“What are you talking about?” Jorge asked.
“I stayed behind to gather my things… and… and I saw something in the bushes.”
Something lurched in the pit of Zane’s stomach. He sensed he was about to learn why he’d felt the pinch in his gut.
Jorge nodded that he should continue.
The Brazilian let out a sigh. “As I got ready to leave, I saw something in the shadows. At first I didn’t know what it was, but then I realized someone was looking at me.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t an animal?” Jorge asked.
“I don’t think so. I saw the eyes… a man’s eyes, just peering at me from the shadows.”
Jorge’s face reddened. “Why didn’t you tell us about that?”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what it was… I mean, I thought it was a man, but I couldn’t be sure.”
“What did you do?” Brett asked.
“I got my gun, but by the time I looked back, the face was gone. After that, I heard some movement in several places, but I couldn’t really see anything.”
Jorge said something in Portuguese. From his tone, it sounded like a string of expletives.
Brett looked at Jorge. “Do you think it was the Dawanis?”
“Possibly,” he said, stroking his mustache. “Unfortunately we don’t have any way of knowing.”
Brett looked at Zane. “Do you think it has something to do with what happened here?”
“Yes, I think it does. In fact, I think we’d better—”
Before he could finish, Artur gave a loud grunt. Zane turned in time to see the Brazilian wobble then collapse to the ground. Something was sticking out of his shoulder.
Just as Zane realized what was happening, a long, wailing shriek bellowed out of the jungle behind them.
CHAPTER FORTY
“Behind the rocks!” Zane shouted as another arrow hissed overhead.
A third was right behind it, burying into a vine branch behind them.
Zane seized Brett, pulling him down behind the largest boulder. It was a miracle they hadn’t been hit. He turned and saw that Jorge had pulled Artur behind another rock a few feet away.
The barrage of arrows intensified over the next few seconds. Zane dropped his pack and brought his rifle around. He crept to his left, setting up in the space between two boulders. It only gave him a limited view of the jungle, but it was all he had.
Zane looked at Brett. “Get your gun out.”
“All I have is a pistol. I can’t—”
“Just do it. We have to scare them. It’s the only way to keep them from making a run. They do that, and we’ll be overrun.”
War cries and wails echoed out of the jungle, raising the hairs on the back of Zane’s neck. The sounds were primordial, beast-like.
Zane rose up on one elbow then unleashed a spray of bullets across the wall of green. The wails and arrows seemed to die in response, at least for the time being.
Brett rose and fired off several rounds. Suddenly, he looked to his right and shouted, “One o’clock!”
Zane pivoted just in time to see one of the attackers dart across a gap in the jungle, only to disappear once again. He projected where the man would come to a stop and fired two shots. He heard a scream. At least one of the bullets had found its mark.
With the lull in action, Zane looked over to check on Artur. Jorge was working on the wound. “How is he?”
Jorge spoke without looking up. “I think he’s going to be fine.” As Zane watched, Jorge used a knife to saw off part of the arrow about an inch from where it had entered Artur’s flesh. “I’m going to have to leave most of it in. I think the bleeding will be worse if I take it out.”
Zane hoped it hadn’t delivered poison into the Brazilian’s bloodstream. He’d read that some indigenous tribes still coated the tips of their arrows with secretions from the skin of the poison dart frog. The dose was so potent that death often came within minutes.
Without warning, the wailing began again, followed by several more arrows. Brett continued to fire random shots into the jungle, which seemed to help, but they needed something else. In a few minutes, the tribe would get used to the strange weapons, and once they did, they might make a full-frontal assault.
What they needed was to actually kill a few of the attackers. Killing them at such a distance might cause general panic.
“Three o’clock!” Brett shouted. Zane turned and saw that two tribesmen had crept toward them using the shadow cast by the mountain. As soon as they were spotted, they sprinted forward, wailing, their spears raised. They were painted in black, their eyes circled in white.
Dawanis.
Before Zane could react, Brett raised his pistol with two hands. He squeezed the trigger, but nothing happened. The gun had jammed.
The attackers seemed to sense their opportunity. They howled with delight and rushed the boulders.
Zane reacted instinctively, lifting his rifle. It would be risky shooting past Brett’s head, but he had no choice. Steadying his aim, he squeezing off two successive shots. The tribesmen stiffened, the wails dying in their throats. Both men wobbled for a moment before falling over. They were dead before they hit the ground.
The wailing died immediately. He doubted it would last, but at least it gave them time to regroup. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Zane reached down and removed his radio.
Jorge shook his head. “I’ve already tried. They don’t work here.”
“What?” Zane’s brow furrowed. “They have a range of several miles.”
Jorge nodded toward the slope of the mountain. “The only thing I can figure is that it’s something about the rocks.”
He had to try anyway, while there was a lull in the fighting. Lifting the radio, he tried to raise one of the Green Berets. There was only static in response. Zane cursed and slid the radio back in his pocket.
“What are they doing?” Brett hissed. “Things have gotten awfully quiet.”
“Hard to say,” Zane said. “We might have injected some fear into them, or they could be gearing up for an attack. If they do, we may be in some serious trouble.”
“Why do you say that?” Jorge asked.
Zane nodded toward the tree line. “My eyes and ears tell me there are at least several dozen archers back in those trees, which means there could be many more than that. If they decide to rush, we have no chance of bringing them all down, even with our semiautomatics.”
“I’m down to two magazines,” Brett said.
“They’ve seen what our weapons can do now, so the fear of the unknown may hold them off for a bit longer,” Zane continued. “In the meantime, I have an idea.” He moved to his left and lay down between the two boulders.
“What are you doing?” Brett asked.
“Just keep me covered. Make sure they don’t try to creep up on us again.”
After sorting through several options, Zane kept coming back to one in particular. If he could somehow kill the leader, the head of the snake, that might cause the others to lose the will to fight. They had already witnessed two of their own drop dead, and hopefully seeing the same thing happen to their chieftain would be too much.
Zane placed his rifle against his shoulder and used the scope to examine the jungle on the other side of the clearing. He focused on a large Brazil nut tree with lots of dense foliage. Each time the wailing commenced, it started with a shriek that seemed to come from there. Now it was just a matter of finding his man.
He moved the sights around, examining openings in the foliage, looking for movement or flashes of color.
Suddenly an arrow hissed out of the woods and glanced off the boulder on Zane’s left, missing him by about a foot.
“One of them is locked in on you,” Brett said.