by Jonas Saul
When Milton was finished with the palm leaf, he handed it to Jake. “Mr. Wood—”
“Jake’s fine.” He took the leaf that was now the size of a rectangular dinner plate.
“Why was your friend out here?”
“Why does anyone come to the rainforest? As a guide, Milton, you’d know that better than anyone else.”
Milton fixed his eyes on what Eduardo was doing near the fire for a moment, then nodded. “I suppose so.”
Moments later, Milton used his machete to remove a piece of bark and then sat beside Jake, carving the bark into something the size of a hand.
Jake leaned in closer. “What are you making?”
Without looking up, Milton said, “A spoon. For lunch.”
Jake watched as the guide planed off enough wood near the center of the piece to form an indent where liquid could be safely held. The fire by Eduardo raged as he set about placing small chunks of chicken on spears of wood he’d carved.
“We make as much as we can from the land, only bringing food with us. When we leave to head back to Manaus, you can tell we were here, but we’ve left no rubbish.” He held up the wooden spoon, examining it with a careful eye. “This wood was here when we arrived and it’ll be here long after we are gone.” He glanced at Jake with a crooked smile, like he was in on an anti-garbage conspiracy of some kind. “Much less to carry this way.”
Being raised in Toronto and spending his entire life in the city, Jake lived a vastly different life than Milton and Eduardo. Out here was their land, their terrain. He realized in that moment that his life depended on them. If he got lost or something happened to his guides, his odds of survival would be greatly reduced.
Jake checked his arms, then surveyed the tree line. “Why are we not being eaten alive by mosquitoes?”
Milton set the wooden spoon aside and began carving another.
“There are no mosquitoes in this part of the rainforest as the water is too acidic to breed in. The mosquitoes spread malaria elsewhere, but not here.”
Birds squawked overhead. Jake glanced up, trying to catch sight of them.
“Tropical birds bring us music,” Milton said, also looking skyward. “Sometimes, when watching the tops of the trees, you’ll be able to spot spider monkeys loping by. They are extremely agile and go tree to tree as if they have wings.” He lowered his head and continued carving.
Fifteen feet away, Eduardo turned the three small pieces of chicken he was roasting and stirred a pot he’d placed above the fire.
“Why’d you ask about Luke?” Jake turned his attention back to Milton. “Is one’s purpose in the Amazon to be stated prior to receiving a tour? Or can a foreigner hire your company for a tour, no questions asked?”
Milton didn’t miss a stroke with his knife as he worked on the second spoon. “I asked because of the gear he brought with him.”
“The gear? You saw it?”
Milton nodded.
“What kind of gear?”
“Two black cases were carted with them.” He finished the wooden spoon and set it aside. “I caught a glimpse of the inside of one of the cases.”
Jake waited for Milton to go on. After a moment, he did.
“Small vials of liquid were suspended in black foam. Evidently, the vials were filled with antivenin.”
“Antivenom?”
Milton wiped sweat from his brow, then faced Jake. “No, it’s called antivenin, not venom. A common misconception.”
“How could you tell what was in the vials?”
“They were labeled.”
Jake scanned the immediate area. “Is it necessary to tote antivenin into the rainforest? Is the threat that profound?”
Milton kicked his legs out in front of him, hands resting on his thighs. “No. That was why I asked.”
“Aren’t snakes a threat? Maybe he was just taking precautions.”
“Yes, people are bit by snakes in the rainforest, but the most dangerous living species out here are things like the bullet ant, the Brazilian wandering spider which looks like a tarantula, various big cats, and the poison dart frog. On this venture, as we aren’t going hundreds of miles into the rainforest, we won’t encounter them. Snakes, yes, but most of their species won’t bother us. Not out here.”
Jake hadn’t realized how stressed he’d become so quickly having not thought about the dangers of the rainforest. As a city boy with guides, he hadn’t considered that possibility. These people did tours all the time. How much danger could there be?
“We have a small medical kit,” Milton continued, “but antivenin isn’t something that’s normally added to it as you need specific kinds based on the certain snake that bites you.”
“And my friend’s vials were labeled as antivenin—”
“With the name of the snake beside each vial,” Milton finished for him.
“You recognized the names of the snakes as creatures from this region of the rainforest?”
Milton nodded. “I did.” He pushed off the ground and brushed off his butt. “Lunch is ready.”
They ate under the shelter of trees, the sun’s rays in search of them through cracks in the foliage. The canopy above was too thick for the sun to penetrate but the heat got through, thickening the air with humidity.
The chicken was magnificent and the soup, something seafood-like, filled him pleasantly and removed the final vestiges of the hangover.
Energized, revitalized, and ready to continue, they cleaned the area, repacked their bags, and started along the path, deeper into the rainforest. Several times Eduardo, moving at least ten feet ahead of them, would stop, inspect the ground, or examine leaves on a tree, then continue. At other times, he would turn to the right or left and forage a new path through the thickness. Jake took periodic sips of water from his bottles on a quest to stay hydrated, and listened to the macaws above, the creaking insects surrounding them, and the steady beat of their footfalls as the afternoon wore on. Eventually, the heat and humidity eased off as the sun began its descent.
