Authors: John Koloen
63
Having left the
clearing behind, and armed with rusty machetes, Duncan and the others followed the young guide Antonio Suarez as he made his way down the primitive road, past piles of discarded equipment, stopping when they came across an abandoned flatbed truck stuck in mud. Not far from the truck, they found another skeleton. It no longer seemed strange to find such things in the forest. Everyone looked and then turned their backs on the bodies despite the awareness that they too could end up dead. However, the rising water was a more immediate threat. Everyone was soaked, their shoes, despite waterproofing, squishing with each step. Water was starting to sheet across the road, which was raised slightly above the surrounding terrain. Though the road was mostly soil, two parallel columns of stones had been laid out to provide traction for vehicles, and as long as they walked on the stones, their shoes weren’t sucked into the encompassing dark brown mud. The person whose body lay nearest the truck appeared to have bogged down in the mud, as his shoes were buried in it.
The forest grew darker as the day wore on, and more and more rain made its way through the canopy so that there was little respite from the droplets bouncing off their hats. They had a growing sense that they weren’t going to find high ground before dark and, eyeing the truck, with its bed more than four feet off the ground, Hamel whispered to Maggie Cross that they should spend the night on the truck. Others heard this, and while they milled about near the truck, trying to keep from getting any muddier or wetter, Alison Peeples suggested to Cody Boyd that he ask Howard Duncan if they could pile onto the truck and at least have one less thing to worry about for the night. The inescapable fear of
reptilus blaberus
infected everyone like a virus, but it was overwhelmed by the greater, more immediate fear of walking through a dark forest with rising floodwaters populated by an array of fearful creatures. Whether it was snakes, eels, caiman, jaguars, or piranhas, there were plenty of threats to pump up their already inflated imaginations.
After speaking with Boyd, Duncan watched as Hamel and Cross started to clamber onto the back of the truck, with boosts from Peeples and Carlos Johnson.
“Looks like a decision’s been made,” Duncan said to Boyd.
Within minutes, everyone was on the truck, either on the bed or in the cab. This would be where most of them would spend the night. Suarez preferred to climb into the crook of a nearby tree, ten feet above the truck.
“More room for us,” Hamel observed. “Besides, he makes a good lookout.”
“It’s also safer up there,” Boyd said in passing.
64
“I’m not kidding,”
Cody Boyd was saying to Peeples, Johnson and Stephanie Rankin. “I’ve got enough footage for a reality show.”
“You’ve been shooting all along?” Rankin asked.
“I thought you didn’t have enough memory cards?” Johnson said.
“Yeah, well, I lied, Carlos. I didn’t want y’all to know ‘cause, well, you know, you might not be spontaneous and real. You know, reality is what they want.”
“Like people scared shitless?” Peeples said coldly.
“Yeah! No! Not exactly. Are you scared?”
“Damn right. Aren’t you?”
Johnson and Rankin stared at Boyd expectantly. As did Peeples.
“Well, not really.”
“What!” Peeples exclaimed. “How can you not be? Don’t you understand the situation we’re in? For Christ’s sake, man.”
“Look, maybe because I’m seeing everything like it’s a movie. Okay. You know, looking at life through a camera lens is…I don’t know. It’s different. It’s like you’re an observer looking in from the outside.”
“So this is just a game for you?” Peeples said. “A bunch of people is dead. We’re in a flood with all kinds of animals around us that could kill us. And I’m not including the fucking bugs. I am scared shitless. I admit it. I’m not brave. I would never have done this if I’d known what was gonna happen. It’s like a nightmare.”
“You think you’re the only one who’s afraid?” Boyd said sternly. “Fuck, we’re all afraid when you put it that way.”
Azevedo had the
front seat to himself. Duncan, Cross, and Hamel shared the truck bed with Boyd, Johnson, Rankin and Peeples and heard everything. Duncan gave Cross a tired look.
“Okay, okay,” Duncan barked. “The immediate thing we need to do is protect ourselves from the rain. Let’s get something up instead of stressing out. Do something to get ready to spend the night. Use your common sense. You’ve got tents and ponchos. Let’s get a roof up.”
