The First Bird: Omnibus Edition

by Greig Beck

  Kurt was already on his feet. “I don’t think we’re that far away.” He looked up at the fading sky, to where the sun was setting, to get his bearings, then pointed. “This way.”

  *****

  Moema was exactly where they’d left him. It was hard to believe, but they had been away less than three days. He was camped out by the original pond, a small fire burning low, and something small and rat-like skewered on a stick suspended over the fire. It smelt … wonderful.

  The Brazilian jumped to his feet, his mouth open, first in surprise, then developing into a broad grin of joy. “I was worried for you.” His grin turned to a look of confusion. “Another way out, yes?”

  “Long story.” Megan fell in a heap beside the fire, her eyes on the cooking meat, the small dry blaze searing the humidity from her face and hands.

  Moema looked at each of them. “Where is Mr. Max? Where is … Jian … and the doctor John?”

  “Dead, all dead, I’m afraid.” Carla responded.

  Moema sat down. “And no bird?”

  “Yes, there were the birds, but … it got away.” Carla shook her head. “We don’t need them now. Mr. Max … Max Steinberg wanted them, not us.”

  Moema nodded solemnly. “It was very dangerous, I think.”

  “Yes, deadly. We’re lucky we escaped alive,” Matt said.

  Moema nodded again, knowingly. “My grandfather’s story was true.” He looked at each of them. “You were also warned by the Ndege. Next time, you will know better.”

  “They warned us all right, but as usual, we refused to heed them because we think we know better.” Matt snorted. “And there’s not going to be a next time.”

  Moema nodded, but didn’t comment. Matt guessed he already knew as much. Moema reached down for a cloth bag and emptied its contents onto the ground. Four more of the rat-like creatures tumbled out, already gutted and skinned. He started to thread them onto different sticks, and then carefully angled them over the small blaze to roast.

  Everyone’s eyes were on the food. Kurt was the first to break the spell. “Now, it’s time for dinner and then we should rest. But at dawn tomorrow, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  He looked at Matt, then at his pack, and winked. Matt guessed that Kurt was thinking about his gold, rather than dinner.

  CHAPTER 20

  Just before they turned in for the evening, Matt stepped from the jungle after relieving himself and walked straight into Kurt. The big man acted surprised, as if the meeting was coincidental, but they both knew what he wanted.

  Kurt gripped his shoulder and squeezed. “Thanks Matt … for looking after that gold. I’d never have been able to swim with all of it in my saddle bags.” He grinned and pressed Matt’s shoulder again, before dropping his hand and holding it out, palm up.

  Matt dropped the bag off his shoulder. He’d brought it with him because Kurt hadn’t taken his eyes off it. He pulled out the two heavy objects, each gleaming and polished, as if they had been cast just that morning. He looked at them in detail for the first time. One was a warrior, its face in the broad and flat style of Incan metal craft, a war club held down by its side. He’d need to do some research to identify if it was a character of any great status.

  The other he recognized immediately, seeing the coiled bird demon. Quetzalcoatl – the bringer of life and death. He smiled. Appropriate, he thought.

  He placed them in Kurt’s large hands – he had to bring both palms together to hold the heavy weight.

  “Damn things nearly drowned me.” Matt watched Kurt’s face, his broad grin of delight as he roughly stuffed each into a bag, and felt his anger rise at the disrespect. “You know, you’ll never get those out of the country, let alone through customs. They belong to Moema and his country. The authorities take a pretty dim view of stealing antiquities.” He watched Kurt’s face darken.

  Kurt tilted his head. “We don’t go through customs, remember? Once we’re on Max’s plane, we’re home.” He patted Matt on the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it.”

  “Yeah, well, the United States became a party to the 1970 UNESCO Convention on the Means of Prohibiting and Preventing the Illicit Import, Export and Transfer of Ownership of Cultural Property. Basically, that means the US government imposes import restrictions on antiquities originating outside of the United States to stop archeological theft.”

  Kurt just shrugged.

