Authors: John Koloen
53
Suarez moved quickly
over the squishy trail, which was hardly more than a narrow strip where the grass had been worn down by animals and people who traveled into the interior. While it was the same trail on which Costa had met his death, Suarez followed it a little less than a kilometer before turning back. He had with him Duncan’s map on which he and Azevedo had sketched a route to higher ground. To reach it they would go in a different direction, away from Costa’s grave.
Suarez paused to compare the topographical map with the forest in front of him. The most apparent landmarks were stream beds, most of which he expected to be seasonal. It appeared to him that the first stream they would cross was half a kilometer and west of the trail. Pressed for time, he marked the direction they would take with several broken branches and was about to start his return trip when he thought how much better it would be if he could report on the condition of the stream. What if it was overflowing like the river bed they’d crossed? This would be a good thing to know, a real time saver. Five minutes was not enough time to scout a trail, he thought, especially a trail that would take them in a different direction. Another five minutes, and he would know much more.
Not bothering to clear a path with his machete, he moved swiftly through the deep grass when he came to a sudden halt. He sensed that something had moved in the grass near where he stood. He put his hand on his machete and watched the grass sway in a straight line as the beast or whatever it was moved quickly into the forest. His heart pounded, and he remained motionless until he felt safe when he realized it wasn’t the bugs. Nonetheless, he ran back toward Duncan and the group, all the time wondering whether he’d been sharing space with a jaguar. He didn’t know what to think since he’d always been told that jaguars were reclusive, and sightings were rare. Despite all the time he’d spent in the forest, he’d never seen one. What else could it be? Before he had things figured out, he met the group on the trail with Duncan in the lead.
“I said five minutes,” Duncan said, sternly. “We don’t have time to waste.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Howard. It took longer because we have to leave this trail and cut a new one if I understand the map. We have to go west a few hundred meters more.”
“Is it swampy, wet?”
“Wet, but tall grass. Ground is solid. You’ll see.”
Duncan and the rest followed Suarez until they reached the place where they would cut a new trail. Suarez and Duncan studied the map. Leaning heavily on his cane, Azevedo joined them. It was difficult to determine exactly where they were on the map except by comparing elevations, which were largely uniform. Cody Boyd had been periodically tracking their progress since leaving the cabin using his GPS, but even with fairly precise coordinates, he was unable to fix their location on the map. The base map on the GPS wasn’t identical to Duncan’s map. Besides, the battery was running low, and he had been using it sparingly the past two days. He hoped that if they became lost, they could use the track it recorded to find their way. Of course, that couldn’t happen if the battery died. He was also conserving the camera battery. He wasn’t the only one. As soon as they realized they were unable to cross the river, they started conserving their personal resources and taking inventory after culling their equipment. They hadn’t come far, so no one felt in need of rest. But they were restless, alert and impatient.
“Gentlemen,” Hamel said, as he approached Duncan. “Can we get a move on? I think I can speak for everyone that we all very much want to get to high ground before dark.”
Duncan smiled weakly. He saw fear in some of their faces.
Duncan agreed to let Suarez lead the way. As they made their way through the leaf-strewn forest floor, the guide led them through tall, sparse grass with occasional brief detours around fallen trees. As they walked, they separated into three groups: Duncan, Azevedo, Boyd and Johnson in the front, Hamel and Cross in the middle, and Peeples and Rankin bringing up the rear. No matter how often he looked at the map, Duncan wasn’t comfortable with the route and stopped every fifteen minutes to confer with Suarez. The stops lasted only a moment, not long enough for Johnson and Boyd to set Azevedo on the ground. With each stop, the uncertainty grew, even though Boyd marked their progress with the GPS when he could get a signal.
The tension that was present when they started had given way to complaints about the humidity and mosquitoes. A bouquet of Deet engulfed them like a cloud, and sweat permeated their clothing, dripping down their legs and arms. The sky steadily darkened as they walked deeper into the forest, and Duncan on one of the breaks insisted that everyone make sure their packs were wrapped in rain covers. When droplets of rain started to fall through the canopy of giant kapok and Brazil nut trees, the travelers grew quiet. Nothing good would come from a downpour. Once again tension was building. Hamel’s nervousness broke the silence as he spoke loudly to Cross, who was walking several paces in front of him.
