River of Desire: A Romantic Action Adventure/Thriller

by Winn, J. K.

  He stopped what he was doing and looked over at her. “I’m surprised with what you know, you’d go anywhere near this plague, government clearing or not.”

  “I need to do this.” She shoved her backpack under a seat. “Did you know that this isn’t the first Hemorrhagic fever to surface in South America?”

  News to him. “Pray tell.”

  She bent over and ran a hand through river water, then pulled it abruptly back, as though remembering the croc. “A number of people were infected with a Hemorrhagic virus along the Junin River in Argentina in 1953. In the early 1960s, an epidemic raged through the Andean region of Bolivia.”

  Dylan steadied the raft and followed Leah in. “You certainly know your epidemic history.”

  On the river, wind scattered hair about her face. She brushed it aside with a hand. “It’s my job to research before setting out to write an article.”

  The gush of the water soon drowned out her words. She tried to belt out more as they navigated a particularly steep section, then gave up and shifted restlessly in her seat.

  Spying a Macaw, she became so excited, she was able to out shout the river. “Look! A gorgeous blue parrot.”

  Her enthusiasm at the sight of the common jungle bird tickled him. Except to please tourists, he rarely noticed the birds anymore. They were everywhere in the jungle. “Actually a Hyacinthine Macaw.”

  “Its feathers look iridescent when they catch the sunlight!” She kept the bird in view until it flew downstream into the trees.

  Near dusk, he located a clearing on the bank and brought the raft to rest alongside the river. Leah looked dubiously at the bank before stepping gingerly to shore. She obviously didn’t want to repeat her earlier performance. Dylan followed, tent in hand.

  While he speared a South American Catfish for food, Leah busied herself setting up camp. He returned with the catch and soon the camp stove seared the fish with a sizzle. The smell of frying fish filled the air.

  Leah sat on a mat and hugged her legs close for warmth. When shivers set in, she retrieved a jacket from the raft and moved as close to the stove as she could. “So, what do you do for fun in this part of the world?”

  “I lead tours.”

  “That’s work,” she said with a flap of the hand. “I mean play.”

  His stomach churned at the word. Play. He’d forgotten long ago how to play; how to laugh aloud; how to dance. When had life become so serious? “I hang out at Felix’s.”

  She wagged her head at him.

  He ignored the implied reproach. “What do you do for fun where you come from?”

  “Lots. I love independent films, local theater. I hike. Ski…” she pointed at her clothes, “shop. For starters.”

  “What made your paper decide to send you here?”

  “My paper didn’t decide. I talked my editor into it after doing my research. The sudden occurrence of a Hemorraghic Fever in the Amazon jungle is big news, especially since the type of disease we’re seeing is still a mystery. It looks a lot like a typical Hemorraghic Fever, but it has an unusual respiratory component.” She hugged herself tighter. “The scientists I spoke to believe the disease’s source is somewhere deep in the jungle, possibly animal droppings or insects. By tracing its path, we may learn how it’s transmitted.”

  “Why your interest in diseases?”

  “Didn’t I tell you I almost went to medical school?”

  “And...?”

  “I want the chance to have my name on a headline.”

  Fat splattered on the back of his hand. He blotted it with the dishtowel clipped to his belt. She wasn’t telling the whole story. “Fame wasn’t your only motivation. Was it?”

  “You’re instincts are right on. I do have a more personal motive.”

  He seasoned the filets’, creating a spicy scent that stirred his appetite just like her last remark had sharpened his curiosity. “What’s that?”

  She pinched her brows, forming a line of concentration between them. “My maternal grandfather emigrated from Germany to Peru after the Second World War. My mother tried to locate him years ago and narrowed her search to the Napa river, north of Iquitos. He’s an old man now…” she hesitated, bit her lower lip in thought, “...I don’t know, maybe mid-eighties, if he’s even alive. I’m hoping to take advantage of my time after this assignment’s done to try and locate him. If it’s not too late, it might be my last chance.”

  “Why is it so important to find him after all these years?”

