Eight

by WW Mortensen

  Chad plopped down on the deck beside her, removing the Stetson he had been wearing to reveal a mop of mousy-brown hair. He wiped his brow. He was shirtless, and his bronzed chest glistened with sweat.

  Rebecca swatted at a black cloud buzzing around her head. “I can’t imagine ever getting used to the damn things.”

  Chad smiled through a week’s growth. “You will. That’s how it works out here—The Law of Adaptation.”

  “Right. That’s a real Law, is it?”

  “Sure. You might even call it the Law of the Jungle.”

  “Survival of the Fittest?”

  “Something like that.”

  Rebecca slapped at her arms and neck. “Well, whatever you want to call it, I hope it kicks in soon. By my reckoning already, I’ve donated enough blood for two lifetimes.”

  She gave herself a final coating of repellent and returned the canister to a pocket in her shorts. Night was the worst—the bloodsuckers seemed to disappear with the peaking heat. That so, relief was on its way: already, the morning was unpleasantly hot.

  Rebecca glanced past the bow. Veils of mist rose slowly off the river’s surface, clouding the layers of green lining both riverbanks.

  She turned back to Chad. “So… who’s driving?”

  Chad winked, already heading for the wheelhouse. “Fear not, we’re in safe hands. Got a pet monkey trained especially for the job!”

  Rebecca smiled as he disappeared. “I don’t suppose if he’s got a moment, he could rustle up some grub? I’m starving.” She had to raise her voice above the rat-a-tat-tat of the boat’s engine, which, in the still morning air, sounded like the rattle of a machine-gun.

  Chad called back from the wheelhouse. “There’re some leftover beans and rice in the galley. If you heat them up they should be okay.”

  “Perfect!” Rebecca called back, already on her way. She was relieved she felt comfortable around Chad. Admittedly, the thought of being all alone with a stranger for a couple of days on a riverboat in the middle of nowhere hadn’t filled her with much confidence. But Chad was apparently a trusted acquaintance of Ed’s, and he’d been the perfect gentleman.

  After reheating the leftovers, Rebecca headed back on deck, plate in hand. As she walked, a strand of hair fell into her eyes and she tucked it behind her ear. Since she’d decided to grow out her fringe the damn thing constantly fell astray. Now wasn’t the first time she had wondered if it was worth the bother.

  She took a seat at an old fold-out card-table near the bow, placing her plate down and breathing in the morning air between mouthfuls of food. Waving at a few errant flies, she looked across the water. Even after two days, she remained in awe of her surroundings. Here she was, travelling the waterways of the world’s greatest river system.

  They had abandoned the main stem of the river—Rio Amazonas, the locals had called it—for this smaller tributary yesterday afternoon, after a day of travel. While massive, there had been little to remark about the mighty river: they had stuck to the middle of it, and the coffee-coloured water had been so still and flat it had seemed static, as though it was going nowhere at all. Of course, thousands of miles downstream the river would discharge with great force into the Atlantic. She’d heard the Amazon carried as much as sixty times more water than the Nile and discharged more at its mouth than the next eight biggest rivers in the world combined, with such power that freshwater could be found 100 miles offshore. Incredible.

  Putting down her fork, Rebecca took her phone from her pocket. She hadn’t had service for almost a day now, and nothing had changed. Returning the phone to her pocket, she flipped open her laptop. Clicking on each of the twelve photographs in turn, she lingered over the images as she’d done several times already these past few days. As before, she shook her head, amazed. The pictures were no less compelling now than when she’d first viewed them in Ed’s original email, and again, she felt her excitement swell. She had so many questions, and today she’d finally get some answers. She was due at Base Camp by nightfall.

  Restless, she closed the attachments and powered off her laptop.

  • • •

  They pushed on to the sound of the chugging engine. Brown, sediment-loaded water slipped by.

  It occurred to Rebecca that before leaving the main stem yesterday, they’d been passed regularly in the opposite direction by various ferries and fishing vessels. She hadn’t seen any since they’d diverted down this smaller tributary.

