Cash Cassidy Adventures: The Complete 5-Book Series (Plus Bonus Novels)

by K. T. Tomb

  The flight was several long hours, which Cash spent talking to her fellow travelers. Two of them were from the village of Kwamalasamutu, a couple who turned out to be Dutch tourists, and the last one was a conservationist who was going to the village to work for his organization there.

  Cash also had the journals and the survey to read through. She was happy she had topped off her water bottles, but the big problem on the flight was the lack of a bog. The men were able to find a secluded spot in the back of the plane and an empty bottle, but Cash, the conservationist and the Dutch woman did not have that option. So while the scenery passing below them was breathtaking and the flight could not last long enough on that count, Cash was ultimately glad when the plane touched down.

  The airstrip was just outside the village of Kwamalasamutu. The sandy surface rocked the plane as it touched down, shaking the passengers to their core. The canoe Cash had brought broke free from the straps that held it in place and slid down the aisle between the seats. It slid back toward the back as the plane came to a halt.

  The door opened and one of the pilots went to the back of the plane and grabbed the wee ladder that would help them down. A few locals came down from the village to see what the plane brought. They greeted their neighbors enthusiastically, then helped the conservationist and the tourists down. Cash came down last. The local man who had been on the plane helped her down and then talked to the men who had come down.

  “For five dollar they will help you get all your gear to the village,” he told Cash.

  Cash dug into the pocket of her shorts, where she kept some coins and bills. She reminded herself she should put those into her dry bag before getting onto the river. She handed over the five dollars with a smile, then she climbed back into the airplane and grabbed her backpack and two other bags. She threw one down and then leaped down from the plane. There were another two bags inside and, of course, the canoe. The bags contained her supplies and some tools she might need. The men picked them up and two of them took the canoe onto their shoulders and led the way to the village.

  A few huts in the village were reserved for tourists. Cash had thought she would simply camp in the woods outside the town, but when she spoke with one of the men carrying the canoe, she found there would be a hut available for the night. It would cost her nearly all the rest of the cash she had on her, but she figured it would be worth it to spend one last night indoors and in a proper bed.

  The hut was lavishly equipped. There was a four poster bed with a mosquito net falling down around the sides. There was also a large copper bath and a shower in the bathroom, which was formed by a partition wall that had been erected in the hut, without reaching the roof. There was a fireplace in the middle of the hut with a sofa in front of it. Other than that, there were some cupboards around the room, but mostly it was plain and bare. But everything was clean and crisp and the bed was soft and luxurious.

  The first thing Cash did was throw herself down on the lush bed and sigh. She stretched herself out and then reached down to her feet and unlaced her boots. She kicked the heavy shoes off and threw her socks across the room. She set her bare feet on the cold floor in the hut and sighed again. The cold felt good.

  She took the folders out of her bag and laid the aerial photographs that had been made as part of the survey on the covers.

  At six o'clock there was a knock on her door. It seemed the price for the hut included food, so she found herself spoiled with massala chicken, roti and fresh fruit. There was a dessert of sweetened rice and fruit too. After the meal she went to check on her gear, which lay piled outside the hut. It seemed the locals were not minded to nick it. She walked down to the shore and checked on the water of the Sipaliwini. It was murky, but it ran swiftly. She knew she could deal with this river. There might be some rapids further downstream, but she was skilled enough to deal with the minor ones. She would portage the other ones. She went back in and drew a bath. She grabbed her copy of Candide again and began reading.

  When her skin was wrinkled and the water cold, she was close to the end of the book and she dried herself off and lay down on the bed naked. For another hour she focused her mind on the journal of the Dutch explorer and then she lay herself down between the sheets and shut off the light. She drifted off into sleep, knowing that she would begin her search for the City of Gold in the morning.

  Chapter Six

  “El Dorado made its way into literature. In Candide, a novel by the French writer Voltaire, the main character accidentally discovers the rich city. Edgar Allan Poe's poem Eldorado refers to the legend, as does Paradise Lost by English poet John Milton.”

  —Myths and Legends of the World | 2001

  In the morning the mist was thick on the river. It had rolled down from the cold mountains and come to lay in a thick blanket over the jungle. Cash had breakfast delivered to her hut and lay in the bed as she ate a full plate of bacon and eggs, tomatoes and toast and poured herself several cups of coffee. When she was satisfied, she poured herself a bath again, knowing she would not have a chance for the luxury of a hot bath for another two weeks at least. Over breakfast she had finished reading through the journal of the Dutch explorer, so now she laid the journal of the Portuguese explorer on a stand next to the bath. She sank down into the hot water and began washing. Having soaped herself, she let herself sink under the water for a few seconds. When she came back up, she blinked the water out of her eyes, brushed her long blonde hair back and then dried her hands and lower arms on the towel. She picked up the first page of the Portuguese journal and her cup of fresh coffee. After a while she picked up the next page, taking one page at a time to read.

