by B. C. CHASE
They walked back to the truck together, and Kelle retrieved jumper cables and the hitch from under the bumper. Then she took a bottle of water from inside the cab. Handing the heavy hitch to Wesley, she said, “Okay, this should do it, let's go.”
Returning to the fence, Kelle cleared debris from the ground near it and, using a stick, dug a hole large enough to plunge the ball end of the hitch into. Then she filled the dirt in around it, leaving just the pin and clip exposed. Wesley asked, “Where’d you learn how to do this?”
“I was a bad girl when I was a teenager. Sometimes had to sneak through the neighbors’ fences.” She poured water from the bottle over the hitch, soaking the dirt around it. She then clamped one end of the jumper cable to the pin and took the other end in her hand. “Not every wire will have a charge. We'll have to try until we get the right one.”
“How will we know?”
She smiled wryly, “It will look like the fourth of July.” She touched the clamp to a wire, but there was nothing. “That's not it.” She tried a second wire, and nothing. “Not that, either.” The third one popped with a cascade of sparks. She clamped it firmly. There was a loud buzz, the sparks continuing, until another pop sounded and there was nothing. She said, “Third time is just right,” grinning, “But I don’t think the three bears will be happy I shorted their fence.”
While they had been working on the fence, the air had become damp and misty. Wesley was grateful for the lack of visibility in case someone was looking for them. With the power out, they slipped through the fence easily enough by prying it open with a branch.
They walked cautiously through the fog for about twenty yards, the ground free of brush. Kelle grabbed Wesley's hand with a gasp when something suddenly lurched across the way ahead.
Something emaciated and alien.
It was a bepedal figure, like a human, gray-skinned in the moonlight, and five feet tall. It did not see them and was clambering weakly on all fours toward a large pile of waste. As they approached, the odor from the pile was dreadful. The figure crouched, picking at the ground with long, frail-looking fingers. It put its fingers to its mouth quickly, then prodded the earth once more. Its back was to them, and its skin was pulled tight against its spine. There were only a few strands of hair on its head. It did not appear to be threatening; in fact, although Wesley had no idea what it was, if anything it looked half-dead. He cautiously stepped forward, his boots cracking a stick.
The creature spun around on its haunches. The face was flat, the cheekbones literally visible through the skin. It had no eyebrows. The creature blinked at them, lifted its arm to cover its face, and turned away, as if ashamed. The creature's breaths came in white puffs in the cold and it curled against its legs, trying to hide itself. Slowly, it eased over toward the pile of waste. Wesley then realized that the whole pile was moving. Writhing with arms and legs and faces all white and naked. Some were alive. Some were dead. Children and infants, all of them.
“Wesley,” Kelle whispered fearfully. “They're children.”
Wesley shook his head slowly. It couldn't be. They had arms, legs, five fingers, toes, everything a human should have. But they didn't look like people. And yet …. Wesley said to the figure softly, “Hello?” He walked toward it, “What is your name?” As he neared it, he could see that it was female. She cowered fearfully.
“Who are you?”
She struggled to speak, in a rasp, “Please!”
Sensing her fear, Wesley said, “I’m not going to hurt you. Who are you?
She still cowered before him.
He leaned down and extended a hand. “Where did you come from?” he asked.
Hesitantly, she reached out, touched his finger. The gray, gaunt face blinked up at him, “Do you have food?”
“I'm sorry.” Wesley shook his head. “We'll find some.” He could not believe what he was seeing, hearing. “How did you get here?”
The eyes narrowed, puzzled. Then she pointed up into the moonlight toward the blackened profile of a giant structure just peeking up through the mist in the distance. Then she looked down to the ground. “I am cold,” she said simply.
Wesley took his jacket off and draped it on her bony frame. She stuck out a hand to steady herself, then began to fall over.
Wesley held his hands out, not knowing what to do. She was so frail, he feared to touch her. She lowered herself slowly, lay on the cold earth. Seeing that the weight was too much, Wesley pulled the jacket off. Her ribs rose and fell with her breathing.
