Amazonia: a novel

by James Rollins

  Frank frowned and turned back to Nate. “See if you can find out what else the shaman knows.”

  Nate nodded and turned back to the shaman. “After finding the symbol, what happened?”

  The shaman scrunched up his face. “The tribe fled that same night…but…but something came for them.”

  “What?”

  The Indian frowned. “The woman who spoke to me was near to death. Her words began to wander. Something about the river coming to eat them. They fled, but it followed them up the little stream and caught them.”

  “What? What caught them? The Ban-ali?”

  The shaman gulped from the canteen. “No, that’s not what the woman said.”

  “Then what?”

  The shaman stared Nate in the eye to show he spoke truthfully. “The jungle. She said the jungle rose out of the river and attacked them.”

  Nathan frowned.

  The shaman shrugged. “I know no more. The cursed woman died, and her spirit went to join her tribe. The next day, this day, I hear you coming up the river. I go to see who you are.” He glanced over to Manny’s jaguar. “But I am found. Death scent clings to me, like it does to you.”

  Nathan sat back on his heels. He stared over at Manny. The biologist had Tor-tor on a leash, but the cat was clearly agitated, pacing around and around with his hackles raised. Spooked.

  Kouwe finished translating for the others. “That’s all he knows.”

  Waxman waved for Jorgensen to slice the shaman’s ankle restraints, too.

  “What do you make of his story?” Kelly asked, still kneeling at his side.

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled, picturing the spread of bodies up the trail. He had thought something had attacked from the stream’s far side, but if the woman’s story was true, the attack had come from the stream itself.

  Kouwe joined them. “The story is consistent with the myths of the Ban-ali. They’re said to be able to bend the very jungle to their will.”

  “But what could come from the river and kill all those tribesmen?” Kelly asked.

  Kouwe slowly shook his head. “I can’t even imagine.”

  A commotion near the shabano’s door drew their attention. Staff Sergeant Kostos pushed inside, dragging a travois behind him. A dead body lay atop it. One of the massacred.

  Behind them, the shaman let out a piercing cry.

  Nate swung around.

  The Indian, his eyes wide with terror, backed away. “Do not bring the cursed here! You will call the Ban-ali upon us!”

  Jorgensen tried to restrain the man, but even at his age, the Indian was wiry with muscle. He slipped out of the Ranger’s grip, fled to one of the dwellings, then, using a hammock as a ladder, scrambled to the encircling roof of the shabano.

  One of the Rangers raised his rifle.

  “Don’t shoot!” Nathan called.

  “Lower your weapon, Corporal,” Waxman ordered.

  The shaman paused atop the roof and turned to them. “The dead belong to the Ban-ali! They will come to collect what is theirs!” With these final words, the shaman dove off the roof and into the surrounding jungle.

  “Go fetch him,” Waxman ordered two of the Rangers.

  “They’ll never find him,” Kouwe said. “As scared as he is, he’ll vanish into these jungles.”

  The professor’s words proved prophetic. The Yanomamo shaman was never found. As afternoon closed toward evening, Kelly ensconced herself in a corner of the shabano and worked to discover what had killed the tribesman. Nate took Captain Waxman and Frank over to the tree with the carved directions left behind by Gerald Clark.

  “He must have written this just before being captured,” Frank said. “How awful. He was so close to reaching civilization, then was captured and imprisoned.” Frank shook his head. “For almost three months.”

  As they returned to the shabano, the rest of the team prepared to set up for the night: lighting fires, setting up guard shifts, preparing food. The plan tomorrow was to leave the river and to begin the overland journey, following Gerald Clark’s trail.

  With the sun setting and a meal of fish and rice being prepared, Kelly finally left her makeshift morgue. She settled to a camp chair with a long, tired sigh and stared into the flames as she gave her report. “As near as I can tell, he was poisoned by something. I found evidence of a convulsive death. Tongue chewed through, signs of contracted stricture of spine and limbs.”

  “What poisoned him?” Frank asked.

  “I’d need a tox lab to identify it. I couldn’t even tell you how it was delivered. Maybe a poisoned spear, arrow, or dart. The body was too macerated by the carrion feeders to judge adequately.”

  Watching the sun set, Nate listened as the discussions continued. He remembered the words of the vanished shaman—they will come to collect what is theirs—and pondered the massacre up the nearby trail and the disease spreading here and through the States. As he did so, Nate could not escape the sinking sensation that time was running out for them all.

  Night Attack

  AUGUST 14, 12:18 A.M.

  AMAZON JUNGLE

  Kelly woke from a nightmare, bolting up from her hammock. She didn’t remember the specifics of her dream, only a vague sense of corpses and a chase. She checked her watch. The glowing dial put the time after midnight.

