by Bear Grylls
He looked around, closely studying the jungle floor. 'And there are no animal tracks around either. Most of the big beasties hunt at night and follow the same paths. Especially if they lead to water. And if your bed happens to be in the way, they're not going to worry too much about trying to dodge round you.'
'Looks perfect, skip,' said Marco. 'What next?'
'A-frame bed,' said Beck. 'The principle is to sleep off the ground. That's where all the damp ends up and the creepy crawlies live. Just lash pieces of bamboo together in an A shape for the bed ends. Then you get two more poles and strap them to the frames halfway down. Looks a bit like a stretcher. Bingo! One bed.'
'But what do we lie on?' asked Christina.
'We can weave some vines and palm leaves across the stretcher bit to make a platform,' said Beck. 'Same principle for the roof of the shelter. It's like a screen woven across a frame of bamboos. If you want to get really fancy, you can cut some bamboos in half for guttering so that it channels the water away.'
While Beck cut down the bamboo, Marco went in search of tinder and wood for the fire and Christina cleared the ground for the camp with her stick. When Beck returned, he was brandishing some long strands of bark he had cut from a nearby tree. 'Stringy bark,' he explained. 'Works perfectly for cord to lash everything together.'
There was a shrill cry from above and they saw that Ringo was still with them, watching their activities with interest.
By the time the camp was finished, the daylight was almost gone. The flames from the fire were throwing eerie shadows into the surrounding forest. Marco was sitting on his pole bed, smiling proudly. Suddenly he let out a muffled curse and started to scratch hard at the back of his leg through his trousers.
'Don't scratch, Marco. Not like that. You'll break the skin and the wound will be full of pus by morning. Keep still now.' Beck had grabbed a branch from the fire and was blowing on the end. Kneeling next to Marco, he rolled up the boy's trouser bottoms and held the glowing tip as close to Marco's leg as he could without burning him. Marco flinched as, one by one, five ticks dropped off his skin.
'Jungle basics,' said Beck. 'Look after your skin. It's not usually the big beasties that get you, it's the creepy crawlies.' He threw the burning branch back on the fire. 'OK, time for our feast.'
As the twins lay exhausted on their beds, Beck picked up the carcass of the bushmaster; earlier he had impaled it on a sharpened stick and stored it well clear of the jungle floor.
Grabbing the end of the severed neck, he began to peel the skin away from its body as casually as if he were taking off a jumper, and then slit the stomach of the snake. With a slurping noise, the guts slid out onto the ground. Christina looked away, trying to stop herself gagging as Beck picked them up and threw them into the flames. 'Don't want to attract uninvited guests,' he said, staring out into the surrounding darkness.
Silence fell as the meat gradually roasted over the flames. Beck had jammed the snake's tail into a splice before wrapping the rest of the body around the stick like a ribbon around a maypole. After a while the flames leaped higher and the fire began to sizzle and spit as the fat from the snake slowly oozed onto the embers below.
Lazily stretching out an arm from his sleeping platform, Beck turned the stick so that the meat cooked evenly. Finally he judged it was ready and cut it into steaks. They devoured it ravenously, washing it down with the water Beck had collected earlier in some makeshift mugs cut from sections of bamboo.
The meat and the warmth from the fire soon began to work their magic. Unable to keep their eyes open any longer, the twins fell into a deep sleep. For a while Beck fought the heaviness of his eyes and, taking Gonzalo's map out of the case strapped around his body, studied it once more in the light of the flames.
As the fire slowly died down and the darkness closed in around them, the sounds of the jungle became louder, though Ringo was quiet now. Beck's ears felt like they were on stalks as he stared into the inky blackness, trying in vain to recognize the strange screams and screeches that pierced the night air.
Hoooo, hoooo, shouted something.
Urrrk, urrrrk, urrrrk. Tuk, tuk, tuk. Aaarkkk, aaarkk, came the reply.
But as his eyes finally began to close, he heard another sound; he felt as if an ice-cold hand were reaching into the pit of his stomach. The noise was like a cross between the bark of a dog and the frenzied screech of a fighting cat. Three times it pierced the night air. Then there was silence. Even the hypnotic pulse of the cicadas had faded to almost nothing.