  “We’re talking fines, huge fines, even jail time.” Matt paused. “Look Kurt, you saved our lives, and you risked your own to go back for John, so I’m not going to dump you in it. But you should have a good hard think about what you’re doing.”

  Kurt’s face brightened as it became clear that Matt would keep his secret. He shrugged, and his face pulled into a semblance of thoughtfulness. “Okay, little buddy. Once I’m home, I’ll drop the Brazilian government a line and tell them about their gold. They can decide what they want to do about it.”

  He nodded toward the camp. “Let’s get some sleep … and, ah, thank you.”

  *****

  Before dawn Matt felt another body force its way into his sleeping bag. Megan breathed into his ear. “Are you awake?”

  “I am now.”

  Her hand went lower. “Mmm, awake and up, I see.” He could hear the playfulness in her voice. He rolled toward her, but knew that lovemaking would be impossible in amongst the group.

  “I’m sorry I was such an asshole to you, back when … but I thought … you know.”

  She looked confused, and then kissed him. “I think I know what you mean. And I’m sorry if I seemed a bit of a bitch sometimes … friends?”

  “Hmm,” he pretended to think about it. Her hand squeezed … hard. “Okay, friends, friends.”

  Soon, the sound of people moving about in the predawn light made the pair burrow down in the sleeping bag for a few more minutes’ privacy. They emerged only when someone prodded their bag.

  “Coffee’s on.”

  They met Carla at the fire Moema had started, and each accepted a mug of coffee.

  “I slept surprisingly well. A hot shower, and I might begin to feel half human again.” Carla looked up at the dark wall of the crater lip towering over them, its red blooms fragrant in the still morning air.

  “Was it real?”

  “Too real,” Megan responded.

  Carla nodded, still facing the crater wall. Her eyes had a haunted look, and Matt could tell she was thinking of John, Jian, and maybe even Max Steinberg.

  “Should we tell anyone?” She smiled flatly, adding, “Who’d believe us?”

  Matt thought for a few seconds. “Maybe. There’s all the Incan artifacts to consider. Their value to archeologists and museums would be priceless. But I guess they’ve remained hidden – and therefore, safe – for countless centuries. What government can promise that these days, when museums across Europe and the Middle East have all been looted during times of unrest? Scientists would also love to get in there to study the unique specimens, not to mention the evolutionary throwbacks. The problem is, it’s both a Garden of Eden and a Pandora’s Box.”

  Megan shook her head. “Not everyone who came would have noble values. It’s been hidden for millions of years, and it could be gone before the end of our lifetimes. Is it worth it?”

  Matt thought for a moment and then shook his head slowly. “No … no it’s not.”

  He turned to Kurt, who stood silently, listening to them. His mouth turned down as he nodded sagely.

  “I agree; best to keep it all a secret.”

  “Ha, so you can come back with a dozen men and a U-haul for the rest of the gold?” Megan shot back.

  Moema’s head snapped up, now following the conversation.

  “Keep it down will you?” Matt said.

  Kurt dismissed Megan’s suggestion with a wave. “Not a chance. Max is gone, so I am officially retired.” He pulled a face. “Come on Megan, I know I’m no saint, but I’m not a complete asshole either. Cut me some slack will you?”


  He turned and walked away, snapping his fingers at Moema. “Let’s go. I don’t think we need to enter the Ndege village again, so we can cut a more direct route home.”

  Moema glared at him for a moment, but nodded, kicking soil over the smoking fire.

  Matt watched him go. “Yeah, well, not a complete asshole.” His smile only touched one side of his mouth. He stepped in close to Megan, seeing her shoulders hunched, and looked at her with raised eyebrows.

  “Okay?”

  She continued to stare hotly at Kurt’s back. “I don’t trust that guy.”

  Matt shrugged. “I trust him more now than I did. But I’m glad you feel that way.”

  She looked skeptical, and he just shook his head. “Forget it. Anyway, he was there for us when it counted. So, ‘cut him some slack’, we shall. Let’s just get home first.”