  Everywhere, greenery draped across the water, the overhanging foliage so thick it was difficult to discern the edge of the riverbank. Since yesterday, the river regularly narrowed, forcing them to travel closer to the trees. The Tempestade was shallow-draft, but it wasn’t a small vessel—maybe fifty feet long, with a beam of about sixteen feet—and at times, the vegetation would brush against the boat. Through these slender stretches Chad had to zigzag about, carefully avoiding the floating driftwood. It was slow progress.

  Rebecca pushed her empty plate away and leant back. As always, the varied hoots, squawks and chirps of a multitude of birds, animals and insects echoed across the water. To her disappointment, the wildlife remained largely hidden in the thick riverbank foliage. Still, she’d seen a troupe of brown capuchin monkeys swinging through the trees in the fading light of yesterday afternoon, and then early this morning had been treated to a pair of magnificent scarlet macaws racing majestically through the mist.

  Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the layers of sound around her. The constant buzz of insects reminded her of humid summer days back in Brisbane, an undulating chorus that never ceased. This was overlaid with the less regular, though much louder and more strident calls of birds and monkeys. And beneath it all, keeping an artificial rhythm, was the unremitting chug of the boat’s motor.

  Yesterday, as the sun had sunk—heralded as always by silver streaks of lightning that would slither like snakes across the sky—she had also listened intently. With the dark came a whole new world of noises. Different insects, birds and frogs—the animals of the night. It struck her that at no stage could she remember Manhattan being anywhere near as noisy, yet this was a more peaceful place than any she could have dreamed of.

  Her thoughts were interrupted this time by a voice: hazy, unclear. Chad was calling to her. She opened her eyes. She’d been dozing.

  He cried out again. This time she heard him clearly.

  “Rebecca, hold on!”

  Looking up, Rebecca saw a wall of green approaching like the yawning maw of some huge, elemental beast. She burst from her seat, leaping for cover as the boat brushed against the trees of both banks. Leaves and branches scratched and clawed and snapped against the sides of the Tempestade, flicking up and over the roof of the wheelhouse with the high-pitched squeal of fingernails down a blackboard. Within seconds, the river widened, and the boat moved into open water.

  Chad rushed from the wheelhouse. “You okay?”

  Rebecca got to her feet. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, brushing herself down.

  “I figured it was going to be tight,” Chad mused, lending her a hand, “but not—”

  She heard nothing of the remainder of his sentence, because movement drew her attention past him, over his shoulder towards the stern. Chad turned to follow her gaze, and as he did, his face lost colour.

  A small, dark shape crept slowly across the deck towards them, its movement stop-start.

  “Wait here,” Rebecca said, padding forward. In a few short steps she reached the tarantula… then bent and picked it up.

  “Whoa…” Chad said.

  Rebecca returned with the spider cradled gently in her cupped hands. Up close it was huge and surprisingly colourful. Its hair was coarse on her skin.

  Chad retreated first one step, then two.

  “Don’t worry,” Rebecca said as she came alongside him. “It’s completely harmless. Generally, it’s not a good idea to handle these Amazonian fellows, but I couldn’t resist. I can’t be sure of the exact species, but i
t’s certainly from the family Theraphosidae.”

  “The what family?” Chad asked, sweating. Whether this was a result of the heat or something else wasn’t clear.

  “Never mind. It’s beautiful, though, don’t you think?”

  “Are you kidding?” Chad said, averting his eyes. “I hate those things.”

  But Rebecca hardly heard him. “It must have been knocked from the trees as the boat brushed the riverbank.”

  Chad stared at her. “So… back in New York, at the museum… you’re a research scientist, right?”

  Again, the riverbank loomed near.

  Rebecca smiled, reaching over the side of the boat and releasing the spider onto the broad leaves of an overhanging tree as the Tempestade passed by.

  4

  They motored into the early afternoon, snaking deeper upriver and farther from civilisation. They hadn’t passed another vessel or seen any signs of human habitation for more than a day.

