by Toby Neal
“Now who’s paranoid?” MacDonald hissed, but he shut up after that. We worked faster. Anger was fuel.
“Got it!” Falconer exclaimed. A tiny blossom of flame bloomed in the bowl of the log. “Help me feed it!”
I’d made a pile of tinder and sticks beside the fire rig, and I came to help Falconer strengthen the flame. Gradually we got the fire to accept damp sticks, though it smoked sluggishly.
“We need a bigger log,” Falconer said. “This fire is never going to get big enough to cook anything without more fuel. You stay here and keep it going. MacDonald, let’s get some more wood.”
I narrowed my eyes at MacDonald. He tightened his mouth, dropping the digging stick. The two of them moved off as I nursed the tender flame, keeping it alive but trying not to blow so hard it went out.
I glanced over at Kerry’s face for the first time since the young man had been bitten. I hadn’t been able to do anything but focus on one area of his body at a time before.
His neck, checking his pulse.
His mangled wrist, as Falconer made a vain effort to keep the poison from making it to Kerry’s heart.
The sad mechanics of rifling Kerry’s pockets and removing his clothing had helped keep me from really seeing him.
Now, in this moment alone, I could really look at the man’s face. Lying on his back, his eyes closed, Kerry looked young and peaceful, sprawled as if he’d fallen asleep—but his bloody wrist, resting against the forest floor, was already crawling with ants.
I restrained the impulse to brush them away. They couldn’t hurt him now.
I swallowed the grief and regret locked in my throat.
I found more sticks, scooped the leaves away, and dug around the small glow of flame, preparing for a bigger fire. It wasn’t long before I heard the sounds of the other men’s approach. MacDonald and Falconer returned, hauling a good-sized fallen log, bristly with protruding branches.
“This was under another windfall,” Falconer panted. “So it’s mostly dry.”
I handed over the knife, and Falconer hacked off the dry branches, feeding them into the flame. With the addition of the extra fuel, the fire stabilized and we were able to eventually work in the larger log.
“I’ll make a rack for us to roast the pig. If you could finish…” Falconer gestured to the hole and the body.
I stood, and MacDonald and I got back to work, chiseling out another three inches from the bottom of the pit. I uncovered a rock in the soil—but when I went to throw it out, I noticed a shape to it. Dimples with regularity, two points on one side. I sat back on my heels and brushed the dirt off.
I was holding a small stone carving, no bigger than the palm of Kiet’s hand. By the pointed ears, I thought it must be a jaguar’s head, though it was so stylized as to not look like any cat my Western mind had seen. I dimly remembered reading an article about the recent discovery of a lost city in the Honduran jungle. I held it up. “Look. I think it’s a jaguar head.”
“What is it?” MacDonald frowned, reaching for the artifact. He frowned. “It’s the devil. See the horns?” He pointed to the jaguar’s ears. As if it had been conjured by the carving, we heard a yowling cry, not that far off, which I was pretty sure came from a real jaguar.
We smelled the stink of burning hair as Falconer got the pig up on a rack he’d built over the fire.
“Sorry about the smell,” he said. “If I skin it, we’ll lose a lot of the nutrition in the cooking process.”
“I’ve never cooked a whole pig before. I grew up in LA. I was twelve before I realized that meat didn’t come wrapped in plastic from a meat factory,” I said. “MacDonald, give me back that carving.”
“It will bring bad luck. Might even attract the jaguar.” MacDonald tightened his mouth. He still looked pale and sweaty, and his blue eyes skittered away from mine, but he thrust the carving into my hand.
“I heard that jaguars were endangered and very shy.” I slid the stone into my pocket. “I don’t believe that shit about luck and the devil. But I do think we’ve got this hole as deep as we’re going to be able to. Let’s do this.”
One on each side, MacDonald and I moved Kerry’s body into the hole. We’d been able to get down only eighteen inches or so into the root-bound soil, but that would have to do. We laid Kerry on his back and twisted his body at the hips. We folded his knees so that he fit into the five-foot hole. He was already stiffening slightly at the joints with the beginning of rigor.