He looked back up at Kelle, who was wringing her hands, her face pained by distress. When he looked back at the woman, her eyes stared vacant. She wasn't moving. No breaths.
Wesley pressed his temples with his fingers, staring in disbelieving horror at her body, the mass of bodies beyond. Among them were children, the elderly. It was like a nightmare. It was like visiting hell. This could not be real.
The tops of the trees behind them began to thrash as if something was crashing through them. Wesley and Kelle raised moonlit faces to watch, listen. The crashing grew louder and closer, and Kelle asked with dread, "What is that?"
"It can't be any worse than this,” Wesley breathed.
Just then, several shrill screams burst from the trees and Wesley grabbed Kelle's hand and ran.
Caura River
Amazonian Rainforest
Bolivar, Venezuela
Layla Fayed sat at the front of the long, brightly colored canoe. Her clothes were soaked with sweat. Tiny insects had bitten her all over her body, some swarms so thick that as the motor propelled the boat through them she’d had to use a furl of her headscarf as a mask to avoid inhaling them.
The water was a crystalline burnt red color from the tannin. There were many points where they’d had to pull the canoe rather than ride it, as the water flowed shallow over rocks. Now the water was roiling deep and dark, there was a cool breeze, and a thunderous sound was growing nearer.
The man who manned the motor of the canoe, gray-bearded and wearing a wide-brimmed hat, called out and pointed, “That’s the Sarisarinama Tepui. You don’t want to hear the stories about that place.” He had a French accent, and a deep scar marred his face.
In the distance where he pointed loomed a magnificent, flat-topped mountain with jagged cliffs jutting straight up from a lush step hill.
Doctor David Katz, seated in the center of the canoe, replied, “What stories are those, Bertrand?” The head of African and Middle Eastern History at Tel Aviv University wore a breezy, mostly unbuttoned shirt, framing the silver Star of David chain that rested against his well-defined pectorals.
Bertrand said, “You’ve heard of Aleksandrs Laime?”
“No.”
“Well then, I won’t frighten you with the stories,” he laughed mysteriously.
“No, tell us!” Layla called back, her curiosity piqued.
“He lived here in the nineteen forties.”
“So?”
“He climbed the tepuis. He climbed Sarisarinama all alone, and when he finally came down, he spoke of—” he stopped, staring ahead. “Aha, behold the mighty Para Falls!”
Doctor Fatima Kamil, sitting behind Layla, made an exclamation of awe. She also wore a headscarf.
The canoe was rounding a bend to reveal a wide expanse of the river where a series of spectacular, violently cascading waterfalls gushed down, split by greenery and black rocks. Mist rose up from the base of the falls and, as the canoe drew closer, showered them with refreshing vapor.
Jeanpierre Bertrand navigated the small vessel toward a sandy shallow that led to tall, overhanging trees. “Here’s where the hard part begins. From here, we travel on foot. Fill your water bottles now; the water is pure and potable thanks to the tannin.”
After they had properly secured the canoe on the shore, they unloaded their gear. As Layla strapped on her backpack, it seemed astonishingly heavy compared to when she’d filled it. Bertrand had warned her about this way back at the settlement. She had explained to
him that she’d researched and planned this for weeks. Everything she was taking was indispensable. She enviously eyed his handbag-sized pack. Of course, he’d lived in Amazonia for some thirty years, she thought. He had doubtless perfected the art of traveling light.
“All ready?” Bertrand said, smirking at her as she adjusted her shoulders under the load, “Or does anyone wish to reassess her packing methodology?”
“No,” she asserted proudly.
“Very well,” he stated, still smirking. “A modern scientist if ever I saw one,” he laughed to Doctor Katz. “Faced with contrary evidence, she becomes even more determined to prove her hypothesis.”
Doctor Katz was joining Bertrand in laughter until Layla cast them an icy stare, “Must I remind you that it was an Arab who developed the scientific method?”
