by WW Mortensen
A pinprick of light shone in the distance.
Supporting Owen, Sanchez wasted no time pressing towards it, sloshing through knee-deep water. Steadily, the pinprick grew wider, spurring him on.
At last, they reached the source of the light: a small opening through which the stream flowed, not much wider than a yard or two. Strung across it was an old plug of silk. Sanchez burst through it, and though it was late afternoon, early evening, the minimal sunlight that seared his eyes was blinding.
• • •
They were free…
Sanchez emerged from the muddy water, dragging Owen up the narrow embankment to the treeline, where he finally fell to the ground. He was spent. He still felt dizzy from his envenomation, and the wounds to his head and shoulder throbbed.
He wished he could have kept moving, maybe to a place of greater safety where he could tend their injuries, but he didn’t have the strength. The adrenaline that had kept him going all this time was no longer enough.
Sanchez took one last look at Owen, lying barely conscious beside him… and slumped into the mud beside the stream.
• • •
He had no idea how long he’d lain unconscious, but as he pulled his face from the soft, wet earth—surprised he hadn’t drowned in it—the unchanged light suggested it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Regardless, he knew he had to get up quickly.
He could hear voices, distant but urgent.
Searching.
The Yuguruppu.
You’ve got to be kidding…
They couldn’t have known he and Owen had escaped, could they? He roused his companion. “Amigo, we have to go.”
“Robert?” Owen moaned, trying to raise himself from the mud. He seemed more aware—by now, the dose of venom he’d ingested had probably been broken down by stomach acid—but the spear wound appeared to be causing him pain. “Are they back?”
“Yes.” Sanchez dragged himself to his feet, and helped Owen up, too. As he did, he saw the leeches, at least a dozen of them gorging on Owen’s exposed legs. A similar number fed on his own limbs, but he ignored them. They had to go.
Stumbling through the muck, covered in the parasites, the two men followed the creek upstream. With every step, the mud sucked at their boots.
We’re making too much noise, and we’re leaving a trail.
Pulling Owen along, Sanchez veered towards the treeline.
The voices were close.
The two men slipped into the thick vegetation bordering the stream, the foliage tearing at their skin and drawing blood. All the while, the pursuing voices grew louder and more urgent. Bodies crashed through the trees behind them. Deviating back towards the water, Sanchez sought to run a different line, and noticed a subtle change in the environment. The muddy bank leading down to the stream had disappeared. Here, the vegetation overhung the water in thick, green waves.
Sanchez drew to a halt, mind racing.
More whooping. The Yuguruppu had heard them and changed course. They were close.
A few feet away Sanchez spied a partially hollowed-out capirona. He pushed Owen towards the trunk. “Amigo,” he whispered, squeezing him inside and covering him with leaves from the forest floor. “You have to be quiet, once more.”
Owen nodded.
And with that, Sanchez turned and slipped into the water as the Yuguruppu burst through the trees behind him.
• • •
Sanchez sank low, the water rising to his chin. Pressing himself against the bank, he ducked beneath a small overhang veiled by draping cecropias. He could hear the Yuguruppu above, searching, and tried to steal a glance. As he did, his gaze fell downstream.
About twenty feet away, a large ripple rolled towards him as something enormous slipped from the bank into the water.
• • •
The Yuguruppu mustn’t have noticed them, because almost immediately they turned and headed back the way they had come. Most likely they’d assumed their quarry had eluded them and changed direction. Their voices trailed into the distance before fading into silence.
But Sanchez had more to worry about now.
Tensing, he slowed his breathing.
Of the countless creatures for which the Amazon and its tributaries are home, few could at this moment have instilled him with greater fear. Of course, attacks on humans were rare, but they were not unknown… and this was a creature that demanded respect.
The animal was a monster.
Hoping it had been startled by his entry into the water and was simply escaping to safety, Sanchez kept deathly still, trying not to draw attention.
At this range, it’ll sense your heat.