  *****

  The return trek to the base of the Mato Grosso Plateau was faster than their original trip, as they didn’t need to follow antiquated maps, and could also take a more direct route. They just caught the onset of the rainy season, and the last two days were spent walking in pouring rain the temperature of blood. It did nothing to cool them down, and instead just added damp weight to their bones.

  They spent the evenings inside their tents, pouring salt onto the blood-bloated leeches that had managed to find their way inside boots and socks, between toes, and even up into sensitive parts of the groin.

  Carla kept to herself, jotting notes in her rapidly deteriorating notebook. Matt had tried to speak to her, but she was distracted – in her mind she was already back at home, working on a solution to the mite infestation. He had tried to focus on what she mumbled to him over her shoulder, but when she started touching on synergized butoxides and tanacetum geneses, it became obvious that their fields were vastly different, and she quickly lost him.

  The radio equipment was where they had left it, still double-wrapped in oilskin and plastic tarpaulins. Kurt immediately called in the Brazilian military helicopter, and in a few more hours they were watching the giant metal dragonfly gently descend toward them. Matt couldn’t help grinning – never had a machine looked so welcoming.

  They piled into the craft, gratefully falling onto metal seats and slumping, with Joop falling asleep in seconds. Matt once again looked out of the window as they lifted up past the magnificent green skyscrapers and the clouds of fine spray from the plateau’s waterfalls. It was odd – even though the chopper was sealed, as they lifted up out of the Gran Chaco, it was like the air around him suddenly became cleaner, clearer.

  Kurt sat up the front, headphones over his large head, talking rapidly. As Matt watched, he saw Kurt’s features go from confused to heated. After another few moments Kurt pulled the headphones from his head and stared incredulously at the pilot, who just shrugged. Kurt came back to join the team.

  Matt sat forward. “What’s up?”

  Kurt didn’t respond for a moment, his lips tight. He looked up. “We’ve got a problem.”

  Everyone waited, their attention fixed on the guide. He went on.

  “Seems our … pilot …” He motioned to the chopper pilot. “… not that guy, but Max’s pilot, is having difficulty organizing immigration and customs clearance.”

  Matt raised his eyebrows at Kurt, motioning to the weighty backpack in the corner of the craft, and then whispering, “Looks like Moema must have …”

  Kurt looked pained and shook his head. “No, no, the problem is at the US end. They’re not letting any Brazilian planes in … no, nix that, they’re not letting anything in, full stop. Seems there’s a national quarantine order been called. So Brazil is not allowing us to leave.”

  “Huh? But I need to speak to my office, and we need to report all the deaths on our expedition. What about Max Stei—” Carla was leaning forward, her eyes wide.

  Kurt waved his hand impatiently. “Now is not the time to be complicating things. Did you not hear me? There’s a general quarantine order.”

  Carla looked slightly stunned. “Oh.” She sat back. “By who? For what, where?”

  Kurt shrugged. “Oh, come on lady, who do you think? By you guys, of course, and for the entire fucking United States.”

  Carla shut her eyes and put a fist over her mouth, looking like she was trying to process what must have been unfolding in the US.

  Kurt spoke wearily. “Steinberg’s pilot is trying to negotiate a take-off based on the argument that we are returning home, it’s a private plane, and we will not be coming back.” He looked at each of them, his gaze steady. “Bottom line, though; we’ve got to be ready to move quickly.” He looked pained. “And maybe not all that legally, if need be.”

  Megan sat back and half closed her eyes. “I’m guessing that a few days in a five-star Brazilian hotel is now officially off the agenda.”

  Kurt held up his hands in a helpless gesture. “I think if we don’t get out now, we might never get home. Brazil might decide to close its own borders, and then …” He shrugged. “Look, the plane is on an outer runway, and the chopper will be touching down at a military hangar close by. We can wash off and change there.”

  Megan groaned. Carla seemed frozen, her eyes unfocussed and her mind obviously elsewhere.

  Joop shrugged. “Better than nothing. The sooner we are home the better, I think … for all of us.”

  *****

  The heat on the tarmac radiated back up at them from the black surface like a frying pan. No one complained; compared to the deep jungle’s stifling humidity, near-impenetrable vegetation, energy-sapping ankle-deep mud, and ever-hungry insect life, it was a veritable walk in the park.

