 
For Those Who Worship the Sun

James Michael Rice
For Those Who Worship the Sun

James Michael Rice

Copyright © James Michael Rice, 2013

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, without written permission from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this story are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

For more information on James and his books, please visit his fan page at <https://www.facebook.com/JamesMichaelRice>

Cover design by Grafikali Seven

Interior & e-book design by Velin@Perseus-Design.com

Author photograph by Eastwater Photography

Edited by Bryony Sutherland and Sharon Honeycutt

This book is dedicated to the people of Peru, as well as to the many fine folks who devote their lives to researching, preserving, and protecting the rainforest and all its beautiful creatures.

Prologue

They embraced the darkness and they cursed the light.

As the sun flung itself upon the edge of the world, spilling its dying light across the treetops, they emerged like insects from their nests and slowly picked their way through the trackless jungle. They moved as a single organism, silent as the shadows, ears tuned to the smallest sound, eyes focused only on the ground in front of them. Nothing else mattered but that one step, the next step, as if the world did not exist beyond those few precious inches of terra firma.

Soon the sun disappeared as though forever, leaving only a scarlet smudge across the horizon—like the last remaining evidence of a violent crime—before it too was consumed by the encroaching darkness. A scattering of stars poked holes in the evening sky and the shadows crept in, quickly gathering with confidence beneath the towering canopy. All at once the jungle sprang to life.

Trees stretched toward the heavens, and the tangled undergrowth seemed to crowd in closer, hemming them in on all sides—formidable walls of green that trembled with the susurration of insects, the fluttering of birds. Overhead, the high-arching branches overlapped to form a dense quilt, creating the illusion of a second sky; pitch-black and threaded with the silver light of the moon. Trickling down through the foliage into the murky depths below, the moonlight separated the shadows, projecting corridors and pathways where none existed, as if taunting them with the possibility of escape. As their eyes grew accustomed to this grand deception, they negotiated the treacherous underbrush with care, ever mindful of the hidden dangers that surrounded them. The jungle was teeming with life—most of it beautiful, much of it deadly. It was an accepted risk that a single bite or sting could spell a death sentence for the hapless victim.

Pushing on through the night, they drank water from vines to slake their endless thirst and foraged for Sachamani blossoms and fruit to appease their nagging hunger. It seemed they had always lived this way, or perhaps it was simply easier to believe that this was so. Easier to believe they were anything but human—with hopes and dreams and intricate lives that existed thousands of miles away from here. But the jungle knew nothing of such complexities, for its rules were simple: there were no rules. For each living thing in this savage land—from the smallest sprig to the most cunning predator—every moment was a constant struggle for survival. Here, amongst the whirring insects, squawking birds, and bickering monkeys, humans were stripped of their status quo, reduced to little more than a rare delicacy on the biological menu.

Only Brooke Harlow found herself rejecting this unspoken duplicity, and her mind had begun to wander again. As she walked, she fantasized about hot showers and cool bed sheets and Wendy's cheeseburgers—the latter so vivid she could almost feel her teeth sinking into that warm, soft bun, could almost taste the sweetness of ketchup and the tang of pickles on her tongue. Ironically, she had never really cared for fast food, but the mental image of the calorific treat reminded her of the world she had left behind, and it awakened such a painful longing within her that she could think of little else. As her mind sharpened on the imaginary burger, a single tear escaped the corner of her eye and tumbled slowly down her face. Tracing the smooth curve of her cheek, the teardrop dangled precariously from the end of her chin, a tiny jewel sparkling in the moonlight until at last it descended into darkness and the foreign soil beneath her feet.

She wasn't crying, not yet, though there was a part of her that wished she could. She thought it might actually feel good to cry, to release all the emotions she was holding inside. It was a risky proposition; one she was not willing to take. When it came right down to it, she was afraid. Afraid that once she let those raw emotions out, she would not be able to control them, to rein them back in. Out here, she knew, such a lapse of control could get a person killed—could possibly get all of them killed.

Now a new image swirled before her eyes, one that was far less pleasant than her fast food fantasy. She visualized herself curled into the fetal position on the jungle floor, screaming until her throat was raw, until the screams petered out into a lunatic's laughter. It occurred to her that she was already treading dangerously close to the edge of her sanity and that it would not take much to push her into the abyss. She could not afford to lose her composure, not now, not here. Besides, what would Ben and the others think? With this in mind, she resolved to clear her head, to stay focused on the placement of her feet as the cordon pushed on through the night.