The creature, he knew, had infrared heat-sensing pits bordering the mouth, beneath the scales. Both the yellow—and its larger cousin, the green—were so equipped.
This one was a green anaconda—the world’s largest, heaviest snake.
Unbreathing, Sanchez braced himself as the wave reached him…
…and continued to roll past him, upstream.
He didn’t move as it passed, following the huge snake with his gaze as it swam by. All thirty feet of it.
Then it was gone.
Sanchez burst out of the water and scurried up the bank.
• • •
His clothes dripping, Sanchez hurried to his companion.
“Have they gone?” Owen whispered.
“Yes, amigo, they have gone.”
Sanchez helped Owen to his feet. Their first course of action was to pick themselves free the leeches, and they did so with vigour. Some of the parasites had gorged themselves to the thickness of Sanchez’s thumb. Only when they had finished did the two men slump to the ground and take stock.
“What now?” Owen rasped.
Night had fallen. It started to rain.
Sanchez peered into the blackness. He was tired, hungry, and sore. Worst of all, his feet were killing him. They’d been wet for so long he could feel a rash beneath the socks, the skin no doubt raw and peeling. He tried not to think about it.
“First things first, amigo,” he said. He slipped Rosenlund’s knapsack from his shoulders and retrieved the hip-flask. Offering a sip to Owen, he took one himself before fashioning another torch. Enough whiskey remained to make one for Owen, too.
It was good to have light.
Once finished, Sanchez rifled through the remainder of the pack. He raised one of the rusty food cans.
“Pity we don’t have an opener,” Owen mused.
Sanchez agreed. He was starving.
There was nothing else of use in the knapsack. Sanchez turned to Owen. “How is your wound, amigo?”
Owen lifted his bloodied Hawaiian shirt. He’d redressed the injury while Sanchez been busy with the torches. He’d done a capable job.
Sanchez clapped him on the shoulder. “We should get moving.”
“Moving?” Owen asked, surprised.
Scanning the dark, impenetrable jungle, Sanchez nodded. “I know you are tired, amigo, but I do not believe we are entirely safe—not yet, anyway. Not here.” He was thinking now not of the Yuguruppu, but of the megarachnids.
“We’ve got nowhere to go,” Owen said.
Sanchez reached into his pocket and pulled something out. “Yes, we do.”
What he had retrieved was a waterproof, hand-held GPS receiver.
104
Wet leaves brushed Rebecca as she walked—not that she cared. For two hours, they’d slogged through the dark and rain-lashed jungle, and it was all she could do to keep going. But the knowledge they were fast-approaching their destination drove her on. She figured they’d be at the ravine within the hour. What’s more, they’d noticed no pursuers, human or otherwise. It had been a clean getaway.
“So, where’re you from?” a voice said from behind her.
“Sorry?”
Tag moved forward so that he was level with her. He smiled. “Your accent.”
“Oh, that. Australia.”
“Really? An Aussie? I like Aussies,” Tag said, putting up his hand and brushing aside a broad leaf. “You know, I never got her name.” He nodded at the monkey cradled in Rebecca’s arms.
Rebecca smiled. “Well then, I’d like you to meet Priscilla.”
“Priscilla? Like Elvis’s girlfriend?”
“Wife. But yeah, like that.”
“Cute.”
For the most part, the soldiers remained silent and reserved, but as anxieties eased there came spurts of small talk. Occasionally, like now, Tag would move forward briefly, usually with offers of assistance. He was a friendly young man, polite. Rebecca liked him.
Tag fell back to check on Ed and Jessy, and there was another long period of quiet. Rebecca forced her leaden legs onwards, rain pattering the canopy overhead.
After a while, Kriedemann slipped back level with her, his M16 now resting more casually in his hands. “How are you feeling?”
“Glad to be on the move,” Rebecca said. “Thanks for agreeing to this.”
Kriedemann nodded. “You know, I keep meaning to ask. What was in the pouch?”
Rebecca hesitated. “Sorry?”