The pig cooked merrily, with a delicious odor that was sure to attract every predator for miles around. Falconer joined us, and using our hands, we moved the soil back over Kerry. All three of us patted it down, smoothing it. MacDonald suddenly gave a harsh sob.
“This isn’t right,” he muttered. Tears slid down his pallid cheeks. “This isn’t right.”
“It isn’t,” I agreed. “And it could be any of us. This jungle is home to some of the most venomous snakes in the world.”
I watched MacDonald fight down the angry words he wanted to say condemning Falconer. I knew that helpless feeling of waste and rage, the desire for revenge, the need to blame. I’d been through all that too many times. I simply weathered those feelings now, waiting for them to pass. But MacDonald wasn’t experienced in death. This was probably his first real emergency situation, and he didn’t know how to handle it.
Blaming Falconer wasn’t the way to handle it.
We tamped the soil down. Falconer found a puddle of trapped rainwater in a bird’s-nest fern. In the cuplike center of the plant, we washed the dirt off our hands as best we could.
Falconer turned the pig. The fat dripped off of it, sizzling on the wood beneath. I wished that we didn’t have to lose one drop, but perhaps we could gnaw on the wood later. I almost smiled at the thought, but that didn’t feel right with Kerry’s body cooling in a grave mere feet away.
“Damn it,” I muttered, taking off my boots and socks. No, nothing about this situation was right.
My ruined feet had not liked the hike in the boots. The blisters and contusions from the other day were oozing, red and raw. I extended my feet to the fire to dry, hanging the filthy socks off the end of the stick piercing the pig. “Sorry about that. I have to get them as dry as I can.”
Falconer made a dismissive gesture. “No worries.”
We might as well learn a little more about each other while we waited for the meat to cook—talking might ease the tensions since Kerry had died so abruptly.
“What brought you to this godforsaken jungle?” I asked MacDonald. “Got a family at home?”
MacDonald shook his head. His loose cheeks wobbled. “Nah. I have a girlfriend, but we were saving for a house and a big wedding. I thought this would speed that up.” He made a gesture that took in the dense, heavy jungle, soporifically hot now that the sun was out. A cloud of gnats broke up and reformed as his arm cut through them. “So you know something about the snakes here, Falconer? Is that why you threw a deadly one on Kerry?”
Falconer looked up from where he squatted, turning the pig on its wooden spit. “It was a reflex. An accident.”
“We talked about this already.” I narrowed my eyes warningly at MacDonald. “We’re damn lucky to have someone with Falconer’s skills leading the way.”
“I don’t know about that.” MacDonald’s cheeks flushed a dull red. “Seems like things are getting worse out here rather than better. You’re injured, and he’s got the knife. And the pig.”
Falconer stood to his feet, a slow, menacing uncoiling. “Is this what you meant by MacDonald’s thinking being messed up by what happened, Stevens?”
“Yeah. MacDonald seems to be having a mental breakdown.” I lowered my hand to rest on the pistol, tucked in my waistband. But MacDonald was holding the machine gun. One burst from the M16 and he’d have the whole pig, and everything else, to himself. “But I’m sure all he needs is something to eat.” As if to increase our longing, a drip of fat burst into flame with a smell so powerful I felt it, ho
t and delicious, on the insides of my nostrils. “Perhaps there’s something ready enough that you could hack a piece off for him, Falconer.”
Falconer’s eyes rested on the rifle in the other man’s hands and then he turned to the pig. “That can be arranged.” He used the knife to carve into the haunch. Drippings of fat and juice splattered on the wood, making it flare and smoke. The smell reminded me of every campfire I’d sat around as a Boy Scout with a pork dog bursting on a stick—but better.
A plant with large, paddle-shaped leaves grew nearby, and I picked several leaves, layering them into a crude plate. Falconer set a large section of meat, moist and still pink, but by far the most delicious-looking thing I’d ever seen, on the leaves. Using both hands, he carried it to MacDonald.
I held my breath as MacDonald watched Falconer approach, the weapon ready. When Falconer stood before him, tall and calm, meeting his eyes, MacDonald realized that to take the meat, he had to set the gun down.