Sometime later, the sky opened and the rains came. An eerie hush fell over the jungle as creatures big and small retreated to their secret hideaways. Only the six nocturnal humans continued to roam, for even as they flirted with starvation and delirium, they knew their only hope of survival was predicated on movement. Little breezes stirred beneath the canopy, shaking the foliage and flinging gusts of rain in every direction. Water pooled in the low-lying areas, and the soil, naturally spongy even during this, the dry season, soon became a kind of sludge; a jelly-like mud that threatened to suck the boots off their feet. With this newfound hazard, their progress—already impeded by the dense mats of underbrush—slowed to a near-crawl.

Brooke was walking on autopilot, lost in her fantasies, when a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth and pulled her down to the soggy ground. She dropped her spear and flailed wildly, attempting to counteract gravity. Instinct told her to kick and claw and scream, but her assailant had anticipated this response—his other arm snaked around her, thin but strong, pinning hers uselessly against her chest. She could feel his tight cords of muscle flexing as he held her fast, rendering her helpless.

After a moment, the panic dissipated and she allowed her body to go limp. Sensing her complacency, he relaxed his hold on her, but the hand that covered her mouth remained. It was small and wet and smelled vaguely of the earth.

"Don't move."

Ernesto's voice was barely a whisper, his mouth so close she could feel the stir of his breath against her cheek. Breath that smelled acidic and coppery, like blood. The smell of fear, she thought. Ernesto knew the jungle better than any of them, and it unnerved her to think that he of all people was afraid of something—afraid of anything at all, for that matter. She sat without moving, straining her ears to listen but hearing little beyond the rhythmic beating of her own heart.

Wait—

Something was moving through the underbrush. She had not noticed it before, would not have noticed it at all were it not for Ernesto and his extraordinary senses. Whatever was out there moved with such calculated patience that she had at first mistaken it for the sound of raindrops plinking down through the foliage. It was only after the thin arms hastily forced her to crouch on the wet ground that she could differentiate the rhythm of the footsteps from the white noise of the rain.

One by one, the others came to a clumsy halt and hunkered down beside her. One of the boys pressed against her, seeking her warmth. Judging by the weight and slender musculature of the body, she was certain it was Cooper. Yes, Cooper. She remembered how he and Janie had fooled around at the bar

(in a different life)

on their first night at the Amazonia Lodge, and the memory touched her heart with an icy finger. She couldn't really say how she knew it was him. The boys were more or less the same size, each one different in appearance and personality, but their frames were otherwise indistinguishable in the darkness. Even so, she felt fairly certain it was Cooper pressing against her right now, and she would not have minded his warmth were it not for the fact that he was shivering all over—or trembling, she reasoned, he could be trembling—so violently that it occurred to her, in a brief moment of panic, that he might be experiencing some kind of seizure. Thankfully, the tremors soon abated, and she could feel the rise and fall of his chest as his lungs labored against the soupy air.

Where's Ben? Brooke knew it was probably just wishful thinking, but she thought she could just make out his silhouette in the darkness, crouching a few yards away: the well-defined shape of his shaved head, the aristocratic nose, and strong, square jaw. She even imagined she could see the flash of his ocean-blue eyes as they reflected a sliver of moonlight. Eyes that were at once intelligent, wise, and full of compassion. It was impossible to think of anything bad while looking into those eyes.

Thinking about Ben helped her to focus—anything not to think about Janie. It was much too soon to think about Janie. The rain stopped as abruptly as it had arrived, as though someone had closed the valve on a sprinkler system. One moment there was a hissing torrent, the next, nothing but the tapping of residual raindrops passing through the canopy to the jungle floor. All other noises also seemed to stop, if in fact they had ever really been there at all. Maybe it was just the rain all along? Or an animal—a few of those cute little squirrel monkeys, perhaps? A wild pig? Brooke measured the time by the metronomic tapping of the raindrops. Her silent count reached sixty before her mind began to wander again. Sixty raindrops. Sixty seconds. An eternity wrapped inside a minute.

They waited in darkness, seeing nothing, hearing nothing except the dripping water. A strange stillness settled around them, as though the jungle was holding its breath. After a time, the hand that was cupped around Brooke's mouth withdrew itself. The stillness gave her pause to think and, though she at first resisted, it allowed her to wonder what had become of Janie. A collage of images flickered through her mind's eye: Janie at Machu Picchu, laughing as she struck a sexy, defiant pose for the camera, her breasts thrust forward, her hands on her hips. Janie putting back tequila shots at Molly's, the local dive back in Palo Alto. Janie's piercing scream as she was dragged away from camp, the scream reaching a shrill crescendo before it was abruptly cut short and Janie Castellano was no more.

