by Greig Beck
It wasn’t a question. “Yes.” Emma looked out over the jungle for a moment. “Yes; if he’s alive, I’ll bring him home.”
Ataca looked saddened. “All my life, ah, one person only ever comes back from the bad place.” He looked up into her eyes. “That was you.”
She half-smiled. “And I will again.”
Ataca’s dark eyes slid to her group. “And will they?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, more forcefully than she wanted to.
The Pemon Indian grunted and went to turn back to his canoe but paused. “I will ask my gods to protect you, again.” He looked toward her team once more, who were unpacking the last boxes. “But I don’t think the gods can protect everyone.”
“Wait.” She rushed back to the plane, drew out a plastic bag, and jogged back to the small man who was already sitting in his canoe. She crouched beside him and put the bag in front of him. “This is for you, as a way of thanking you…for everything.”
He looked in the bag and his eyes lit up. It was only a bottle of whiskey, a few hundred American dollars, and two shiny new hunting knives. Ataca smiled, nodded, and reclosed the bag.
He picked up his paddle. “I will come back, after the wettest season has ended. I hope you will be here. With your friends.” He pushed away from the bank.
Emma raised a hand to wave, but the small man never turned. Thank you, she thought. But this time, I hope I don’t need you.
Drake Masterson joined her and stood watching Ataca disappear with his hands on his hips.
“Your guide?”
“He was.” She turned to him. “I wish we could get him to come with us. He knows more than he’s telling us.”
“About the Amazon, sure. But about where we are going; probably not more than you do now,” Drake responded. “I know the Pemon; they’re very superstitious and see the jungle as a living thing which they’re a part of. Your friend might be fine for a while, but also might not be able to hold it together if some of his gods or demons come to life before his eyes.”
She scoffed and looked over her shoulder. “And you think they will?”
Drake grinned. “Time will tell.” He turned about. “This will be base camp; where we’ll launch from and where we all agree to return to—even if we split up.” He checked his watch. “According to your timetable, we now have twenty-one hours, seventeen minutes until this phenomenon begins. So let’s call ‘em all in, so we can begin.”
“Yep; first things first.” Emma went and checked the plane was fully unloaded, and then confirmed her instructions with Jake—he was to be back in four days. If everything went to plan, they should all be back here waiting for him.
The older man nodded and saluted from the edge of his cap, and then started the propeller. Emma backed up, squinting and hugging herself as she watched the seaplane maneuver out toward the center of the river, accelerate, and then take off.
Jake didn’t circle back, salute from the cockpit, or dip his wings like they did in the movies. He just lifted and headed home. Emma felt emptiness in the pit of her stomach as the plane vanished into the distance. It was like watching the modern world leave her behind, and now she belonged to the jungle.
She blew air through her lips, turned, and then clapped her hands once. “Okay, everyone, in here, please.”
The group assembled in front of her. Behind them, stacked in the center of the clearing on the riverbank, was their pile of boxes and bundles. Phase one of their journey was complete.
“This is base camp. It will take us a day to reach the plateau—”
“I thought it was going to be less than that?” Andy complained.
“Hopefully, it will be less,” she replied. “The last time I was here, navigating via the streams, it took us several days. We’ll be able to lift up above all that, and if the winds are favorable, then yes, we should arrive in plenty of time. We can be early, but we cannot be late. So, you might notice we’re building in slack for any unforeseen eventualities.”
Emma looked up at the sky, and then at her watch. “From now on, we treat this expedition like it’s a military mission. Drake will be calling the shots with me acting as advisor.” She waited. And though Helen’s lips were clamped, and Camilla seemed a little amused, there was no pushback. She held out a hand to the formidable Special Forces captain. “Drake.”
“Thank you, Emma.” Drake Masterson had both hands on his hips as he eyeballed the group. “This is a rescue mission. And from what we understand, it’s going to be a damned dangerous one at that. We will be entering extremely hostile territory. My job, and the job of my men, will be to keep everyone alive.”