He did, leaning it against a nearby tree and taking the meat from Falconer. He didn’t thank the other man. While MacDonald’s hands were full, I leaned over and snatched the rifle.
“I’ll just carry this for a while.”
Falconer walked back to the fire and flipped the pig again. Both of us tried to ignore the sights and sounds of MacDonald’s frenzied attack on the piece of meat. It didn’t sound pretty, and I wasn’t surprised when he suddenly stopped eating, breathing heavily.
“I’ll have to kill you if you puke that up.” Falconer didn’t look at the man as he said this, just added more wood to the fire.
MacDonald managed not to puke. I gazed out at the jungle, scanning for danger and waiting for the meat to cook the rest of the way.
There wasn’t any movement, but shifting shades of green and brown as far as I could see. A few buzzing flies, fat and hovering, had found us along with the gnats and mosquitoes. Far off in the treetops, I could hear a troop of monkeys screaming and whooping. A tiny wind shushed in the leaves above us. The smell of roasting pork was heavy perfume in my nostrils.
Falconer eventually served us and tamped the fire, and finally I sank my teeth into the crispy hind leg he’d given me. Nothing had ever tasted as good as the sweet, tender, juicy, perfectly done piece of meat I ate down to the bone. I gnawed slowly, pausing every few bites to savor and make sure my stomach was able to handle the rich food.
MacDonald lay down on his back, belching ominously now and again, but he seemed to have fallen into a stupor—an improvement over his aggressive, paranoid state of mind.
After we ate, Falconer rewrapped the remaining meat in the shirt. “I’ll carry this with you, MacDonald.”
The other man grunted.
“We should get on our way. See how far we can make it while there’s still daylight,” Falconer said.
“Sounds good.” I had finished eating, thrown the bones far out into the bushes. As Falconer packed the meat into its crude carrying sling, I fashioned a cross of two sticks and a piece of vine. I anchored it in the middle of the grave. “Does anyone want to say a few words over Kerry before we go?”
“I do.” Falconer walked over to stand next to me. He bent his head and prayed aloud, his big square hands folded. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.” The familiar words of the Lord’s Prayer in his deep mellow voice were calming to me. I closed my eyes to listen.
MacDonald clawed his way out of the food coma enough to sit up and bow his head. “You were a good man, Kerry. I swear I’ll get you justice.”
I didn’t like his words. It was my turn, and I worked the cross a little deeper into the soil and spoke casually, as if Kerry were right with us.
“You were brave and kind, Tim.” He’d told me his first name, but this was the first time I’d used it. “I wish you’d had longer on this earth, because I can tell you were the kind of man who had the makings of a hero. You never spoke a harsh word, even at the end. You worked hard, carried your load, and helped others. The world needs more like you, Tim Kerry.”
I patted the soil gently, as if covering the young man for the night with a blanket. It comforted me to imagine that was what I was doing. I stood slowly, keeping my arm tight against my injured side.
“Can you take some sort of heading for this spot, Falconer? So we can send a team to come find Kerry and bring him home when we get out of here.”
Falconer looked at the compass and nodded. “I’ll mark a tree.” With the knife, he slashed a deep X. And that was all we could do.
MacDonald was still breathing heavily, his face greasy, but he picked up the carrying pole without complaining and put it on his shoulder. Falconer took the lead with the compass. I hung the rifle by its strap over my shoulder and took one last look around the tiny clearing where we’d fought a life-and-death battle, and lost.
I forced my ruined feet to move, and followed the others.
Chapter Twenty
Falconer kept us on an eastward heading as we pushed through the jungle. “I’m going to angle us back toward the river. We’ll have to go around any serious water, though.”
We had to go around other kinds of obstacles, too. Fallen, rotting logs covered with orange lichen and sprouting with ferns. Half-grown trees, coming up in clumps and pushing toward the sun, were too dense to navigate between. Mounds of debris from downed trees slowed our progress even more. Now keeping an eye out for snakes was even more of a priority.
Something huge and black burst out of the bushes in a flurry of breaking branches. MacDonald yelped, and my finger tightened on the trigger of the rifle as it snorted, bolting away. I still had the safety on, and was glad as the creature broke into a lumbering gallop, running away from us. It was even larger than the sow we’d surprised, hairy and black, but it didn’t look like any kind of predator. “What the hell!”
