Amazon Burning (A James Acton Thriller, #10)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked at Mother in awe, a look of pride on the old woman’s face she had never seen before. They hugged each other as those in the room patted them on the back.

  “That’s my boy!” cried Mother, the pride and shame of not feeling it until now evident in her voice.

  Suddenly the strange sounds of the Panther People’s spears erupted and TikTik jumped back to the window to see Tuk dive to the side, rolling back to his feet and with incredible speed, hurl his spear through the air. TikTik expected it to fall short, far short, as did they all, but as they watched it continued to gain height, to travel forward straight and true, and when it became clear it might just have enough distance to reach the enemy, she began to cheer, joining the hundreds of voices chanting her girlhood crush’s name.

  Then cried for joy when it impaled the leader through the chest, his expression one of stunned disbelief before he crumpled to the ground.

  Tuk dropped to the ground almost immediately after he loosed the spear, rolling over to Kinti as he watched it sail through the air. It was as if every set of eyes in this strange place were watching his throw, the Panther People even stopping aiming their strange spears, and when the throw proved true, he smiled, grabbing Kinti by the shoulder and shaking her.

  “Did you see that?” he cried, it the most incredible throw he had ever seen from anyone. The strange sounds erupted from all over as he heard his warriors storm forward, filled with confidence now that they had seen one of their enemy felled by their leader.

  Kinti gasped.

  Tuk’s eyes narrowed, then he cried out, “No!” as he rolled her over to see blood oozing from her stomach. He didn’t know anything to say, no one else speaking his language. He jumped up, facing the strange shelters, and yelled the only word he could.

  “Help!”

  And almost immediately, the man he presumed was Kinti’s mate burst from one of the lodges, racing toward them as spears darkened the sky.

  Dawson opened fire, killing everything he could as hundreds of spears began to strike the ground, many impaling the Chinese unfortunate enough to be occupying the same spot of earth. Dozens upon dozens died within the first minute as hundreds of natives poured from the tree line and into the open. Dawson continued to fire until it was no longer safe to do so, the natives about to become intermingled with the surviving Chinese.

  The lines were broken and it was evident all command structure had collapsed, the troops retreating in an orderly manner down the road, firing coordinated bursts at the advancing natives, then when the numbers proved simply too overwhelming, turning tail and sprinting toward their transports.

  Dawson simply sat back, his hands in the open as natives overwhelmed their positions, spears and stone knives threatening them, but not killing them.

  “Just stay calm, smile, but don’t show any teeth,” muttered Leather under his breath.

  Dawson smiled, his teeth covered tightly by his lips, his hands out as he slowly looked around to see the same thing happening at the other nests. As the screams of the Chinese became more distant, their gunfire more sporadic, he realized the immediate danger here was over, and slowly rose when he spotted Tuk coming toward them with a strut in his step he hadn’t thought possible in the simple, diminutive man.

  He said something, waving his hand and the spears were immediately lifted. Dawson stepped out of the foxhole and approached Tuk. The young native held out both arms and Dawson grasped them by the wrists as the young man smiled, saying something.

  But there was no one to translate and Dawson wondered where Kinti was.

  “Tuk!” cried a woman’s voice. Dawson turned to see one of the young native girls who had been hiding in the compound buildings jump from the door, racing toward them, the rest of the natives inside streaming after her.

  “Tuk!”

  Tuk spun to see TikTik running toward him. He cried out in joy as he rushed through the crowd of warriors toward her. But rather than greet her with the traditional two arm grasp of friends, he grabbed around her body, lifting her into the air like he would his mate, and held her tight as tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “I thought you were dead!”

  She shook her head. “No, only Bruk.”

  Tuk pushed back slightly in deference to his dead friend, and TikTik’s dead mate. But she held onto him, tight. “I’m so sorry for your loss, TikTik.”

  “As am I. And I will mourn him, but move on. For I know now that I will be mated to the man, to the warrior I always wanted to be mated to my entire life.”

  Tuk felt his chest tighten slightly as his eyes narrowed. “Who?” he finally asked, his voice almost cracking at the thought of there being even more competition for the beautiful TikTik’s heart.

  “You, of course!”

  Tuk took a moment to process what she had said, then when it finally clicked, he smiled, pulling her closer and kissing her.

  The warriors a thousand strong erupted in cheers, eventually turning into chants of “Tuk! Tuk! Tuk!” once gain as Tuk, the once terrified young man respected by no one, reveled in the glory deserved of the greatest leader the people of the northern Amazon had ever known.

  More than worthy to be the mate of the beautiful TikTik.

  Dawson backed away from the public display of affection, happy for the scrawny guy, as Niner and Jimmy ran up.

  “They’re gone boss. What remained of them took one of the transports to the river. My guess is they’re scramming.”

  “For how long is the question,” replied Dawson. “Casualties?” he asked Red.

  Red shook his head. “Negative. Everyone made it, including Charlie Team and the civilians.”

  Dawson shook his head. “Not everybody.”

  All around them warriors were picking up their dead and wounded, carrying them over their heads into the forest, their numbers quickly dwindling.

