The Speed of Falling Objects

by Nancy Richardson Fischer

  “Never seen one of these.” Cougar grins. “That’s one of the most incredible things about the Amazon. Millions of insects and a lot of them don’t even have names because they haven’t been discovered.” He tosses the bug over his shoulder. “You good now, Danny?”

  If good means embarrassed beyond any chance to save face, then yes, I’m terrific. I pinch my leg hard enough to make a bruise as punishment. Next time I will not freak out. “I’m good.”

  “Okay then, everyone, shut-eye time,” Cougar says.

  The idea that I can close my eyes; that I’ll have the presence of mind to brush whatever spider, scorpion or stinging caterpillar away from the group when I feel it skittering on my skin; the notion that I’m going to get up, walk away from our shelter in the dark should I have to pee when there are things out there capable of swallowing me whole... It’s preposterous. Still, I lie down on the bamboo that’s covered with palm fronds. We’re a wet collection of mismatched clothing, bruises, bloody cuts and probably a dying old pilot. A rivulet of rain leaks through the roof, dripping onto my shoulder. I shift, but another steady drip finds my hip. There’s a knot digging into my back. I don’t say a word about any of it. No one is comfortable, especially Mack, who moans but has stopped talking.

  Cougar asks, “You okay, buddy?”

  I’m still his buddy. Tomorrow, I’ll do better. “I’m good.” I wish my dad were closer instead of between Cass and Jupiter while I’m next to Mack with Gus behind me. I wish we weren’t lying on a hard rack of bamboo; that the Amazon wasn’t filled with things that petrify me; that there hadn’t been a plane crash; that Mack was okay, and Sean was alive; that I was anywhere in the world but here. Cass is tapping on her keyboard. I have to give her credit for hopefulness.

  The night is never ending. I do my best not to scratch every bite or slap as insects creep beneath my poncho. The only positive is that the bug repellent has cut down on mosquitos and gnats. I’m not that successful at keeping still, but I’m not alone. Almost everyone, except Mack, is moving around, swatting and flicking off bugs. Only one person is snoring—my dad. We’re nothing alike but I’ll do my best to keep that a secret.

  Gus whispers, “This is miserable.”

  “Yeah.” I’m glad he thinks so, too. Trix wouldn’t believe that Gus Price is lying inches from me. But it doesn’t really sink in. I’m focused on the soft rustle of wings inside my body. I fold my arms tightly over my chest to keep my inner Pigeon trapped. Gus’s breathing settles to a rhythm. He’s softly humming in his sleep. The tune is off-key, but I think it’s “Redbird,” a song from the ’70s that my mom used to sing to help me sleep.

  Mack shifts, moans. I rest my fingers on his neck. His pulse has gone from hummingbird fast to slow and his breathing is labored. Tears leak from his closed eyes, dribble down his temples. Moving closer, I whisper lines from The Phantom Tollbooth in his ear. “‘Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn? Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends...or the hush of a country road at night... Each one is different, you know, and all very beautiful if you listen carefully.’” Reaching for the pilot’s hand, I hold it tight. I don’t want Mack to feel like he’s alone.

  DAY ONE

  16

  Mack is dead.

  I didn’t sleep the entire night. Part of it was the unrelenting insects and the rest was worry about Mack. When the pilot’s breathing began to falter, I couldn’t help imagining his organs shutting down, drawing their blinds, locking the door, then turning off the lights for good. Was he married? Did he have kids, a dog or cat, friends? Will anyone miss him? It’s partly his fault we’re in this situation, but the way he died, in agony, is really sad. I’m still beyond pissed at my mom, but I wish she were here. She might’ve figured out a way to save Mack’s life.

  Last night, when I whispered lines from The Phantom Tollbooth in Mack’s ear, my hope was that he would focus on the story, not his pain. It worked for me after surgery, when I made my mom read that book so many times the pages were worn soft, and then continued to read it on my own once the suffering and nausea went away. When I was eight, I memorized entire passages. I thought that because my dad loved the book, we’d have something new to talk about since I could no longer do the things he loved. But I never had the chance to share my favorite lines with him. Maybe I will now. Maybe getting closer is about creating new memories as well as reclaiming the old Danny.