  All around the shabano, most of the others were asleep. A single Ranger stood by the fire; his partner was guarding the door. Kelly knew another pair patrolled outside the roundhouse. Otherwise, the rest were snuggled in their hammocks after the long, horrible day.

  It was no surprise she had nightmares: the massacre, the ravaged body she had examined, the ongoing tension. All of it overshadowed by the ever-present fear for her family back in Virginia. Her subconscious had plenty of fodder to mull through during her REM sleep.

  Yesterday’s evening report from the States had not been any cheerier than the lunchtime update. Another twelve cases had been reported in the U.S., and another three deaths—two children and an elderly matron from Palm Beach. Meanwhile, across the Amazon basin, disease and death were spreading like fire through dry tinder. People were barricading themselves indoors or leaving cities. Bodies were being burned in the streets of Manaus.

  Kelly’s mother had reported that so far no cases had yet arisen among the research team at Instar. But it was too soon to say they were out of the woods. The newest data, gathered mostly from cases in the Amazon, where the disease had a longer track record, suggested that the incubation period could be as short as three days or as long as seven. It all depended on the initial health of the victim. Children with poorer nutrition or parasitic conditions became sick faster.

  As to the cause of the disease, a bacterial pathogen had been firmly ruled out by the CDC, but various viral assays were still continuing. So far, the culprit had not yet been identified.

  Still, even as grim as the report was, there was worse news. Her mother had looked pale as she had spoken over the satellite link. “We now know that the transmission of the disease can be strictly airborne. It does not require physical contact.” Kelly knew what this meant. With such ease of transmission, a pathogen like this was one of the hardest to quarantine. And with the mortality rates so high…

  “There’s only one hope,” her mother had said at the end. “We need a cure.”

  Kelly reached to her canteen beside her hammock and took a long slow drink. She sat for a moment and knew sleep would not come. Moving quietly, she climbed from her hammock.

  The guard by the fire noticed her movement and turned toward her. Still in the clothes she had worn yesterday—a gray T-shirt and brown trousers—she simply slipped on her boots. She pointed toward the entrance, wanting to stretch her legs but not wishing to disturb the others sleeping.

  The Ranger nodded.

  Kelly walked quietly to the shabano’s entrance. Ducking through, she found Private Carrera standing guard.

  “Just needed some fresh air,” Kelly whispered.

 
The female Ranger nodded and pointed her weapon toward the river. “You’re not the only one.”

  Kelly saw a figure standing a few yards down the path by the river. From his silhouette, Kelly knew it was Nathan Rand. He was alone, except for two Rangers positioned a short distance upriver, easily spotted by their flashlights.

  “Keep a safe distance from the water,” Private Carrera warned. “We didn’t have enough motion sensors to secure the perimeter and the river.”

  “I will.” Kelly remembered too well what had happened to Corporal DeMartini.

  Walking down the path from the roundhouse, Kelly listened to the jungle hum of locust song, accompanied by the soft croaking of countless frogs. It was a peaceful sound. In the distance, fireflies danced in the branches and zipped in graceful arcs over the river.

  The lone spectator heard Kelly’s approach. Nathan turned. He had a cigarette hanging from his lips, its tip a red spark in the night.

  “I didn’t know you smoked,” Kelly said, stepping next to him and staring at the river from atop the bank.

  “I don’t,” he said with a grin, puffing out a long stream of smoke. “At least not much. I bummed it from Corporal Conger.” He thumbed in the direction of the pair on patrol. “Haven’t touched one in four or five months, but…I don’t know…I guess I needed an excuse to come out here. To be moving.”

  “I know what you mean. I came out here for the proverbial fresh air.” She held out her hand.

  He passed his cigarette.

  She took a deep drag and sighed out the smoke, releasing her tension. “Nothing like fresh air.” She passed the cigarette back to him.

  He took one last puff, then dropped it and stamped it out. “Those things’ll kill you.”

  They stood in silence as the river quietly flowed by. A pair of bats glided over the water, hunting fish, while somewhere in the distance, a bird cried out a long mournful note.

  “She’ll be okay,” Nate finally said, almost a whisper.

  Kelly glanced to him. “What?”

  “Jessie, your daughter…she’ll be okay.”

  Stunned for a moment, Kelly had no breath to reply.

  “I’m sorry,” Nate mumbled. “I’m intruding.”

  She touched his elbow. “No, I’m grateful…really. I just didn’t think my worry was so plain.”

  “You may be a great physician, but you’re a mother first.”

