“About a month ago.”
Spencer wasn’t more forthcoming, so they settled into an uneasy silence, the only sounds around them an occasional bird call or the crackling in the canopy of an unseen animal flitting from branch to branch.
Allie’s scream shattered the calm, and Jack was instantly on his feet, weapon at the ready. Drake leapt up, as did Spencer, and they moved into the underbrush in the direction she’d gone. Drake almost ran into Jack’s back as he came to an abrupt stop, his arm out to the side to keep them from moving forward. Spencer stood next to him and, after assessing the situation, began speaking to Allie in a low voice.
“Calm down. Stop struggling. It’s quicksand. Any movement will only make it worse.” Spencer shrugged off his backpack and retrieved from it a tightly coiled roll of black nylon rope. He turned to Jack and Drake and whispered, “If she can get her legs and arms separated and concentrates on leaning back, she’ll eventually float to the surface, but that could take all day, and she doesn’t look like she’s calm enough to do it. It’s doubtful that she’ll completely submerge, but we need to slide her out before she makes it any worse.”
Allie had sunk in viscous sludge up to her armpits, a look of terror on her face. Her backpack lay near the spot where she’d slipped when she’d hit the edge of the patch.
Jack removed his pack and set his weapon against it, and spoke in even, measured tones. “Honey, he’s right. Take it easy. We’ll get you out. But don’t struggle. Save your strength, and if you want to try to help, shake your legs just a little. That should free them slowly, and you should start to float to the surface.”
Spencer held up the rope. “I’m going to toss this to you, okay? Grab it, and we’ll pull you out. If I don’t get it within reach, don’t panic or try to get to it. I’ll just throw it again, all right?” He didn’t wait for Allie to answer and, after taking a quick look at her position fifteen feet away, tossed the wound-up line toward her, using the bundle’s weight to carry it through the air.
It landed about three feet from her right arm, and she slowly moved her hand toward it, but was a foot short. She tried to stretch to grab it, but it was no good. In the process of trying, she sank another six inches, the ooze now almost covering her shoulders. She let out a low moan as Spencer hurriedly wound the rope back toward him.
Drake removed his backpack and dropped his gun on the ground. “Give me one end of the rope. I’m going in after her. She’s not going to make it,” he said, and before Spencer could protest, he grabbed the free end of the cord and skirted the edge of the quicksand as Spencer played out line.
When he slipped at the edge and slid into the muck, he almost dropped the lifeline, but he reacted quickly and latched onto it. Spencer and Jack pulled on the rope and he managed to get clear. He continued along the rim until he was near where she’d gone in. The sludge was now up to Allie’s neck – an ominous progression.
“Let out about five feet of line,” Drake instructed, and as they did, he tied the rope to his belt, freeing up his arms. With a final glance at Allie, he backed up and took a running jump. When he hit the surface, Allie’s head went under, and he groped where she’d disappeared. He felt an arm and latched onto it, and then yelled to Jack and Spencer. “I’ve got her.”
The two men immediately pulled, and Drake slowly edged through the goop to the firmer edge of the sinkhole, trying to get Allie to the surface, but failing due to the resistance of the wet muck. As he felt his back move against the harder ground, he took a deep breath and heaved with all his might, the veins in his neck and forehead bulging from the effort. Slowly, Allie rose to the top, and then her arms were around him and she was gasping, covered with sludge, her eyes clamped shut as she spit out clumps of quicksand. Spencer wrapped the end of the rope around his waist twice, faced away from them, and began plodding like a plow horse. Jack also pulled on the line with all his might, and Drake and Allie slid out of the treacherous mire onto firmer soil.
“All right. We’re clear,” he called out, and Jack moved along the perimeter of the swampy section to where they both lay covered in muck. He knelt down and lifted Allie to her feet and, after hugging her, held her away from him as she wiped wet ooze from her eyes.
“That was close. I thought we discussed quicksand back in town,” he said quietly.