Andy’s hand shot up.
“Go.” Drake nodded to him.
“Are we launching the balloon from here?” Andy asked.
“Yes, but not yet. Tasks will be handed out to everyone, and I mean everyone. Because everyone here needs to pull their weight, and no one is here just because they have a nice smile.”
“Damn,” Juan said with a grin.
“To begin with, my guys get the hard stuff.” He nodded to his men. “Everyone else, under the supervision of Emma, will be unpacking the gear and laying it all out. We’ll need to suit up in our jungle clothing, and also do a weapons check, load up our packs, and then…”
Drake looked at the forbidding wall of jungle. “…then, we’ll be launching the balloon.”
“And what will you be doing?” Andy said with a cocky grin.
Drake turned to him. “To launch the balloon safely, we need about an extra hundred feet of clearing. So for the next few hours, Fergus, Brocke, Ajax, and myself will be hacking out some more space. We’ll then lay out the canopy bag and give it a once-over. We’ll construct the basket and check the heat blaster.” He lowered his brow to Andy. “You are welcome to pitch in, Mr. Martin.”
Andy shook his head and held his hands out. “See these? These are academic’s hands, and the toughest things they’ve dealt with lately are paper cuts and maybe a hot coffee spill.”
Drake snorted. “I’ve read your bio, Mr. Martin, and I know you’ve done plenty of fieldwork in some pretty nasty places. We could use your help.”
Andy puffed up a little. “Okay, sure, I’m in.”
“Good man,” Drake said, and then checked his watch. “It’s too late to launch today, as by the time we’ve done all of this, nightfall will have overtaken us. Launch is first thing in the morning.”
He looked along their faces. “Questions?”
There were none, and he nodded to Emma. “Then let’s begin.”
CHAPTER 16
Venezuelan National Institute of Meteorological Services
“Well, well, well; old Santiago was right after all.” Mateo folded his arms as he read the data on the bank of screens before him. He turned to the young man sitting at the desk behind him.
“Hey, Nicolás, you see that storm cell gathering energy over the northeastern jungle?”
Nicolás had an open-mouthed grin, but his brow was furrowed. “Yes, I see it, but I don’t believe it.” He switched to the satellite images. “It doesn’t make sense—it’s just over the deep eastern jungle. But nowhere else.” He swiveled his seat to Mateo.
“It comes again.” Mateo turned back to his screen. Santiago, his former boss, mentor, and friend had retired just last year. And he remembered well seeing the same phenomenon exactly ten years ago. Back then, he was the fresh-faced kid, and just like Nicolás was as confused as he was intrigued by the occurrence.
“Every ten years, almost to the day, and always over just that part of the jungle, there looks to develop a localized hurricane, but coming out of nowhere, and centralized. But strangely, it stays centralized.” Mateo watched the cell become ever more dense every few moments.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. Or even ever read about this unique occurrence.” Nicolás turned back to his screen, and his fingers raced over the keyboard. “It’s impenetrable,” he breathed.
Mateo chuckled. “Give up; I tried the same thing when I first saw it. Satellite, thermal, or even geographic readings over the site are near useless.”
As they watched, even the satellite image started to blur over the affected area as if there looked like a smudge was starting to obscure his screen. The localized cloudbank swirled and was so dense it looked like an error in the software or hardware.
“Every ten years, we have what the locals down there call the wettest season.” Mateo watched, feeling like an old friend had come to visit them again.
“What should we do about it?” Nicolás asked.
“Do about it?” Mateo turned. “What should we do about the sun coming up, or going down? Or about the sky being blue, or the trees green? We do nothing but observe, document, and enjoy a unique weather phenomenon.”
Mateo reached forward to pull a battered old paper folder from a shelf. He looked at it for a moment, and then thumbed through it, finding the pages he wanted.