  The brow line deepened. “I heard from one of the docs on staff at the CDC that the Machiguenga are saying an elderly white doctor with an unusual accent visited their village right around the time of the first outbreak. His guide told them he was from up the Napa, north of Iquitos. I can’t imagine how many foreign doctors live up the Napa, but there can’t be too many.” Looking up at him, she continued, “I have to find out if he’s my grandfather. It’s the first lead I’ve had and I have to follow it.”

  He had stooped to be eye-to-eye with her. “Did your mother tell you anything else about him?”

  “No. She took everything she knew to her grave, although I don’t think she knew much more than I told you. She wasn’t reared by him.”

  Dylan reached over and flipped the fish. “Kind of an ambitious schedule you’ve set for yourself. To explore the source of the hemorrhage fever and have a reunion with your grandfather all in one week’s time.”

  She laughed. “I can’t do it all this week. Remember, I’m not returning to Cuzco with you.”

  Annoyed by her casual, almost flippant attitude, he moved to a flat rock and popped the top on a beer, all the while wondering where she’d be, slipping into mud holes or even worse, without him to haul her out of trouble. “You never mentioned traveling on alone after this week.” His reaction surprised him. One minute he’d rejoice at the prospect of washing his hands of her. The next he wanted to talk her out of her risky plans. “How do you plan to go about this search?”

  “I’ll figure it out after the assignment is completed. I’m fairly resourceful, you know.”

  “So I’ve gathered.” He removed the pan from the portable stove, ladled hot food onto a tin plate, then handed it to her. “Lots of people have no family past their parents.”

  “I know, and I really don’t have anything to complain about. I have a great job and all the trappings. A condo, a car, trips to the wine country. By most people’s standards, I live like a queen..”

  “So why can’t you leave well-enough alone?”

  “I simply can’t. It’s hard to explain, but I have a feeling...like there’s a big hole in my history I need to fill.”

  “You might be rowing up the wrong river if you think finding this grandfather of yours will bring you personal satisfaction. Most of the Germans who ended up in South America after the Second World War were Nazi’s fleeing their just desserts. You might not like the things you learn about him. Most likely, he’s long gone by now and you’ll reach a dead-end and go home frustrated by the failure.”

  “Maybe, but I can’t leave without giving it a go. I’d never forgive myself.”

  He took his plate and sat across from her. “Tomorrow we’ll head out to the Machiguenga village. We should arrive there by mid-afternoon.”

  “Good.” Her shaking hand almost knocked his gourmet concoction off her plate.

  “The temperature’s really dipping tonight. You have to be made of steel to handle this river.”

  She lifted the fork and another shudder passed through her. “I can take anything this river dishes out,” she said, just before the forkful of fish slid from her prongs.

  “This has been the easy, comfortable part of the trip. Once we come down from the mountains, the fun begins. If the heat and humidity don’t destroy you, the mosquitoes will. We’ll face things you’ve never imagined in your wildest fantasies.”

  Defiantly, she straightened. “If you can survive this trip, so can I. Versteke?”

  “
I hope so.” Her shivers had become so pronounced that he fetched a light plastic-coated sheet from the raft and draped it around her shoulders. “This may help.”

  In a matter of seconds, her shaking stopped. “Thanks. This is heaven.”

  “No problema.” He grabbed their plates and placed them in a pan of hot water. “For pay-back, how about making yourself useful?” he asked, then handed her the dishcloth and opened another Cuzqueno.

  * * *

  By the time the boat pulled up to a rickety wooden dock, Leah’s leg had gone numb beneath her and she had trouble climbing wobbly rope steps on her tingling foot. At the top all she could see was jungle. “Where’s the village?”

  “Follow me.” Dylan scooped up his pack and led the way down a heavily forested path through dense undergrowth. To complicate matters, the trail would disappear at times behind a boulder or tangle of giant roots, only to magically reappear.

  Struggling to keep up with him, beads of perspiration cascaded down Leah’s face. Her mouth dry, a terrific thirst tightened her throat. A branch snagged her left arm, ripping her skin through her shirt. Vines clutched at her hair and clothes, slithering wetly across her face. She clawed them aside.

