by Nate Granzow
"Well that went tickety-boo," Austin said as he brought the Toyota to a stop, turned it off, and disembarked. "Surprising, really."
"What's tickety-boo?" Christian whispered to Henri.
The elder researcher shrugged.
The Brit poked his head into the Cruiser through the open driver's side window and said, "Not much deductive reasoning among you lot, is there? It means 'good'. Things went well."
"But you're surprised that our journey's gone well?" Henri asked as Christian and Olivia disembarked through the Land Cruiser's rear double doors.
"You aren't?" The Englishman asked, his eyes hidden behind his mirrored sunglasses.
After unpacking their equipment, the crew entered the jungle on foot, Bisari leading as the natives rejoined them.
"Don't touch anything if you can help it," Austin warned, looking at Christian. "Nearly every plant and tree out here has some kind of innate defense mechanism that will hurt you or kill you."
"How about this one?" Christian asked dismissively, a smirk on his face as his pointed to a tree along their path.
"Actually, yeah. Like that one. That's a pau-de-novato—a novice tree. They call it that because only an amateur would touch it," Jeremy said.
"What happens if I touch it?" Christian asked, suddenly more serious.
"Well, it's hollow, and filled to the brim with fire ants," Austin explained. "You touch it and they come rushing out, falling on you and stinging the living piss out of you."
The young researcher swallowed hard and gave the tree extra distance as he passed by.
"That reminds me," Austin added, "There are plenty of invasive little bugs out here, too. If you have a bite that looks or feels infected, don't keep it to yourself. Knew a man who had a botfly larvae living beneath his skin for six weeks. Thought it was a festering sore. He about vomited when we pulled the little bugger out."
The researchers began looking pale.
"Watch out for surucucu, too," Bisari reminded.
"Ah, yes. Snakes. Just assume everything is poisonous and give it a wide berth. The vast majority of the little buggers want nothing to do with you, and if you're careful where you step, you'll be fine. Except for the one Bisari mentioned. Bushmasters will attack you out of spite."
Jeremy laughed. "You remember the time that bushmaster attacked our campfire? This snake—the size of a damn boa constrictor, at least 10 feet long—rolls into our campsite and starts striking at the flames. At the flames! You can't make that shit up."
"What happens if we get bitten out here?" Olivia asked, trying to push the panic she was suddenly feeling from her voice.
"Let's just say you should try very hard not to," Austin replied as he marched on.
Within the hour, Christian whined, "How far have we gone?" The young researcher grunted as he extricated his hiking boot from a mud slick deep enough to reach his ankle. His question was one shared by Olivia, too. It felt as though they'd been marching for hours, following an erratic path around trees, some as wide as a city bus, draped in woody lianas and climbing philodendrons, down steep troughs, and then back up sheer rises. Dragonflies the size of tea saucers flew touch-and-goes on their exposed skin as invisible clouds of mosquitos hummed about their ears. Birds chirped and cackled as hidden rivulets of rainwater burbled softly nearby.
The natives, barefoot and tireless, loped along with little trouble, slipping quietly through the tangled fauna like apparitions.
The research team, bags piled high atop their backs, all looked exhausted and had already required multiple stops for rest and water. The pilots did little to mask their annoyance.
Olivia soon realized that the problem was exactly as Austin had warned: The research team's supplies were weighing them down and making the journey much more difficult than they'd anticipated. The tribesmen carried only bows and spears. The pilots carried only a single bag each, packed with a small amount of food, a change of clothes, and ammunition for their weapons. Olivia couldn't imagine where they'd be if they'd brought as much with them as they'd originally intended.
She shifted her pack and looked around. The jungle's appearance, despite all that she'd read about and seen in photographs, still surprised her. With so little light reaching the forest floor, and the inherently nutrient-deficient soil, the jungle cultivated only sporadic undergrowth, leaving open paths and an orderly, almost park-like appearance. The soil felt spongy with decaying bark and plant matter, and often transitioned to dangerously slippery mud without warning. She'd fallen twice already, and could feel the moisture soaking through her pants.