“Not far now,” Milton said from behind him.
Jake glanced over his shoulder. “Does Eduardo ever talk?”
“Of course. Just not so much when he’s tracking.”
“Tracking?”
“Yes.”
“Why is he tracking? Aren’t we going to a regular place where tour guides take their guests?”
“Your friend Luke—how close are you two?”
Jake slowed his pace, then stopped to face Milton. “Why do you ask?”
“You’re not aware of the nature of his trip into the Amazon Rainforest?”
“Actually, I have no idea. Do you know what he was doing here?”
“We’re not entirely sure ourselves, but he paid a lot of money to have the company I work for bring him out here and to have us”—he gestured at Eduardo and himself— “on stand-by in case you arrived.”
Jake started walking again. “Is there anything specific about the area Luke chose to visit?”
“Not the area itself.”
Jake stopped again. “Then what?”
Milton placed a hand against a tree and took a deep breath. “He wanted to be taken to the most populated area of the Bothrops Asper.”
“What the hell is a Bothrops Asper?”
“One of the deadliest snakes alive. It’s a venomous pit viper, sometimes called the ultimate pit viper.”
“Now that makes sense. No wonder he had all that antivenin. My friend is a scientist.” Jake shrugged. “He’s probably here doing research on those pit vipers.”
Milton motioned at the path. When Jake turned around, Eduardo had gone so far he couldn’t see him anymore.
“We should be moving along,” Milton said.
Jake started after Eduardo, the knot in his stomach increasing in size. The more he thought about what Luke was doing in the Amazon Rainforest, the more he wished his friend had never come down there.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jeffrey Harris
surveyed his pencil art, placing the 6B pencil down on the easel’s ledge after adding in the shadows behind his wife’s face. The picture did the family justice. A certain splendor was given to the drawing, a glamorous appeal even. There was depth in his wife’s eyes and promise in his son’s. They were his and he was theirs.
He stepped away from the easel to wash his hands and prepare to clean his workspace. The early evening had lent itself to wine, drawing, and an easy release of his daily tensions. Nothing could be more pleasant than an evening with the family.
Back in the living room, he addressed his wife on the couch.
“One more glass of wine before we retire for the evening?”
She nodded.
“Very well. I’ll pour.” In the kitchen, he retrieved two wine glasses and stopped when the scrapbook caught his eye. A quick flip of the top revealed what his son had achieved. A lock of his son’s hair placed strategically by a recent picture of himself gave Jeffrey chills.
“One day you’ll be an artist like your father,” Jeffrey gushed. “Maybe we’ll paint together.”
He closed the scrapbook and proceeded to pour the wine. As he entered the living room, the phone rang.
“I’ll get it,” he shouted.
He snatched the phone up on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Bad news here.”
“I’m listening.”
“Detective Jake Wood has left the country. He’s out of the picture now.”
“Fair enough.” Harris massaged his scrotum. Drawing naked allowed arousal moments, to do as he pleased. Especially when hearing such good news.
“We’ll meet tomorrow. Go over what we have and what to do next.”
“Fair enough,” he repeated. “And Detective Aiken? How is he?”
“I just talked to him. He’s fine.”
Harris was actively stroking his member now. The news was a fillip to his arousal, which wouldn’t be sated without another release. He raised the mouthpiece to keep it away from his short gasps of breath as he gripped himself.
“I’ll call in the morning,” the voice said. “Get some sleep. Say hi to the wife.”
He lowered the phone to his mouth and held his breath for a brief second. “Will do, Detective Joslin.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It wasn’t where they expected it to be. According to Milton, if they hadn’t brought Eduardo along, they never would’ve found Luke’s camp, but they came across it in the final light from the sun.
“The last place we recorded them by GPS was fifty meters from here.” Milton rubbed his chin. “What brought them down to this area doesn’t make sense.”
Eduardo used his machete to cut a path for himself, then slipped between two trees and disappeared.
Jake turned to Milton. “Why not? What if those viper things were over here?”
Milton pointed back the way they’d come. “Basecamp is better suited up on that flat area we passed. Down here might be closer to the snakes but you don’t want to sleep with them.”
Jake scanned the immediate area in search of anything that slithered. “I see your point.”
They were boxed in on all sides by thick shrubs, trees with a wider base than most of the ones he’d observed on the walk in. Luke’s tent sat near the rim of the small rectangular clearing that was no larger than fifty by twenty feet. Several hammocks hung suspended between trees back up the small hill at the basecamp, but Luke had chosen to sleep down here in his tent.
Jake moved toward the tent, its canvas entrance peeled back, revealing an empty interior devoid of a human body. Thankful none of the men on Luke’s tour had been found dead or incapacitated yet, he kept hope alive that they’d find them all safe soon enough. But why leave their belongings behind? What would cause them to run from their camp without any supplies to speak of?