“History repeats. This was given to me ten years ago by my former boss; you’ll see my notes of the last occurrence.” He held it out. “And now I hand it to you to make your notes.”
Mateo pointed to the open pages as Nicolás read. “Every ten years, like clockwork, there is a unique phenomenon that happens in these parts.” He shrugged. “The conditions manifest over a single area, only remain for a few days, and then just as abruptly, dissipate and then vanish. It’s been happening for as long as anyone can remember. Maybe forever.” He looked up.
Mateo nodded. “Theories are that it is caused by an upswelling of thermal activity in the area that alters ground heat, and then the associated humidity and air density.”
Nicolás flipped back through the book. “2018, 2008, 1998…” He let the pages fan. “…there are pages stuck in, handwritten, that go back hundreds of years.” He looked up. “What happens down there?”
“No one knows,” Mateo said. “Our best technology can’t see through it, so for all intents and purposes, whatever is or was there ceases to exist as far as we’re concerned.” He chuckled. “Maybe everything goes to the Land of Oz.”
“We should go there,” the young meteorologist said.
“No, we won’t. And I don’t think anyone would be mad enough to try and visit that strange cauldron at this time. Even if they could get there,” Mateo said wearily.
Nicolás nodded, and then began to read from the notebook. “One day, someone will.” He paused. “Hey, the weather satellite will be in a complimentary position for the next twenty-four hours. Mind if I continue to monitor the site?”
“Knock yourself out, kid.” Mateo had already lost interest.
CHAPTER 17
Ben had been traveling all through the night, like he had for the last few days. Dawn was coming fast and he needed to find shelter soon. Though there were the nocturnal night hunters, there were fewer of them than the ones who hunted by sight.
Ben had found out the hard way that the daylight hunters, even the smaller ones, had eyesight comparable to that of birds of prey, with vision that was mostly triggered by activity.
When he had to move during the day, it meant having to crawl along the ground, avoid rapid movement, and stop for many minutes and just let his eyes scan the foliage.
Many times, he had seen them, the hunters, like weird crocodiles standing up on hind legs, remaining motionless in the dark of the jungle, just waiting for something to amble close enough for them to ambush. And they were fast—the prey animals rarely outran a pack of hunters.
Ben often marveled at the predator’s natural camouflage—mottled patches or splotches, tiger stripes, or skin that looked to be able to mirror its surroundings and change color.
He looked up at the outline of the plateau in the distance, just recognizable against the blush of the sunrise. Clouds were beginning to form over its surface and were slowly rotating. Around him, a soft rain fell. It was as warm and slick as oil, giving him good sound cover.
He couldn’t help grinning—after 10 years, he was coming home. Ben wanted to run forward, screaming and waving, his impatience drawing him nearly mad with an urge to act, and fast. His long wait might be finally over. But he knew that impatience would kill him as surely as putting a gun to his head.
He’d find shelter now, and then in the next night, he’d begin to work his way up the slope to the tabletop mountain.
“I’m coming, Emma,” he breathed. “I’m coming home.”
CHAPTER 18
At dawn, Emma woke to the sound of a tiny whine and opening her eyes saw the cloud of gnats, mosquitoes, and larger insects trying to find a way in through her mosquito netting.
She sat up and saw that Drake and the others were already moving about. They had all spread around a campfire at the water’s edge, with one of the soldiers taking turns on guard. Though the river here moved too fast for small caimans, there were bigger ones this far in, and sleep was when people made themselves vulnerable, so there was no need to take unnecessary risks.
She watched the dark water for a moment more as she pulled her knees up to her chest. The thought of waking to the feeling of her foot clamped in a caiman’s jaws and being dragged into the water sent shudders up her spine. But this green hell was something she’d only have to experience for a number of days, and she tried to imagine what it was like for Ben, who was forced to live in a jungle far more dangerous, day after day for a decade.
If he was still living in it.