Breathing heavily as she leaned against the moss-covered buttress roots of a capirona tree, Olivia stared up at the branches looming overhead. Even in the middle of the day, the atmosphere appeared smothered in an eerie green, the distant sun blocked out by endless layers of leaves.
"We've gone just over three kilometers," Jeremy replied, checking the GPS. "Two miles for the American and the Brit." Austin punched his arm playfully.
"How much farther until we reach the plant?" Olivia asked Bisari.
After a brief exchange with one of the tribesmen, the translator replied, "At this rate, another full day."
"Another day? This is out of control. There's no way I'm hiking through this shit for another twenty-four hours," Christian wheezed as he dropped his bags at the foot of a waist-high termite mound.
"Nut-up, kid," Jeremy chided. "You wanted to tag along with the big boys, now here you are. Look at the old man—he's not bitching about the distance," he said pointing toward Henri, the elder researcher's shirt soiled by dark rings of sweat spreading beneath his arms. "You're in the prime of your life and you haven't shut up yet."
Clearly embarrassed, the intern raised his middle finger to the copilot before digging in his bag for another plastic bottle of water. Jeremy only giggled, unscrewing the cap from his canteen and dropping an iodine tablet inside. Holding the container to the edge of a broad leaf, he let the reservoir of fresh rainwater pour inside.
"We'll take a five-minute break here. But we need to pick up the pace. At this rate we'll find this plant about a day after we starve to death," Austin said solemnly as he walked down the line toward the rear of the procession.
Olivia took a seat against the capirona's trunk and wiped the sweat from her eyes with her shirtsleeve. Though physically fatigued, she felt more exhilarated than she had in years. Her mind was clear, and she could feel her stress dissipating with each step. Living an adventurer lifestyle, even for just a few days, was sure to inspire the much-needed restart to her new life without Terry. If she could survive the dangers of the Amazon basin on her own, she sure as hell didn't need her husband.
Suddenly, she was lifted from her seat by her backpack and dragged a few feet away.
"What the hell are you doing?" she asked, turning to confront her assailant.
Austin looked into her eyes impassively before pointing toward where she'd been sitting. A small, dull-yellow snake lay curled in a necrotic pocket of the trunk only inches from where her head had rested a moment before.
"Eyelash pit viper. Nasty bite; highly venomous."
"Bothriechis..." Henri moved his lips silently as he attempted to recall the rest of the creature's Latinate name. "Merde, I seem to have forgotten the full binomial nomenclature," he said, scooting himself to get a better look at the snake. "Regardless, a beautiful specimen. Christian, note the eyelash-like scales above the eyes—that's what gives this species the unique title."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Olivia nodded to the pilot, whispering, "thank you." She felt a flush of embarrassment rising to her already-red cheeks.
"Sure thing, ma'am," he said, lifting her pack the rest of the way from her shoulders and sliding it over his arm; then walking away before she could protest.
That kind of ultra-masculine gallantry had been the reason she'd thoughtlessly fallen for her husband years before. Her car had broken down on the freeway in the middle of a torrential rainstorm
, and Terry, unshaven and driving a pickup truck with a stack of scuba gear and surfboards thrown in the bed, had stopped and helped her get it running while she waited in the cab. His sincere smile and honest eyes had closed the deal. Though they were separating, she still didn't hate him. But she wouldn't make the same mistakes with the next man, either. It didn't matter how brave, chivalrous, or good-looking he was—she needed someone she could depend on.
TEN
Twenty minutes later, Austin roused them from their exhausted rest and they trudged on.
"So, Dr. Dover, do you see any plants about that look promising for curing male-pattern baldness or whatnot?" he asked without looking over his shoulder.
