‘I thought he’d got over the fever,’ Al said. ‘He seemed much better yesterday.’
‘I think it’s more serious,’ Dallas replied quietly, ‘I think it’s something like malaria.’
‘Are you kidding?’
‘Be quiet, don’t let the others hear.’
‘Malaria. But that’s…’ he trailed off hopelessly. ‘How can we treat it?’
‘We can’t. I don’t know much about it – but special medicine is necessary. Quinine, I think.’
‘Jesus!’ Al buried his face in his hands.
‘I might be wrong,’ Dallas said quickly, ‘it’s just that malaria apparently attacks in spells. In between the victim is weakened – but all right.’
‘You mean he’ll be OK?’
‘No, I don’t mean that. It depends what type of jungle fever he’s got. I remember my father – he’d had malaria in the tropics at some time – anyway he still used to get occasional attacks – an ague fit, he called it. But he had medicine.’
‘How the fuck did Paul get it?’
‘Certain mosquitoes carry the germ – it’s not difficult to pick up in this kind of climate.’
‘Shit! This is all we need, isn’t it?’
Dallas felt Paul’s forehead again. ‘If it is malaria the attack will probably be over by tomorrow – we’ll be able to go on – if we can find help…’
‘If… if… if we could have found help Cathy could have been saved. Even Nino. What makes you think we’re going to find help for Paul?’
She sighed wearily. ‘What can I tell you, Al? There’s nothing we can do except keep going.’
‘I know.’
They lay down in the heat, trying to find a shady patch. Al let his body relax. Dallas shared out the last of the nuts and cube sugar. Now all they had left were three jars of caviar. Fortunately the river water seemed drinkable, so liquid sustenance was no problem.
Paul couldn’t eat anything – but Dallas was able to feed him some sips of water. His shivering had stopped and the skin on his body was now burning up with a dry heat. He was delirious and incoherent.
* * *
Al didn’t know how long he had been resting. Like the others he lay in a sort of stupor – his eyes closed – his mind drifting uneasily.
He was beginning to feel so weak… a feeling of physical impotence so strong that to lift his arm was a major effort.
He knew they should be moving on, to stop while it was still light was stupid. Time was all important. Move in the daylight. Rest at night.
He opened his eyes and saw the monkeys – about eight of them. They were unconcernedly swinging and playing on some nearby trees.
Stealthily he reached for the gun and got up.
The monkeys moved on, and Al followed them.
They were moving away from the trees on the river bank and further into the thick foliage.
Christ! How long was it since he had fired a gun? Ten years? Twenty?
He flashed onto a memory of himself at seventeen. Battersea Park funfair, a girl on his arm, and a rifle in his hands. He had been shooting at a fixed target – a series of tin pigeons revolving in a circle. He had scored six out of six – won a mouldy pink teddy bear – and scored with the girl behind the bushes in the car park.
He could remember the scene vividly.
He raised the small gun and fired at the nearest monkey. It fell from the branch with an almost human cry, and the rest of the monkeys made off at full speed.
He hadn’t killed it, merely wounded, and the small, almost childlike animal gazed up at him with bright inquisitive eyes.
He hated himself for doing it, but he finished it off with a blow to the head, and carried the still warm body back to the others.
Dallas was awake, so was Evan. They looked at him curiously.
‘Did you kill it?’ Evan asked.
‘No,’ snapped Al, ‘it fell off a tree complete with bullet hole!’
‘How can we eat it?’ Evan continued. ‘It’s all covered in fur.’
‘You’re going to skin it,’ Al said. ‘You took biology at school, didn’t you?’
‘Yes… But we never skinned monkeys.’
‘So now’s your chance to learn.’
Evan made a face, but he took out the penknife Al had given him, and squeamishly started the job.
Before nightfall they had feasted on monkey roasted over a fire Al lit with one of their precious matches. It wasn’t bad at all – tasted somewhat like rabbit.