He’s alive, she demanded of herself. She had to believe that for herself and for everyone else she was driving forward.
At her feet were her jungle clothes ready to put on: the tiger-striped Army uniform, belt with knives, ammunition pouches and holster, plus the calf-high boots with in-built snakebite armor.
Emma grabbed her water, sipped, and began to dress, making sure she stayed within the netting until she could reapply her chemical shield.
It took her ten minutes to work everything out, lather on the bug spray, and then throw back her netting. Brocke was grilling some fish he’d caught, and Drake, Fergus, and Ajax had laid out their ordnance, checking it over.
Emma turned from the river to the jungle and chuckled. “Holy wow.”
The guys must have worked like machines all afternoon and evening, and now she saw what they’d accomplished. The clearing they had arrived on was now three times as large, and several hills of green debris had been pushed up to one side.
The orange balloon canopy was laid out, and she could see why they needed so much clearing space—it looked huge. Also, the basket had been constructed from the panels—it was about ten feet square, light but formidable, and would fit them all in with room to spare.
Emma inhaled the humid jungle air deep into her lungs. She felt good; she was certainly getting her money’s worth from Ben’s old comrades and felt vindicated for bringing them along.
She also knew they weren’t doing it just for the money—the motto: no one left behind, was something that was in their DNA. Ben was more than just a fellow soldier; he was a blood brother to them. They’d bring him home, or she bet they’d die trying. Her years of planning were taking shape, and so far, she regretted nothing.
Emma saw that Andy was lending a hand with the weapons, and even Helen was in amongst the soldiers, chatting and helping out. She then looked across to her outliers—Camilla and Juan. The pair hovered close by, and from time to time, Juan would take a picture or tell a joke, a funny one, by the look of the expression on the team’s faces.
Their work was nearly done, and she thought if nothing else, they all certainly looked the part in their camouflage outfits—a private army about to do battle deep in the Amazon jungle’s dark and mysterious center.
Emma reached for her holster, slid out, checked, and then replaced her sidearm—it was a new SIG Sauer M17, straight off the line. The 9mm handgun was a dark earth tone, and was lightweight, corrosion-resistant for tropical environments, accurate, and reliable. Against the advers
aries she had in mind, it might prove to be more of an irritant. But it made her feel safe, and she had practiced enough over the years to know she could hit a dime from 50 feet.
She’d feel even better when she was packing an M4 rifle. She almost felt…confident.
Emma went to turn away but noticed that Camilla was staring. She nodded to the journalist, and in return, the woman scurried to the fire, poured two coffees, and came toward her, holding them both in front of her.
She held one cup out. “Good morning, Emma. Did you sleep?”
Emma took it and raised it to the woman. “Thank you, and yes, surprisingly well. You?”
Camilla shrugged. “A little.”
Emma just nodded. Given they’d be on the plateau soon, she might regret not getting more sleep.
“So.” Camilla sipped her brew. “Where do you think Ben will be?”
Emma noticed her eyes twinkled as if they were sharing a secret. “Somewhere on the tepui. I don’t know where. Maybe he’ll find us.”
“Really?” Camilla lowered her cup. “Do you really think he’s alive? I mean, really?”
“That’s why I’m here. We’re all here.” Emma turned to face the smaller woman.
“Closure.” Camilla nodded. “For you and for Cynthia Cartwright. Can’t have been easy on her. You coming back, but her son, not.” She looked up into Emma’s face and tilted her head. “I hear she’s not well these days.”
Emma’s eyes narrowed. “That generation was from far stronger stock than us. She’s fine.”
“But if she dies, who inherits the Cartwright estate?”
“Ben does,” Emma fired back.
Camilla turned side on. “But if Ben—”
“Ben does.” Emma’s jaw jutted momentarily. “He will be coming back.” She leaned in close to the woman’s face. “Got something to say, say it.”
Emma’s raised voice turned every head in the camp. She noticed that Juan was filming her and Camilla.