"I wouldn't belittle what we do, Mr. Stewart. Our medicines do much more than cure first-world vanity problems. And yes, I've seen many plants about that have been enormously impactful on medicinal breakthroughs. Annatto…Clavillia…take this Suma vine, for instance," she said, touching the plant's leaves. "Natives have used the root for centuries, recognizing the benefits it offers. It stimulates appetite, circulation, immune system defenses, balances blood sugar, improves memory…just this one plant is so incredibly valuable. The Amazon is home to over 80,000 plant species—it's the most bio-diverse place in the world. Imagine what other panaceas are waiting for us out here."
"Yeah, well, it's all the same to us. We just let the Yanomami pick the goodies and we bring them to you guys," Jeremy said, pulling a stick of gum from his pocket. Peeling the aluminum wrapping off, he crumpled it up and let it drop to the dirt as he slipped the piece into his mouth.
Olivia frowned as she stooped to pick it up, and placed it in her pack. She was beginning to understand Denver's disdain for the pilots’ behavior.
The sound of rushing water rolled through the trees as the expedition shambled up a steep, rocky ascent, flat stones tiled atop one another and covered in a thin layer of decaying tree bark and leaf matter. Reaching the top, they came upon a narrow rope bridge. A battered structure weathered by the relentless rains and humidity, it swayed gently in the open air above a bend in muddy, fast-moving river 50 yards below.
"Anyone have an irrepressible fear of water, heights, or bridges?" Austin asked.
"Or black caimans?" Jeremy added cheerfully. "Hey Christian, picture an alligator-like critter, 15-feet-long, weighing about 700 pounds, with rows of teeth meant to lock into your flesh while it drags you into deeper water and drowns you."
Henri stepped forward, looking doubtfully over the Brit's shoulder at the swirling mud-brown water below.
"Oh, and if it can't eat you whole, it'll stuff you into the mud until your flesh rots enough for it to eat you in bits. You're not that big, though. I doubt it would have trouble getting you down."
"Enough, Jeremy," Austin scolded. "Nothing to fear, Doctor. It looks perfectly stable." He shook one of the thickly wound, moss-covered rope handrails and watched the structure sway gently in response. "It's only 70 or so yards across. Should be able to do that with your eyes closed, eh?" Though outwardly cocksure, his voice betrayed his apprehension.
Perceiving weakness, Christian crossed his arms and said snidely, "You go first, then."
"I’ll go first," Bisari said, stepping forward.
"No, that's quite all right," Austin said, stopping their translator with his arm as he stared down the young research assistant. "It makes no difference who goes first. We've all got to cross it."
Austin placed the heel of his leather boot on the wooden treads and the bridge creaked eerily. He paused and looked down at the swirling waters below, then toward the other side of the bridge as it vanished in a haze of mist.
"How about I test it out first, cofrade? Ain't no thing," Jeremy offered, moving toward him.
"I've got it," the Brit snapped as he took a long step forward.
Christian's eyes lit up as he looked from Jeremy and Bisari to Austin. "My God, you're a pilot who's afraid of heights? That's hilarious!" he hooted.
"Belt up, you little berk," Austin said, gritting his teeth as he cautiously moved ahead. "It's not the heights that worry me, it's what's below. Electric eels, schools of caribes, assuming you don't drown before they get you…and you know what? You come talk to me the next time you get slung out of an aircraft at 200 MPH and have to climb down a tree taller than a tower block. We'll see how comfortable you are with heights after that."
As he moved farther along, palms wrapped firmly around both rope handrails, the others began to follow, leaving plenty of space between each other. Christian, however, stayed close behind Olivia, carefully scrutinizing the seat of her pants as she stepped across the bridge.
"Hey Christian, you ever hear about the legend of La Sayona?" Jeremy asked, noticing where the young man's attention lay.
Bisari cackled from up ahead.
"No. What's that?"
"They say La Sayona—a beautiful, mysterious woman in a white dress—appears to men in the jungle when they're thinking about women or fantasizing about getting laid."
"Doesn't sound too bad," Christian shouted over the rushing sound of churning water underfoot. Further ahead, Henri followed a Yellow-Casqued Hornbill with his pointer finger as the large bird swooped under the bridge and cut gracefully into a thick screen of palm leaves.