  Each of the team took turns at the small soapy basin, and then changed into the clean clothes they’d left on Steinberg’s plane. They felt cleaner, if not all that rested or refreshed. Kurt’s arm strained when he carried his gold-laden backpack, keeping it close as always. He even stood it against his leg when he took his makeshift bath.

  Matt walked a few paces out into the hundred-degree heat on the tarmac and squinted as he watched Moema shrink into the distance. He’d miss the little guide. He wasn’t so sure that Moema would miss them, but he had been stoic and good-humored, and he had kept them safe.

  Matt waved to the speck in the distance. “Thank you.”

  He sighed. Unfortunately, the Brazilian’s good humor had leaked away, and Matt felt responsible. Kurt had paid him, so he had no reason to stay with them anymore. Moema had briefly said his goodbyes, then sought Matt out and shaken his hand. He continued to hold it tightly and stared into Matt’s eyes.

  “I know Mr. Kurt takes home some of the relics of our ancestors. I know that you know this,” he had said levelly.

  There was no accusation in the words, or anger, just a simple stated fact. Matt had just stood there with nothing to say. He felt guilty, complicit, and dishonest, even though he wasn’t the one removing the artifacts. But he knew about it and did nothing, so he felt just as responsible.

  He had tried to apologize, and promised to get them back, but the small man had stopped him. He didn’t seem all that fussed, just disappointed.

  “They will eventually find their way home – this year, next year, next hundred years … it doesn’t matter; they know they will always belong to us. Those who would steal our history discover that the gods and kings always have more than one curse. They always have the last laugh, Mr. Matt.”

  He had turned without another word, his body now a wavering speck in the tarmac’s blistering heat.

  Megan had come and stood beside him, watching Moema vanish in the haze. “What was that about?”

  Matt had shrugged. “I think Kurt, or all of us, just got cursed … again.” He clicked his teeth and turned.

  “Come on, let’s go home.”

  *****

  They climbed into Steinberg’s Gulfstream G550 and breathed in the deodorized air conditioning. Cold drinks were handed around as everyone dropped into large cushioned chairs. Kurt would
use the movie producer’s name and account for as long as he could. They figured the man owed him that, anyway.

  Kurt had told the pilot that Max Steinberg and the other missing passengers would be staying on for another few weeks, and that they were to leave immediately. This wasn’t unusual – Steinberg often changed his plans erratically, and the pilot was used to Kurt taking charge.

  In a few minutes the pilot’s voice came over the intercom, giving them some flight details and telling them to ready themselves for takeoff.

  He told them that he’d been briefed on the quarantine situation and was confident he could negotiate a landing point and facilities for them once they were in the air. His voice clicked off and there was dead air … for only a minute.

  His voice came back on, a little more urgent than before. “Dr. Nero, call coming in for you – a Dr. Francis Hewson. Says it’s urgent.”

  EPISODE 3: TERMINAL STAGE

  Maddie stroked Baloo’s long white fur from his head all the way down to his tail. The cat hadn’t been itself for days. It was probably like the rest of the family – sick and tired of being locked in the house. Daddy went out by himself now – no one else was allowed.

  They only ate food from tins, and the occasional lemon from the backyard. Mommy had to put a lot of sugar on them as they were really sour. Maddie hated them – she would have given anything for a blackberry juice poppa.

  The cat was agitated on her lap, continually moving, scratching, and pulling at itself.

  “Yuck.” Maddie held up her hand, flicking her fingers to remove the fur sticking to them. “Baloo, you’re shedding. You’re going to get into trouble if you make the sofa all hairy again.” She watched the cat tug at itself, working the itch. “And you probably have fleas as well.” She shook her hand. Some of the hair refused to detach, a gummy residue gluing it to her fingers. “Double yuck.” She wiped it on her leg.

  Maddie brightened. “Would you like a bath?” She turned the cat around on her lap and looked into its face. “That will make you smell better as well.”