Beside her, Cooper was shivering again. She reached down and found his hand. Like a child, his fingers curled instinctively around hers. Her touch seemed to calm him, and the shivering gradually subsided. Several minutes passed, and no one dared to move or speak. Brooke was beginning to think that Ernesto had been wrong for once, that maybe what they'd heard was nothing more than an animal, some critter foraging in the underbrush. Then, as the clouds shifted and the moonlight trickled down through the treetops, Cooper dug his nails into her hand.

"There," he whispered, pointing.

Brooke followed the direction of his outstretched finger. Just ahead, the underbrush gave way to a small clearing. A furtive movement between the trees caught her attention, and at last she glimpsed what had been stalking them. Were it not for their strange, drunken gait and misshapen heads, she might have mistaken them for humans—one of the lost tribes she had read about on the Internet, perhaps. But no human she had ever seen moved like that... Because they're not human, she realized. Her mind seized these words and repeated them like a chant:

Not human. Not human. Not human.

Somehow, in a forbidden corner of her mind, it seemed she had known this all along.
One

Early explorers called it the Green Hell.

This was Auggie's salient thought as he gazed in quiet trepidation at the monstrous walls of jungle that surrounded him. Clutching his camera to his flimsy chest, his small eyes studied the landscape with keen interest. Consisting of tangled underbrush and vines that hung like coils of concertina wire from the towering treetops, the forest looked virtually impenetrable; an unbroken rampart of green that went on and on as far as the eye could see. Even from the relative safety of their slow-moving boat, the sight of it made his head swim.

Leaning over the rail, he caught a glimpse of his reflection skimming along beside him on the dark water, so close he could almost touch it—a perfect mirror image of his own face, right down to the narrow stump of a chin and the slightly protruding ears. What would happen if we sank? he wondered. Tightening the straps on his lifejacket, he imagined the foul caress of that murky water on his skin, his stomach roiling at the thought of all the unknown creatures that lurked beneath the surface. They were at least three hours from Puerto Malaka, which itself was little more than a collection of shacks and dusty streets—to even think of it as a town was being overly generous. If something were to happen to them out here... Auggie shivered in spite of the heat. You can do this, he told himself. Show them you can do this. In truth, he had little choice. They had come too far to turn back now.

After all the months of planning, here they were, floating down one of the world's longest rivers in what amounted to little more than a glorified canoe with a lawnmower engine. If someone had told him this was all just some crazy dream, he would have embraced the news without question.

The motorized canoe, or peki-peki as it was called by the locals, was large enough to accommodate twelve people, equipped with two long benches that flanked the interior, one on the starboard side and one on the port, and a canopy for shade. Today there were four passengers in all, two on each cushioned bench, sitting slightly apart from one another to better distribute their weight. This did not include Felix the driver, who did not have the luxury of a cushion or even a proper seat. He sat perched on the stern with one hand resting on the tiller and one brown leg dangling over the rail, his dusty bare foot hovering just above the water. He was a stocky man with a shock of curly black hair and a face like a pug, and he was exceptionally friendly to the three Americans despite the fact that he didn't speak a word of English.

Without warning, the high-pitched whine of the outboard motor dropped several octaves, and the bow settled into the water as they drifted forward at a near-crawl. This sudden deceleration, combined with the dissonant warble of the motor, sent unexpected waves of panic through Auggie. Why were they slowing down? Was there something wrong with the engine? Auggie looked back and saw their guide, Ernesto, chatting with Felix, who was nodding and pointing a stubby finger at something upstream. Ernesto, looking pleased by whatever the driver had told him, raised his binoculars and began to scan the distant shore.

Auggie followed the guide's line of sight to a narrow strip of beach where the sand was fringed with evenly spaced palm trees, each one similar in thickness and height. A sudden breeze stirred the jungle and the palm trees danced seductively, their bright green fans skimming the sky. The beach, with its sturdy palms and virgin sand, conjured images of some tropical paradise, and Auggie half-expected a group of scantily clad exotics to come sashaying out of the jungle, carrying trays of frozen piña coladas. Closing his eyes, he could practically smell their sun-kissed skin and taste the coconut and rum of their tropical libations. Amused by this fleeting fantasy, he opened his eyes and stole a glance at Ben, who was sitting sideways with one leg up on the bench, his strong jaw jutting out over the rail as he relaxed on one elbow.

Ben Sawyer's tattered Red Sox hat was flipped around backwards, and he was smiling at some private thought, eyes squinting hard against the midday sun. Auggie watched him for a moment, trying to guess what he was thinking. Why is he smiling like that? wondered Auggie. I'm tired, hungover, and scared out of my mind, and he looks like he's having the time of his life. That was the one thing Auggie hated most about people: they all wore masks. No matter how well you thought you knew someone, there was no earthly way of knowing what really went on inside a person's head.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Auggie said, raising his voice above the whine of the outboard motor. "All these beaches?"

