by Ellie Hall
Someone mutters, “We work on virtual projects, not actual life and death experiences.”
Rick goes on to read DigiPower workers’ names. Simon counters with a partner from AmTech.
“Shaw Dawson,” Rick says.
I step forward.
Simon says, “Cora Albright.”
I peer through the crowd. The small woman with the pretty heart-shaped face and high ponytail slowly stashes her phone as she approaches. I was paired with Cookie of the warm with milk variety. Great.
She’s more than a head shorter than me and may as well be trembling. Maybe she’s hungry. Low blood sugar? We haven’t had breakfast yet. I have a stash of protein bars in my backpack along with other supplies. She has a fanny pack that contains her phone and probably a pack of gum and lip gloss. Not helpful.
When Simon reaches the last of his employees on the list, his enthusiastic claps are met by softer, uncertain ones from the crowd.
Rick welcomes Carlos, the guide. He leads us to the river’s edge where canoes wait.
The shoreline is mucky and my boots squelch. Cora steps forward like she’s dipping her toes in a pool of water. “Is it quicksand?”
I look down. Sure, my boot is partially submerged, but I’m not sinking. I grunt, wanting to get this stupid team-building exercise over. “Hurry up and get in the canoe before we find out.”
She practically hurls herself inside, causing the thing to rock back and forth like an out-of-control baby cradle. I’d have extended my hand to help, but it was too late. As she passed, I caught a whiff of perfume—she’s sure to be a mosquito magnet.
With a few other pairs in the canoe, we paddle upriver.
Neither Simon nor Rick joins us. They’re probably going to lounge poolside and plan their new empire. If they’re expecting this trip to break me down, they’d better watch out. I’ll be having a few words with them when this is over—and I don’t expect they’ll like the hardened-by- and hungry-from-the-rainforest version of me.
When we reached the other shore, Carlos, with his thick Brazilian accent, welcomes everyone with a friendly smile. But that’s where his warmth ends. He goes on to tell us how we’ll be spending the next four days focusing on creating shelter, clean water, fire, and foraging for food while camping in the jungle. We also have to navigate the wilds, hike rough terrain, and solve puzzles to survive the expedition.
I glance at my partner, who I’m going to call “Cookie” from now on. Her eyes are wide and glassy. Still jittery, her shoulders droop.
We’re not in the office anymore, sweetheart.
Someone mutters, “It’s like a real-life video game.”
Cookie tucks her phone away and replies, “Yeah, but we only have one life and can’t just start over if we fall off a bridge or get attacked by a bear.”
“There aren’t bears in this part of the Amazon rainforest,” I say.
“Well, whatever giant, human-eating beasts are out there.” She flaps her hand a little bit like the idea of the unknown terrifies her.
“Jaguars, black caiman, wandering spiders, and golden frogs are the four deadliest creatures in the Amazon. Since we’re going to be partners, I figured you should know what you’re in for,” I say in a low voice only she can hear.
“I did not sign up for this. I don’t want to be partners or go camp in the jungle. Least of all do I want to know what’s out there that could eat me.” Her voice rises a few decibels.
Meanwhile, Carlos continues discussing the expedition and identifying what foods are safe to eat. I’ve only been half-listening because along with a handful of other guys, I’ve noticed Cora Albright, Cookie to me. She has distractingly big forest green eyes, a light splattering of freckles, and caramel-brown hair. She’s in shape, but not survive-the-Amazon-shape.
Just my luck, being stuck with the pretty girl from the rival company. My last girlfriend betrayed me, so I’m not looking for pretty girls...not much anyway. In the years since the breakup, I haven’t found someone I want to spend my life with. At least not in real life.
Not unless their username is @CookClickChick and they’re funny and humble enough to joke about being an ogre. Not that I think she is. Not at all. It almost doesn’t matter. I imagine that whatever she looks like, she’ll be beautiful to me.