Paul still could not eat – but for the others, having a full belly was a luxury indeed.
Al looked around with a sort of pride. He had found them food. His son had prepared it – and they had eaten. It was a good feeling to know that his efforts were helping them to survive.
He slept well and woke very early to see more planes flying overhead. Three of them, in convoy, very fast and very high.
He didn’t wake the others – why excite them for nothing? The planes couldn’t possibly see them. But maybe at last they were searching. Maybe now search parties might come looking for them on foot.
He wondered for the thousandth time how far they were from any type of human life. Dallas had mentioned that Indian tribes were supposed to live in the Amazon – and surely there were hunters and traders.
He felt better than he had in days. It was Sunday now. They had been in the jungle for nine days. It seemed like a lifetime – six days waiting for help in the goddamn plane – and three days travelling.
A parrot had settled itself on a tree and was watching him with beady black eyes. He wondered how parrot meat would taste…
In the distance a huge snake slithered along. He had learned to ignore them as long as they never came too close. The danger was in stepping on one by mistake.
The interminable flies and mosquitoes had ceased to bother him. They had become a part of everyday life. Cristina was the only one that seemed to suffer from their bites. Her arms were in a dreadful state.
Paul opened his eyes and mumbled, ‘What happened? Where are we? I don’t remember a thing.’ He was emaciated, his eyes sunken into his gaunt face, his arms almost too weak to hold the cup of water Al offered him. But as Dallas had predicted, the fever had left him.
Al explained that he had been sick, but that they were nearing help.
‘How’d I get here?’ Paul asked.
‘He carried you,’ Evan said proudly, joining in the conversation, and indicating his father.
Paul looked at Al.
‘I didn’t carry him,’ Al objected, embarrassed, ‘I just helped him along a little.’
‘My brother – the hero,’ Paul said mockingly, his voice hardly more than a whisper. But he smiled when he said it, and reached and squeezed Al by the arm. ‘Thanks, brother.’
Al looked away. ‘I reckon I owed you a favour.’
Dallas was moving around getting everyone ready to set off on the day’s journey. Her medicinal supplies were running low. The last of the antiseptic cream was shared between Cristina’s arms and Evan’s badly burned face.
Foot blisters and sores – which everyone was suffering with – were tied around with strips of material.
Bernie was the last to wake. He shoved Dallas away when she asked to inspect his wound. ‘I feel fine,’ he snapped. But he didn’t look fine. He looked extremely flushed, and his eyes were runny and bloodshot. Dallas hoped that he wasn’t coming down with the fever – Bernie there would be no chance of carrying.
They set off, struggling along the tortuous path – fighting their way through the tangled undergrowth until it was almost impassable. Finally Al suggested that they wade along the shallow edge of the river. It was cooler, and the mild current would help their progress.
They had been doing this for about an hour when Al spotted the alligators – huge mud-covered creatures sliding off the opposite river bank and moving lazily through the water towards them.
‘Get out of the water!’ Al screamed. ‘Alligators
– get out! For chrissakes MOVE!’
The river bank was slime-covered and slippery – it had become much steeper than when they had first entered the water.
Al hauled himself out, grabbing hold of Paul and pulling him to safety.
At the same time Evan helped Cristina out, and followed quickly.
Dallas was also able to move fast, but Bernie – his fat body half encased in the water, seemed paralysed with fear.
‘Come on, man!’ screamed Al – struggling back along the muddy bank to help.
Dallas leaned over and grabbed Bernie by the arm, trying to pull him. ‘Move, Bernie, MOVE!’ she yelled, watching in horror as the alligators glided nearer and nearer.
Bernie, stung into sudden action, attempted to climb out. But the mud was so slippery that he fell back – nearly pulling Dallas in with him. The force of his efforts caused his chest wound to open up, and suddenly his shirt was soaked with blood as he tried to stagger to his feet and get out of the water.
