by Nate Granzow
She stepped toward him, smiled, and pushed the revolver back toward the pilot, her fingertips touching his hand.
"We'll be fine. Thanks, though, for caring."
As the researchers began slowly making their way around the craggy outcroppings leading toward the water, Austin returned to his copilot's side.
Jeremy busily wiped the condensation off his Cobray with the tail of his shirt. The humidity in the air felt thick. Breathing it seemed to require a conscious effort.
Austin cleared his throat and asked, "Jeremy, you remember when we first met, you asked me what it was like to fly planes for a living? You're standing there on the tarmac pumping fuel, covered head-to-toe in grease, marveling at that god-awful little C-23 Sherpa we used to fly, and I told you—"
"It feels like lower-back pain and poverty," Jeremy finished quietly without smiling. After ignoring the Englishman for a full minute, he continued, "How long do you have left?"
Austin nodded. He'd known where this conversation was bound to go. "Could be two weeks or six months. Difficult to say. Certainly less if the hekura catch us." The Englishman sat down beside his friend.
"If you're going to die anyway, why bother going through with this expedition? And why deal with Alvarez? What could he do to you that the cancer won't?"
"You think I'd be so selfish? If Alvarez doesn't get his money, he'll get his pound of flesh. If not from me, then certainly from you," Austin said. "I'm not going to leave you to face that alone."
Staring at the cavern's lake, Jeremy licked his lips. Finally, turning to his friend, he said, "I still can't believe you didn't tell me, you bastard." He threw an elbow playfully into his friend's ribs.
Austin nodded as he gripped his copilot's shoulder. "I'm sorry, old chap."
"Hate to interrupt this very touching moment, you two lovebirds, but don't you think we should stick with the researchers? If anyone in this group needs a little supervision, it's them," Clayton said, slipping his vest off. He slid the last of his rifle's magazines and a partial brick of C4 explosive into the pockets of his cargo pants before pulling his tee shirt over his head.
"Showing off for the ladies?" Austin asked as the mercenary wrapped the shirt around his forehead and tied the ends together.
"Got tired of carrying the extra weight. I've got steel plates in that vest. Since they aren't likely to stop those animal things from tearing me to pieces—they sure as hell didn't help my boys—I figure it's time to leave it behind."
"That explains why my knuckles feel like I've been boxing it out with a concrete wall," Jeremy lamented as he massaged his hand.
The big man shrugged. "And meanwhile, if Dr. Dover wants to take a look at this chiseled artwork…" he flexed his muscles as he gripped his weapon's forestock, "She'd better hurry; it's on display for a limited time."
Before the pilots could laugh, a scream rang through the cavern.
THIRTY-THREE
Olivia held her mentor's arm as they slowly made their way toward the glistening water below.
"I'm beginning to think we should have stayed out of the jungle."
"What? Nonsense, Olivia. This has expanded our knowledge, toughened us, and introduced us to a world we could only imagine. This is living, ma fille. Never will you understand and appreciate life the way you do when you're on the verge of losing it."
"I just don't know how we're going to escape from here. The odds seem to be increasingly against us."
"We must rise to the occasion," the Frenchman said stoically as he clambered atop a large boulder, planted his hands on his hips, raised his chin, and stared into the distance with an exaggeratedly resolute countenance.
Olivia laughed with him as she helped him down.
"Have I reminded you yet today that I'm glad you're here with me?"
"I think we'll look back on this excursion fondly, my dear. Just stay patient and observant, and we'll make it through," Henri said, patting her shoulder.
Reaching a pebble beach fringing the cavern's central lake, the two researchers approached the water carefully. The surface appeared like glass, undisturbed by movement, the water perfectly transparent—as crystalline and blue as the Aegean Sea. Like fireflies pulsing through the dark of a summer evening, small fish glowed and swept around in cyclonic rotations.
"It must be hundreds of feet deep," Henri said as he edged closer to the water. The Frenchman held the palm of his hand just inches above the water and recoiled. "It's nearly boiling," he said.