  After what seemed an endless hike, she spied a clearing with a large, thatched tent-shaped structure. Wiping away the sweat that dribbled into her eyes, she looked past it to a cluster of two story high wooden shacks with tin roofs, but no sidewalls. Splayed open like gutted fish, their skeletons displayed, she noticed how cut trees held up planks that served as a floor for the top story. Beyond the buildings, three coffee-colored loincloth-clad boys played soccer in a make-shift field. Otherwise, the area was deserted.

  Behind Dylan, an old woman, wiry once-black hair shot full of silver strands, slowly made her way from the nearest dwelling. After a moment, others followed. A second woman with deep lines etched into her face approached Dylan and spoke to him in a unknown tongue.

  Dylan gestured toward Leah and she heard her last name. Assuming this was an introduction, she nodded to the woman who answered with a toothless grin.

  The woman turned back to Dylan with a sad expression. Her voice rose and fell in a torrent of emotion.

  Concerned, Leah touched his arm. “What did she say?”

  “She’s talking about the plague. She wants to know why it happened; what the people did to deserve it; when will it end?” The woman’s plaintive tone tinged Dylan’s rough translation.

  A lump caught in Leah’s throat. There were no answers to these agonizing questions. “Can you reassure her we’re here to find out how we can help her.”

  “I’ve already explained that the government has sent Señora Roberts to find the source of the virus, and when that is found, the medicine will be sent to the village.”

  Leah was aghast. “What did you tell her that for?”

  “I had to offer the villagers some ray of hope. It’s close enough to the truth to calm their panic and get their cooperation. This way they’re less likely to see us as intruders.”

  The woman said something and Dylan nodded.

  “She says the dead can’t even get a proper burial here. They used to have a ceremony, wash the bodies and place them fully clothed in a grave with their belongings. During the epidemic, they were buried quickly, without fanfare. The people are afraid with the lack of ritual, the dead won’t be allowed to join their ancestors.”

  The old woman gestured at the village huts and spoke rapidly.

  Dylan’s frown deepened. “In a nearby village, people have burned the homes of the ill. It’s devastating to these people. What can I tell them?” Dylan stared past her into the distance, noticeably upset.

  Surprised by this display of Dylan’s sensitive side, Leah touched his arm. The lump in her throat had mutated into a warm swelling ache in her chest. “I’m sure you said all you could.”

  Their eyes met for a highly charged emotional moment. Then she looked away.

  He cleared his throat. “Now’s the time to gather information, while we have their attention. What would you like me to know?”

  “Would you ask them about the first plague victim, Kokush Grosso.”

  At the name, an old man in a stained white shirt and baggy trousers shook his head vehemently and spoke up.

  Dylan turned to her. “They won’t discuss the death. According to tribal beliefs, to speak about the dead would provoke misfortune.”

  “That certainly complicates things,” she mumbled to herself.

  Dylan stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “I’m afraid you’re not in L.A anymore. This is the Machiguenga’s land. You must respect their traditions.”

  “I realize that, but there’s so much I need to know. Is there anyone else we can question?”

  “Most of the village has been wiped out from the plague. The younger survivors fled. The old people, the ill, and the orphans are the only ones left. The government medical staff has moved on to other villages where the disease is still rampant.” He pointed at a tent in a clearing not far from the village. “They were camped over there, but it’s abandoned now.”

  A grizzled man, with hunched back and bowed legs, approached Dylan. A bark band encircled his forehead and ruby lines etched his leathery face. His youthful shock of straight brown hair contrasted with the rest of his appearance.

  Dylan shook the old man’s hand and spoke to him in the tribal tongue. He turned back to Leah. “This is Tabati Grosso, Kokush’s grandfather. He is the last of his family. The others all succumbed to the plague.”

  Leah nodded to him and said, “Lo siento,” hoping his Spanish was good. Then she turned back to Dylan. “Could you ask if anything unusual happened in the village around the time of the outbreak?”