  I withdraw fingers twined through Mack’s stiff hand. I’ve seen death in the ER. When I was ten, doing homework in the waiting room, a guy sitting right next to me had an aortic aneurysm burst, his main artery no longer able to carry oxygen-rich blood from his heart to the rest of his body. He died quickly, quietly. No one even realized it until a nurse came to talk to him. I close Mack’s eyes so the others won’t be upset by his sightless stare. His skin already feels different, like plastic beneath my fingertips.

  Cougar whispers, “I’m sorry I bit your head off last night. I knew Mack was in big trouble, but I didn’t want him to worry.”

  My dad is on his side, head resting on one elbow, watching me. All I did was scare a dying man. My chin quivers but I manage to stem the tears before they fall.

  “Lesson learned,” Cougar says with a sad smile. “Mack went in his sleep. At least it was gentle.”

  He didn’t. He suffered. “I whispered some of our book to him. The part about the wonderful silence before the dawn.”

  “I’m sure Mack appreciated it.”

  “It was important to me. That book? It got me through some tough times.”

  My dad’s eyes shine. “I’m really glad.”

  Cass sits up, one hand pressed against her forehead. “What time is it?”

  “Always trying to stay on schedule,” Cougar says with a little smile.

  Cass looks around. “Shit.”

  My dad leans in, kisses her on the lips. It’s quick, but there’s a comfortable intimacy. Are they a couple?

  “You look like a warrior.” Cougar carefully unwraps the T-shirt around Cass’s forehead. Her cut has been sealed with dried blood, but where the cotton adhered it tears open and starts leaking again. He rips six inches off the roll of duct tape and gently presses it over the wound. “Good as new.”

  Cass rests fingers against her temples. “Tell that to the drum beating inside my head.”

  Gus sits up, looks around. “Not a nightmare.” He glances over my shoulder. “How’s Mack?”

  I say, “He died.”

  Gus’s eyes go saucer wide. “Dead? What? Shit! What? Are you freaked out?”

  I shake my head. “When I was a kid, a guy died next to me in the ER. My mom explained what’d happened using diagrams on the whiteboard in the nurses’ lounge. It kind of wiped away my fear. The parts and pieces inside a human body make a fragile kind of sense.” I sound like a total loser and my shoulders hunch from the urge to slink away.

  Gus’s ghost-white face says this situation just became very real. “I’ve never seen a dead body, except in the movies.”

  It’s my turn to ask, “You okay?”

  He runs a hand over his face. “I guess. Yeah. I have to be. Sorry, um, if I came off like a dick yesterday. I’m out of my element. I mean, who gets in a plane crash and survives while other people die?” He shakes his head. “And we’re actually freaking lost in the Amazon. This is nuts.”

  For the first time I see Gus as a person and not a movie star. Maybe the plane crash and Sean’s and Mack’s deaths have evened the playing field. Gus is a survivor now, just like me.

  Jupiter sits up, wipes the grit from his eyes. “Thank God it stopped raining.” He glances at the pilot. “Damn.”

  “Yeah. Let’s get to work,” Cass says, suddenly all business. She hits Record on her camera. “Cougar, we’ll film by Mack’s head. There’s a little more light over there.”

  Cougar crouches by Mack.
“Late yesterday afternoon our small plane crashed in the Peruvian rain forest. Today is Day One. Our first full day on this journey of survival. We’ve already lost our cameraman, Sean, in the initial crash. A few hours ago, we lost our pilot, Mack. Despite Mack’s faulty decision to fly during a thunderstorm, we’re deeply saddened by both deaths. For Mack, I’m not sure of the cause, but possibly a punctured lung or diaphragmatic hernia. Nothing we could do for either of them in this environment. It’s a damn shame.” Cougar clenches his jaw muscles. “We spent a sleepless night beneath the shelter Gus Price and I built. I wouldn’t wish Gus here, but a strong, positive guy like him is a real help. Dinner was a few potato chips and water. Now we’ll pull together what little survival gear we have and head out in search of a tributary of the Amazon, following it to safety. One big worry, it’s rainy season. Last night we had a torrential downpour. Too much rain and the rivers will flood, making travel by water impossible. For now, though, we focus on what we can control—avoiding the venomous snakes and spiders that teem in this part of the world. A bite without medical intervention would equal a death sentence. Cut.”

