Treasure of Lima

by Alex Archer

  If they didn’t do something quickly, he was going to exhaust himself and end up in more trouble than he was already in.

  Annja knew that quicksand was really nothing more than loose sand or earth mixed with water. As the water seeped into a particular stretch of ground, it forced the sand particles away from one another, making them less capable of supporting any significant weight. That in and of itself wasn’t a terrible thing. If this was all that happened, it wouldn’t be too bad. Hugo would get dirty, but he wouldn’t be in any real danger.

  The real problem was that the water acted as a kind of vacuum at the same time. As the weight of the object sank into the quicksand, it forced the water away from it, creating an air pocket that acted like a vacuum. It sucked the object even deeper into the muck before the water flowed back in to repeat the cycle all over again. The more a person struggled, the more vacuum action was generated by their movements and the deeper they sank.

  Marcos shouted something to Hugo in rapid-fire Spanish and started forward, shedding his pack as he went. He clearly intended to go in after his companion and help.

  Annja grabbed Marcos’s arm and spun him around, getting up in his face so that he gave her his attention.

  “You can’t go in there!” she said. “You’re even heavier than he is. All you’ll wind up doing is sinking even deeper and then I’ll have two of you stuck and one less person to use to help you break free. I need you here, with me.”

  “But he’s going to—”

  She didn’t let him finish. “Not if you do as I say. Now help me! Quickly!”

  Annja slipped off her backpack and pulled a coiled rope from its interior. She handed one end to Marcos. “Tie it off around that tree over there,” she told him, pointing to a thick banyan tree a few feet away.

  As he did so, Annja turned to Claire and said, “See if you can get Hugo to calm down. Tell him to stay still and we’ll pull him out.”

  Claire’s insistent tone finally got Hugo’s attention, and by the time Annja was ready to throw him the rope, he’d calmed down considerably. Of course, he had already sunk almost to his armpits by that point, so getting him out was not going to be easy.

  Annja’s aim was spot-on; the other end of the rope splashed down right next to Hugo and he snatched it up like a man afraid he’d disappear at any moment. Annja knew that wasn’t really a concern, for quicksand didn’t kill by drowning—despite the way Hollywood had tried to convince moviegoers—but through exposure to the sun and dehydration instead. It trapped you and held you there, leaving you at the mercy of the elements.

  Thankfully, Hugo wasn’t alone.

  Marcos came running back to where Annja and Claire were waiting.

  “Rope’s secure,” he said.

  “All right, grab hold of the line like this,” Annja said, demonstrating to Hugo how to hold the line with two hands and to brace himself with his feet for maximum pulling capability.

  Annja called out to Hugo, “Relax and let us do the work. We’re going to drag you out.”

  He nodded and gave her a thumbs-up without releasing his death grip on the rope.

  She turned to her two companions. “Slow and steady,” she told them. “No quick, hard jerks on the line. That quicksand he’s in is as strong as cement. If you yank on it, all you’ll do is pull his arms out of his sockets. He’ll be just as stuck but injured and unable to help on top of everything if that happens.”

  After nodding to show that they understood, Marcos and Claire grabbed the rope a few feet behind Annja.

  She glanced back at them.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready,” they said in chorus.

  “All right. Slow and steady, remember. Okay, go!”

  The three of them began to pull on the rope. Annja kept her gaze fixed firmly on Hugo, watching to be certain they that weren’t hurting him. The slack in the rope was quickly taken up and then the pressure against the suction holding him in place began.

  “Keep pulling,” Annja said to the others as the resistance became stronger. They strained against the muck, trying to pull him free. If they could just get a little traction...

  Hugo let out a short cry and Annja could see the pain etched across his face as he fought to hold on to the rope. The pressure against his arm sockets must have been intense, but he gritted his teeth and held on.

  “Keep pulling...”

  Annja dug in with her feet and leaned back, straining against the rope. There hadn’t been any give at all yet; it was like trying to pull a ten-ton block of granite with a golf cart.

  Marcos let out a string of expletives in Spanish behind her, grunting with the effort he was expending, and still nothing happened. When Hugo let out a anguished cry of pain from the pressure against his arms, Annja called it quits.

  “Enough! Enough!” she yelled, and they eased off the rope before they accidentally injured their comrade. Marcos and Claire looked stunned; they no doubt thought the three of them could haul him free, but were just now recognizing the truth that Annja already knew.

  This was going to be harder than it looked.

  “Hugo, you all right?” she called.

  He grimaced against the pain but nodded in response.

  “What on earth are we going to do now?” Claire asked, and Annja could hear the resignation in the other woman’s voice. Claire apparently thought they were done, that there wasn’t anything else that they could do to free their companion, but Annja was just getting started.

  She surveyed the area around where Hugo was trapped, weighing the variables, but in the end she knew she really didn’t have any choice.

  She was going to have to go in after him.

  17

  She said as much to the others.

  “You can’t be serious,” Claire said, but Annja was.

  Quite serious, in fact.