  “The Sipaliwini River runs all the way to the Rio Corentyne. It twists and winds, and the shores seem rather fertile, but there is little settlement around its shores as far as we could see. But I suspect the natives were simply hiding from us. The Indians in this area had already suffered from the Conquistadores who had come here earlier, and they cannot but have heard of the activities of the Dutchmen and the English on the coast.

  “We were well aware of the rivers being the highways of the jungle, so even though we barely saw any Indians, we knew they must use the river for trade.

  Just before we joined the river we knew to be the Rio Corentyne, we finally had a chance to converse with some Indians. We caught a boat steering upstream into the Sipaliwini. When they saw our yole appear around the bend, they swiftly paddled their pirogue to the shore and it seemed they tried to hide there. Two of the Indians seemed minded to run off, but the rudder at the back shouted at them to stay. It seemed he did not want to leave the cargo they carried untended. The other Indians did not seem to be persuaded, I suspect they did not care too much for the cargo but their chief told them to stay.

  “We steered our yole close up to their pirogue and pressed them against the shore. All of them instantly lowered their spears and made as to attack us. We grabbed our muskets and leveled them at them too. I reached for my sword, but by then the tip of a spear was at my throat.

  We had no interpreter with us, so were unable to speak with them. Or so we thought. It seemed their chief, who was in the back of the boat, and holding his spear tip to my throat spoke some Dutch, as did one of our crew members, having spent several years in the service of the Spanish navy and having encountered a Dutch privateer, which took him prisoner, through which circumstance he spent several years in Holland. Thus we were able to communicate.

  “The chief told us he was heading up the river with a shipment of cargo for trade. We could not see what the cargo was, but there was something they were not telling us. We asked them whether there was a settlement downstream and they looked thoughtful. The chief then told us that there was a settlement a day's rowing upstream, just past a waterfall in the Rio Corentyne.

  “That night we rowed back upstream and we found the camp of the men we had encountered. We went down into the woods with our muskets and hid in the woods around the place. We saw how they h
ad used woven leaves, sticks, roots and pieces of bark to fashion roofs and hammocks. They were unaware of our presence until we opened fire. Our shots were true and before the smoke even lifted, we knew we had killed them all.

  “We made our way through the litter of combat to their pirogue and finally had a proper look at their cargo. The bundles that had been so closely hidden from us turned out to be a true treasure. They were bowls, cups and other implements made from gold. We took them into our yole, knowing we would all be rich men if we managed to avoid detection by the Dutch at the estuary of the Rio Corentyne.”

  Cash laid that page down on the stand and sank into the water again. She drained her cup of coffee when she came up and then got up out of the bath. She dried herself off and picked up the folder. She went into the other room and put the folder into a small dry bag with all the rest of the papers, and then stuffed that into her backpack. She dressed in her jungle clothes and then rang the staff for another pot of coffee.

  Coffee in hand, Cash went out to make a last check of her equipment. One of the men who had been on the plane the day before saw her there and without asking her, he walked over to the kitchen hut where the meals were prepared. He came out with another plate of breakfast and handed it to Cash. “You can probably do with more feeding up than just breakfast,” he said.

  “Thank you, but I'm quite full.” Cash smiled.

  “Just eat. You'll be glad for it when you're a few miles downstream.” He smiled at her.

  Cash took the plate and began slowly stuffing the food into her mouth. She found it hard to eat more, but she knew the man was right. She could use the calories.

  “You need help getting this stuff to the river?”

  Cash swallowed a mouth of food and nodded. “Out of cash though, mate.”

  The man waved that argument away. “Don't worry about that. I'll help out with that. First portage, you're on your own though.”

  “Well, I'll be able to take my time for those. I can handle that.”

  The man grinned and looked at her arms. “Well, you've got some strong arms anyway. I don't doubt you can.”

  “Years of tennis. And I've also done some canoeing and kayaking.”

  “You'll manage. As long as you know the woods.”

  Cash grinned. “I'll manage that too.” She slammed a hand on her backpack. “Got everything I need here.”

  “What if that goes overboard?”

  As an answer, Cash picked up her belt. From the belt hung two sheathes, one holding her machete and the other holding a knife. In a small pocket on the knife's sheath, there was a magnesium stick too. It was safely attached to the leather.

  “Well, as long as you know what you're doing with those, you should be fine.”

  Cash nodded. “I will be, mate.”

  She went inside and opened her laptop, using the Wi-Fi that was still available to send an update to her husband. She had not thought of sending it until just then. She knew she could call him when she needed, unless she lost the satellite phone. She had completely forgotten, but she knew Tim would grow increasingly worried with every day she was not in reach of civilization.

  When she was done, she began hauling her gear to the shore with the offered help.

  An hour later she was ready. The supplies had been placed in the middle of the boat, and her backpack was behind her. Right in front of her was the dry bag with the extra gear she had taken. The satellite phone was in that bag, as was a skillet and a small cast iron pot. Strapped to the sides of the canoe with Velcro, just in front of her, were her extra paddles. It was a safety precaution she had learned the hard way.