Beck knew at once what it must be.
The jaguar, king of the jungle cats, was stalking its prey.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Beck woke to the sound of thunder. A long throaty rumble like the roar of waves breaking on a beach. It was followed by the drumming of rain on the leaves of the jungle canopy far above. Soon a curtain of water was running off the lattice of palm leaves above his head. He flinched as an icy droplet exploded on his neck and began to run down his back. Beck groaned. Walking through the jungle in the heat and humidity was one thing. In the rain it would be a nightmare.
He peered out from under the cover of the shelter. Steam was rising from the campfire and the bed of glowing embers was hissing fiercely in the torrential rain. He was on his feet in an instant. Fire was precious in the jungle and the downpour had caught him off guard. Later in the day, even with the sparks from the steel, it would be almost impossible to light a fire because of the damp.
Just outside the camp was a tree with bark like the thick, fibrous skin of a coconut. Slicing through it with the point of the machete blade, he marked out a rectangle and roughly pulled it free. The fire parcel was an old trick the aborigines had taught him during his time in the Australian outback. As long as there was a steady supply of air, the charcoal from an old fire would smoulder all day. He pulled a red-hot stick out of the bed of embers and wrapped it in the thick envelope of bark.
By now the twins were beginning to stir. 'One moment I'm so hot I can hardly breathe and now I'm freezing again,' said Marco. 'This is nasty.'
They waited in the shelter of the camp until the worst of the rain had eased. Beck's mind was racing. If they could just find the river, the Lost City would finally be within striking distance and they would at last have a chance of rescuing Uncle Al and Mayor Rafael. From Gonzalo's map he could see that the river valley rose steeply to a second plateau high above them in the shadow of the mountain peaks. Here, he was certain, lay their goal.
Despite the rain, Beck urged them to get moving and to press on towards their goal. A moody silence fell over the twins as they followed Beck along the line of the ridge.
They had been moving for less than an hour when Marco pointed to a nearby tree. Ragged claw marks had been gouged deep into its trunk and thick globules of sap dribbled down the bark.
'Lucky it didn't use one of us as a scratching post,' said Christina. Her face was pale, her voice trembling.
Beck frowned. During the night, before the storm set in, he had heard the roar of the jaguar many times; it had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He had wondered whether the twins had heard it too. Now it no longer mattered. The secret was out.
Beck played it cool. 'And lucky too that jaguars rest up during the day and hunt at night,' he said. 'So with any luck, our friend who made these little scratches will be having a siesta right now.' He paused and gazed into the depths of the surrounding jungle. 'Jaguars stick around places where they can drink. These tracks should lead to the river.' Beck pointed along the line of the ridge. Just a couple of metres away, the route the jaguar had taken was clearly visible, snaking away into the undergrowth.
As they followed the track deeper into the jungle, Beck's heart beat faster in his chest. Although he had decided not to tell the twins, he knew that the jaguar was a deadly threat. Bloodthirsty tribes like the Aztecs and the Maya had once worshipped the animal like a god. The jaws of a jaguar were so strong they could crush the shell of a
turtle with one bite. They were also ferocious hunters. In the shadows of the rainforest, its trademark spots would be almost invisible. Until it was too late. Ambush was a fun game to play with your school mates and guns that fired paint. But not with a jaguar.
They had been following the tracks for about an hour when Beck put his finger to his lips. The twins stood rooted to the spot, the whites of their eyes standing out in the gloom. The cries of the jungle had become more familiar, and already they could recognize individual birds from their calls in amongst Ringo's squawks. But there was a different sound now. A long deep rumble like the sound of a double bass in the depths of an orchestra.
Minutes later, they were standing on the banks of a wide, fast-flowing river. The rain had completely stopped and bright shafts of sunlight broke through the trees. Christina gasped in astonishment. Huge butterflies with spotted blue wings were fluttering over the dappled surface of the water and a bird with bright yellow feathers and a long curved beak was drinking at the river's edge.