  “Look,” she said. “It’s obvious that we can’t pull him out. If we try again we’ll probably dislocate one or even both of his arms. He’s strong but not that strong. He can’t take that kind of pressure. We have to try something different.”

  “I agree, but why should you go?” Marcos asked. “I’m stronger than you.”

  “It’s not a question of strength. Have you ever been in quicksand before?”

  Marcos shook his head. “No, but I don’t see—”

  Annja cut him off.

  “I have,” she told him. “I know how to deal with it and, more importantly, how to get out of it. And I can get him out, as well. But I’m going to need both of you.”

  Ten minutes later she was ready.

  They had retrieved the rope, cleaned it of the muck that had gathered along its length as best they could and then tied the free end around Annja’s waist. They left the other end anchored around the tree.

  Annja explained what she was going to do as she set out toward Hugo.

  “Quicksand is twice as dense as a person’s body,” she said. “In theory, it’s actually impossible to drown in it, for it will support your weight if you can spread it out evenly.

  “I’m going to get into the pool with him and help him get his legs up onto the surface of the quicksand. If we can manage that, he should be able to just crawl across the surface to safety.”

  She knew the plan was a sound one; she’d survived a quicksand pit in the past doing that very thing. But the question remained as to whether she could get Hugo’s legs free of the suction holding them and how she would prevent her own legs from getting as stuck as Hugo’s now were.

  She cautiously began walking toward the spot where Hugo was trapped. The ground beneath her feet was solid at first and she crossed half the distance between the two of them before she began to see damp pockets here and there where underwater springs brought water up near the surface. She slowed down, avoiding
the areas she was certain were dangerous and keeping a watchful eye on the ground beneath her feet, looking for that telltale wobble that would indicate water beginning to pool beneath the surface.

  As she drew closer, Annja could see that Hugo was trapped in the middle of a quicksand pit that was about fifteen feet across. It was just sheer bad luck that he’d been moving so quickly that his stride had taken him away from the edge before he realized he was in danger. His subsequent thrashing about had only made things worse, but surveying the situation from this distance gave Annja a bit more hope than she’d had before. Hugo was only six feet or so from what looked to be the edge of the pit; if they could get his legs free he should be able to cross that far with ease.

  Annja looked back at the others standing with the rope in hand.

  “Remember, if I give the sign—” she raised her hand to show what she meant “—then start pulling me back, okay?”

  “Got it.”

  “All right, going in.”

  Annja carefully got down on her hands and knees near the edge of the pit and began to crawl forward. It only took a foot or so of forward movement before she began to feel the ground quiver beneath her weight, like pressing down on a bowl of jelly.

  Inching her way forward, she slid out onto the quicksand. Her hands dipped beneath the surface of the muck, but because she had her weight distributed across a wider surface she didn’t sink more than a few inches into it.

  Little by little, she made her way toward Hugo.

  The mud of the pit began to accumulate on her arms, legs and torso, and it grew harder to move the farther she got, as if she were pressing her way through wet cement.

  Hugo watched her coming toward him, eyes wide. She knew he was expecting her to fall through the crust at any moment and must have been wondering what on earth he was going to do about it when it happened.

  She wanted to tell him not to worry; that was one appointment she had no intention of keeping.

  Eventually, after what felt like an hour but was probably no longer than ten minutes, Annja was less than two feet away from Hugo. She could have reached out and touched him if she’d wanted, but she kept her hands to herself, worried that in his panic he might grab her and drag them both down deeper into the mire.

  Instead, she smiled at him, trying to ease his tension even a little, and said, “Hi, Hugo.”

  His smile in return was a bit more self-deprecating than hers. “Got us into a fine mess, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did, but that’s okay. We’re going to both get out of here without any problem.”

  He looked at her a bit dubiously, but answered well enough. “You’re the boss. I’d guess you’ve got a plan?”

  “Of course I do. We’re going to crawl out.”

  He nodded. “I’m a bit heavier than you, Miss Creed. I can’t crawl. I sink.”

  Annja laughed. “Trust me, Hugo, it has nothing to do with my weight. I’m going to get you loose and then we’re both going to crawl to the edge over there,” she said, pointing toward the solid ground ahead of them where the backpack still rested.

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. But you’re going to need to trust me.”

  Another self-deprecating smile. “Not like I’ve got much of a choice, do I?” Hugo replied.

  That was certainly a true statement.

  Annja could feel the ground shifting beneath her like a nervous horse shying on its rider and she knew they needed to get moving.

  “Rule number one,” she said, “is to move slowly and carefully. The more you thrash about and stir up the muck, the harder it will hold you down. Understand?”

  “Yes. Slow and easy.”

  “Good. Like I said, the plan is to get you up on top of the quicksand like I am. Once we do, we can crawl over to the edge and climb out.”

  “But my legs are stuck. I can barely move them.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here. I’m going to try to keep the muck away from your legs long enough for you to work them free. Once I do, you need to lift them up and spread your weight out so you don’t sink all over again. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, then, no time like the present.”