  Saying thanks to the man who had helped her carry everything to the shore, she shoved the canoe off and hopped in. She pushed the boat further out with her paddle and then she was in deeper water and she felt the tug of the Sipaliwini's current sweeping the boat along. She paddled to steer the boat and gradually build up some speed, and then she kept her paddle out of the water, letting the current take her downstream. Downstream to where she hoped she would find the City of Gold.

  Cash looked around and saw the village disappearing fast. She rounded the slight bend and saw the airstrip through the trees. And then the village was gone altogether. There were some fishermen down the river, dragging nets behind their dugout canoes, but other than that, Cash was on her own. And she quite liked that feeling.

  After she had passed the fishermen, Cash really was alone. She took her paddle out of the water and looked around. The surroundings were beautiful. There was an enormous variety of trees and grasses and plants hung over the banks of the river. She kept herself as quiet as she could, but even then the birds and other animals in the woods were disturbed by her passing. Still, the world was alive with birds singing in every tree, and nature seemed inclined to rest. It settled down whenever Cash had sailed past and it made her smile.

  There were fish in the river too, piranhas like as not. Cash was tempted to drag a line, as she wanted to taste the fish. She had heard it was quite delicious, though full of bones. But she decided against it for now.

  After about two miles, the river took a sharp turn to the right and flowed to the north, northwest. Cash followed it another two miles and saw a set of rapids ahead. Not far from it, on the right shore, there was a small beach. Cash grounded the canoe there and got out. She pulled it a bit further up onto the shore so it could not drift away and then had a look at the rapids. She reckoned she might be able to run them, but she did not want to take the chance. Nor did she need to. She had gone far enough for the day anyway. She did not want to go too far on the first day, just in case she had forgotten anything. From here it would not take long to make it back to the village if something was missing. If she found something missing further downstream, it would take more than a day to paddle back upstream.

  She walked into the forest and toward the rapids, leaving the canoe behind on the beach. Just above the rapids, she found the perfect spot to set up camp. There was a clearing close to the bank, and the ground was firm there. The forest only needed to be trimmed back a bit and she could see two trees that would make for a perfect camp. There was firewood aplenty and it was easy to get water from the river. And there was a way to carry the boat up to the spot as well.

  Cash went back to the canoe and strapped her backpack on. Then she grabbed the dry bags. She swung one of them on top of her backpack and picked up two in her hands. It was a heavy burden, but she carried it quite comfortably. She went slowly, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on where she placed her feet. But she made it to the spot quite easily. She dropped the bags in the clearing and then went back for the last bag and the canoe. She strapped the paddle to one of the supports and then used the rope to tie the last bag over her shoulder. Then Cash turned the canoe onto its side and with a grunt, she lifted it up and over her head. She used the two strapped down paddles as handles and kept the boat overhead as she set off down the path.

  By the time she got to the clearing, her triceps ached from the strain of holding the boat overhead and it was a big relief to set it down.

  But there was no time to rest. Cash took a swig of water and drew her machete to clear away the undergrowth. She swung it in short, strong blows that cut quickly through the small branches and leaves. It took her about ten minutes to clear the space around the spot where she had dropped the bags and the canoe, and then she set about clearing the space around the two trees she had noticed. She cleared it on all sides, knowing there might be snakes and insects that could use them as shelter or as a bridge up into her cozy refuge for the night.

  With that done, she grabbed her backpack and hung it from one of the two trees. She pulled out the tarp and began stringing the rope between the trees. With the shelter sorted, she strung up her hammock and set out to collect firewood.

  Everything had been hectic since the incident on the Panama-Colombia border, but now Cash felt herself slipping into a rhythm that she was familiar with. Setting up camp had been secon
d nature earlier in the jungle, as it had been on bug outs in the Australian outback on trips back there. It was comforting to her, but suddenly she missed Tim there. It made her smile to think that. She did miss him sharing this experience with her, even though he would have been impossible every step of the way. He would have done well carrying the gear up the path, but she did not trust him with a machete in hand. She did not trust him with knives in the kitchen. The fuel for the wood-burning stove at the house in Barry was all cut by her. She did not want Tim handling an ax. He was clever, well-spoken and in many ways, everything she would ever want, but he was not a practical man. She would probably have to help him set up his own tarp and hammock for a week before he learned. She would have to keep an eye on him every time he drew his machete.

  There was one tree she had learned about in Colombia that would burn green and she found it there in Suriname too. The tree was slender and it came down with only a half dozen cuts. Cash chopped it up and dragged the pieces back to her little camp. There was some dead standing wood and she used that as kindling. She split the pieces of wood using her machete, the green wood serving her as a block. She began shaving one of the split pieces down into a feather stick pile. That would be her tinder. Finally, she swept the ground clear and brushed it down with a piece of wood to make sure she built her fire on bare earth, so she would not start a bush fire. She built a platform of the green wood and laid her ample kindling on it in two crossed bunches. Under it, she stuck the feather sticks and then she drew her fire lighter. She struck sparks from it with the back of her machete, showering the sparks over the prepared fuel. The tinder caught on the first attempt and she blew on it, feeding the small flame that leapt up. Moments later the kindling caught and Cash heaped fuel onto it. She sighed contentedly. With a fire it was finally home.