Ben turned his head slowly, the ghost of a smile still dimpling his cheeks, and regarded Auggie with his intelligent blue eyes. Auggie was leaning toward him eagerly, blinking in the dappled sunlight as he waited for an answer.

"Funny," Ben said in that strange, slow cadence that made people hang on his every word, "I was just thinking the exact same thing."

Relief spread across Auggie's face. Encouraged by the exchange, he inched closer, resting his elbows on his knees as though ready to receive or deliver some profound secret. "I never would have imagined," he said, "that out here, in the middle of nowhere, you'd see something like that. It sort of reminds me of the Saco."

"I hear you." Ben nodded thoughtfully. "I'd love to bring a few beers, set up a beach chair, and just kick back and chill out for the day, you know?"

Auggie opened his mouth to agree but quickly reconsidered. "Eh, not me. You never know what might come crawling out of the jungle..." His voice trailed off as the words caught in his throat. Still, he could not control the compulsion to continue. "Besides," he went on with a dry chuckle, "with my luck I'd probably get eaten by a jaguar or something, rare as they may be."

"Shit, with your luck," needled Ben, "you'd probably be swallowed whole by an anaconda."

Shoulders stiffening, Auggie shrank away from his friend. "Dude, come on. Don't even say that. Seriously. You know those things freak me out."

Ben studied Auggie's face. The blotchy complexion. The deeply furrowed brow. The sucked-in lips, which seemed to have lost all their color. Auggie was genuinely terrified. Only it wasn't just the idea of snakes that terrified him, it was everything—the river, the jungle, and whatever else lay ahead for them. Ben Sawyer knew all these things, and though he tried to resist the urge, he couldn't help but mess with him a little.

"My bad," Ben said, fighting hard not to smile. "I mean, if anything, you're far more likely to be eaten alive by piranha. I hear this river's full of them, by the way."

"That's just a myth..." Auggie shook his head in denial and made yet another imperceptible adjustment to his lifejacket. "They hardly ever attack people."

"And let's not forget the tarantulas." Eyes brimming with mischievous humor, it was all Ben could do to keep himself from laughing. "They grow as big as... as big as Dobermans out here."

The joke now apparent, a smile slowly crept across Auggie's long face. It was the kind of unaffected, childlike smile that seemed to show every tooth, warping his features almost beyond recognition.

"As big as a Doberman, huh?"

Ben looked back at him, grinning. "Shit. I should've said Chihuahuas."

Auggie chuckled. "You realize tarantulas can't kill you, right?"

"Maybe so," Ben conceded, and his blue eyes danced above his crooked smile. "But I still wouldn't want one of those nasty, hairy little motherfuckers to bite me."

The two boys laughed heartily at this simple joke, exhilarated by the spirit of adventure and the potential dangers that awaited them. Now Auggie understood why Ben had looked so pleased. It was the moment itself that pleased him. After so many months of plotting, planning, and anticipating, they were finally here, wherever here was, somewhere deep in the heart of the Amazon River Basin. Auggie could hardly wrap his head around it.

Their past vacations, though conceived through a group effort, were mostly based on cost and convenience: a long weekend spent drinking their way up and down Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras; a seven-day, island-hopping cruise through the Eastern Caribbean; the annual hiking and whitewater rafting trips in Maine—all of them tidy little adventures, brief distractions from the mundane. This year's vacation, if one could even call it that, had been Ben's idea, likely torn from the dog-eared pages of some obscure travel guide. He had called them together one Sunday night to share some beers at his little apartment in Bridgewater under the pretense of watching a football game. Once there, Ben had sprung his trap, showing them the maps, pamphlets, and pages of information he had downloaded from the Internet.

Aren't you guys ready for a real adventure? he asked them, tapping his finger on an ink-smeared map of South America. Look, the way I see it, we only have a few more years to live it up. Four or five years from now we'll all be thirty, and before we know it, we'll be married and have kids and shit. In the meantime, I think we should start knocking a few things off our bucket lists. We'll see places none of our friends have ever seen. Machu Picchu, Nazca, the Amazon...

Auggie wrinkled his nose. Isn't South America supposed to be kind of dangerous? He looked to Cooper for support but there was none to be found. Cooper had retreated into his own head, chewing on a thumbnail as his bright eyes studied one of the brochures.

No more than anywhere else in the world, Ben insisted. So we'll rough it a little. So what? Someday we'll be telling our grandchildren about this trip. C'mon, what do you say?

