“Wouldn’t that bring consequences? I mean, if we killed someone?” Allie asked.
A corner of Spencer’s mouth pulled upward in a smirk. “Out here, it’s survival of the fittest. There’s nobody to help and nobody to tell. Forget everything you know about civilization. We’re on our own. What’s that saying? What happens in the Amazon, stays in the Amazon…”
“So we shoot people, nothing happens,” she said.
“Well, hopefully they die. Either that, or you do. Other than that, no, nothing happens.”
Drake had begun to notice that Allie was friendlier to Spencer than to him, which had quickly gotten under his skin. Even in the middle of the jungle, it wasn’t lost on Drake that she had curves in all the right places, as he admired the fit of her cargo pants beneath her backpack. Whatever he’d done to distance her had worked, because she was almost flirtatious with Spencer, who seemed not to notice, whereas whenever she’d addressed Drake it was no-nonsense, with all the warmth of a fast-food drive-through window attendant.
A screeching echoed through the trees, and Spencer slowed, pointing overhead.
“Howler monkeys. They’re usually quiet during the day, but in the early mornings and evenings, they’ll make a lot of noise. They live in large groups. Harmless but annoying.”
“I don’t see anything,” Allie said, shielding her eyes with her hand. “Ooh, no, wait, now I do. Up there. Fast, aren’t they?”
“Yes. They’re a good early alarm system. If we hear them during the day, it could be because they’ve spotted someone moving through the bush. Just as anyone listening now knows we’re here.”
“Double-edged sword, then,” Drake observed.
“Everything is, here.”
They resumed their pace, making decent time along a game trail. Their boots were nearly soundless against the wet ground, which was covered with leaves. At nine they took a break by a tiny stream. Allie ventured off to refresh herself as they sat in the shade of a towering tree, soaked with perspiration, drinking greedily from their canteens.
“How often are you in these parts?” Drake asked quietly, now accustomed to speaking in a murmur.
Spencer closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Often enough.”
“When was the last time?” Drake persisted.
“About a month ago.”
Spencer wasn’t more forthcoming, so they settled into an uneasy silence, the only sounds around them an occasional bird call or the crackling in the canopy of an unseen animal flitting from branch to branch.
Allie’s scream shattered the calm, and Jack was instantly on his feet, weapon at the ready. Drake leapt up, as did Spencer, and they moved into the underbrush in the direction she’d gone. Drake almost ran into Jack’s back as he came to an abrupt stop, his arm out to the side to keep them from moving forward. Spencer stood next to him and, after assessing the situation, began speaking to Allie in a low voice.
“Calm down. Stop struggling. It’s quicksand. Any movement will only make it worse.” Spencer shrugged off his backpack and retrieved from it a tightly coiled roll of black nylon rope. He turned to Jack and Drake and whispered, “If she can get her legs and arms separated and concentrates on leaning back, she’ll eventually float to the surface, but that could take all day, and she doesn’t look like she’s calm enough to do it. It’s doubtful that she’ll completely submerge, but we need to slide her out before she makes it any worse.”
Allie had sunk in viscous sludge up to her armpits, a look of terror on her face. Her backpack lay near the spot where she’d slipped when she’d hit the edge of the patch.
Jack removed his pack and set his weapon against it, and spoke in even, measured tones. “Honey, he’s right. Take it easy. We’ll get you out. But don’t struggle. Save your strength, and if you want to try to help, shake your legs just a little. That should free them slowly, and you should start to float to the surface.”
Spencer held up the rope. “I’m going to toss this to you, okay? Grab it, and we’ll pull you out. If I don’t get it within reach, don’t panic or try to get to it. I’ll just throw it again, all right?” He didn’t wait for Allie to answer and, after taking a quick look at her position fifteen feet away, tossed the wound-up line toward her, using the bundle’s weight to carry it through the air.
It landed about three feet from her right arm, and she slowly moved her hand toward it, but was a foot short. She tried to stretch to grab it, but it was no good. In the process of trying, she sank another six inches, the ooze now almost covering her shoulders. She let out a low moan as Spencer hurriedly wound the rope back toward him.
Drake removed his backpack and dropped his gun on the ground. “Give me one end of the rope. I’m going in after her. She’s not going to make it,” he said, and before Spencer could protest, he grabbed the free end of the cord and skirted the edge of the quicksand as Spencer played out line.
When he slipped at the edge and slid into the muck, he almost dropped the lifeline, but he reacted quickly and latched onto it. Spencer and Jack pulled on the rope and he managed to get clear. He continued along the rim until he was near where she’d gone in. The sludge was now up to Allie’s neck — an ominous progression.
“Let out about five feet of line,” Drake instructed, and as they did, he tied the rope to his belt, freeing up his arms. With a final glance at Allie, he backed up and took a running jump. When he hit the surface, Allie’s head went under, and he groped where she’d disappeared. He felt an arm and latched onto it, and then yelled to Jack and Spencer. “I’ve got her.”
The two men immediately pulled, and Drake slowly edged through the goop to the firmer edge of the sinkhole, trying to get Allie to the surface, but failing due to the resistance of the wet muck. As he felt his back move against the harder ground, he took a deep breath and heaved with all his might, the veins in his neck and forehead bulging from the effort. Slowly, Allie rose to the top, and then her arms were around him and she was gasping, covered with sludge, her eyes clamped shut as she spit out clumps of quicksand. Spencer wrapped the end of the rope around his waist twice, faced away from them, and began plodding like a plow horse. Jack also pulled on the line with all his might, and Drake and Allie slid out of the treacherous mire onto firmer soil.
“All right. We’re clear,” he called out, and Jack moved along the perimeter of the swampy section to where they both lay covered in muck. He knelt down and lifted Allie to her feet and, after hugging her, held her away from him as she wiped wet ooze from her eyes.
“That was close. I thought we discussed quicksand back in town,” he said quietly.
She nodded. “I know. I didn’t see it. I…maybe I wasn’t paying close enough attention.”
Drake got to his feet, doing his best to shake off the clinging slag. Allie turned to him and hugged him as well, pressing her full breasts against his chest.
“Thank you,” she said simply, and he nodded, figuring words weren’t necessary.
Back at the stream, Allie and Drake used one of the cooking pots to scoop water and clean themselves as best as they could while Spencer and Jack stood watch, alert for anyone their commotion might have attracted. The rainforest’s customary tranquility had descended again, a deathly stillness in the damp air, not even the monkeys making noise. They hurriedly finished with their field showers and pushed their way farther into the brush five minutes later, keenly aware that they’d made far too much noise and anxious to put as much distance between themselves and the site of the near-disaster as possible.
Another rainstorm hit an hour later, and for once both Drake and Allie welcomed the steady stream of water, which rinsed them as clean as if they’d gone for a swim.