Olivia kneeled by his side. "Submarine volcano, maybe? If we had a means of determining the pH of the water, we could find out."
"Imagine the tenacity of the creatures able to survive in such an inhospitable environment," Henri mused. Suddenly taking on a far-off look, the elder researcher withdrew a handkerchief from his back pocket and sneezed violently, the sound echoing noisily throughout the cavern. The resonance faded, replaced by the sound of dripping water slithering from the jagged outcroppings protruding from the ceiling.
"Gesundheit," Olivia said without looking up.
Bubbles, sporadic at first, began to rise to the lake's surface, the water swirling ominously.
"I don't like the looks of that," Henri pointed as he backed away, tugging at his mentee's arm as the water began to wash against the surrounding gravel.
Olivia stood in place, staring down into the water as the faded outline of a pale beast rose from the depths, growing in size and clarity as it corkscrewed toward the surface. Its body resembled a massive eel, rows of needle-like teeth protruding from its gaping jaws and rings of gills trailing away from its bulleted head.
The snake from the pillar glyphs.
Only, it was no snake.
The two researchers cried out as they turned to run, the surface erupting as the mighty beast heaved itself onto the rocky shore, jaws snapping wildly.
Leaping toward a large outcropping nearby, Olivia pulled herself to safety, spun on a knee, and reached toward her mentor as he made his escape. The creature, though without legs, writhed its muscular body, snakelike, in close pursuit of the Frenchman, displacing boulders the size of hay bales as though they were made of foam. Though outside the water, the sedan-sized animal seemed to have no trouble breathing.
"Henri, hurry!"
Looking back at the leviathan as he attempted to climb to safety, Henri gashed his hand on the sharp edge of a stone and fell to the gravel below, the air rushing audibly from his lungs as he groaned in pain, blood trickling down his arm.
Her heart racing as the sea creature neared her mentor, Olivia cried out to the others for help before jumping from the safety of her perch. Crouching protectively above the fallen man, she scooped up and hurled handfuls of pebbles at the approaching creature in a futile attempt to distract it.
Teeth glistening, eyes aglow but empty of expression, the serpent neared—its snapping jaws bearing down on the researchers.
THIRTY-FOUR
Gunshots rang thunderously throughout the cave as the rest of the expedition reached the researchers, their bullets slapping the creature's muscled sides. Irritated, not incapacitated, the beast let out a mighty howl—a screeching wail that rang against the cavern walls.
A chorus of squeals responded from the pipes above as the hekura replied. The injured leviathan twisted along the beach, slipping back into the waters and diving deep.
"Yep, I'm sure of it now: I hate this place," Clayton said, helping Henri up as Austin reached Olivia. Touching her arm with a look of apprehension, the Brit whispered, "You okay?"
Breathing deeply, she nodded and patted his chest.
"We need to get moving," Jeremy urged, double-checking his machine pistol for ammunition. "I think the mother ship just called all its little aliens home. God dammit, all these legends are coming true, man. That etching on the wall back there—the locals call it the yacumama." Jeremy crossed himself and held his Cobray tighter. "Lives in the mouth of the Amazon River, eats anything or anyone that passed by. Locals blow con
ch horns before getting in the water to make it show itself. I thought it was just an exaggerated story about an anaconda, but shit. That wasn't just some snake."
Regaining his composure as Clayton tended to his wounded hand, Henri scratched at his beard and looked at the softly lapping waters where, seconds before, the monstrous sea creature had disappeared. "It looked just like a frilled shark, didn't it? A rather enormous one, though, and with the same oddly colored eyes as the hekura. What on earth is such a thing doing in a cavern hundreds of feet beneath the jungle of all places?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Doctor. But it's time we find a route out of this place," Austin whispered, his revolver drawn as his eyes followed the hooting and chuckling of the creatures above. They'd find a way into the cavern any minute.
Circumventing the lake, the expedition hurriedly sprinted into the depths of the cave, the space narrowing and growing darker as they distanced themselves from the single beam of light penetrating the darkness.
