping jacks. If something crawls on you, brush it away from the group. If it’s a snake, wake me up. I’ll take care of it. If you need to take a leak, stay close, watch where you walk. There are long thorns that can pierce your boots, biting ants and bigger threats. Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
Bigger threats? I slowly lie down, my body stiff, like it’s rejecting the entire idea of the rain forest, telegraphing that nothing about this place is appropriate for a one-eyed city girl who thought she could fake it till she made it. A few strands of my hair tug. I try to ignore the feeling. My hair tugs again. It’s nothing. But nothing has legs and it’s picking its way through my hair, trying to burrow toward my scalp, preparing to sting, bite, furrow beneath the skin where it will do something utterly heinous, like lay eggs. My pulse rate shoots to the moon. Something is in my hair! Something big! Breathe. Do not overreact. DON’T DO IT! For a few seconds my need to impress Cougar wins out, but then I’m on my knees, tearing at my hair. “Get it out!”
Cougar kneels beside me, bends my head forward, then digs fingers into the place I’m pointing, because I’m too scared to actually touch whatever disgusting thing is trying to make its home on or in my scalp.
He says, “Got it.”
I shouldn’t look, but I do. In the almost dark, I can still see it’s an inch-long bug, its back the shape and color of a turquoise seashell. Bright orange legs and antennae wiggle in the air as my dad inspects the thing, like it’s trying to identify him, too.
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