As the group mills around, clearly stunned by the beautiful but dangerous setting of the corporate retreat, Cookie opens her fanny pack. I was right about the contents. She checks her phone again, holding it up for a signal. It has a case with a pink cupcake on it. She sighs as though disappointed and tucks it away.
I tear my mind of the converging thoughts of the distant past, messaging with @CookClickChick, and Cookie.
After the briefing, Carlos hands out a laminated sheet with instructions for the day and says we’ll meet up at dusk.
I shoulder my backpack containing survival gear and tilting my head to signal we’d better get moving. “I’ve lived by the motto that it’s better to be prepared than surprised. My work as a cyber security consultant is a prime example of this. Preempt attacks, prevent infiltration, and assume a dominant, defensive position—what I call the three P’s.” Not the most creative, but it’s about the purpose and not a more creative acronym—though I’m guessing @CookClickChick could come up with something clever or at least say something witty—or because the reality of our relationship was digital, she’d write something witty.
It dawns on me that I don’t even know the sound of her voice, her scent, or what any of her expressions look like. Is she serious? Smiley? Nervous?
I have no idea.
And I’m in the jungle, half a continent away. Even though we were on opposite sides of the country, divided by a screen, I feel farther than ever.
“This is sort of like a mashup of the shows Survivor and Running Wild, huh?” Cookie asks.
“Except it’s IRL,” I reply.
The corner of her lip quirks as though she appreciates the use of the texting shorthand, a reminder of real life, at least up until that moment as Carlos disappears into the brush, leaving us to fend for ourselves.
I consult the laminated card and start toward the jungle. Cookie follows me like a puppy at my heels.
I pause, realizing that it’s only fair she knows what she’s getting into. My advantage is obvious to me, but if she spends days writing code and her nights fighting pixelated bad guys, she’s poorly equipped for this venture. With no thanks to Simon and Rick, and that’s the point.
“You do realize that this is a survival of the fittest exercise. In each pair, whoever perseveres keeps their job,” I say, revealing what I believe is Rick and Simon’s masterplan.
Her brow wrinkles. “No way. It’s about teamwork and getting to know each other.”
“They may have told you that, but if you believe it, you weren’t listening to the spiel. In fact, if memory serves, you were on your phone.”
“You keep checking yours too.” She stomps ahead on the trail.
Yeah, hoping for an email, but the service here is zilch. I stop us and plant my hand on her shoulder.
She twitches.
“Cookie, make no mistake, each pair isn’t a team. We’re opponents.” That much has become clear to me.
“That’s diabolical. No way.” She glances around as the traces of civilization fade away. Filled with disbelief, her green eyes meet mine.
“Way,” I say in response to her incredulity. “I know Rick well. I figured it out while Carlos was talking. Because of the merger, we’re fighting for the same job.”
“So you’re a software tech engineer?” she asks.
“Was. Am.”
“You can’t be both,” she says.
I shift irritably, but I may as well tell the truth. We’re stuck in the jungle together. What I say here will likely stay here. “I used to co-own DigiPower. I know how to do every job there. We bootstrapped to begin so yeah, I can code, engineer, and even clean the toilets.”
Her eyebrow arches a
s if she too had a realization. “Wait, you’re the Shaw Dawson. Made it on Forbes Top Thirty Under Thirty.” Her gaze narrows as she correctly identifies me.
“That was years ago, but yes. That’s me.”
She must connect the dots because her eyes narrow. “And five years before that, you were a computer hacker.”
“Conjecture.”
“But you don’t deny it.” Accusation creeps into her voice.
I give a noncommittal shrug. I’ve never lied about my past, but no one has ever had the gall to ask me point-blank. Likely because if they work with computers, they know a person with my skill set can make their digital life a nightmare with the swipe of a few keys.
People just assume or don’t. It isn’t worth my time to try to explain.
“So I’m heading into the wilderness with a criminal,” Cookie mutters.