She nodded. “I know. I didn’t see it. I…maybe I wasn’t paying close enough attention.”
Drake got to his feet, doing his best to shake off the clinging slag. Allie turned to him and hugged him as well, pressing her full breasts against his chest.
“Thank you,” she said simply, and he nodded, figuring words weren’t necessary.
Back at the stream, Allie and Drake used one of the cooking pots to scoop water and clean themselves as best as they could while Spencer and Jack stood watch, alert for anyone their commotion might have attracted. The rainforest’s customary tranquility had descended again, a deathly stillness in the damp air, not even the monkeys making noise. They hurriedly finished with their field showers and pushed their way farther into the brush five minutes later, keenly aware that they’d made far too much noise and anxious to put as much distance between themselves and the site of the near-disaster as possible.
Another rainstorm hit an hour later, and for once both Drake and Allie welcomed the steady stream of water, which rinsed them as clean as if they’d gone for a swim.
By Drake’s reckoning, they were nearing their target point for the day’s camp when Spencer held a hand up in warning and slowed, head cocked to the side and listening intently. Everyone froze, ears straining for whatever he’d heard. The only thing Drake registered was the incessant patter of raindrops on the surrounding leaves. After a few moments, Spencer backed up as he slipped his machete into its belt sheath and freed his rifle. He leaned toward them, eyes locked on the trail.
“I heard voices up ahead. We need to get off the track. Follow me. Hopefully the water will erase our footprints by the time they get here,” he whispered. He cast his eyes around, selected a sparsely vegetated area to their right, and moved through it into the denser underbrush beyond.
They pushed past tangled vines and stepped over fallen trees until they were fifty yards from the track. Spencer made a curt hand gesture and knelt by a rotting log, his weapon pointed at the trail, which was no longer visible through the thick foliage. They spread out, guns in hand, and lay next to any cover they could find.
Stillness enveloped the jungle, the rain splattering on the surrounding leaves as the seemingly never-ending drizzle continued while they settled in to wait. One minute went by, and then another, and then they all heard the sound of several sets of boots on the trail. Spencer glanced to the side at Jack, who had positioned himself ten feet away, and held a finger to his lips. Drake nodded understanding and turned to where Allie lay next to him, repeating the gesture, but froze when he saw the look on her face – raw, unbridled fear. His eyes traveled down her body lying on a bed of wet leaves, until he saw the reason. A brightly colored snake was making its way for her, slithering along the forest floor, no more than two feet away; one of the deadliest creatures on the planet – the coral snake, whose neon coloring was nature’s warning of its lethal venom.
He shook his head in warning. “Don’t move. Not a muscle.”
Allie’s eyes flickered understanding, but the mask of panic on her face belied her apparent calm. The footsteps from the trail continued past their position as Drake watched the serpent make its way to her, and his stomach did a flip when she closed her eyes, her trembling barely perceptible. It reached her gun and paused, then wound toward her torso, three deadly feet of bright red, yellow, and black bands.
Drake stood in a crouch as the snake hesitated by Allie’s side and, after a couple of lightning flicks of its tongue, began moving down toward her legs. She gasped but remained still when it eased up her right thigh, apparently interested enough to want a closer examination of the life it sensed.
In a sec
ond Drake was at her side. Using the barrel of his AK, he flipped the toxic creature off her and through the air, where it landed harmlessly six feet away and slipped into the undergrowth. Allie’s exhalation was audible, and Drake again held his finger to his mouth, urging caution. She struggled to slow her breathing as the fright seeped from her eyes and, after squeezing them closed again for a moment, nodded and resumed her watch of the trees near the path.
Five minutes passed like an hour. Hearing nothing more, Spencer stood and signaled for them to follow him back to the trail. They took careful steps, now hyperalert to the hidden threats lurking beneath the carpet of brown leaves on the wet forest floor, Allie’s near miss fresh in all their minds. Once at the muddy track, Spencer leaned over and studied the fading imprints that were already disappearing as the rain washed them away.
