He thought, Hunting parties.
Along the edge of the path were yellow-flowered plants resembling blackthorn bushes. Sniffing the leaves, he caught the smell of tea.
Okay, hunting parties that like to party.
The bushes were Amazonian coca plants, planted by the natives, who chewed the leaves for energy. Such plants would be dispersed along the trail, indicating a regular route for the hunters.
Micah plucked a fistful of leaves, slipped one into his mouth and stuffed the rest in his pocket. After a few seconds of chewing he felt his energy level rise and his myriad of aches and pains slipping away. The leaves didn’t have the narcotic effects of cocaine—it was more like three expressos followed by a Swedish massage. Feeling at least half alive, he hiked back to explore the route they’d come in on. The bats had scoured the area clean of any ants. All that remained of the man who’d run screaming from the jungle was bones. Micah was about to walk back to the tower when a detail caught his eye. The human skeleton was mostly intact, except the skull was gone. Then he saw the imprints of bare feet.
“Aw shit.”
While they’d slept someone had come and taken the head. He jogged back toward the tower, scanning the tree line for any sign of life. Nothing.
Catalina saw him coming and climbed down, Faye in tow.
Once on the ground, she asked, “What’s the verdict?”
“Moving inland to avoid the pirates was smart, but she’s clearly on our trail. I say we get back to the river.”
“Because?”
He told her about the footprints and the missing skull, adding, “Our best hope is passing boats. Even this far out there might still be river traffic. Or we might find somebody who’ll sell us a canoe.”
“What’re we paying with?”
“That pistol you’re carrying. It’ll be a hot commodity out here.”
“Ethically questionable, but who’s counting.”
“It’ll be cool for a few more hours, so we’ll walk till noon then take a break.” He crouched down to eye level with Faye, and asked, “How’re you doing, honey?”
She smiled, putting on a brave front. “I’m okay.”
“That’s my girl.”
But the exhaustion in her eyes was plain to see, along with the bug bites, scratches and filth covering her body. His little girl needed decent food, sleep and a bath—none of which were on the horizon. He dug out one of the leaves and handed it to Catalina. “Chew on that, it’ll help.”
“What is it?”
“Let’s just say you should avoid any mandatory drug testing for a while.”
She chewed on it for a few seconds and said, “You’re a very bad influence.”
Faye asked, “Can I have one?”
Micah tussled her hair, saying, “No, honey, they’re just for grown-ups. Now let’s get moving.”
They set out, but having a child with them kept their pace painfully slow.
#
The queen had no such encumbrances, quickly marching her pirates to the abandoned rubber plantation. The monkey perched on her shoulder showed no interest in joining the wild troops in the trees above.
She knelt down over the headless skeleton half buried in the mud. The body had been stripped of its skin, but she recognized its tattered shoes. She also noted the bare footprints around the body.
Turning to her men, she announced, “Benício, you are my new executive officer.”
Benício stared down at his skeletal predecessor and gulped.
She walked on, waving for them to follow. After a brief search, she declared, “The American is already gone.” Then she closed her eyes, lost in deep thought. After a few moments, she announced, “I know where he’s going,” and started walking.
Benício cautiously asked, “Where are we going?”
“Wherever I say.”
The men fell in behind, their pace becoming sluggish, accompanied by muted bitching and moaning.
Sensing their reluctance, the queen declared, “What are you whining about? Have you forgotten our escape from Batista’s emerald mine?”
Benício said, “Of course not, it was the day you led us to freedom.”
Queen Caveira said, “We were only children, but we walked for days without food or water. Now you are men, so act like it!”
They pressed on, her harsh words shaming them into silent obedience.
The queen slipped her hand into her pocket, feeling the pool ball-sized emerald nestled there. No matter what happened she’d still have enough to start over—but only after Boiúna was avenged.
#
Micah pressed on, navigating by instinct and hoping to hell he was right. The noon heat had grown oppressive, and the air hung thick with humidity. The rising temperature evaporated the dew from the leaves, leaving them thirsty. Mosquitos and biting flies hovered around the trio, making regular attacks.