  Cass lowers the camera. “Change into your lightest clothes,” Cougar tells our ragtag group. “It’ll be roasting hot in a few hours. Mosquito bites during the day are annoying but it’s the dawn and dusk skeeters we worry about, so save the sweatshirts and leggings for nighttime. Wrap them in the ponchos to keep them dry.”

  Cass peels down to a white men’s undershirt with no bra beneath. Her shorts are khaki, just tight enough to show her perfect body. If you discount the duct tape, she looks like she could be in a Victoria’s Secret catalog. I peel down to a black T-shirt and shapeless cargo shorts. I do not look like I belong in any type of lingerie campaign.

  “Are we going to bury Mack?” Gus asks.

  Cougar shakes his head. “No shovel. The rain forest will take care of him.”

  The idea of the pilot being slowly torn apart by predators, that insects like the botfly will lay eggs beneath his decomposing skin and maggots will feed as he rots, makes me shudder. No one, not even a reckless pilot, deserves that.

  “Back to the earth. That’s the way I’d want to go,” Cougar says. “Actually, I’d want to float out to sea in flame, light up the sky, burn to ash like a Viking warrior.”

  A black caterpillar marked with yellow stripes inches along my leg. I brush it off, scramble sideways, trip over my own feet, then almost right myself before I hit the ground in a sprawl. Where I touched the caterpillar, my skin is on fire. I’m surprised there aren’t blisters.

  Cougar pulls me to my feet. “Stings?”

  “A little.” A ton! He gives my fingers a quick kiss. The kind you give a little kid when she scrapes her knee. I’m too old for that, but they instantly feel much better.

  Cougar explains, “Some caterpillars repulse predators by vomiting, others attack and bite. Insects have incredible adaptations. Like fake limbs that come off when a predator chomps down, or secreting toxins that make their bodies inedible.” He nods at Cass and she turns on the camera.

  “There are seven major keys to survival when you’re lost in the Amazon. Danny just demonstrated the opposite of the first one. She panicked instead of remaining calm. Freaking out turns off your brain. By overreacting to a little caterpillar, she could’ve hurt herself, or ended up surprising a true predator, like a viper. Thanks for the illustration, buddy.”

  I smile but really hope Cougar isn’t going to point out my mistakes for future examples.

  “Second, make sure you cover as much bare skin as possible at night to protect from bites, scratches, anything that might lead to infection. Third, water is life. Collect what you can. Make sure to boil it when possible. Parasites can cause fatal diseases and there’s also a risk of dysentery, cholera and typhoid if the water is contaminated. Fourth, protect your feet. If they get cut, burned or develop nasty, flesh-eating infections, you’re hosed. Fifth, always head downhill. Downhill leads to water and rescue. Sixth, build shelters when possible to escape the elements. Seventh, only eat what you recognize.” He smiles. “I recognize most of the fruits, nuts and vegetables in the Amazon. We won’t go hungry. Cut. Let’s go.”

  We shoulder our makeshift packs, five individuals dwarfed by the Amazon rain forest. Cougar picks up the machete and Mack’s emergency backpack, then gives each of us a Twizzler. I think about making it last for a few hours, but immediately insects attack the sugary candy. Shaking them off, I shove the entire thing in my mouth. Gus does the same thing.

  “Single file. Don’t lag,” Cougar says. “Drink small sips of water so you don’t get dehydrated. Gus, you’re behind me, then Danny, Cass and Jupiter bring up the rear.”

  Glancing back, I take one last look at Mack beneath our makeshift shelter. “Sleep with the angels,” I murmur. It’s what my dad used to say when he tucked me in at night.

  Cougar swings the machete in powerful arcs to clear the way. “Assume every step could be a deadly one.”

  For a second my legs won’t move. What’s the alternative? Taking a deep breath, I somehow follow my dad.

  17

  After half a day struggling over slick roots, rocks, deadfall, vines and nasty thorn bushes, we stop by a tree that’s at least two hundred feet tall, its pale gray trunk as wide around as a redwood tree’s. A cramp in my side has taken up permanent residence, its sharp teeth gnawing. Note to self: bowling does not make a person physically fit.

  “Kapok,” Cougar says, pointing at the massive tree. “The ancient Maya believed it was sacred—that it connected them to the earth, cosmos and underworld—that it was where their gods lived, along with other supernatural creatures.”