“The cloth bag—you know, the one you dropped when we were inside the chopper.”
“Oh, right. Nothing much. Just some personal stuff.”
“Must be important, to go diving out a chopper for.”
“I slipped.” Rebecca didn’t like lying to him.
Kriedemann raised an eyebrow and moved forward again. Once more, the group fell silent, only the insects and the rain breaking the stillness around them.
Rebecca watched the sergeant from behind, her eyes fixed to the amber chemlight hanging from his pack. Suddenly, her mind was moving fast. Kriedemann had set her thinking, and after a few moments—no longer able to resist and careful that no-one saw—she furtively moved a hand to a pocket in her shorts.
To her relief, she felt the cloth pouch there, safe and sound.
• • •
An hour later, they arrived at the ravine weary and without incident.
Rebecca stood several feet back from the curtain of thick trees shielding their side of the rock face. Even from here, she could hear rushing water below. As suspected, the gorge had flooded.
The soldiers moved quickly, rigging ropes for the descent. Despite the dense vegetation at the top, Rebecca knew there’d be adequate room to manoeuvre; lowering Jessy’s stretcher into the Zodiac wouldn’t be difficult.
Of course, first things first. They had to find it.
• • •
Rebecca watched as Heng and Chavarre backed to the ledge and dropped over it.
She figured the Zodiac would be close, probably tethered at the base of the wall. The two soldiers were to move the vessel into place and assist with the group’s descent.
Ed had earlier raised Chad on Bull’s satellite phone. Fortunately, Chad had been anchored nearby—he could be in the main river in just a few hours. All they had to do was locate the Zodiac and meet him there.
But that, she discovered, was a problem, because the Zodiac was nowhere to be found.
• • •
Rebecca listened as Kriedemann cupped his earpiece and spoke into his throat-mike. “Roger that. Give it another sweep and then get back up here. Out.” He turned to her. “No go. If the boat was here, it’s gone now.”
Confused, Rebecca said, “Maybe it was dislodged, washed downstream.”
“Maybe.”
Ed said: “Listen, it doesn’t matter, does it? I can get Chad to anchor in the river and bring the tender in. An hour’s journey at most… it’s not a problem.”
Kriedemann glanced at his watch and nodded at Bull, who passed Ed the handset.
“Okay, then,” Kriedemann said. “Get to it.”
105
The downpour didn’t relent—if anything, it got heavier. The surplus ponchos they’d rigged into a crude shelter at the top of the ravine thrummed above Rebecca’s head with sleep-inducing rhythms. Indeed, she’d tried to take advantage and get some shuteye, but she was restless, on edge.
Ed must have sensed it. “Hey,” he whispered. “We’re safe now. Chad’s on his way. They can’t hurt us anymore. Not here.”
Rebecca smiled weakly, reminding herself that Bull and McGinley had secured the area with motion sensors, X40s, flares and trip lines—just to be sure.
Ed jutted his chin. She followed his gaze to the chain she’d slipped around her neck; more accurately, the gold cross at the end of it. She’d been fingering it absently.
“The pendant… was it Enrique’s?” Ed asked.
Rebecca nodded. She wasn’t sure why she’d put it on, but figured it was out of respect for the young man. She found it comforting.
“‘Banish fear and doubt, for remember, the Lord your God is with you wherever you go’,” came a voice across from them. It was Tag. “One of my mother’s favourite quotes. She wears a cross like that every day, near to her heart. It gives her strength and direction.”
Rebecca looked up at him, understanding perfectly. “Fear is based on association, and so is the reverse. Your mother equates strength and courage—the power of her Lord—with the cross, and in return, that’s what she reaps. It’s her talisman.”
Tag smiled. “Something like that.”
Rebecca smiled too, but faintly. If only it could be that simple, she thought. She’d never considered herself religious, not overtly so, anyway. Sure, she hoped there was more to life than this modest, physical existence, but that was it.
Uneasy, she rubbed her thumb over the pendant.