“What are we gonna do if it rains like yesterday? It looks like we’re in a low place.”
“We’ll get wet,” Cross said, “wetter I mean.”
“You think we’ll get flooded? I do.”
“I have no idea,” Cross said. “It’s not flooding now. Let’s not borrow trouble, shall we?”
“Yes, yes, I understand that. But what if we’re flooded? There are rivers all over the place, and they could be flooding just like the one back there.”
It was impossible not to hear Hamel as he continued to worry aloud.
“What if there is?” Duncan said too harshly.
Hamel gave him a look of surprise.
“Do you have an alternate plan?” Duncan asked.
Hamel thought for a moment and shook his head.
“No, I’m trying to get used to this, you know, this fleeing to high ground. No big deal for you, I suppose, the great white hunter.”
Duncan was taken aback. He struggled to keep his composure. He’d overreacted once already. He knew it. He didn’t want to do it again.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked.
“Just look at you. You’re wearing khaki, a safari vest and a Tilley hat. You wear it well, don’t misunderstand me, it’s just that you look like the great white hunter’s assistant. It’s the hat.”
Duncan didn’t know what to say or how to react. Was he being made fun of, in which case he was justified in feeling angry, or was he being overly sensitive? Maybe Hamel was just making a lame joke. Duncan snorted a perfunctory laugh, and the group was underway again.
54
Suarez was about
three hundred meters ahead of the group and out of sight in a bowl-shaped depression in the forest floor. They were beginning to slow down, he thought. The heat and the stifling humidity could wear a person down quickly, especially those not accustomed to it. The old man wasn’t doing well, he thought, then self-corrected aloud—
professor
. The young men carrying him were wearing down. He had heard the professor tell Duncan that he should be left behind for the good of the group. Several times. Duncan, too, repeated himself, “We’re all going to get through this. All of us.”
Suarez liked the professor. He didn’t act like an academic, and he spoke Portuguese. As he passed through the depression in a straight line, which was as much as five feet below the rim and hundreds of meters in diameter, he saw that the ground was mushy from the rain and that puddles dotted the area like craters. It might be better to simply walk on the rim. Clambering up the grassy side of the depression, he saw something he didn’t expect—an actual trail cutting across the trail he was blazing.
As he approached the intersecting path, he could tell that it was well-traveled, as only short grass grew out of it. Looking down the trail, he could see that it disappeared into the forest on both ends. There were barely perceptible prints made by shoes and bare feet. He was tempted to follow the trail but saw that the group was approaching him on the rim of the depression. Duncan and the others noticed the trail immediately, and suddenly everyone seemed to be talking at once. Duncan had his map in hand, and Boyd checked to see if the trail was on the GPS’ map. He couldn’t get a satellite signal through the canopy and relied on the device’s mapping software. Nobody was surprised to see that the trail was on neither map. The trail cut across Suarez’ path at an oblique angle. Using his forefinger, Duncan traced the trail on the map. Conceivably, it could lead to the high ground they were looking for. Everyone wondered which trail to take. It was clear they were losing faith in the original plan of blazing a trail.
“Obviously, this trail leads somewhere,” Hamel spoke up. “That’s more than can be said for what we’re doing.”
“Yeah, but where does it lead?” Johnson asked. “We don’t know any more about this trail than we know about anything else. For all we know it could lead to a river.”
“You could say the same thing for the route we’re taking,” Hamel said. By their looks, he saw that some of the others supported his position, perhaps a majority.
“Why don’t we vote on it?” Hamel said loudly.
The talking stopped and then restarted as they gathered around Hamel, who continued to boost his cause, though quietly. Duncan momentarily considered resisting a vote but quickly realized that whatever direction they traveled was largely a shot in the dark and didn’t feel confident defending one approach over the other. Suarez, looking over Duncan’s shoulder, tried to make sense of the map. Finally, Duncan asked Suarez what he thought.
“It’s easier to take the trail,” he said. “But we don’t know where it goes and, more importantly, we don’t know who uses it.”