  “Oh shit,” muttered Dawson as he saw Acton running toward where Tuk had thrown the spear from that changed the tide of the battle. They all turned to see the young woman that Reading was head over heels for, lying on the ground, Reading kneeling over her body.

  “Not everybody at all.”

  “You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay,” cried Reading, tears rolling down his cheeks as he repeated the comforting words to her, over and over, knowing she couldn’t understand them, and knowing he was lying for her benefit. He could see the life draining from her face, her eyes barely open, but her smile still there as she whispered his name, holding his cheek.

  “Kinti love Hugh.”

  A gasp erupted from his chest as he kissed her, holding her head in his hand as he caressed her cheek.

  “Hugh loves Kinti,” he whispered, her smile spreading as she closed her eyes, her last breath escaping her lungs with a sigh that seemed to echo through the forest, bringing silence with it as all watched the grief and pain caused by wars the world over, no matter the size or side.

  Reading grabbed her, lifting her up, hugging her hard as he cried harder than he had ever cried, not giving a damn about British reserve, cultural norms, or what others thought. He had lost friends before, family before, but never someone he had loved and cared for so intensely, in such short a period of time, and though the words exchanged between them could probably be counted on two hands, his heart felt like it had lived a lifetime with this young woman, and he had no idea how he could possibly recover from this loss.

  He had known he’d have to leave her behind, and had prepared himself for the temporary pain it would cause, but he would be leaving knowing she was alive and well and would eventually move on to live a long, happy life.

  But now she was dead. Because of him. If he had never spotted the inlet, they never would have set up camp there. Tuk would never have kidnapped Laura, and he would have never met Kinti.

  She would be alive.

  “It’s my fault,” he whispered.

  He sensed Acton kneel beside him, then felt his friend’s hand on his shou
lder.

  “You know that’s not true,” he said gently.

  “I’m the one who spotted the inlet,” he said, repeating his twisted logic.

  Acton squeezed his shoulder. “You were merely the first to spot it. Fabricio would have spotted it if you hadn’t. It was the perfect place to set up camp and it was nearly sunset.”

  Reading sniffed, knowing that Acton was right, though knowing made it no less painful.

  “But she’s dead, Jim. She’s dead!” he sobbed again, his chest heaving several times before he could get control. “She’s dead,” his voice barely a whisper.

  “But she died with the man she loved, knowing that he loved her. She could have died tomorrow from a snake bite, but she died today helping save this entire forest of people, fighting alongside the man she loved, and dying in his arms. I saw her face when you told her you loved her. That was the happiest woman I’ve ever seen. You have to remember that.”

  Reading nodded and looked up as Skip and several of the others from Kinti’s tribe stepped forward. Skip said something in Portuguese, and Leather’s man translated. “They need to take her now.”

  Reading gently lay her body down on the ground and kissed her forehead one last time, then stood up, stepping back as her family and friends picked up her body, carrying her over their heads into the forest.

  “Give me a moment,” he said, his back to the others, as he watched the procession slowly disappear into the trees. He heard the others leave, and as the tears began to subside, control exerted once again over his emotions, he wiped his face dry, then swore to never love again.

  Acton Residence, St. Paul, Maryland

  Acton squeezed Laura’s hand as they sat on the couch, Reading on the TV’s Skype app, Milton sitting in the La-Z-boy in a state of bliss as it massaged him from head to toe.

  “I definitely have to get one of these,” he said, his voice monotone as he exaggerated the vibrations going through his body. “Maybe my health insurance will cover it.”

  Acton laughed, as did Reading, one of the few he had heard from him in the two weeks since they had left the Amazon behind them. Milton’s back was nearly fully recovered, it just needing some rest and physiotherapy. It was Reading they were all concerned about, he refusing to talk about Kinti or what had happened.

  “The past is the past,” was all he would say, but they knew he was hurting, and in true Reading style, was keeping it bottled inside.

  “I assume you’ve heard the news,” said Reading. “It broke yesterday.”

  “Yup, watched the report on the BBC last night,” said Acton. “Great coverage. Looks like everybody is picking up on it.” The environmentalists had broken the story on the Internet, posting all the footage they had taken, plus taped interviews they had done with each other, making sure there was no way the evidence could be hidden, it shared thousands of times on social media long before they went to the press.

  And once they had, the story caught on like wildfire, the public loving good villains like the Chinese and Venezuelans, and heroes like the natives who had fought back and won. No mention was made of the help from the Delta Force or the ex-SAS operators, and any rumors to that effect were sloughed off as just that, rumors. The important thing was that the mine was officially closed, the Venezuelans denying all knowledge of it and imprisoning a few patsies. The Chinese simply ignored questions.

  Acton was still left to wonder how many other secret mines were out there in the world, or even in the Amazon itself.

  He hoped if they were there, they weren’t exploiting the natives like this one did.

  “So, have you two made a decision?”

  Acton’s eyebrows popped. “About what?”

  Reading shook his head. “About where you’re going to live? You said within two weeks of being back you’d decide.”

  Acton blushed, realizing they hadn’t really made the decision. They’d talked about it a bit, but they both kept saying they were willing to live where the other one wanted.