"The aggression of the Chlamydoselachus anguineus—frilled shark‚ assuming that's even what it was—doesn't correspond to the pictographs on the pillars," Henri said, clambering over a large stone. "If a beast like that has lived in this lake since the tribes first discovered the cave, wouldn't the creature have eaten any poor soul thrown into the water before it had time to become a hekura?"
"We weren't in the water. Perhaps the parasite that causes the transformation bears a genetic marker to prevent the creature from attacking its own," Olivia said, paying little attention to her mentor as she leapt from stone to stone, following Clayton's lead.
"It called for the hekura," Jeremy added. "I'm no scientist, but I'm guessing they're batting for the same team."
Daring a glance over his shoulder, Austin's eyes widened as he followed the fast-moving white bodies of the hekura leaping down the rocky gradient leading to the lake, their hoots and calls rebellowing against the cave walls.
"Gor, those sodding beasts are motherfuckingly close, mates. Leg it!" Austin shouted from the back of the line.
The expedition scrambled into the passageway, the space tightening as it ascended toward the surface.
Clayton, leading the pack, stopped, his broad shoulders unable to pass further into the crevice. Gesturing toward a small offshoot nearby, the big man cried out, "Move into that sideshoot. I'm going to try to clear this. We've got to be close to the outside."
"But the explosion will kill us!" Jeremy argued.
Withdrawing the brick of plastic explosive from his pocket and unwinding the roll of detcord, the mercenary hastily plunged the cord into the charge, planted the brick against the rock, and dodged around the corner alongside the others, unrolling the cord as he went.
"We don't have much choice, man," Clayton said apologetically, not pausing in his work or looking over his shoulder at the approaching hekura. "Everyone, keep your mouths open during the blast. It should relieve the pressure from the shockwave and keep your lungs from bursting."
The beasts neared, their mutated hands tearing at the stony earth as they plunged ahead in tireless pursuit of the research team.
"Look, they're avoiding the light!" Olivia shouted, fearlessly observing the hekura's movement as they neared. "Their eyes, their translucent skin…it must be a side effect of the parasite. The hekura must suffer from photophobia!"
"So what?" Jeremy shouted as he stuffed his fingers in his ears and tucked himself into a fetal position away from the blast zone.
"It means the sunlight hurts them." Glancing at her wristwatch, she continued, "It's 7 A.M. The sun should be out. If we can just get out of this cave, we'll be safe!" Olivia said as she turned around to face her peers. Her expression changed from hopeful to panicked as she spotted the others already cowering, anticipating the blast.
Tugging her wrist, Austin pulled Olivia into cover, wrapped her in his arms.
"Here we go," Clayton muttered, cringing as he jammed his thumb against the detonator.
THIRTY-FIVE
Wood crates filled with sealed bags of cocaine, wrapped in a nest of fresh coffee beans meant to throw drug-sniffing dogs off the trail, lined the walls of the thatched hut Alvarez used for storage. It was nearing the end of his coca growers' third season of the year. Collection of the leaves from dozens of inconspicuous plots in the nearby jungle would soon commence, and they would need to make room for the incoming crop after the leaves had been dried thoroughly.
He had arranged for a small plane to come in that afternoon to take a few of the crates to San Cristóbal. Even though they'd need to fly an almost constant loop to make the same rate of delivery as just one of Austin Stewart's flights, the cycle had to continue while the Englishman was off parading through the jungle.
"Raul always has a contingency plan," he said to himself. "That's what separates him from those that end up choked to death by their own severed fingers."
He stopped and withdrew a capped syringe from his pocket as he leaned against one of the boxes, the boards creaking beneath his weight. One of his pet Colombian spider monkeys rolled in the dirt at his feet, screeching playfully as her tail wrapped around her master's leg.
"Piérdete, you little fuck."