“That is true, that is true. Let us be on our way, then,” Bertrand said, throwing the barrel of his shotgun back against his shoulder.
As they made their way up a thickly forested hill toward the top of the waterfall, Layla marveled at the fitness Bertrand exhibited despite his sixty-plus years. He seemed quite unfazed as he verily sprung along, leading them higher and higher along a so-called “path” which was not at all discernable to Layla.
He allowed them a short rest to enjoy the view at the top of the waterfall. This close, the volume of its thundering water was truly impressive.
As they resumed the hike, Doctor Katz asked, “Now what was it you were saying about scary stories?”
“Ah, yes. Well, when Laime came down from the tepui, he said he had seen strange beings, perhaps the extraterrestrial spirits in which the Yanomamo believe. Perhaps something else.”
Doctor Katz said, “That’s why we’re here, you know.”
“I thought you were here to see one of the last uncontacted tribes in the world.”
“No, I came to see what the tribe sees. I want to see their gods.”
Bertrand scoffed, “You really believe they see them? All they do is sniff up copious amounts of ebene and hallucinate.”
“I want to see what they see, hallucination or not. They have an entire ritual to reach the spirit world. I intend to follow it and I intend to get there, too.”
Bertrand stopped and faced Doctor Katz, “Listen, you’ve got some crazy ideas, my friend. I brought you here so we could confirm the existence of an uncontacted tribe, not so we could snort hallucinogenic drugs.”
“You brought me here because I paid you enough to keep your research station open another year.”
Bertrand cocked his head, “I thank you for that, but I am afraid you might have saved your money. If you wanted to sniff drugs and hallucinate, you could have simply gone to Amsterdam.”
“The people in Amsterdam don’t know how to reach the spirit world like these people do. The Yanomamo believe it is real. They believe the spirits are real.”
Bertrand leaned on his rifle, “This doesn’t sound very scientific at all, Doctor Katz.”
Doctor Katz smiled, “I hypothesize I can reach the spirit world with the aid of the Yanomamo. I will do everything they tell me and see if my hypothesis is valid.”
“Empirical methods. Subjective results.”
“You are welcome to try if you doubt the veracity of my conclusions.”
Bertrand resumed his trek, “Non, non, Doctor Katz! I’ll leave the peer review up to other, more ambitious scientists. Especially if you are planning on engaging in their most notorious custom.”
“What is that?”
“Endocannibalism.”
“Non, non, Bertrand,” Doctor Katz said.
They hiked in silence for a time until Doctor Kamil suddenly spoke, “Laime said something else strange when he came down from the tepui, you know.”
“You astonish me, Doctor Kamil!” Bertrand said. “I assumed none of you had ever even heard of him!”
“I did my research before I came,” she huffed, her face sparkling with sweat.
“So do tell, what else did he say?”
“He said,” she panted, “That there was a place of no gravity on the top, but he said he almost lost his life stumbling upon it.”
“I admit even I had not heard that one,” Bertrand exclaimed. “Is this true?”
“It is,” she replied. “He did indeed say it, although he probably would have said anything to get tourists here. Is there some exceptional reason why we cannot stop for rest!”
Layla was too proud to ask for a rest even though, with her overloaded backpack, she was desperate for one, but she gratefully flung it onto the ground and leaned on a tree when Bertrand announced they would stop.
“Take care,” Bertrand said. “Don’t touch the sap from that tree.”
Layla quickly stepped away, “Why?”
“The Yanomamo use it for poison darts. One touch can kill a man.”
After taking a swig of ruddy water from his bottle, Bertrand leaned down, “And look at this, an annatto plant.” He touched the bright red flowers. “The Yanomamo also use the seeds from these, and I suspect you can guess what for.” He looked up at Layla first, but when she shook her head, he looked at the other two. “No one?” he said in response to their silence. “Do you have the picture, David?”
“What picture?”
“Naturally the picture that brought you here.”