  Annja laid down on her side and let her arm sink into the quicksand close to Hugo’s body, following his leg downward as far as she could reach. It was like forcing her arm into a bucket of sand, heavy and tight, and she knew she wouldn’t have energy to do this for long. They had to get it right the first time.

  Once her arm was as deep as she could get it, she said, “Start trying to lift your leg again, but slowly.”

  The hope was that with her arm up against his leg, it would create some space between the mud and his limb, allowing it to move a bit more readily. She wasn’t looking for it to pop free in a single motion, but she’d take an inch of movement in the right direction, that was for sure.

  Hugo must have felt the same way, for he nearly shouted for joy when his leg moved upward half an inch.

  “Good. Now hold still for a moment.”

  When Hugo stopped moving, Annja slowly dragged her arm a bit higher from the muck, using his leg for interference the way he’d used her arm.

  In that fashion, inch by inch, they managed to free both of Hugo’s legs from the quicksand. With the two of them belly-down in the muck, they crawled across the top of the shifting mire toward the solid ground a few feet in front of them.

  Annja reached it first because she was not yet as tired as Hugo was, but he wasn’t all that far behind. They dragged themselves forward and up onto dry land, where they rolled over onto their backs, exhausted, like two drowning victims recently pulled from the ocean.

  Marcos and Claire were shouting something from the other side of the clearing, but Annja didn’t have the energy to figure out what they were saying. She managed to raise a hand over her head to show them they were alive and that seemed to do the trick.

  At least it made the shouting stop.

  She caught her breath and then forced herself to sit up. Glancing down, she found everything from her neck to her toes covered in a thick layer of grayish-brown mud that was starting to harden in the heat.

  Annja leaned over and smacked Hugo on the leg. “Come on, get up. We’ve got to get this junk off us.”

  As Hugo groaned in objection, Annja staggered to her feet, nearly falling over from the weight of the mud caked to the front of her body. The quicksand was bad, but so was the mud. The extra weight of it would make them clumsy, never mind the massive amounts of chafing that would result. Even more dangerous was the tendency for the stuff to gather in the armpits and groin areas, causing the victim’s flesh to erupt in angry infections and boils.

  The clothes had to go.

  She glanced over at Hugo, who still hadn’t sat up yet.

  “Come on, Hugo, up and at ’em. We have to get these clothes off.”

  For a moment she didn’t think he’d heard—maybe his ears were clogged with grit?—but then he slowly forced himself to sit up.

  “Take our clothes off?” he asked wearily, with no sign of enthusiasm whatsoever for getting undressed alongside a single woman, which Annja found amusing.

  “I’ll try not to take your lack of enthusiasm personally, but yes, you heard me correctly. Take your clothes off and quit wasting time.” She gave him an abbreviated explanation of how miserable he would be after prolonged contact with the muck that they’d just slogged their way through. That was more than enough to get him up and moving.

  Annja was trying to figure out a way to take her mud-encrusted T-shirt off over her head when Marcos and Claire emerged from the jungle to her left, having taken the long way around the clearing to be safe. In hand were Annja’s and Hugo’s packs.

  Annja clumped over, took her bac
kpack from Claire and held up a mud-covered finger. “Not a word about my hair,” she told the other woman with mock severity, which garnered the laugh she’d been looking for. She’d learned long ago that a little lighthearted laughter went a long way to relieving the tension after a potentially dangerous event. She didn’t want the team stiffening up and worrying about continuing onward after they’d come this far already.

  Satisfied she’d achieved her desired effect, she stalked off behind a few trees to find some privacy while, behind her, Marcos bent to try to help Hugo out of his boots and jeans.

  Without water to spare, there was only so much Annja could do to clean herself off but she knew she’d feel better for having made the attempt. Rather than fight with her now-hardening clothing, she chose the easy way out and simply cut her shirt and shorts off with the blade of her knife. She then used a hand towel and some water from her supply to clean some of the grit from her skin and hair, before dressing in a fresh set of clothing.

  As she finished, Annja sensed that someone was watching her from the trees behind her.

  18

  Being watched was a familiar sensation for Annja, not only due to her penchant for dangerous confrontations that tended to breed enemies of a certain type but also because she happened to be the host of an internationally broadcast television show. People liked celebrities and little by little, like it or not, that was what Annja was becoming.

  She did not, however, expect to run into any rabid fans out here in the midst of the jungle, so the fact that the watcher was remaining unseen put a little different spin on the situation.

  Her first thought was that it might be an animal. Cocos Island had several species large enough to cause such a reaction, but there seemed to be a sense of intent to the feeling that was all too human in nature. She was being watched and it wasn’t just idle curiosity from one species to another.

  That meant there was a specific purpose behind it.

  Annja did nothing to reveal the fact that she was aware of the scrutiny, just continued with what she was doing, but now she was watching the nearest tree line from beneath half-lidded eyes, searching for something that didn’t belong. If she could pinpoint where the watcher was hiding...