Nobody had a plan at the start; several tents and ponchos were spread out on the truck bed. Rankin grabbed one of the tent bags and set the contents at her feet. Tent. Disassembled tent poles. Stakes. She put the stakes back into the bag and set it aside. She fitted the pieces into a pole measuring nearly twelve feet. She stuck one end into a hole in the edge of the metal truck bed and bent the other end into a matching hole on the opposite side. The arch it formed was low. The pole needed to be at least sixteen feet long.
“Does someone have duct tape?” Rankin called out. “We need a way to bind poles together.”
“I’ve got some,” Boyd called out, digging through his backpack.
Within minutes, they had fashioned a Quonset-like covering over the truck bed using rainflies. It was tall enough for all but Duncan and Cross to stand. The bed itself was soaked, so they spread several tents across the wet wood. Movement was limited, so everyone rolled out their sleeping bags and stripped down to underwear. They rigged a rope from one end to the other of the truck bed and hung wet clothes from it though with the continuing rain and one hundred percent humidity, there was little chance anything would dry. Two LED headlamps, set on low beam, were hung from the rope, providing them enough light to see one another as well as a temporary sense of security. Raindrops, falling from fifty feet or more, bounced on the thin nylon fabric like bombs, making it difficult to hear anyone speak. Duncan, raised up on his knees, surveyed his group, noticing that the younger members huddled at one end and the older members at the opposite end. As darkness descended, he suggested that one of the lights be turned off to conserve batteries.
“I’m sure everyone is hungry,” he said forcefully, leaning forward on his knees. “Let’s take a minute to gather everything we have and put it all in the middle. No holding back. We need to inventory our resources.”
Rankin was careful not to include her remaining stash of gin, but like the others contributed energy and fruit bars. Hamel also kept back his alcohol and would have done the same with his foodstuffs had Maggie Cross not scolded him.
Duncan gathered the food, which included vacuum-packed salmon packets and nutrition bars, measured nine equal servings, and passed them around, signaling Suarez to come down from his perch for his share. Some ate quickly, others lingered with their food, eating slowly as if the servings would seem larger. All that anyone could say was that they weren’t quite as hungry after the meal as they had been before it.
As darkness settled in, they grew quiet. Suarez returned to his tree, promising to keep watch while awake though even with his headlamp, he could see very little, just patches of dimly lit forest floor. Rain continued to ping off the nylon rainflies. Fortunately, there was no wind, and the rain fell straight down and wasn’t getting inside. On either side, they were transfixed by the dark emptiness that lay before them.
“Is there any way we can, like, close the ends?” Rankin asked.
“You think that will make you safer?” Boyd asked.
“No,” she said quickly. “I just would rather not look out there. Besides, there’s a little rain getting in.”
Since there was little room for people to move, there was no mass scramble to find materials to close the ends. Boyd gave Duncan one of his tent poles and, using the duct tape, Duncan secured a rainfly to the edge of the pole and then inserted it into the truck bed. He carefully taped it to the inside edge of the rainfly. While imperfect, it eliminated the view into the forest.
“That’s better,” Rankin said approvingly. “What about this end?”
“It’ll get really stuffy in here if we tape that one shut, too,” Johnson said, “don’t you think?”
“Just hang something from it,” Rankin suggested. “Just so it’s not wide open like that.”
“You got something we could use?” Boyd asked Rankin. “About the size of a bath towel.”
“I have something,” Cross said, waving her hand. She pulled out a pair of silk scarves and waved them toward Rankin.
“Perfect,” Johnson said, grabbing them and handing them to Boyd, who taped them to the top edge of the rainfly, setting his wet shoes on their ends to keep them in place. Rankin was hoping for something more substantial but didn’t complain.