  The kapok reminds me of the Tree of Souls in the movie Avatar. Thick boughs reach all the way to the top of the rain forest’s canopy, like a giant parasol, with leaves covered in white-and-pink flowers.

  Cougar clears his throat, spits. “The indigenous people use kapok to make canoes and coffins. The flowers stink but the bats love them.” Cass films as he pulls free a woody vine climbing up the tree’s trunk. “These are called lianas.” Using the machete, he cuts a three-foot section free, holding up both ends. “Shake it hard to get rid of the insects.” Cougar lowers one side. Liquid drips into his mouth. “It’s a little bitter, but safe to drink.”

  My dad hands the liana to me. It’s heavy with a rough skin. I drink, try not to grimace at the earthy taste, then give it to Jupiter. “Your turn.” He tries a few drops, makes a pucker face. Out here, he’s becoming my favorite person beside my dad. Cass passes because she’s filming, of course. Gus, on the other hand, drinks until water drips off his chin.

  “Let’s go,” Cougar says.

  Shouldering our packs, we follow him. We’ve been hiking for hours, heading down when possible, but forced to divert, again and again, when the forest closes in on us or the ground turns into a bog. I skirt a muddy spot, but my foot still gets sucked into the muck. “Crap.” I struggle to pull it out, but the suction is too strong, and instead, I sink deeper, my other foot now trapped. The funky odor of slimy earth mixed with rot wafts up each time I attempt to break free. I fight the overwhelming urge to thrash. It will just make things worse. I call, “Um? A little help?”

  Cougar and Gus turn around. Cougar chuckles. “She’s like a rabbit caught in a snare.”

  My shoulders sag. Is that really how he sees me?

  “I’ve got this.” Gus jogs back. “Lean toward me.”

  He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls until my feet come free of my boots and we’re pressed together for a second in a tight hug before he swings me to dry ground. Where Gus’s bare skin touched mine, it tingles, like he’s made from electricity. Even after a night in the rain forest, he smells good, like clean sweat and soap. I, on the other hand, smell like muck.

  “Thanks.”

  I duck to hide my blush while he digs my boots free
. He shakes them off and helps slide my feet back in. Kneeling, Gus ties my laces with a double knot. I’m self-conscious that Cass is filming, that Cougar is witnessing this, that I’m even noticing Gus when a man just died, but I’m also kind of in girl heaven. It’s like I forgot that Gus is an incredibly hot guy and that realization is now, literally, in my face.

  When we catch up to my dad, he’s crouched by a deep puddle, its surface thick with mosquitos. “Drink what’s left in your bottles, then fill them up here in case it doesn’t rain.”

  Murky water burbles into Cass’s bamboo container. She makes a face. “That can’t be clean.”

  “We’ll boil it tonight. Make sure you don’t drink it before then.” Cass sways sideways. Cougar helps her stand. She brings the container to her mouth, like she’s about to drink.

  “Hey,” Cougar says, stopping her.

  My breath catches. “Cass, what’s your last name?”

  “Akiyama. Why?”

  My dad glances at me. “Just curious,” I say.

  The air is humid and so heavy it’s like wearing a water-drenched coat. Even though the sun can’t get through the forest’s canopy, the heat is stifling. We’re all tired, and in addition to my ever-present side cramp, I’m getting a blister on my right heel. Zings of pain intensify, as the skin is rubbed raw by my new hiking boots. There’s no way I’m going to ask for a break, though. My dad has been swinging his machete nonstop. If he can keep going, I can, too.

  Cass says, “I need to make a phone call.”

  I’m sure she’s joking, but when I glance over my shoulder she’s holding a cracked iPhone to her ear. Her level of optimism is getting ridiculous. “You’re not going to get a signal.”

  Cass tries dialing again. “You never know.”

  For the next few hours I focus on every step and handhold. The air vibrates with the sounds of creatures slithering, hopping and scuttling either just out of sight or in flashes of movement that make me jump. Birds wing overhead, their colors appearing to glow in the murky light. The drone of insects is constant along with sporadic bites, some hot stings, others drawing blood. Every now and then, Gus looks over his shoulder, smiles at me or makes sure to hold a tree branch or vine after he passes so it doesn’t snap in my face. He’s just being nice. A tiny flame sparks anyway. I know there’s nothing about me that would interest a guy like him. “Truth.”