“A tapir,” Falconer said. “Really rare.”
Something hit the back of my head with a solid thunk. I whirled, swinging the rifle around at the threat. A black-and-white monkey gave a shriek from the tops of the trees. Several more monkeys joined him. The creatures threw green nuts, twigs, and leaves at us, screaming an alarm that we’d breached their kingdom.
“Give me the weapon! Demons! Demons are attacking us!” MacDonald yelled. His eyes were ringed with white like a panicked horse. He lunged at me, grabbing for the rifle. I spun away.
“No! Damn it, man. They’re just monkeys!” I wasn’t about to give MacDonald the gun so he could waste ammo shooting at the obnoxious creatures. MacDonald made a grab for the pistol in my waistband. I barely leaped back in time. I cracked him in the face with the rifle butt. “Back off!”
MacDonald reeled back, hands to his bloody nose, but then jumped at me again, scratching and clawing. “Demons! Obeying the devil!” he screamed.
MacDonald had officially gone nuts.
Falconer caught him from behind and lifted the man right off his feet, choking him into unconsciousness in just a few struggling moments. He lowered MacDonald to the forest floor.
“I think he’s snapped.” I knelt next to MacDonald, taking his pulse. It was fast but regular. “This is the last thing we need.”
“Especially with all this going on.” Falconer gestured to the shrieking monkeys. A nut cracked down on Falconer’s back, and he swore. “I’m tempted to shoot one. We could eat it.”
“Not a bad idea. A bird in the hand. I bet that would scare them off, too.” I handed Falconer the automatic and pulled my pistol, aiming up at the monkeys.
But I wasn’t hungry enough or desperate enough to pull the trigger. The monkeys were just too humanlike, brown eyes gleaming with intelligence from their furry faces as they speculated loudly about us among themselves. I lowered the weapon. “Don’t want to give away our location. Let’s restrain MacDonald and see what’s going on with him when he comes around.”
Falconer nodded. He used the knife to rip a strip of material off the old shirt the pork was wrapped in. He tied MacDonald’s hands in
front of him. I tested the bonds, making sure they were loose enough but that he couldn’t get out of them.
MacDonald came around, his eyelids fluttering. The monkeys had begun to settle, but one still heaved a nut just as he woke up. He screamed at the sight of the animal in the trees far above, and his cry brought the monkeys swarming back, shrieking and pelting again.
I smacked MacDonald on the cheek. “Shut up, man! You’re agitating them.”
“We’re in hell!” MacDonald said. “And he’s the devil!” He lifted his bound hands to point at Falconer. “He’s trying to kill us!”
I tipped my head in the direction of the shirt, and Falconer nodded briefly, cutting off another strip. This one he handed to me, and I gagged MacDonald. He continued to moan and emit muffled cries.
“I guess I have to lead,” I told Falconer. “Since you’re the devil.”
The big black man shook his head. “Great timing for him to lose his marbles.”
“I need to get a direction.” Falconer handed me the knife, and I looked at the compass on the haft to get a heading. As we ignored the monkeys, they lost interest and eventually swung easily away between the trees. Falconer bent to help MacDonald stand, but the man rolled away, grunting in terror, from his touch.
“He might run off in the state he’s in.” I frowned, looking down at the man. He’d shut his eyes, and beads of sweat ran down his pale face. “Devan MacDonald. Listen to me.” He opened his eyes, but there was no recognition in them. I turned back to Falconer. “Gonna have to tie him to me. If he runs off, he’s going to die for sure.”
Falconer nodded. “Maybe some vine could work.” I cut a length of the tough, fibrous vine we’d been tripping on so frequently. I tied one end of it through MacDonald’s wrist restraints and the other to my belt. “Okay, here we go.”
He seemed to settle after that, muttering and moaning into his gag but following me. Falconer brought up the rear, carrying the meat, his pistol at the ready.
It was slow going. I hadn’t realized how much effort it took to push through the undergrowth, watching for snakes and other hazards, and how easily we got off track without the compass being constantly watched.