But Beck wasn't looking at the river. He was standing as still as a statue, staring at the ground. A deep pawprint was clearly visible in the soft earth. Four circular pads were set in a semicircle around a larger fifth. 'The mighty jaguar. The king of the jungle,' he muttered in awe. 'This must be the exact place he drank from just last night. But look, the tracks disappear into the water.'
'Does that mean he crossed here?' asked Christina, gazing out in disbelief over the turbulent waters of the river. 'Surely he would have been swept away.'
'Jaguars aren't just ordinary pussycats, Chrissy,' said Beck. 'Jaguars like water. Dad told me once that he saw a jaguar swimming up a river dragging a deer in its mouth.'
'But look, Beck. The tracks reappear again further up,' said Marco, pointing along the riverbank.
Beck was silent for a moment, trying to understand what it meant. Suddenly it dawned on him. 'When the jaguar was here last night, the water level was lower. It must have walked along the bank. But the water's risen since and covered up its tracks. Now the level's rising even faster after all that rain.'
He knelt down to take a closer look at the map in its waterproof case. 'According to Gonzalo, the Lost City is on the far side of the river. And if we don't cross now, we may never get another chance. Further up the mountain, the river will be like a tsunami.' Already a telltale foam of white water was visible where the water churned over the rocks in the centre of the river.
'You have to be joking, Beck,' said Marco. 'We haven't a chance against a current like that.'
But Beck had already made up his mind. 'Tarzan's little helper to the rescue,' he muttered as he hacked at the root of a vine winding around the colossal trunk of a nearby tree. Cutting it free, he wrapped the vine around his shoulder like a climbing rope. Then he knelt down next to the twins as if he were a commando giving a briefing before a raid.
'We'll use the vine like a looped rope,' he said. 'I'll tie myself to it and cross first. Marco, Chrissy, you hold onto the rope on the bank but stand about three metres apart. That means I've got two anchors if I slip or fall. Then, when I'm over, Chrissy, you tie yourself onto it and we'll be anchoring you from both banks. Then, when Marco crosses, we'll both be on the far side. That way everyone has two anchors at all times.'
Beck tied the vine around his waist and waded slowly into the torrent. As the water began to rise around his legs, the twins braced themselves hard against the bank, ready to take the strain if he slipped. 'Face upstream and lean forward on your stick against the current,' Beck shouted. 'That way your legs and the stick are like a tripod. It's much more stable.' By the time he reached the far bank, the twins could hardly hear his voice above the roar of the water.
'He's ready for you, sis,' Marco said, once Beck was safe on dry land and had given the thumbs-up.
Christina waded into the swirling water. Almost at once her legs began to feel like jelly, and as the force of the current took hold, she fought to keep her balance on the uneven floor of the river bed.
'It's too strong,' she screamed back to Marco over the roar of the water. 'I can hardly move.'
Marco urged her onwards from the bank, shouting words of encouragement at every step as she slowly edged forward. Beck looked on nervously, the vine wrapped around his body and his hands gripping firmly as he dug his feet into the bank, preparing to take the strain if Christina was sucked away.
She was soon taking the full force of the river. After nearly losing her balance in the middle, where the current was at its strongest, she could at last feel the water getting shallower as she edged towards the far side. Sensing safety, she took a big stride forward, putting all her weight on the surface of a flat rock. In an instant, she was gone. Her foot went from under her on the slippery surface, and the current was immediately dragging her down and the foaming water smothering her face.
But Beck and Marco were ready for her. Digging their feet into the banks, they took the full weight of her body as the vine locked around her. Beck saw the danger at once. The water was rising in a wave around Christina's face and her head was being sucked under by the force of the water. He started running downstream, yelling at Marco to do the same. In an instant the tension was released and Christina's head bobbed up again as she struggled to regain her balance, vomiting water from her lungs.
Seeing his chance, Beck pulled on the vine with all his strength as Marco let more length slip through his fingers, and Christina was dragged coughing and spluttering towards the bank.