“Looks like a half dozen, maybe more. Stay quiet and let’s move. I want to be far away from them as quickly as possible,” he murmured, and then hurried away in the direction they’d been headed, still with his rifle in hand instead of the machete. The group matched his pace, which he kept up for a half hour before slowing. The heat was now oppressive as the clouds drifted east and the rainfall eased and then stopped.
When he arrived at a brook engorged by the recent runoff, he paused. After scanning the area, he whispered to Jack, “How far have we come?”
Jack searched in his backpack for his handheld GPS and powered it on, squinting to read the small screen’s information. “This says thirteen miles. But we drifted south some. So really only about twelve in the direction we’re headed.”
“Close enough, I’d say. Let’s follow the stream until we’re well away from the trail and, at the first hospitable looking area, set up camp. I don’t like that we had company, so I want to get clear of it. Follow me.”
The brook was only five feet across and no more than three or four feet deep most of the way, but around the second bend it deepened to where they couldn’t see the bottom anymore. Spencer stopped and pointed at a flat area twenty yards away, under the dense growth suspended from the tops of the tall trees. “That looks good as any.”
They pitched their tents, exhausted from the first day’s exertions, and lay in the shade. The heat drained from them any desire to move. In spite of the swelter, Allie decided to spend the remainder of the afternoon in the tent – a reaction to coming within a hair of being killed by the coral snake; everyone understood.
Eventually the sun dropped behind the distant mountain peaks, and Drake took his fishing line and a few small shiny spoons to see if the brook held anything promising for dinner. Allie emerged from the tent several minutes later and wiped the sweat from her face before moving in the opposite direction along the stream, rifle in hand, eyes roving over the ground in front of her, now fully alert to the myriad menaces the jungle held.
Drake returned with three fish – each at least a couple of pounds. Spencer looked them over and grunted. “That’ll do. I’ll cook them on the stove. I don’t want to risk a wood fire drawing anyone to our position. Let’s wait until dark. Nobody’s going to be roving around the jungle at night well away from any trail – there are way too many threats. Jaguars and snakes being the least of them.”
After nightfall they feasted on Drake’s catch, silent except for the sound of their chewing, the day’s events having reinforced the need for stealth and the suddenness with which danger could savage them. Jack argued for a three-hour guard shift during the night, and nobody had any objections. He would take the first watch, Drake the second, Allie the third, and Spencer the final that would lead into dawn, each waking the next when their stint was over.
When they retired for the night, the rainforest pitch black around their position, it was with a new appreciation for the hardships they’d taken on in their quest for the Inca city. As Drake shifted in his tent, trying to get comfortable, he was sure that the others were equally restive, and resigned himself to a long night with little sleep as the jungle around them rustled and creaked with unimaginable dangers.
~ ~ ~
The afternoon was drawing to a close when the wooden skiff beached itself on the riverbank and the captain killed the engine. He rubbed his face and yawned, glad to be home after the long day on the water following an uncomfortable night sleeping in the boat with one eye open. He was disconnecting the scarred red metal fuel tank when he raised his head and saw three Caucasian men moving cautiously down the path that led to the river’s edge. The area was deserted, the other fishermen gone, and for a moment a tingle of apprehension ran up his spine.
Gus sized up the old boat with a seasoned eye and nodded to his two younger associates. One of them stepped forward and fixed the local with a hard stare.
“You took some passengers up the river?” he asked in Spanish colored with a slight American accent.
“Yes…” the captain answered truthfully, his expression puzzled.
“We need you to help us. We’re supposed to join up with them, but we were delayed.”
“I can take you where I dropped them off. For a price…”
“How soon can you be ready to leave?” the American asked.
“Tomorrow at first light.”
