By Drake’s reckoning, they were nearing their target point for the day’s camp when Spencer held a hand up in warning and slowed, head cocked to the side and listening intently. Everyone froze, ears straining for whatever he’d heard. The only thing Drake registered was the incessant patter of raindrops on the surrounding leaves. After a few moments, Spencer backed up as he slipped his machete into its belt sheath and freed his rifle. He leaned toward them, eyes locked on the trail.
“I heard voices up ahead. We need to get off the track. Follow me. Hopefully the water will erase our footprints by the time they get here,” he whispered. He cast his eyes around, selected a sparsely vegetated area to their right, and moved through it into the denser underbrush beyond.
They pushed past tangled vines and stepped over fallen trees until they were fifty yards from the track. Spencer made a curt hand gesture and knelt by a rotting log, his weapon pointed at the trail, which was no longer visible through the thick foliage. They spread out, guns in hand, and lay next to any cover they could find.
Stillness enveloped the jungle, the rain splattering on the surrounding leaves as the seemingly never-ending drizzle continued while they settled in to wait. One minute went by, and then another, and then they all heard the sound of several sets of boots on the trail. Spencer glanced to the side at Jack, who had positioned himself ten feet away, and held a finger to his lips. Drake nodded understanding and turned to where Allie lay next to him, repeating the gesture, but froze when he saw the look on her face — raw, unbridled fear. His eyes traveled down her body lying on a bed of wet leaves, until he saw the reason. A brightly colored snake was making its way for her, slithering along the forest floor, no more than two feet away; one of the deadliest creatures on the planet — the coral snake, whose neon coloring was nature’s warning of its lethal venom.
He shook his head in warning. “Don’t move. Not a muscle.”
Allie’s eyes flickered understanding, but the mask of panic on her face belied her apparent calm. The footsteps from the trail continued past their position as Drake watched the serpent make its way to her, and his stomach did a flip when she closed her eyes, her trembling barely perceptible. It reached her gun and paused, then wound toward her torso, three deadly feet of bright red, yellow, and black bands.
Drake stood in a crouch as the snake hesitated by Allie’s side and, after a couple of lightning flicks of its tongue, began moving down toward her legs. She gasped but remained still when it eased up her right thigh, apparently interested enough to want a closer examination of the life it sensed.
In a second Drake was at her side. Using the barrel of his AK, he flipped the toxic creature off her and through the air, where it landed harmlessly six feet away and slipped into the undergrowth. Allie’s exhalation was audible, and Drake again held his finger to his mouth, urging caution. She struggled to slow her breathing as the fright seeped from her eyes and, after squeezing them closed again for a moment, nodded and resumed her watch of the trees near the path.
Five minutes passed like an hour. Hearing nothing more, Spencer stood and signaled for them to follow him back to the trail. They took careful steps, now hyperalert to the hidden threats lurking beneath the carpet of brown leaves on the wet forest floor, Allie’s near miss fresh in all their minds. Once at the muddy track, Spencer leaned over and studied the fading imprints that were already disappearing as the rain washed them away.
“Looks like a half dozen, maybe more. Stay quiet and let’s move. I want to be far away from them as quickly as possible,” he murmured, and then hurried away in the direction they’d been headed, still with his rifle in hand instead of the machete. The group matched his pace, which he kept up for a half hour before slowing. The heat was now oppressive as the clouds drifted east and the rainfall eased and then stopped.
When he arrived at a brook engorged by the recent runoff, he paused. After scanning the area, he whispered to Jack, “How far have we come?”
Jack searched in his backpack for his handheld GPS and powered it on, squinting to read the small screen’s information. “This says thirteen miles. But we drifted south some. So really only about twelve in the direction we’re headed.”
“Close enough, I’d say. Let’s follow the stream until we’re well away from the trail and, at the first hospitable looking area, set up camp. I don’t like that we had company, so I want to get clear of it. Follow me.”
The brook was only five feet across and no more than three or four feet deep most of the way, but around the second bend it deepened to where they couldn’t see the bottom anymore. Spencer stopped and pointed at a flat area twenty yards away, under the dense growth suspended from the tops of the tall trees. “That looks good as any.”
They pitched their tents, exhausted from the first day’s exertions, and lay in the shade. The heat drained from them any desire to move. In spite of the swelter, Allie decided to spend the remainder of the afternoon in the tent — a reaction to coming within a hair of being killed by the coral snake; everyone understood.
Eventually the sun dropped behind the distant mountain peaks, and Drake took his fishing line and a few small shiny spoons to see if the brook held anything promising for dinner. Allie emerged from the tent several minutes later and wiped the sweat from her face before moving in the opposite direction along the stream, rifle in hand, eyes roving over the ground in front of her, now fully alert to the myriad menaces the jungle held.
Drake returned with three fish — each at least a couple of pounds. Spencer looked them over and grunted. “That’ll do. I’ll cook them on the stove. I don’t want to risk a wood fire drawing anyone to our position. Let’s wait until dark. Nobody’s going to be roving around the jungle at night well away from any trail — there are way too many threats. Jaguars and snakes being the least of them.”
After nightfall they feasted on Drake’s catch, silent except for the sound of their chewing, the day’s events having reinforced the need for stealth and the suddenness with which danger could savage them. Jack argued for a three-hour guard shift during the night, and nobody had any objections. He would take the first watch, Drake the second, Allie the third, and Spencer the final that would lead into dawn, each waking the next when their stint was over.
When they retired for the night, the rainforest pitch black around their position, it was with a new appreciation for the hardships they’d taken on in their quest for the Inca city. As Drake shifted in his tent, trying to get comfortable, he was sure that the others were equally restive, and resigned himself to a long night with little sleep as the jungle around them rustled and creaked with unimaginable dangers.
The afternoon was drawing to a close when the wooden skiff beached itself on the riverbank and the captain killed the engine. He rubbed his face and yawned, glad to be home after the long day on the water following an uncomfortable night sleeping in the boat with one eye open. He was disconnecting the scarred red metal fuel tank when he raised his head and saw three Caucasian men moving cautiously down the path that led to the river’s edge. The area was deserted, the other fishermen gone, and for a moment a tingle of apprehension ran up his spine.
Gus sized up the old boat with a seasoned eye and nodded to his two younger associates. One of them stepped forward and fixed the local with a hard stare.
“You took some passengers up the river?” he asked in Spanish colored with a slight American accent.
“Yes…” the captain answered truthfully, his expression puzzled.
“We need you to help us. We’re supposed to join up with them, but we were delayed.”