Ed placed a reassuring hand on her knee. “Get some rest. The boat is on its way.”
Rebecca nodded, and prayed for the vessel’s swift arrival. The irony of asking for divine intervention was not lost on her.
Maybe it was that simple, after all.
• • •
It was still dark when, hours later, Rebecca opened her eyes, roused by the low drone of a motor. She hadn’t realised she’d drifted off. Straightening, she peered over the ledge. Nosing through the ravine below was a well-lit, soft-hull inflatable Zodiac with a single person on board.
Chad Higgins.
• • •
With a squeak, the soles of Rebecca’s boots landed on the rubber of the rain-soaked vessel. As the boat settled beneath her, she turned to Chad and they embraced warmly.
“It’s good to see you again,” Chad said, rain streaming from his Stetson.
“And you, believe me.”
Jessy had already been lowered and Ed had followed close behind. As Rebecca broke the hug and took a seat, Ed turned to Chad and raised his voice above the rain. “Any luck getting through to Base Camp?”
“No. You?”
Ed shook his head. “No. No word from Robert?”
“Nothing.”
As they spoke, the last of the troops whizzed down the wall and into the boat. It was a tight squeeze.
A burst of lightning zigzagged overhead, illuminating the gorge with retina-searing severity. On its heels, thunder boomed, reverberating off the twin rock faces.
Eager to get moving, Chad hit the throttle and they sped through the rain, heading for the Tempestade.
106
Rebecca wasn’t just glad to see the Tempestade as it appeared through the gloom, sheets of rain slashing through its anchor lights—she felt a sense of homecoming.
In moments, she was climbing up and over the vessel’s portside rail, out of the deluge and into the dry beneath the covered aft deck. Behind her, Chavarre commented on the appropriateness of the boat’s name. In Portuguese, ‘tempestade’ meant ‘storm’. As if to hammer the point home, thunder cracked so loudly the sky itself may have split in two.
Once the last of them was up, Chad tied off the Zodiac. It trailed out the back, bobbing wildly in the dark. The river resembled a rolling, heaving sea, and whitecaps rode its surface. Rebecca had to fight to keep her balance.
Chad told everyon
e to make themselves at home. Ponchos were shrugged off, and as Tag assisted Jessy to the forward sleeping accommodation below deck, Rebecca retreated with Ed, Chad and Kriedemann to the relative quiet of the wheelhouse.
“Man, you sure you’re okay?” Chad said to Ed. “You look pretty busted up.”
“I’m fine,” Ed said, though not convincingly. Rebecca had noticed—pretty much from the moment she’d woken to the sound of the approaching Zodiac—that Ed was frequently hunched, and often clutched at his abdomen. He’d declined all assistance. She was worried about him.
Now, he seemed to be steeling himself against more pain as he addressed his friend. “Chad, we don’t have much time.” He set Chavarre’s map on the table and pointed to the spot the soldiers had referred to as rally point ‘Delta’. “As I said earlier, we need to get these men here as soon as possible; it’s safe, and from there Jessy can be extracted to a hospital. As soon as we drop them off, we ourselves have gotta hightail it to Base Camp and find out why Elson and Martins aren’t answering—and to look for Owen and Robert.” With that, he straightened a little. “So how soon can you make it happen?”
Chad pursed his lips, blew air through his teeth for what seemed like a very long time. “Listen, I gotta be honest, buddy—I don’t know. This storm’s worse than I expected. Right now, in the dark, trying to navigate through this kind of shit is dangerous. Visibility’s shot, and there’s a lot of debris out there, logs—hell, whole trees floating around! The trip in the Zodiac was bad enough.”
“What are you saying?”
“What I’m saying,” Chad answered after a slight pause, “is that the sensible option is to ride it out, wait until the storm has passed. In fact, it’s the only option.” He looked up from the map at all three of them in turn before he drew himself upright. “It’ll be daylight soon,” he said. “Couple of hours, tops. Until then… well, I’m sorry, but we’re not going anywhere.”