The younger man relayed the information to Gus, who frowned. “We’re going to be too far behind them. Find out where he left them, and we can see about getting a helicopter. Worst case you can take him up on it tomorrow, but I’d rather get a bird in the air this evening.” Gus stared at the darkening sky with a sinking feeling, knowing that the odds of being able to arrange for transportation for a team into the Amazon at night were less than slim.
The man took out a wad of bills and peeled several high-denomination notes from it, and then handed them to the captain. “Where exactly did you drop them off?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The next day began much as the previous one, up at dawn, trudging through the undergrowth trying to find a viable game trail, locating a promising one, and following it deeper into the jungle. It didn’t start raining until ten, and when the heavens opened up, everyone was relieved, the heat having built to an almost intolerable level in the interim. They marched along silently, occasionally pausing when Spencer would point out an animal or bird moving through the thickets, the downpour denting the leaves around them as they marched steadily forward.
They spotted several more snakes, most notably a large bushmaster, easily six feet long, that they startled as they came around a bend in a trail as they forged their way east. Spencer froze when he saw it, and held them back until the drowsy serpent had moved off the trail, preferring a less trafficked spot for its slumber.
At noon they entered an area with numerous waterfalls and took a break near one of the largest as Jack made calculations on his GPS.
He glanced at Drake as he entered coordinates using the keypad. “This area looks familiar. We’re half a mile from the first outpost your father and I located. It’s a little northeast of us, and as I recall, it was close enough to a stream to camp in.”
“Then that’s our target for the day,” Spencer said. “Half a mile shouldn’t take us more than an hour, unless everyone would prefer to stay here. Is there any reason we should go on to the outpost now, Jack?”
“Not really. There’s not a lot to see. A few remnants of stone walls overgrown with vegetation. I’d say this is as good a place as any to stop. We’re sixteen miles west of the spot where…where the final camp was located.”
Allie shook her head. “I want to see the outpost. We’ve come this far.”
“Why?” Drake asked.
“Because I trained my entire life for this, and I may see something that everyone missed.”
Jack nodded. “I suppose we can afford another hour. Let’s keep at it.”
The slog took forty-five minutes. When they made it to the outpost, everyone but Allie took a break while she explored the ruins. The stone outcroppings appeared unremarkable to Drake, but he went to join her later as she was
still clearing an area beneath two piles of stone.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“This would have been the stone arch. It’s collapsed, but for our purposes, it’ll do.”
“Does it fit with my Dad’s theory about the paver stones that ran through the arch pointing to the next spot?”
“It’s interesting how they aligned them. A continuation of the path, but with enough variation so that anyone trying to chart a straight line between the outposts would be stumped – if you didn’t know that the pavers exiting the arch indicated the new bearing, you’d be wandering in the jungle forever. My guess is they used the stars as an orientation – you can see grooves cut into the arch base that probably coincided with the angle the sun would hit at a certain time of the year.”
“Were they advanced astronomers?”
“Yes, actually. They built observatories and timed their harvests based on celestial observations – often solar, but also of stars and planets, like Venus and the Pleiades,” Allie explained.
“Interesting. But how precise would that be for the purposes of plotting a course to the next outpost?”
“There would be a margin of error, sure, but it would be slimmer than you’d think.”
Spencer and Jack approached. “So? Anything unusual?”
Allie shook her head. “No, but the layout confirms we’re on the right track.” She pointed to where the stone arch had stood. “That would have stood about twelve feet high, and it would have established the direction of the next outpost.” She turned to Drake. “How far are we from the campsite?”
Drake did a quick calculation. “Seventeen miles.” He regarded Spencer. “Do you think we can make that tomorrow?”
“It’ll be a push. We’ve been averaging twelve per day so far. It really depends on the terrain. If we get lucky and there’s a clear trail most of the way, and it’s not too hot, it could happen. But it’s a long trek in these conditions. Don’t get your heart set on it.” Spencer looked around. “Do you want to stay here or keep going?”
Ramsey's Gold (Drake Ramsey Book 1) Page 21