Micah dug out the last of the waterproof wooden matches he’d scavenged from the queen’s dinghy and handed them out. “Suck on the end as we go.” Faye put it in her mouth and grimaced. He said, “I know it tastes terrible, but the sulfur gets in your sweat and keeps the bugs off.”
He mentally tallied their situation. Faye had grown lethargic from exhaustion and heat, forcing him to carry her for the last hour. The fruit they’d gathered wasn’t going to be enough to sustain them. Their best hope was to reach the river and hopefully catch some fish—preferably not Megapiranha.
A break in the trees ahead led them to a steep muddy slope. Micah heard water flowing in the distance.
Catalina heard it too, asking, “Is that the river?”
Micah nodded and set Faye down. “We’re close, honey, but I need you to walk down the slope. Can you do that for me?”
Faye nodded, too exhausted to feign enthusiasm.
Wiping the sweat off her brow, Catalina asked, “You got another one of those go-go leaves?” Micah handed one over. She chewed it, muttering, “I’m checking into Betty Ford after this.”
Taking Faye’s hand, Micah slowly worked his way down through the ankle-deep mud, the river growing louder with every step.
Halfway down he lost his foothold and shouted, “Grab her!”
Catalina latched on to Faye’s arm just as Micah fell into the slick mud. He slid, gaining speed until he was rocketing like a luge down the embankment. After thirty seconds of mud-sledding he felt the ground beneath him disappear. While still airborne he managed one deep breath—a heartbeat later he was underwater.
Micah sank into a deep but remarkably clear pool. He was about to kick his way up when he saw something silhouetted against the sunlit surface. It was a fish, at least six feet long, with a tapered snout. Another equally large creature swam by, intentionally bumping him.
Micah thought, Bull sharks, while fighting the panic welling inside. Amazon River bull sharks were as vicious as great whites—genuine man-eaters.
He spun around, getting a clear look at the passing creature, and the panic slipped away. It was a boto—the elusive pink dolphins of the Amazon. Another swam by, eying him curiously before diving deeper. It used its long snout to poke at the riverbed in search of crayfish.
Micah swam to the surface and treaded water until he heard Catalina shouting his name.
He yelled, “I’m okay, and I found the river!” and dove under again, savoring the cool water against his skin.
He bobbed to the surface, looked up and gasped in amazement at the scene around them.
#
Faye charged down the slope, shouting, “Daddy,” overjoyed to find her father not only safe but surrounded by pink river dolphins. She waded into the water and hugged him, yelling, “You found pink dolphins!”
One of the botos swam up, popping its head out of the water.
Micah said, “You think that’s something? Take a look up there.” He gently turned her head upward.
The little girl gasped.
Catalina saw it at the same time, muttering, “My God.”
A brown clay cliff rose from the river, but its surface was hidden by an unbroken wall of brilliantly colored birds—hundreds of them. Flocks of green-headed parrots and rainbow-plumed macaws clung to the cliff face, pecking at the clay surface.
Catalina just stared at the endless carpet of birds, half whispering, “Incredible.”
Jumping up and down in the water, Faye shouted, “Catalina, dive in! There’s pink dolphins!”
“I noticed that.” Catalina waded out into the water, asking Micah, “Why are all those birds eating dirt?”
“It’s a clay lick. Birds come from all over to chew on the clay and get the salt. The rain must have exposed a new layer. There are clay licks all over the Amazon, but I’ve never seen one this size before. God, there must be a thousand birds on there.”
Catalina floated on her back, gazing up at the cliff while dolphins swam past, saying, “I could pretty much drift here forever. It’s beyond beautiful.”
Micah was focused on Faye. The little girl reached out, touching a passing dolphin, and laughed, her face radiant. His record as a father had amounted to a cavalcade of well-intentioned mistakes and disappointments. But now he’d accidently come through, delivering pink dolphins just when his daughter needed them the most.