  Kelly remained quiet for a bit, then spoke softly. “It’s more than that. Jess is my only child. The only child I’ll ever have.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Kelly couldn’t say exactly why she was discussing this with Nate, only that it helped to voice her fears aloud. “When I gave birth to Jessie, there were complications…and an emergency surgery.” She glanced to Nate, then away. “Afterward, I couldn’t bear any more children.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She smiled tiredly. “It was a long time ago. I’ve come to terms with it. But now with Jessie threatened…”

  Nate sighed and settled to a seat on a fallen log. “I understand all too well. Here you are in the jungle, worrying about someone you love deeply, but having to continue on, to be strong.”

  Kelly sank beside him. “Like you, when your father was first lost.”

  Nate stared at the river and spoke dully. “And it’s not just the worry and fear. It’s guilt, too.”

  She knew exactly what he meant. With Jessie at risk, what was she doing here, traipsing through the jungle? She should be searching for the first flight home.

  Silence again fell between them, but it grew too painful.

  Kelly asked a question that had been nagging her since she had first met Nate. “Why are you here then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You lost both your mother and your father to the Amazon. Why come back? Isn’t it too painful?”

  Nate rubbed his palms together, staring down between his toes, silent.

  “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  “No,” he said quickly, glancing to her, then away. “I…I was just regretting stamping out that cigarette. I could use it right now.”

  She smiled. “We can change the subject.”

  “No, it’s okay. You just caught me by surprise. But your question’s hard to answer, and even harder to put into words.” Nate leaned back. “When I lost my father, when I truly gave up on ever finding him, I did leave the jungle, vowing to never come back. But in the States, the pain followed me. I tried to drown it away in alcohol and numb it away with drugs, but nothing worked. Then a year ago, I found myself on a flight back here. I couldn’t say why. I walked into the airport, bought a ticket at the Varig counter, and before I knew it, I was landing in Manaus.”

  Nathan paused. Kelly heard his breath beside her, heavy and deep, full of emotion. She tentatively placed a hand on his bare knee. Without speaking, he covered it with his own palm.

  “Once back in the jungle, I found the pain less to bear, less all-consuming.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Though my parents died here, they also lived here. This was their true heartland.” Nate shook his head. “I’m not making any sense.”

  “I think you are. Here is where you still feel the closest to them.”

  She felt Nate stiffen beside her. He remained silent for the longest time.

  “Nate?”

  His voice was hoarse. “I couldn’t put it into words before. But you’re right. Here in the jungle, they’re all around me. Their memories are strongest here. My mother teaching me how to grind manioc into flour…my father teaching me how to identify trees by their leaves alone…” He turned to her, his eyes bright. “This is my home.”

  In his face, she saw the mix of joy and loss. She found herself leaning closer to him, drawn by the depth of his emotion. “Nate…”

  A small explosion of water startled them both. Only a few yards from the bank, a narrow geyser shot three feet above the river’s surface. Where it blew, something large hunched through the water and disappeared.

  “What was that?” Kelly asked, tense, half on her feet, ready to bolt.

  Nate put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her back down. “It’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just a boto, a freshwater dolphin. They’re abundant, but pretty shy. You’ll mostly find them in remote areas like this, traveling in small packs.”

  Proving his point, another pair of geysers blew, casting spray high into the air. Ready this time, and less panicked, Kelly spotted small dorsal fins arcing through the water, then diving back down. They were moving swiftly.

  “They’re fast,” she said.

  “Probably hunting.”

  As they settled back to their log, a whole procession of dolphins sped by, arcing, spraying. Frantic clicks and whistles echoed out eerily. Soon it seemed the whole river was full of dolphins racing down the current.

  Nate frowned and stood.

  “What’s wrong?” Kelly asked.

  “I don’t know.” A single dolphin shot through the shallows near their feet. It struck the mud bank, almost beaching itself, then, with a flip of its tail, fled to deeper waters. “Something’s panicking them.”

  Kelly got up and joined him. “What?”

  Nate shook his head. “I’ve never seen them display this behavior before.” He glanced over to where the two patrolling Rangers stood guard. They also stared at the parade of dolphins. “I need more light.”

  Nate hurried along the top of the bank toward the soldiers. Kelly followed, her blood beginning to race. The guards were positioned where a small stream emptied into the river.

  “Corporal Conger, could I borrow your flashlight?” Nate asked.

  “They’re just dolphins,” said the other soldier. It was Staff Sergeant Kostos. The swarthy man scowled at them. “We’ve seen lots of the damned things while patrolling at night. But, oh yeah, that was while you all were sleeping in your beds, all tucked away.”

  The younger Ra
nger was more cooperative. “Here, Dr. Rand,” Corporal Conger said, passing his flashlight.

  With a mumbled thanks, Nathan accepted the light. He moved down the bank, shining the light upriver. Dolphins continued to pass but not in as great a number. As Kelly looked on, Nate widened the cone of the light, splashing it down the river.