  The sound of the engine cutting back a gear woke Rebecca from yet another nap. As the Tempestade slowed to a crawl, she peered across the bow. Jutting from the foliage ahead was the nose of what appeared to be a small, inflatable dinghy, and as they closed the gap, she saw the figure of a dark-skinned man at the stern of the vessel.

  “Oi,” he said, the Brazilian Portuguese word for hello, and Chad called back in kind. The Zodiac zoomed from the bank and drew alongside the Tempestade.

  Rebecca peered over the rail and the man smiled at her. “My name is Robert Sanchez,” he said.

  • • •

  After lowering the first of several wooden crates into the Zodiac, Chad turned to Rebecca. “Robert will take you from here.”

  Rebecca’s luggage was packed and at her feet. Sanchez, standing in the Zodiac, reached up for another crate. For several minutes, the two men transferred supplies.

  Everything was happening quickly now. Once Rebecca’s gear was lowered, she approached Chad. “I thought you might do me a favour.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I was hoping you’d pass on my gratitude to that trained monkey of yours. Thank him for the safe trip. He’s a good captain.”

  “First mate, actually.”

  Rebecca laughed, and they said their goodbyes.

  “See you in eight days,” Chad said.

  Rebecca climbed over the rail, using the car tyres attached to the side of the Tempestade like rungs to lower herself. She took a seat at the bow and gave a final wave as the soft-hull inflatable sped off.

  Positioned a couple of feet above the water, she was afforded a new view of her surroundings. Mostly, the stream was open and several yards wide, but occasionally the banks converged, and the Zodiac struggled to squeeze through. Part of the time they sped beneath a dark tunnel of trees, the foliage forming a dense canopy a few feet above their heads. This was clearly the reason for changing vessels. The Tempestade could never have negotiated such waters.

  At least half an hour passed in silence before Sanchez opened his mouth for the first time. “So, senhorita,” he called forward. “Ed tells me you work in the museum’s Department of Entomology. What is your specialty?”

  “Predator-prey dynamics,” Rebecca said, turning back.

  Sanchez nodded slowly but said nothing more. Vegetation flashed by.

  After a time, Rebecca noted curiously that like her companion, the jungle, too, had fallen silent. She could no longer hear the birds and monkeys shrieking in the trees. Other than the muted drone of the motor, the only sound now was that of low, rumbling thunder. When Sanchez finally called out to her, breaking the silence, she jumped.

  “Not far now, senhorita. Another hour.”

  Rebecca nodded. Thunder growled again, and something cool and wet splashed on her forearm. She looked up through the trees. Above, grey clouds had swept across the sky, claws of lightning slashing at their distended bellies.

  She donned her poncho as their innards spilled earthward and became a torrent.

  5

  Less than an hour later—and ahead of schedule—Rebecca spotted a man standing at the treeline, barely visible through the sheeting rain and silently awaiting the Zodiac’s approach. Still huddled at the front of the boat, she swept back the hood of her yellow poncho. The man smiled, waved, and held out his hand as the boat eased up to the riverbank.

  “I had hoped for better weather to greet you with!” Ed said above the downpour.

  Rebecca laughed as she eagerly took his hand, almost stumbling with excitement. “In this part of the world? You’ve got to be joking!”

  Chuckling, Ed helped her ashore. He wore a poncho, too, but it was hoodless, and water streamed from his hair into deep brown eyes glistening with a level of warmth she hadn’t expected. After the two of them had hugged, he asked, “How was your trip?”

  Rebecca tilted her head in mock recollection. “Let me think: rain, humidity, and mosquitoes aside… a little boring really.”

  “Days pass slowly on the river. Hope you brought a good book.”

  She lifted her knapsack. “Travelling as light as possible, I’m afraid. Didn’t have much time to pack, in any case.”

  Ed hoisted her sports bag. She had no other luggage. “Don’t sweat it. We’ve got everything you need.”

  Done with the opening pleasantries, they stood for a moment in silence. Ed was the first to break it. “It’s really good to see you, Bec,” he said at length, his voice low. “I’ve missed you.”

  Water dripping into her eyes, Rebecca opened her mouth… then smiled faintly. “Where can I dump this?” She gestured to her luggage.