"I haven't gotten to the good part. She appears to these men as a temptress, this gorgeous woman, right? She lures them into the depths of the jungle. Then, just when they think they're going to get lucky, she turns around and her face is gone. Only a skull with rotted teeth stares back at them."
"Gross."
"Yeah, and then she eats you alive, leaving only a broken, mutilated body for your buddies to find."
"That's a fucked-up legend," Christian said, his eyebrow raised and his expression that of revulsion.
"Hey, it's just a warning to men who think too much with their verga, not enough with their brain." The Brazilian said, grinning as he pointed to his crotch and then to his temple. The hint was lost on the young man. Unshaken, Christian resumed admiring the sway of Olivia’s hips as they continued across.
After they'd rejoined on the other side of the bridge, Austin clearly relieved to have made it across, Bisari said, "There's a wide clearing not far from here with an excellent field of view of the surrounding jungle. It's the highest point for miles. If nothing else, it will give us a chance to dry off our boots. It's going to take us much of the day tomorrow to reach the plant anyway—we may as well set up camp for the night and get an early start in the morning."
The others were more than pleased with the notion of getting a few hours’ rest and, after grudgingly carrying their gear another hundred yards into the jungle, dropped their bags. Olivia, unpacking her things, asked, "Christian, you mind giving me a hand with the tent?"
"They brought a tent?" she heard Jeremy ask. "Jesus. A bunch of regular fucking Boy Scouts we've got here."
"Excuse me, Mr. Barreto, but what's wrong with a tent?"
"He didn't mean anything by it," Austin spoke around a fresh cigarette as he leaned against a tree, removed his hat, and swept his forearm across his brow. "It's just that tents weigh a great deal for what they give in return, and with the temperature staying fairly comfortable through the night this time of year, we prefer hammocks and mosquito netting. Makes for a lot less weight. Someone should have informed you of that before we set out."
"That would have been nice," Olivia said, staring daggers at the Brit and his partner.
Christian didn't seem to mind the notion of the three scientists sharing a tent, though. As he tugged the opposite end of the rainfly, he stared at Olivia's trim form hungrily. She pretended not to see him. If she just continued to ignore the young man's advances, he'd get the hint.
She was shaken from her thoughts as Austin began coughing uncontrollably, deep and hoarse. Raising a closed fist to his mouth, he grunted and turned away.
"Are you okay?" Olivia asked, wondering why Jeremy wasn't showing more concern for his friend.
"Come again?" she said, surprised at his assertion.
"Fags? You know, smokes. Snouts. Nasty habit."
ELEVEN
Denver's bare feet padded softly against her home's Brazilian Cherry floors as she moved toward the kitchen. The operatic vibrato of a woman's voice amidst strings and horns followed her down the hallway as Puccini's Tosca played through large speakers in her living room. Tightening her bathrobe, she opened the towering stainless steel refrigerator, really much larger than was necessary for a woman who ate so little and often dined out, and retrieved a carton of cranberry juice.
She missed drinking wine.
Pouring the bittersweet drink into a crystal wine glass, she opened a cabinet and withdrew three pill bottles. Shaking out her dosage for the day, she slipped them onto her tongue and swallowed them down with practiced efficiency. Taking a long drink from her glass, she turned and walked toward the hallway bathroom, swirling the fluid that remained in the crystal as though bringing out a complex bouquet from a fine cabernet.
Flipping the light switch, Denver stepped before the mirror and set her glass on the granite vanity. Curling her toes away from the cold stone floor, she took a deep breath and slowly pulled the drawstring holding her robe tight to her body, letting it slip from her shoulders.
For the next five minutes, she stared at her chest: the chest of a pre-pubescent boy. Hairless, flat, and stark white, only two symmetrical rose-colored scars marked the location where her breasts once were. Running her pointer finger over the scars, she took a ragged breath.
She wanted that plant.
Though she'd been declared cancer free after her mastectomy, she knew thousands of other women wouldn't be given such an optimistic diagnosis. Taxus bromelieaceae promised a chance for untold millions to be spared such a life.