“Ah, yes,” Doctor Katz said, opening his pack. After a little rummaging, he slipped out an image printed on crinkled five by seven inch glossy paper. The entire picture was motion blurred, indicative that it was a single frame extraction from a video.
The frame was a view from above into a small clearing of the tropical forest where a long, grass-thatched hut dominated the center. The edges of two more huts were also visible. The remnants of a fire circle were between the center hut and another, with various objects of various shapes strewn all about the site. Popping out on the image were several red and black figures, their backs arched backwards as they aimed large bows at the camera.
Bertrand tapped one of the red figures, “They paint their bodies red with the annatto seeds. They use coal to paint themselves black. Quite intimidating, don’t you think?”
Doctor Katz nodded.
Bertrand said, “They did it when they saw the helicopter. Of course, they have no idea what a helicopter is. They wasted a lot of their precious arrows shooting at it.” He shook his head, staring into space, “One of the last uncontacted tribes on earth. I still cannot believe it myself.
“The wider world is in the middle of the genetic age while these tribes remain sharpening stone tools and weaving hammocks for beds. With all the revisions now being made to mankind’s DNA, it makes one wonder if these tribes can any longer be considered the same species.” He looked sternly at Doctor Katz, “And they must remain uncontacted. Whenever a tribe like this has been reached, two thirds of them are dead within two years. We carry an arsenal of disease that is totally new to their immune systems.
“And yet you want to make contact. You want to expose them. I estimate this tribe has at least ninety individuals. Do you really want sixty dead on your conscience, David?”
“How many of them would be dead from violence, from disease and infection, from illegal loggers and miners as it is? Not to mention the fact that they are in a genetic black hole. This is a population bottleneck. Most of them are likely related. They are in a state of irrevocable homogeneity.
“They are critically endangered, Mr. Bertrand. Without contact, within a century, they will likely all have perished.” Doctor Katz slipped his arms through his backpack straps, “If you do not want to make contact, why are you even here?”
“I am here to obtain documentary evidence. My aerial video was alleged to be faked. I will take more video and pictures of them in their environment and my skeptics will be silenced.”
“And you will subsequently attract a flood of donor money to protect this ‘endangered species.’”
“Perhaps, though it is not about the money.”
“Well, allow me to put a kink in your rope, Mr. Bertrand. You don’t want to protect them, you want to control them. You want to keep them as your pets, isolated from everyone else, like ants in a jar. You want to be their God.”
Bertrand’s eyes opened wide with rage, but he didn’t respond. Still eyeing Doctor Katz, he screwed the cap on his water bottle and said, “Let’s get underway. You must see the waterfall before anything else.”
“We already saw the waterfall,” Layla protested.
“The waterfall you saw was a mere rapid compared to the one I am talking about. I am speaking,” Bertrand said, “of the most amazing waterfall in all the world, a secret waterfall.”
Doctor Katz said, “I’m not here for sight-seeing. I’m here for the tribe.”
Bertrand cocked his head, “Years ago, I was canoeing in the water we just left. An arrow suddenly shot out of the trees on the bank, struck me through the face, and came out my neck six inches, here,” he ran his finger along the scar on his face and just under his hairline at the back of his neck.” He grinned pleasantly, “I am a very hospitable man. I love to show my visitors the best possible time, and that is why I am going to the waterfall now. If you wish to try to proceed alone to the tribe with no knowledge of the geography, of their customs, or even what to do if you indeed find them, then be my guest.” He shrugged, “But God help you if you are shot in the back and don’t know the way back to the canoe.”
There were no trees at the base the cliff. The water gushed off the top three thousand feet up and gradually fanned out as it fell, drifting like rain, showering the rocks and collecting into a river that rushed down the hillside and into the forest. A rainbow formed in the mist. It was beautiful and awe inspiring. The wind shifted, blowing the rain over them. Layla’s clothes were quickly soaked and clung to her body. She was grateful for the relief from the heat.
“Are you not glad I brought you here?” Bertrand asked Doctor Katz, who was washing his face with water from a pool among the stones.