With the ends in place, they started to figure out how they would all sleep in such a confined space. The bed was barely wide enough to stretch their legs, and Duncan had to fold his knees to keep his feet from poking out the underside of the rainfly. As each found an acceptable if not comfortable position, the fidgeting began, small movement that resulted in unintended knees to the back, misfired elbows to the head and whispering meant to avoid disturbing others but resulting in everyone straining to hear what was being said. Mostly, Boyd, Johnson, and Peeples were trying to calm Rankin, who was on the verge of hyperventilating. Peeples wrapped her arms around her and was shocked to feel her friend’s body shivering uncontrollably.
“How about a drink, Steph?” Peeples whispered in her ear.
Rankin shook her head affirmatively.
“Cody, check her pack. She’s got some vodka in it.”
“Gin, it’s gin,” Rankin whispered.
“Okay, gin. Cody, find it, please.”
Carlos Johnson pulled Rankin’s backpack from behind her and passed it to Boyd, who rifled through it, pulling out a plastic pint bottle wrapped in a T-shirt. It was not the only one he found. Johnson retrieved the pack and set it up so that Rankin could lean against it. He handed the bottle to Peeples, who broke the seal and twisted the cap off. She held it near Rankin’s face. The frightened woman grabbed at the bottle like a struggling swimmer clutching at a life preserver. She took several gulps and appeared prepared to finish the bottle right there when Peeples pulled it away.
“For medicinal purposes only,” she said as Rankin reached for it. “Let’s give it a few minutes,” Peeples whispered. “You drink it all now, you won’t have anything left for later.”
“There’s more in the pack,” Rankin said, under her breath as if trying to keep her stash a secret between her and Peeples.
Peeples looked at Boyd and Johnson for suggestions. Boyd shook his head.
“Just wait a few minutes.”
“She’s a happy drunk, right?” Johnson whispered timidly.
“Yeah, and kinda off-color sometimes,” Peeples said. “You’d be surprised.”
“She’s not an angry drunk, is she?” Boyd asked.
“Not that I’ve seen,” Peeples said, patting Rankin on the back.
As the three tried to soothe Rankin, Duncan, Hamel, and Cross watched sympathetically and hoped that the young graduate student would calm down so that the others could sleep. Azevedo was already snoring intermittently in the cab, which had a vinyl-covered bench seat that suited him well. Unexpectedly, the windows were intact and could be rolled up most of the way.
“You know, I have sleep aids,” Hamel said in a normal voice that startled everyone. “By the way, why are you whispering? You trying to keep secrets?”
“Funny,” said Peeples loudly.
“I think it’s so anyone who can sleep, can sleep,” Johnson said. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” Boyd said in his normal voice. “Good luck with that. You have to admit, this is weird, spending a night in the jungle on a flatbed truck literally in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
“Yeah, it’s like who’s in control, us or something else?” Johnson mused.
“Like nature?”
“Will you guys stop it with this philosophical bullshit,” Peeples blurted. “We need to get some sleep.”
“Mr. Hamel,” Boyd said, “what kind of sleep aids do you have?”
“OTC. And call me George, please.”
“Good. Let’s cut them into quarters, and those who want some can have it.”
“Think one quarter is enough?” Johnson asked skeptically.
“That’s what I use,” Boyd said. “I take more, and I wake up hungover. One-quarter, I nod off and sleep pretty good, I mean, well,” he self-corrected.
Duncan and Cross took quarter doses of Hamel’s sleep aid. After a few more drinks, Rankin took one and eventually nodded off with a smile on her face. Boyd, Peeples, and Johnson continued whispering, despite the pounding of raindrops that sounded like tiny explosions and unidentifiable sounds that came and went in the surrounding forest. For the most part, they discussed the threat posed by the flooding, and whether Azevedo’s assistant would send a rescue mission. They wondered how long their food would last and then about the creatures lurking beneath the water and whether they would be able to walk through it in the morning and whether they’d find higher ground.
“Maybe we can start the truck,” Johnson suggested, to which Boyd nodded, and Peeples brightened.
“That would be great,” Peeples said, “a lot better than walking through the water.”
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Boyd said. “It was abandoned for a reason. Maybe it’s out of gas.”