“What do you mean by that?” Duncan asked.
“That it could be a cartel trail, or it could be a lumber camp.”
“Or it could be a trail that takes us to high ground,” Hamel interjected.
“Yes, it could be,” Suarez said. “I don’t know. I’ll go wherever you tell me to go.”
With that, Duncan declared no need for a vote, opting to take the trail. He asked Boyd to do his best to keep track of their progress using the GPS.
“You know, boss, I can’t get much of a signal through the trees.”
“But you can record our progress, right? You don’t have to actually connect with a satellite to do that, isn’t that how it works?”
“Sorta,” Boyd said. “What you do is get a signal and mark it as a waypoint and then later in a different place you get another signal and mark that. At least it shows where you’ve been. But it won’t tell you a thing in real time.”
“That’s good enough,” Duncan said. “We don’t need to know where we are every second. Every half hour or so should be good enough. We’re following a trail, so if we run into a dead end, we can always follow it back, but with your waymarks, we might be able to figure out how far we are from high ground.”
“Waypoints,” Boyd corrected.
“Sorry, waypoints,” Duncan said.
Once again, Suarez took the lead and the group followed him down the trail, making better time than they had before.
“Do you think the fucking bugs are looking for high ground, too?” Hamel said to Cross as they walked.
“How should I know?” she replied, annoyed. “Maybe they’ll drown if it floods.”
“You think we’re gonna get flooded?”
“Yeah, I do. So does Dr. Duncan.”
“He told you that?” Hamel said, surprised.
“Not in so many words, but I can read between the lines, even if you can’t.”
“I can so read between the lines,” Hamel protested.
“Then why are you so surprised? We’re headed for high ground, so we don’t get flooded. Why do you think we’re going deeper into the forest?”
“I was hoping maybe there was a village or something like that. You know, somewhere the guide knows, like that cabin where we spent the first night.”
“Fat chance.”
The conversation died off as the group moved efficiently through the forest. Rain dripped through the canopy as they went but not so much that they felt uncomfortable. Their clothing was already soaked with sweat from the humidity. The trail was wide enough to accommodate Azevedo’s sling, which meant that Johnson and Boyd needed fewer breaks. They had traveled nearly four kilometers, according to Boyd’s GPS when they learned the purpose of the trail. Well-worn, wide, free of exposed roots, it opened onto a huge area of cleared forest.
Rain poured through the clearing, creating an ever-widening shallow lake strewn with the leavings of lumber thieves. Four-foot high stumps rose like round tombstones. Huge piles of unmarketable lumber dotted the landscape the way that suburbanites rake leaves. Rain poured into the open area as the group retreated from the outer edge of the opening and into the relatively dry untouched forest. Boyd tried to make a call on the satellite phone, but it wasn’t working. He turned on his GPS and a dot popped up on the screen’s map.
“Here’s where we are,” he said as he showed the GPS to Johnson.
Suarez helped Azevedo out of the sling so he could loosen his stiffening joints. He grimaced slightly as he worked his knees.
“This is no place for an old, fat man,” Azevedo said.
No one disagreed.
“This is no place for a skinny middle-aged man, either,” Hamel said loudly.
Several laughed quietly. Duncan shook his head.
“What’s up with that guy?” he asked Azevedo, exasperatedly. The professor stood near Duncan, leaning on his cane. “Does he not understand that none of us want to be here under these conditions?”
“He’s afraid, that’s all,” Azevedo said.
“We all are,” Duncan said.
Duncan understood that, as the leader, he needed to keep up appearances and not let on that he was as uncertain as everyone else about what to do. He wondered whether he’d been too frank with Azevedo. Maybe he shouldn’t have included himself in his generalization about being afraid. The words came out quickly. He couldn’t stop them. He didn’t have time to think about them. If he was going to admit fear to anyone in the group, Azevedo was the one, he thought. He was old and didn’t really care about the same things that Duncan did. Being old, he has less to lose if things turned out badly, Duncan thought. Duncan, on the other hand, was near the pinnacle of his career.