  While Dylan and Tabati spoke, an old woman in a formless floral dress limped toward them and stood by. Leah acknowledged her and the woman bowed her head solemnly in return.

  Dylan caught her eye. “Tabati tells me an elderly white shaman, an outsider from afar, visited the village and stayed with Tabati’s family once before the epidemic, and again a full moon after. The white man’s guide told Tabati he is a doctor from north of Iquitos on the river.”

  That confirmed what she’d already been told. “Can he tell us anything more about him?”

  After another consultation, Dylan said, “They say the way he spoke Spanish was different than the medical investigators from Lima-or even mine.”

  “So the doctor was neither Peruvian nor American? Ask him if he caught a name.”

  “Nope, but the old fellow did have a distinguishing feature-a red spidery birthmark on the back of his neck. Tabati noticed it because that type of mark is a bad omen among his people.”

  Leah nibbled at a knuckle. “The timings really coincidental.”

  Dylan again talked to Tabati. “Tabati says the shaman drew blood from his grandson Kokush, and others in the village.”

  “Curious. Ask him when the doctor did this, before or after the sickness began.”

  “Both before and after,” he told Leah. “Why? What are you thinking?”

  “It would be helpful to find out what this doctor knows about the virus.”

  Dylan gave her a knowing glance. “Like anything would stop you...”

  The old woman in the flowery dress had crept up behind Dylan while he was speaking and now tapped him on the shoulder. After addressing her, he turned to Leah. “Leah, this is Neauk.”

  “Holá,” Leah said to the old woman.

  “Neauk has invited us to her house for tea.”

  Leah had almost forgotten her thirst. With the invitation, it came back like a bad dream. “Gracias.”

  They finished their conversation with the villagers, then followed Neauk to her house, past chickens and ducks nesting on the ground floor, and climbed rickety stairs to the second story. Inside, Leah immediately caught sight of a bundle in a hammock and went over to it. “It’s a boy, Dylan. What’s wrong?”

  Dylan asked Neauk. “Neauk�
��s grandson has been sick four days. She’s the only one left to care for him.”

  Leah stared at the small wrapped package of a seventeen-or eighteen-year-old boy in a hammock and was disturbed by his profoundly ill appearance. “Why wasn’t he removed to a medical tent?”

  “Neauk kept her grandson’s illness quiet. She didn’t want them to take him away. She says no one returns from the medicine compound.”

  Now there was no medical staff around to help him. When the boy groaned, Neauk cringed. Leah’s heart went out to the old woman and she offered her an encouraging smile. “Maybe we can do something to help.”

  Neauk went over to a fireplace and returned with two coconut shells filled with fluid from a pan where it had been simmering. She presented them to Leah and Dylan.

  A citrus smell tickled Leah’s nostrils. “What is this?”

  Dylan took a sip of the hot liquid. “Local tea,” he assured her.

  Leah cautiously tasted the bitter-sweet tea. “What kind? It’s delicious.”

  “Lemon grass. It grows wild around here. They also use it in Inka Cola. Did you try it in Cuzco?”

  “The Inka Cola in Cuzco is a lot sweeter than this. Matter of fact, too sweet.”

  He handed the empty coconut shells to Neauk. “The Peruvians do like their sugar.”

  From the corner, Leah could hear the boy’s labored breathing. “Would you ask Neauk if she’d mind my looking more closely at her grandson?”

  Dylan discussed the request with Neauk. “Not at all. Neauk doesn’t know what to do for him. She had the tribal medicine man treat the boy, but he still grows sicker.”

  “Let’s take a look.” After donning a hazmat suit, boots and gloves, Leah cautiously approached the young man and pushed back the covers. The boy’s skin was the color of river mud and his eyes were as startlingly red as a Toucan’s feathers. Oblivious to what went on around him, he stared at the ceiling, gasping for breath. She tentatively pinched his skin, noting normal elasticity was missing. “When was the last time he took fluids?”

  “Yesterday.”