“Yeah, maybe there’s gas in that shed near the clearing. You saw it, right?”
“Yeah,” Peeples agreed optimistically. “Besides, maybe it’s not out of gas. Maybe they were in a hurry, or maybe they planned to come back for it but couldn’t.”
“Yeah, they got eaten by the insects,” Boyd said darkly.
This was the subject that had remained just below the surface all evening, and now it had suddenly popped up.
“I don’t like to think about that,” Peeples said, coldly. “It scares the hell out of me.”
“Me, too,” Johnson agreed.
“You think I’m not afraid of them?” Boyd asked rhetorically. “Hell, I’ve been coming up with different scenarios of what we’d do if they find us.”
“You think they’re looking for us?” Johnson asked, startled.
“They forage for food. We’re food. They may not be looking specifically for a group of humans but if they run into us…” Boyd said.
“That’s what scares me most,” Johnson said, “what do we do?”
“If they attacked us right now, I’d run like hell in the opposite direction,” Boyd said confidently.
“But how do you know which direction to run in the dark?” Peeples asked.
Boyd slowly exhaled and scratched his nose.
“What if you’re surrounded?” Johnson added.
“And what about everybody else?” Peeples said. “Are you just gonna run away and leave everyone else behind? How could you live with yourself?”
“Well, at least I’d be living,” Boyd said defensively.
“I didn’t think you were that kind of person,” Peeples said.
The conversation stopped, and the truck filled with the sound of insects, raindrops, splashes and bursts of deep, rolling thunder. Johnson and Peeples swallowed the tiny sleep aids while Boyd wrapped his in a piece of plastic and put it under the waistband of his underwear. It was difficult to get comfortable and not easy to fall asleep until the drug started working. Finally, Boyd passed around Rankin’s gin. That helped. After the second sip, Boyd set the bottle aside, and they lay silent in the darkness.
“Hey, I just thought of something,” Johnson said excitedly. “Can the bugs swim?”
This thought floated freely for a moment.
“Cockroaches can’t swim,” Boyd said.
“Despite not being cockroaches,” Peeples said, “they look like cockroaches. Maybe they can’t swim.”
“I can use another drink,” Johnson said. “You know, maybe, instead of being lost by the flood, we may be saved by the flood.”
“I don’t think Steph would like it if we drank all her booze,” Peeples said. “In fact, I think she’d be pissed as hell.”
“Think she can tell?” Johnson asked.
“She can tell,” Peeples said. “She can tell. You should just put it in her pack before she wakes up.”
“She’s out cold,” Johnson said. “Those sleep aids really work. I’m feeling sleepy myself.”
“Me, too,” Peeples said.
Boyd smiled as Peeples and Johnson got comfortable and stopped talking. He hadn’t taken his sleep aid because he wasn’t certain he should. He knew from experience that it would be hard to wake up in the middle of the night if necessary, and he was afraid that it might be necessary. He thought someone should keep watch, and since no one volunteered, he nominated himself. But it was a losing cause. He was exhausted, and he knew if he didn’t sleep he wouldn’t be any good in the morning.
It was like when he was a kid and had nightmares. He tried to stay awake but eventually fell asleep. It was happening to him now, only the nightmare was real. But what would he do anyway if the bugs attacked? There was nothing he could do except to think about options to defend themselves. Fire, it seemed to him, was the best weapon. A flamethrower would be ideal. The truck used diesel fuel, which wasn’t flammable enough to use as a weapon, even if the tank was full. They needed gasoline and then a way to use it as a weapon. Whoever had left their machetes behind might have left other equipment as well. And then there was that building near the perimeter of the clearing. Maybe that’s where they stored equipment and fuel. It was definitely worth looking into, he thought as his mind reached out for ways to let him think they were in control despite all evidence to the contrary. He wanted to sleep, but he didn’t want to take a sleep aid, and he was satisfied that if they could find some gasoline, they’d be able to defend themselves against the bugs. He focused on this hopeful thought to help him relax and let go of his anxious mind’s grip on consciousness.