  Grinning, Ed turned. “Follow me, it’s not far.”

  Together, they started along the muddy path that climbed from the riverbank, following as it disappeared into dense undergrowth. Trailing behind, Rebecca realised her heart was racing. She’d been nervous in the lead-up to seeing Ed again, maybe more than she’d anticipated.

  “I see you’ve finally cut that hair off,” she said, pushing through water-soaked leaves. “No more ponytail.”

  Without turning, Ed replied, “And you’re finally growing yours. I told you long hair was more your style.”

  The campsite was less than a minute along the trail. Five or six khaki-coloured dome-tents materialized through the foliage, scattered across a partially cleared section of forest. Two large tarpaulins were strung amid the dwellings, tied on all sides to the branches of the surrounding trees. At the edge of the artificial clearing, a couple of dark-skinned men inspected a softly humming generator. Neither looked up as Ed led Rebecca to what appeared to be the camp’s main communal area: a couple of aluminium tables pushed together beneath one of the large green tarpaulins. Ducking beneath the huge sheet, Ed stopped at the first table and motioned to one of several empty chairs.

  Following him under, Rebecca sat down. Her nerves had settled, allowing her to focus on her surroundings. Her first impression of the camp was positive; it seemed comfortable enough, certainly better than she’d been expecting.

  Above her head, rain drummed loudly, the strong but lightweight tarpaulin sagging as the deluge gathered in a pool. Water streamed over the sides of the canvas to splash onto the muddy earth below.

  Leaning away from the table, Rebecca squeezed the water from her hair. Her gaze was drawn to the adjoining worktop, where a laptop computer lay open beside a small satellite dish surrounded by various pieces of electronic and communications equipment.

  Wow, a serious setup.

  She supposed she shouldn’t have expected anything less.

  “You’re looking well, Bec,” Ed said, still standing. “I mean it.”

  Rebecca opened her mouth but stopped just shy of repaying the compliment. Now she was able to get a decent look at him, it was apparent that he, too, looked well. Perhaps a little thinner than she remembered, but healthy. He’d always been athletic and looked fit for his thirty-six years. Before she could comment, though, Ed spoke again.

  “Water?” he asked, reach
ing into a refrigerator that stretched lengthways along the ground, obviously powered by one of several scattered generators.

  “Thanks,” Rebecca said as he tossed her a bottle. Her mouth was surprisingly dry, and she took two long, eager swigs before wiping her lips. “Your email came as a shock. I mean, I didn’t expect you to be down here. The last I’d heard, you were in Peru, following in your grandfather’s footsteps.”

  Ed sat opposite her. “I was—literally. I’ve made several trips to the Andes in the past two years, searching, like my grandfather. It was only chance that led me down here, to this place.” He met her eyes. “I’ve found it, Bec.”

  “Down here? Are you sure?”

  “Very sure.”

  “Oh my God! That’s fantastic!” Rebecca said. She waited for him to fill her in, but strangely, he stared back at her silently. “Obviously, I want to hear all about it…” she prompted. “I want to see it…”

  “But you’ve come a long way, and it’s our other discovery you’re really interested in.”

  Rebecca shifted in her seat. “Well, of course…”

  “Hey, I don’t blame you,” Ed reassured her. “It’s got me intrigued, too.”

  A voice cut across the camp.

  “As sure as God made little green apples! If it isn’t old Bec Riley!”

  Recognising the Southern drawl, Rebecca turned with a smile. “Old? It seems you’ve lost none of your charm, Owen Faulkner.” She stood and held her arms wide as he darted through the rain and stepped beneath the tarpaulin.

  She’d first met Owen back in Australia. They’d attended the same university; he’d dated her best friend for some months. Over that time, the two of them had formed a close bond. It was Owen—years later—who had introduced her to Ed.

  Now, as they embraced, Rebecca said, “I should have guessed you’d be in on this. You two are inseparable.”

  “What can I say?” Owen said, chuckling and pushing a pair of fashionable, thick-framed glasses up his nose. He stepped backwards. “Bec, you look fantastic.”