The afternoon's events had irritated him. Not because he'd been forced to kill the man he'd selected as a second-in-command, but rather because the whole thing reeked of vulgarity. Every day of his life in these jungles had become a haze of sex, drugs, and violence, replayed over and over until it had ceased to be entertaining. He was tired of the jungle, of being surrounded by drug-addled thieves and untrustworthy, diseased whores. And in order to be the leader of such a band of degenerates, he'd become the most vulgar, the most violent, and the most untrustworthy of the lot.
Cocaine made him good money, but he was lord over a kingdom of shit. Money meant nothing here: He still had to use a bucket of rainwater to bathe and dig a hole to take a shit. He needed a big break—one big ticket to get him enough cash to leave the jungle and retire in California or Florida. He'd live in a mansion, own a fleet of luxury cars, dine like a king, and admire the beautiful American women in bikinis, sunbathing beside his pool.
Alvarez readied the syringe and flexed his swollen bicep. The needle slid into the muscle. The plunger depressed. The Colombian drew out the needle, switched arms, and inserted it again.
The monkey abandoned her attempts at affection and climbed atop the crates until she reached the roof. Then, suspended upside-down, she crept toward the ceiling's center, long limbs dangling. Emptying the last of the Synthol from the syringe, Alvarez flicked the needle at the monkey, dangling overhead.
"I hate you most of all," he growled at the creature.
He left the hut following a cursory examination of the product—ensuring none of his men had been tampering with it. A raindrop fell from the trees and landed on his wrist. Suddenly, an itching, burning sensation rose from where the drop had struck, and the Colombian cursed as he wiped the irritated skin against his shirt. Looking up, he saw that the water had slipped from a Manchineel tree—one of the most poisonous in the world. Such a tree, if burned, could produce smoke so deadly, it'd kill a man after just a few breaths.
Alvarez stormed away angrily, but then stopped upon reaching a small group of his men playing a game of mumblety-peg with a rusty machete. He stared, watching them sling the blade at the ground between their feet.
That tree had just brought about an epiphany.
The British pilot said they had a plant.
An important one.
Maybe just important enough to make it worth stealing.
He'd get out of the cocaine business by taking this new plant from the pilot and holding it ransom to the Brit's employer. He'd get his big payday, even if it took killing the Englishman and all his friends.
THIRTY-SIX
Ears ringing, choking on the dust hanging thick on the air, Austin slowly came back to consciousness and tried to take in his surroundings.
Impenetrable darkness.
<
br /> Olivia's body felt warm against him, her chest rising and falling evenly. Even as the cave had collapsed around them, he hadn't let her go.
"Jeremy? Clayton? Henri?" he shouted hoarsely.
Olivia coughed and kicked out in a panic as she came to, not recognizing where she was. Austin hushed her gently.
"We're okay," he said, giving her a reassuring squeeze.
"We didn't get out. Where are the others?"
"I think we're separated by the rocks."
Both listened quietly to the sound of their breathing, dully echoing in the cramped space. Unable to move, there was little they could do but hope that the others had managed to escape and were working to dig them free.
"I'm sorry I didn't turn back when you asked," Austin said, his lips brushing her ear.
"I could have insisted. You're not to blame for us being here. No one could have predicted all this."
"But I may have gotten us all killed, and I'm the one who had the least to lose," he said, his voice trailing off as he considered his words. He could have been the one to put a stop to this. Sure, he and Jeremy would be in deep with Alvarez, but the rest would have been better for it. Bisari would still be alive. He'd killed them all, and only because he'd been so selfish.
Olivia calmly replied, "I'd rather go out like this than tucked away in a laboratory, anyway."
He groaned as he tried to shift his shoulder, a large stone weighing down upon it.
No room to move.
No room to breathe.
"Olivia?"
"Yes?"
"I don't know how much time we have until we run out of oxygen."
"It's okay," she reassured, reaching a hand up past her cheek and gently touching his face.
"No. Olivia, I know this probably isn't the right time, or even the right thing to say to you. But I'd feel remiss if I died without saying it, all the same."
Without letting him continue, Olivia spoke softly, "Don't. We both know you wouldn't mean it."