  “How would you feel about living in England?” asked Reading.

  Acton shrugged. “Perfectly fine. The only problem I think I’d have is learning the language. You guys can’t seem to make up your mind on what words you actually use. Some of you swear you never use the word ‘daft’ or ‘guv’ yet every night on your television you’ve got people saying those very words! I’m afraid to try and use any of your slang when I’m there for fear somebody jumps down my throat who thinks their colloquialisms and only theirs extend to the entire Empire!”

  Reading laughed, tossing his head back and Acton exchanged a wink with Laura who was happy as well to see their friend finally having a good time. “Nobody here speaks the same bloody language. Just make sure you keep that damned accent of yours, and you’ll be forgiven every time.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” laughed Acton. “But I’ll just keep plugging along, doing my bloody best even if I sound like a daft nutter if that’s okay with you, guv.”

  Reading pissed himself laughing as Milton vibrated out his own laugh, Laura’s head resting on Acton’s shoulder as she giggled.

  “Well, I have a little tidbit to contribute to this conversation,” said Laura, turning in her seat to face Acton. I was offered a job in Washington, and I’m thinking of taking it.”

  Acton’s smile spread from ear to ear. “That’s only an hour from here!”

  She nodded. “What do you think? Decision made?”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders, beginning to pull her in for a hug then stopped. “Is it a good job? I mean, will you be happy doing it like you’re happy in London?”

  She nodded. “It’s a great job. And I’ve arranged for it to be only part time, and London has agreed to let me keep the dig going in Egypt, as long as I fund it, which I was doing anyway. But it means I get to keep my students!”

  Acton pulled her in, hugging her hard.

  “Decision made!”

  Tuk’s Village, Northern Amazon, Venezuela

  Tuk strode through the forest, his hunting party behind him, a large boar he himself had taken down draped between the shoulders of two men far larger than him. As he had discovered at the Battle of Tuk versus the Panther People, as it had become known, he realized the weakness he thought he had for throwing the spear was something from his childhood. As an adult he had become quite strong, but simply had never learned to put the power into his throw until it had become necessary.

  His throw had felled a yakumama snake and the leader of the Panther People. One had been seen only by Lau-ra, the Woman of Light, the other seen by a thousand men throughout the forest, the story now legend.

  He stepped into the clearing that was their rebuilt village, the neighboring tribes helping them after the complete destruction left behind. It had been almost two seasons since the battle, and sometimes it seemed like a dream, but the constant reminder that it wasn’t rose to greet him as he came into sight.

  TikTik.

  Round with child, his child, she was now his mate, enthusiastically endorsed by her parents, it impossible to refuse the great Tuk his desires.

  “Tuk!” she cried as she ran up to him, embracing him hard, kissing him with a passion that still fired him up every time. Many had died that day, including the precious Kinti and his friend Bruk days before, but he had travelled to the pit in the earth several times since to see it abandoned, now merely a scar on the great Mother’s surface.

  He was happy. More happy than he could have ever imagined possible. He had TikTik to thank for that, for agreeing to be his mate, and for always having loved him.

  And he had the great Mother, who had sent him a messenger, a messenger that had sent him down a path he could never have imagined for himself, turning a small, insignificant man, full of self-pity and self-loathing, into a respected hunter, warrior, father and husband.

  He looked up at the sky overhead and thanked the Mother’s messenger with a silent prayer.

  Lau-ra-pal-mer.

>   THE END

  Acknowledgements

  As I watched the World Cup, rediscovering my love of soccer (yes, soccer!), I began to think of the Amazon and the proverbial fish out of water. I lived in West Germany for seven years from the ages eight to fifteen while my father was stationed there. We lived on what was called “the economy”, which meant we lived among the Germans, rather than on base, my parents wisely wanting to embrace the culture rather than live in some microcosm of our own behind a fence.

  From my bedroom window there was a beautiful soccer field within sight, kids playing on it all the time, soccer fields in Europe like baseball diamonds in America—everywhere.

  In our small town of Hugsweier there were pretty much only German kids there, so if I wanted to have any fun, I’d need to learn the language and play with the German kids.

  When in Rome.

  The German kids were fantastic, and I learned to play soccer, learned the language, and quite quickly I was fairly fluent in German, and a damned good soccer player. I had my favorite team (Bayern München) and my favorite player (Karl-Heinz Rummenigge) and learned to love soccer while making friends, learning a language and discovering a culture.

  All because a small English speaking kid had the courage to step out onto a soccer field and ask in broken German if he could play.

  While thinking of the World Cup, Brazil and the Amazon (yes, this is going somewhere!), I thought of the uncontacted tribes, and the kernel of a story began. What would happen if some lonely member of one of these tribes were to step out of the forest and ask for help like that little boy asking to play?

  What is remarkable about this novel is that after I was about half way finished, news broke about an uncontacted tribe actually making contact due to a massacre at their village committed by Peruvian illegal loggers. As has proven true far too often, once again one of my books had been “torn from the headlines” but before the headlines were even written (remember The Arab Fall where I predicted the return of the military to power in Egypt? It happened about two weeks after I published.)