By this time Al was at the side to help – grabbing Bernie’s arm, pulling… pulling… but the smell of blood had attracted the alligators to move faster, and as Al pulled at one end, the first of the huge reptiles attacked at the other, its massive jaws opening and clamping its ferocious teeth down on Bernie’s leg.
He screamed in agony as the alligator tried to drag him deeper into the water. Al wasn’t strong enough to hold on – and Bernie’s arm was snatched out of his grasp.
They all watched in mute horror as the fat man was pulled struggling and screaming into the centre of the river.
‘Isn’t there anything we can do?’ Dallas pleaded. ‘God! We must do something!’
It was too late anyway. The other alligators had moved silently in on their victim – joining in the attack.
Bernie had disappeared under the water. He never surfaced again.
They waited at the same spot for hours, huddled together. Eventually the alligators slid lazily off, climbing and slithering on to the other side of the river bank and basking in the sun’s rays.
No sign of Bernie. It was as if he had never even existed.
‘There’s no point in staying here any longer,’ Al said at last – loath to point out the very obvious fact that there was only a small river separating them from the alligators. If they decided to cross over…
Cristina was crying. Evan put his arm around her, and she gazed up at him with very tired eyes. ‘I want to be home,’ she stated simply.
‘We will be,’ Evan reassured, ‘don’t worry.’
* * *
The rest of the day passed by in a haze. Blindly they followed Al, struggling along the densely overgrown river bank, too frightened to get back into the water. Driven mad by the mosquitoes and the intense burning sun. Fearful of stepping on snakes. Scratched and bruised by overhanging boughs, and sometimes being forced to wade into the water for a few yards to get round rotting tree trunks which occasionally blocked their way.
Al, in the lead, was more watchful than ever. He could only blame himself for what had happened earlier. It was he who had suggested they enter the water. If they had been on land the alligators would not have attacked.
Every bone in his body ached, and he knew that he should start to look for a suitable place to settle for the night. But when they stopped, while the others rested, he would have to look for food. All they had left was the caviar.
His head ached and his vision was blurring. Every so often he glanced behind. Paul was managing fairly well – dogging his footsteps in a dazed fashion. And behind him, Evan, half supporting Cristina, whispering encouragement to keep her going. And bringing up the rear, Dallas.
It was a horrible thought, but without Bernie they seemed to be moving faster. Had he been slowing them down? Or were they just escaping from the memory of his horrible death?
Eventually they stopped. Al was too exhausted to search for food – so silently they shared a jar of caviar and fell asleep.
In the middle of the night the rains came. Pelting great hailstones stinging them awake.
They couldn’t travel, and they couldn’t sleep. Huddled together they just had to accept the full brunt of the rain. It didn’t stop. It was still falling heavily at the first sign of light, and they set off as soon as they could see, their path made even more hazardous by thick squelching mud.
By midday the rain turned into a storm. Ominous black clouds filling the sky, belching loud rumbles and luminous streaks of lightning.
For the very first time Dallas considered death as an alternative. Where were they going to? What were they struggling for? Perhaps Bernie was the lucky one…
To just lie down and sleep. Close your eyes and succumb to the temptation of never getting up again.
She thought she might suggest it to Al. If she could die in his arms…
She had lost all idea of time. Her clothes were soaked through, torn and tattered. Her shoes could not last much longer – soon she would have to walk barefoot. She was dizzy and nauseous.
When the rain stopped, they did also, and finished off the two remaining jars of caviar because they were quite literally starving.
Paul had the fever again. Cristina was screaming with the pain in her arms. Evan meticulously dug out the festering maggots and tried to calm her down.
Dallas moved over and lay next to Al.
He was staring up at the sky mouthing some kind of personal appeal.
She rolled close to him. ‘We’re going to die, aren’t we?’ Her voice rose hysterically. ‘You can tell me, Al. I don’t mind, honestly, I don’t. We’re going to die…’
He hit her across the face with a strength he no longer knew he possessed. ‘The hell we are. We’re going to make it. You understand me? We’re going to make it.’