Inside the tent was a single air mattress placed on the right side wall of the canvas. A silver flashlight sat by the base of a makeshift table by the mattress. As the remainder of the sun’s light died out for another day, Jake studied the table. Several vials of green liquid sat capped and undisturbed. Luke had brought two cases with him. One was empty—no doubt the case that contained the vials of green liquid now sitting on the table. Another case revealed five large ampoules with syringes stashed in a recessed area near the bottom of the case. All the ampoules were neatly stored in a black foam casing. What concerned Jake was the empty spot where a sixth ampoule was supposed to be. Someone had already used whatever was inside Luke’s case.
He gently lifted one of the ampoules out and raised it to his eyes, but there wasn’t enough light to make out the wording. He exited the tent and read the small print in the fading light of dusk.
FER-DE-LANCE ANTIVENIN
“What the hell is Fer-de-lance?” he asked.
Milton was busy carving something with his knife again. He stopped what he was doing and moved closer. “That’s just another name for the Bothrops Asper.” As he stepped up to Jake, he asked, “What have you got there?”
“Looks like an ampoule of antivenin for one of those vipers we talked about earlier.”
Milton nodded. “Resembles the vials I saw in his case.” He started back to where he’d been carving. “Since they’re not here and they left their supplies, I’m sure they’ll be back.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Huh?”
Jake lowered the small container of antivenin. “They could be dead.”
Milton shook his head in the last bit of light. “No. Eduardo would’ve been able to tell. Body or no body, he would’ve seen signs of a struggle. That’s where he is now.”
“Where?”
“Following the trail.”
“What trail? And how can he see out here?”
“With Eduardo, there’s always a trail.”
A moment later, Milton clicked something, then clicked it again. A lighter caught, the flame casting an eerie glow on his face. He lowered it to the ground, and a glorious fire rose from the kindling. In moments, the fire rose several feet high, giving them light and warmth.
Jake reentered Luke’s tent and returned the ampoule into the black foam cutout, then snapped the case closed. Underneath the case, he lifted what appeared to be a journal. Flipping through the handwritten pages, Jake wondered what he would discover about his friend. Would it be an invasion of Luke’s privacy? If Luke was in danger, Jake needed to know everything.
Jake shoved the notebook under his arm and exited the tent.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Eduardo had returned with a look of bewilderment, which communicated to Jake that he’d found nothing. There was no sign of Luke or his team. They would search more intensely in the morning.
Dinner was served and was quite filling. Milton fed the flames that he’d contained with a circular perimeter of rocks. He’d also piled another dozen strips of wood on the side to feed the fire well into the night.
“Jake.” Milton leaned closer. “Eduardo and I are heading up to the basecamp where the hammocks are strung. That’s the best place to sleep. We’d like you to join us.”
Jake shook his head. “This was Luke’s tent. When he returns, he’ll come here. I’m staying right in there on that air mattress until he comes back.”
“What if he doesn’t come back? How long will you stay out here?”
That was a question he didn’t have an answer for. “I’ll give it a couple of days and decide from there.”
“We thought you would decide to stay in the tent—that’s why we prepared extra wood for the fire and your backpack has enough water. In one of the backpack’s pockets you’ll find an assortment of nuts and berries if you get hungry through the night.”
“Thank you. I’ll be fine.”
Milton rummaged in a pocket, then produced a small cylindrical device. “Here, take this.”
Jake took it. “What is it?”
“If there’s trouble, blow on that. We’ll hear it a mile away.”
Jake inhaled deeply, then blew on the whistle. It shrieked a high-pitched call that startled him and quieted the sound of the evening’s insects in the immediate area.
“Wow, that is loud.”
“As I said. You need us, blow long and hard. We’ll come running.”
Jake nodded and slipped the whistle into his front pocket. “Go. Get some sleep. I’ll be fine.”
Milton rose to his feet and started toward Eduardo, who also got to his feet.
“Hey, Milton,” Jake said.
Milton turned back. Eduardo stopped, too.
“Those viper snakes can’t chew through canvas”—he gestured at the tent— “can they?”
Milton shook his head. “I doubt they will bother you tonight.”
“Good. I’ll zipper it closed when I’m asleep, too.”
“You’ll be fine, Jake. See you in the morning.”
The guide and the tracker walked out of the light and disappeared into the blackness of the trees, Eduardo leading the way. Alone, Jake stretched out and opened Luke’s journal. After several minutes of reading quotes from colleagues in the world of biology and cell structure, Jake threw more chunks of wood on the fire, then dragged the air mattress from the tent, and stretched out on it. The fire flickered on the page as Jake read on.
Luke Mercer had surmised that immortality was absolutely possible based on the Hydra, a genus of small fresh-water animals native to tropical areas. The Hydra experienced tissue regeneration when injured. It reminded Jake of high school biology and how he’d learned crabs could regenerate new pincers.
Jake read notes on a sidebar that quoted a man named Daniel Martinez, who had written in a scientific journal in 1998 that the Hydra were biologically immortal as they didn’t age.
The fire intensified with the new wood. Jake shifted, easing back from its heat, and continued reading.