“And I’m headed into the jungle with a cupcake, er cookie.”
“I resent that.” She snorts.
“For the record, if you paid attention, you’d know that I ultimately used my powers for good so...” I’m not proud of my past and the trouble I caused (banks and large sums of money were involved, though it was a RobinHood situation in many ways), but I did what I did to change my life—to get out of a tough situation. Yes, that included some things I’m not proud of, but I’ve more than made up for it by contributing positively to the technology industry and my country.
“So you admit it,” she says.
“What happens in the jungle stays in the jungle, Cookie.”
“Cupcake? Cookie? Which is it?”
I’d rather not think of sweets because @CookClickChick pops into my mind and my pretty partner and my online crush confuses my body and brain.
When I don’t answer, she says, “My name is Cora, BTW.”
We near the water, and she’s on her phone again.
“There’s no way you have cell reception this deep in the wilderness. Better to put that thing away.”
All at once, she lurches forward, tripping over something jutting out of the ground. Instinctually, I reach out to help and manage to keep her from careening over but don’t stop her phone from plopping into the water.
9
Cora
I didn’t think the day could get any worse, but as my cellphone and the single link I had to civilization are swallowed by the Amazon River, I hurry toward the water’s edge and shout, “No!”
Was I operating under the delusion that a single word would somehow freeze my device in midair or catch it like a net? Maybe.
Did I think the creepily placid water would spit the thing out? A girl can hope.
Do I secretly hope my man-giant partner will dive forward like a baseball player toward home plate and save the thing? I’d be silly not to.
The Selva Survival Camp is exactly that. A camp. No resort or accommodations are in sight. A prickly sheen of sweat coats my skin. I’m already feeling rather swamp-like, so throwing all sense of propriety to the wind, I get down on hands and knees, ready to dig in and rescue my device.
I’m about to plunge my arm into the murky water when Shaw’s heavy hand lands on my shoulder once more. I jolt at his touch.
“Hey, there handsy, hands-off! I’d rather you grip my phone with that bear paw of yours.”
“No,” he repeats, as frantic as I’d been only moments before. “Piranhas, leeches, botflies...”
“But my phone,” I say. “It’s my lifeline.”
“Bears,” he growls.
A strange, fluttery panic builds inside me. I go still. His hand still rests on my shoulder as if he doesn’t trust that I won’t go after my lifeline even if it means risking my own. “I thought you said there aren’t bears in this part of the Amazon?”
“There aren’t but if you’re afraid of bears in the woods, be terrified of what lurks in that water. Things we can’t see. Whatever you do, don’t go in.” His face is granite. Stone. Some kind of solid rock.
“Oh, and there I thought you were flirting with me, a poor damsel in distress.” My voice drips with sarcasm as I rock back on my heels.
He snorts. “No, definitely not that. I don’t want you flirting with disaster, Cookie.”
“Why do you keep calling me Cookie? My name is Cora.”
He snaps his fingers. “Right. Cora Albright. One of AmTech’s best. I like Cookie better.”
“Well, I don’t.” I get to my feet and cross my arms in front of my chest, definitely not a damsel in distress but also not an adventurous explorer. I’m a city girl who knows her way around computers. I plaster on my best Mila-don’t-mess-with-me face. “If you know my full name, then you can stop calling me Cookie.”
“The name fits. You’re more of a milk and cookies kind of person than a survive-the-Amazon kind of person.”
I scoff. “You got that right. I have zero desire to be here. But more than that, I’d like to go home so I can get a new phone.”
“It won’t help you here.”
“A general search engine could have helped me plenty.” I huff.
Whenever I’m not sure how to do something, especially when it comes to cooking and baking, I do an online search, and voila. Answers. Some better than others, but at least it’s a resource.
I also have the Fabulous Five. When all else fails, they know what to do. Without contact, they’re going to be worried something happened to me. I pull my sweatshirt tighter around me. What if something does happen to me? Actually, something has happened to me. I’m here!