She understood why he had hit her, and she was glad he had. To lose control now after all they had gone through. She sobbed and he held her very close. ‘I love you, babe,’ he said over and over, ‘and we’re going to make it – you hear me – we’re going to make it.’
She believed him, and once more she was calm. Held firmly in his arms she fell asleep.
* * *
Tuesday. Eleven days in the jungle. Cristina whimpering quietly to herself. Stomach racked with cramps. Soon they would lose all track of time, and each day would merge into the next – fused together by the rain and the mud – the insects and blistering heat.
Dallas sat up. Insects were crawling over her – she could hardly be bothered to brush them off.
‘Where is Al?’ she asked Evan.
‘He left early, said he was going to find something to eat. I wanted to go with him, but he said I should stay with you.’
Evan was bearing up considerably well – in fact as far as Cristina was concerned he was a tower of strength. It was funny, really – he was hardly recognizable as the surly, bad-tempered boy of days ago.
Paul was still racked with fever, mumbling to himself – his normally good-looking features changed almost beyond recognition. His face was gaunt and flushed. His eyes sunken and surrounded by deep black circles. His arms twitched uncontrollably.
Dallas missed Bernie. He had complained a lot, but he had also managed to greet each day with a wisecrack. She tried not to think about him – it was too painful.
Her clothes were stiff with dried mud, and disgustingly itchy. She removed her shoes and socks, and regarded her swollen blistered feet. It didn’t seem likely that they could carry her much longer. Painstakingly she tried to bandage them with strips of material torn from her shirt sleeves. The effort involved exhausted her, and she lay back – too tired to even examine Cristina’s arms. What good could she do anyway? Subject the girl to the agony of digging more maggots out when the arms were already raw and infected?
She closed her eyes and drifted back into a sort of sleep. The thought of continuing the journey today was impossible – both Paul and Cristina were in no fit state to move anyway.
It wasn’t fair. It just wasn�
��t fair. Whatever Al might say they were all going to die out here. Die… Death…
She didn’t really care any more. It would be a relief really… A blessing…
* * *
Al had been moving stealthily through the jungle for more than an hour. He had started off following some birds – but then he had seen the herd of wild hogs – about six or seven of them – and he had thought – Christ! If I can shoot one of those it will keep us going for days!
So he had trailed the snorting, grunting creatures, awaiting his opportunity.
They looked somewhat like ordinary pigs, only they were bigger – with a higher back and coarse long bristles. And an incredibly strong smell issued forth from them.
Al wrinkled his nose in disgust – but somehow the hunting of food raised his spirits, and he felt fitter than he had for days. He suddenly understood what survival was all about. Pitting your strength against the elements and coming out on top. Adrenalin pumped through his body at an alarming rate. Now he could understand why men climbed mountains and sailed across oceans in little boats. The excitement of conquering nature. At thirty-eight years of age he was discovering there was more to life than climbing up on a stage and singing your guts out.
Slowly he raised the gun and pointed it at the nearest and smallest hog which had paused to sniff at something.
The bullet hit it right between the eyes. A clean shot which threw the animal to the ground in a writhing fury. It thrashed around for a few minutes, and finally rolled onto its back and died.
Al leaped forward. The stinking animal was going to be too heavy for him to carry.
But he was determined. People were depending on him. His son. The woman he loved. His brother.
He took off his belt which was made of leather, and slotted it around the animal’s neck tightly. He was then able to drag the hog behind him, and make his way slowly back to the others. It took quite a while, but he made it, and in no time at all Evan was dismembering the animal, and Dallas was getting a fire together.
They roasted several portions, and picked at the hot greasy flesh ravenously. It wasn’t the most tempting of meals – what with the smell and the unbearable heat and the flies. But it was food. They cooked more than they could eat and wrapped it in one of the blankets to take with them.
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