“Yeah,” Micah said, “beautiful is the word alright.”
The fear in the pit of his stomach melted away, replaced by a glow of hope. They’d blundered into a tiny chunk of paradise, but he knew it didn’t mean they were safe. He waded back to the shore and gazed up at the cliff, shielding his eyes from the sun.
Catalina asked, “What’re you thinking, boss man?”
“I want to get to the top of that cliff for a bird’s eye view of what’s around us.”
Cocking her head towards Faye, she asked, “Uh, do you really think we’re in any condition to scale a cliff?”
“No, but I think I see an easier way.”
At the far end of the cliff, Micah spotted a group of capybaras ambling down a well-worn slope. The hundred-pound gophers were likely coming down for a swim. Micah figured the slope would provide a fairly painless route to the top. Getting there meant crossing through a rainstorm of bird droppings, but it beat scaling a cliff.
Faye pleaded, “Can’t we stay?”
Micah relented, saying, “Just a little longer, but we’ll come back, I promise.”
He allowed the ladies a few more minutes of swimming and splash fighting, while he took in their surroundings. The pond was fed by a stream connected to the wide tributary. Something odd caught his eye. Thick bushes with vibrantly colored violet thistles and red berries were growing all around the pond. They were unlike anything Micah had seen before. More grew along the edge of the tributary.
The tributary was the same one they’d been traveling down with Batista. Recalling the chart he’d memorized, Micah knew Batista’s boats should have transferred to a series of narrow channels, meaning they weren’t an imminent threat. But the pirates were still in the game, and the mad queen was clearly holding a grudge. Just the thought of her chilled him.
He said, “Ladies, we need to get moving.”
#
Hans stood on the deck of Batista’s yacht, his anticipation and relief growing with every mile. The channel they’d been navigating had widened into a vast, heavily wooded, floodplain—an area too open for the Morte Tinto’s cut and run attacks.
He said, “This is remarkable.”
Santos leaned against the railing beside him, rifle slung over his shoulder, his face expressionless.
Batista emerged from his saloon carrying a glass of wine. Without offering libations to the others, he pointed to a stretch of downed trees. “Those mean we’re coming up on the epicenter of the quake.”
Hans said, “This floodplain doesn’t look natural.”
“You’re right. I think it’s caused by the dam my expedition built.”
“Fascinating.”
They traveled in silence for another twenty minutes.
Santos shouted, “There, look!” He pointed up ahead.
Barely visible through the mist was a boat similar to the Valentina. It lay on its side, half submerged. The upper decks were buckled, as if struck by a giant hammer.
Batista sighed and said, “Now we know what happened to the Opala,” and took a sip of wine.
Hans said, “There’s another one,” pointing to the capsized hull of a tender boat. “What do you think happened?”
“The same thing that happened to the Valentina. Santos, once we get operations underway, we may need to siphon the remaining fuel from those wrecks.”
Santos replied, “Understood.” Then, without warning, he unslung and aimed his rifle in one fluid move.
Batista asked, “What do you see?”
“Fin in the water at ten o’clock.”
Hans saw a dorsal fin slicing through the water.
Taking aim, Santos said, “It’s a bull shark. Should I pop it?”
Batista put his hand on the rifle barrel, gently lowering it down. “Don’t shoot. That shark’s just conquering new territory, taking what it wants. I quite admire sharks.”
Hans fumbled to light a cigarette. “But do you think there’s another snake?”
“We’ll find out soon enough. Ah, we’re coming up on the dam. Get ready.”
The yacht came alongside a crudely constructed dock jutting out from the crater’s rim. Santos grabbed the bowline, jumped onto the dock and tied off. The gunboat pulled alongside it. Five armed men piled out. The heavily laden LST boat pulled up the rear.
Batista was off the yacht before it was even tied off, making straight for the dam.
Hans struggled to catch up, amazed at how fast the big man could move. “Shouldn’t we wait for the guards to search the area?”