The trees suddenly look menacing. Never mind the river, what could be lurking overhead? I can’t keep my eyes in front, behind, and above me at all times.
What would Blakely do in my position? I bite my lip. I guess she wouldn’t be able to design her way out of this, but she’d look a heck of a lot better than I do stranded here in my barre class uniform. Never mind, she’d charm her way out of this mess.
Paisley somehow always manages to land on her feet and would forge ahead, undaunted. Her parents were hippies and she has a sweet, yet somewhat hapless ability to adapt and overcome challenges. She also knows a metric ton of seemingly useless trivia. (The kind of person you want on your team for game night.) Chances are she’d be able to identify edible flora and forage for us.
As for Mila? The jungle would be afraid of her.
Daisy? She has the kind of resolve that comes from a combination of necessity, her own inner well of power, and immense fortitude. She’d manage somehow.
As for me? My shoulders drop. If I can combine all my friends’ strengths, maybe I stand a chance. At the very least, I want to survive to see them again. Then there’s @PacManWizard. I want to live to at least see what he looks like.
We started emailing and I was waiting to hear back from him after telling him all about the guy I’d sat next to on the airplane who made V8 engines sound fascinating. Although, solid sleep would have been better especially now. Lack of sleep and this dreadful situation fried my mainframe.
“So would have been listening to Carlos,” Shaw mutters, belatedly responding to my comment about a general search online—I should’ve done so before leaving the comforts of civilization and taken notes.
But here I am with Indiana Groans. “You were checking your phone too,” I counter.
“There won’t be reception, anyway.” He flips over the laminated card with instructions. “We have to get started with the first task.”
Shaw is quite a bit taller, and I have to stand on tiptoe to read the card. I try to remain balanced on the uneven ground but begin to pitch forward and grip his arm to steady myself.
His angry, animal eyes flash a look that’s best described as Touch me again and I will plunge you in the river.
Message received.
On the card, a series of coordinates are printed in sequence. Shaw smells like citrus—lime to be specific—and something minty, fresh, airy. I haven’t been this close to a guy for a while and don’t appreciate how his masculine scent makes me
want to breathe deep. It’s like he’s part animal and part man—but you know what they say about approaching wildlife.
I wonder if @PacManWizard wears cologne or uses a manly body wash. Hopefully, nothing like the musty, cheesy basement odor Mila suspected a guy with that username would smell like. She called it, Eau de loser.
Shaw studies the card. “It’s basic orienteering. We have to reach each of these fixed points, collect the items waiting for us there, and then we’ll be able to make camp.”
I tap my chin. “So we’re headed into the heart of the jungle? I was thinking the objective would be to stay out of the rainforest.”
He grunts.
“Indiana Grouch.”
I stand there, waiting for him to take the lead. Like a lot of his coworkers from the DigiPower team, he seems prepared for the expedition appearance-wise, busting the computer nerd stereotype.
However, he doesn’t move.
I say, “You can tease me all day about being more of a milk and cookies kind of person, but I don’t care. I’m as far from ready to do this as spaghetti is for ketchup. I have a bucket list and surviving the Amazon isn’t on it.”
No response. No flicker in his expression. A man of stone.
Annoyance starts to burn away the layer of sweat on my skin. “So are we going to do this or not?”
“If you’d quiet down for a second, so I can think and more importantly listen, we’ll stand a chance.”
“What do you mean listen?”
He gestures at our surroundings. “To noises. Sounds.”
“All I hear are birds. It’s like an avian rock concert.”
“Listen lower. The snap of twigs, brush underfoot.”
“Are you thinking cannibals because I was joking about the whole Indiana Jones thing.”
“No, animals,” he hisses, inclining his head.
I let out a long sigh. Am I in some kind of virtual reality simulation? Is this real? “Is this thing on?” I call.
I get a poison dart frog death glare from those chestnut-brown eyes of his.