“If we’re looking for higher ground,” Hamel said, pointing toward the clearing, “why don’t we just climb on one of those wood piles?”
“Snakes,” Suarez said quickly. “They are crawling with snakes. They’re looking for higher ground just like us.”
“So, we’re in competition with snakes?” Stephanie Rankin asked.
Duncan rolled his eyes. He was about to say something along the lines that they weren’t in competition with snakes when Boyd beat him to it.
“Yes, of course,” Boyd said forcefully. “We’re in competition with everything in the forest. Any mammals will be looking for high ground, and as the water rises, we’ll have to deal with whatever’s in the water.”
This put a cloud over the group. No one was thinking far ahead, and now it was made obvious that they weren’t simply trying to find high ground.
“What kind of mammals?” Rankin asked tentatively though everyone was thinking it.
“Anteaters, lots of monkeys, jaguars,” Suarez rattled off the names.
“Although, jaguar sightings are rare,” Duncan interjected.
“Of greater concern because they are hard to detect are poisonous spiders, frogs, and snakes. You put your hand in the wrong place, and …” Azevedo said, without finishing his sentence.
“Why are we finding out about all of this now?” Hamel asked sternly.
“And then there are reptiles like the black caiman and especially anacondas,” Suarez added.
Hamel was upset and did nothing to hide it. Duncan saw the look on Hamel’s face and felt an urge to punch him. He didn’t like Hamel’s implication that he hadn’t prepared them for what they’d find in the forest. But Boyd, who was equally upset by Hamel, spoke up.
“You’re going into the Brazilian rainforest, and you didn’t know there were snakes living there. Really?”
Hamel ignored Boyd.
“Maybe I should ask, what is out there that we don’t have to worry about?” Hamel snarled sarcastically. Maggie Cross tried to calm him, but he moved away from her and toward Duncan.
Duncan was taller and sturdier than Hamel and braced himself for a tirade. He could see the nervousness in some of the others and didn’t want it to spread.
“Listen, there is no point in arguing or complaining. I hate to use this phrase, but it is what it is. There’s no easy way for us. We can’t go back. The satellite phone isn’t working, and we don’t really know where we are.”
“Yes we do, yes we do,” Boyd said loudly, holding up his GPS.
“But do we know which way to go?” Duncan asked.
“Yes, we do,” Boyd said waving the GPS.
Duncan thought for an instant that Boyd was trying to embarrass him.
“But does it show us how to get there?”
Boyd lowered his arm quickly.
“No, boss, it doesn’t.”
Duncan exhaled and inhaled deeply. He felt his muscles relax. Hamel and even Boyd added to his stress.
The clearing was about one kilometer in diameter though it wasn’t circular in any way. The ground was irregularly piled with branches and leaves so that one’s foot would never touch the ground. But no one entered the clearing. Nobody wanted to deal with what was hidden beneath the debris. Although the path they’d followed seemed to end at the cleared area, Duncan sent Suarez to hike around the perimeter of the clearing to look for a trail. While he was gone, Duncan tried to keep the others from drifting into negativity by focusing on what they would do when they reached high ground.
“We won’t have to worry about running out of water,” Duncan observed lightheartedly.
“How about food?” Hamel asked. Cross elbowed him in the side. “What’s that for? I was just asking a question.”
“The forest is filled with food,” Duncan responded. “We’re not gonna starve.”
The conversation went on in this vein for several minutes before Duncan ran out of things to say. Johnson started to tighten his pack and before long others were doing the same, burning off nervous energy if nothing else. Meanwhile, Boyd continued to work on the satellite phone, trying to figure out how to make it work. Standing near the clearing, the sky overcast and dark, he fiddled with the device for several minutes before folding the antenna and returning it to his pack.
There was little conversation as everyone seemed to turn inward, hoping that Suarez would find a way out. That may be why nobody noticed as Azevedo hobbled toward where Boyd stood while working on the phone. When he moved back to where he’d left his pack, Azevedo continued to move into the clearing, his straw hat dripping with rain, his cane searching for solid ground. Within minutes, despite his limp, he stood amidst a carpet of branches and leaf litter, pausing before continuing toward one of the huge piles of debris.