Batista waved his hand dismissively and pressed on.
Hans stopped for a moment to admire what lay ahead. The lake resembled a giant moon crater—a deep depression surrounded by a high rim of earth, covered in lush greenery. The rim formed a wall, obscuring any view of the water. It was fed by a single flow from the tributary. Batista’s initial expedition had constructed a thirty-five-yard long dam of felled trees and mud, blocking its flow into the lake, creating the wide floodplain in the process. It must have been a huge project.
Without slowing, Batista trotted up the dirt incline running alongside the dam, saying, “It doesn’t look like any boats survived. Do you think we’ll be able to move it with the vessels we have?”
Hans trudged along behind him. “Impossible to say without actually seeing it. The largest meteorite ever recovered was the Hoba in Namibia, but it was only sixty tons. If that’s the case here, we should have enough boats on hand to transport it in pieces.”
“Sixty tons. Just imagine what we could accomplish with that.”
Hans said, “It would be enough to power the entire world.”
Batista muttered, “Or own it.”
The prospect gave him chills. The man who controlled the world’s energy wouldn’t be an oil sheik, or even a king—more like a pharaoh, with the power of the gods at his fingertips.
He yelled to the armed men, “You five do a sweep. Be on the lookout for arrows or any other signs of Indians. If you see anything bigger than a mouse, kill it on the spot, Indians included.”
One of the armed men asked, “Do you think we’ll find any of our people alive?”
Without hesitation, Batista replied, “No.”
The men fanned out. Batista reached the dam’s crest. The high vantage point offered him a view of the two-mile-in-diameter crater lake below. He stood motionless, staring down.
Hans finally reached the crest, out of breath and wheezing. He gazed down at the lake, getting his first glimpse of the “Anomaly” and declared, “Mutter Gottes!”
With a Cheshire Cat grin, Batista said, “Looks like we’re going to need more boats.”
#
Micah led Faye and Catalina along the base of the cli
ff. For a moment he thought it was raining; then he realized the downpour was an unending shower of bird droppings.
Catalina wisely tore some wide leaves from nearby plants, creating improvised umbrellas. Pointing to the base of the cliff, she asked, “Hey, does Guinness have a world record for biggest pile of bird shit?”
What resembled a ten-foot-high snow bank ran along the length of the cliff face. In actuality, it was bird guano, interspersed with layers of thick green moss.
Micah glanced at it and said, “Once upon a time that mound would have been worth a fortune as fertilizer. Bird guano was so valuable that ships would risk sailing around Cape Horn jammed with it for Europe.”
Catalina chuckled and said, “Have you ever noticed people avoiding you at parties?”
Faye laughed out loud. It was like music to Micah’s ears. Her hollow gaze and physical exhaustion were gone, replaced by buoyant childhood wonder.
Micah thought, And all it took were a thousand parrots and a couple of dolphins.
Circumventing the mountain of bird droppings meant navigating over the jagged rocks along the river’s edge. Nobody complained.
Thanks to generations of thirsty capybaras their ascent proved easier than he’d expected. The huge rodents had worn the upward slope into a smooth walking path. Another group of capybaras shuffled past them, oblivious to the human interlopers.
Faye ran alongside them shouting, “Dad, they look like humungous guinea pigs!”
Micah said, “I know, honey, but slow down, and please don’t pet the giant rats.”
Catalina asked, “You didn’t slip her any go-go leaves, did you?”
“Nope, this is a nine-year-old’s natural burst of energy. She’ll probably drop like a stone once we get to the top.”
“What about you?”
“I’m just hoping we spot something from up there, military, hell even smugglers would help.”
“And if not?”
“Let’s just say it’s a long hike to Peru.” As they walked, Micah noticed more of the odd bushes growing along the path. “Strange, I’ve never seen those before.”
Shaking her head, Catalina said, “All the weird stuff we’ve seen and you’re interested in flowers?”
“Mom was a botanist, so it runs in the family.”
Primeval Waters Page 21