'That was a little too close for comfort,' said Beck later as they sat drying out around the crackling warmth of a fire. Marco had crossed with no further incident. Beck had been carrying the burning charcoal in. the Kogi bag and had fanned it back into life. Even he was surprised they'd managed to keep it smouldering inside its bark envelope during the difficult river crossing. Christina's teeth were chattering uncontrollably and her face had gone deathly pale, so the two boys huddled as close to her as they could, warming and comforting her shivering body with the heat from their own.
When at last the heat from the fire began to get through to her, Beck grabbed the sweetcorn from the Kogi bag and soon had it roasting over the flames. Soon they sat munching greedily as the juice from the cobs dribbled down their chins. But Beck was worried. All three of them were wet and exhausted. And ahead of them lay a long, steep climb as the jungle rose into the mountains above them. But somewhere up there, now surely only a day's walk away, lay the goal they had fought so hard to reach.
He let the twins rest as long as he dared. Finally he stood up and kicked out the remains of the fire, taking care to preserve another smouldering stick in the bark envelope. Even if it went out, it would be far easier to light again than fresh wood from the forest. 'One last effort, guys. Marco, Chrissy, we've come so far. We can't give up now. Remember, it's not for us, it's for them. Your dad and Uncle Al are depending on us.'
High in the trees above them, Ringo suddenly appeared and gave a squawk of agreement. The twins slowly hauled themselves to their feet, and a look of grim determination passed between them.
* * *
Following the banks of the river, which fell away into a canyon beside them, they made slow and painful progress upwards, zigzagging back and forth across the face of the slope to ease the pressure on their legs. In places they found themselves scrambling up almost sheer cliffs covered with the gnarled roots of trees, and were forced to make long detours into the jungle.
At last the river gorge began to narrow and a series of waterfalls plunged into the ravine like the tiers of a wedding cake. The temperature too had begun to drop as the day wore on and they climbed ever higher. 'It seems to be levelling out now and the jungle's not quite so thick,' said Marco as, late in the afternoon, they stopped to rest.
Checking for snakes before clearing a space on the jungle floor, Beck spread out the map in front of them. 'According to Gonzalo, the ceremonial path to the Lost City runs down to the edge of the plateau not far from t
he river. It just has to be so close to where we are now.' He pointed to where a line snaked across the parchment. Alongside it were written the words Via Indígena in a faded, spidery hand.
Beck shouted instructions as, spreading out, they walked slowly forward in a line, scraping the floor of the jungle with their sticks.
'It's got to be here somewhere,' muttered Marco, a note of desperation in his voice, when after an hour of searching they had still found nothing.
'Beck! Marco!' Christina was kicking something next to her foot and scraping excitedly at the moss on the jungle floor. In a moment the boys were by her side. The edge of a carved block of stone was clearly visible. Alongside it lay another stone of identical size and shape. Nearby, still more had been forced up out of the ground by the twisting roots of an old tree.
Marco was soon on his feet, looking backwards and forwards along the floor of the jungle. 'The Kogi path. This must be the Kogi path!' The energy and determination had returned to his voice. There was no mistaking it now: they were standing on the jumbled remains of an ancient stone causeway.
Beck slowly led the way forward. They could hear the roar of the canyon in the distance and the leaves were dripping in a permanent mist where the spray from the river engulfed the surrounding jungle.
Beck was thinking hard. It still made no sense. Gonzalo's map showed the path running parallel with the canyon, not across it. That's why they'd risked everything to cross lower down. Then he remembered the story Mama Kojek had told him. After Gonzalo had found their sacred city, the Kogis had abandoned it and redirected the paths through the forest to confuse the conquistadors if they returned. Did that mean the path marked on Gonzalo's map was wrong? So, was this the path leading to the Lost City? If so, it was heading back towards the gorge.
With a sinking sensation in his stomach, Beck led the way forward as the roar of the river became ever louder. After a while they could hardly hear each other speak above the din. Beck's heart was thumping. Their mission to find Uncle Al and Mayor Rafael was crumbling before them. They had fallen into the same trap as Gonzalo and now there was no way forward. Crossing the river this high in the mountains would surely be impossible.