Auggie chewed his lip and shook his head uncertainly. I dunno. What about another cruise? he asked hopefully. We had such a good time...

Ben flashed his winning smile. Don't get me wrong, the cruise was a blast. But we can take a cruise anytime. We're still young; we have to take advantage of it while we can.

Okay, fine. But does it have to be there? Auggie pointed a slender finger at the map. I mean, what the hell are we supposed to do in the jungle anyway? What about England, or Ireland, or someplace like that? I heard the countryside's really nice this time of year...

Ben turned to Cooper, whose brow was furrowed in concentration, his lips moving soundlessly as he read the descriptive text. Hey, Coop, what do you think?

At length, Cooper finished reading and tossed the brochure onto the cluttered coffee table. He stretched his lean body across the couch, laced his hands behind his head, and smiled at the ceiling. Count me in.

Auggie threw up his arms in resignation while his two friends exchanged a conspiratorial nod, a kind of mental high five. And just like that, it was settled.

On the face of it, the idea seemed ludicrous. Cooper never seemed to have any money and, with the exception of that one Caribbean cruise, none of them had ever traveled to a foreign country. As was his way, Ben persisted until everyone was on board with the plan. From booking all the necessary flights and accommodation to scheduling their appointments at the Tropical Disease and Travel Clinic for a plethora of exotic vaccinations, and finally, organizing a group shopping trip at REI for all the necessary travel gear—Ben planned everything to the last detail.

Now sitting in the languidly moving canoe with camera in hand, eyes flitting across the river and jungle in search of the ultimate photograph, Auggie discovered there was some previously hidden part of him that embraced this wondrous and frightening experience. As long as he could make it through the next few days in one piece, he would return home triumphant as the intrepid explorer; full of stories and photographs that would dazzle his friends and loved ones for years to come. Ben had promised them the adventure of a lifetime. So far, he had made good on that promise, and now Auggie felt a stab of guilt for having ever doubted him in the first place.

Auggie clicked out of his reverie as Ernesto came over and sat beside them. Small and slender, his mahogany skin and smooth complexion glowed with a youthful exuberance. From a distance, he might even pass for a teenager, though it was likely he was somewhere in the mid-thirties. Only his eyes revealed an older, wiser man, one who understood the world completely and accepted it as it was.

In his shy, careful voice, Ernesto said, "Hey, guys?" He seemed to preface any new conversation this way. Hey, guys? Always like that, always in the form of an interrogative. "We are going to look at the beach now. The driver, he thinks he saw a caiman."

Auggie quickly powered up his camera and began to scan the riverbank with the telephoto lens. He knew from his research that caimans were a species of South American alligators, and the prospect of seeing one up close was much more exciting than he had imagined it would be. Sand and trees bobbed into view as his hands trembled with anticipation.

Cursing under his breath, Ben quickly rummaged through his backpack in search of his video camera. He was hell-bent on documenting their entire trip, an endeavor that had actually begun months ago with their initial visit to the Travel Clinic, where he had taken great delight in interviewing the doctor about all the nasty, potentially lethal things the jungle had to offer. Now he looked across at Cooper, who was fiddling with his iPod, oblivious to his friends' growing excitement. Sporting dark Armani Exchange sunglasses, Cooper's surfer boy hair whipped back from his forehead in long, sun-streaked tendrils as he bobbed his head to the music. Lost in his own little world, as usual. Ben smiled to himself. Even in the deepest jungle, Cooper somehow managed to look as though he had just stepped off the cover of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue.

Despite his lingering hangover, Cooper could not think of a single place he'd rather be at the moment. There was something about the jungle, something he could not articulate, even in his own mind, which made him feel at one with the world. Totally Zen, were the words that came to his mind, and that's exactly how he felt—as though he existed purely in the moment, with no past and no future. Only the past would not let go so easily. Last night's cocktails oozed from his pores, and behind his eyes the echoes of their revelry beat like a drum. Too many Pisco Sours, too little sleep, and now he was paying the price. To distract himself from this discomfort, he had escaped into his music library, as was his habit, to a collection of songs he had carefully selected especially for this leg of the trip. He watched the river, trees, and wildlife float by like scenes from a music video while Death Cab For Cutie sang about tourists whose hearts burned with the flames of wanderlust. At times the aesthetic perfection of his surroundings gave Cooper pause to wonder if he was actually still in the little hostel back in Cusco, caught in the tangle of some alcohol-induced dream. If not for the crushing headache and the tickle of perspiration dripping down his chest, he might have allowed himself to believe this was so. He was adjusting the iPod's volume to drown out the gargle of the outboard motor when Ben caught his attention.

Cooper pulled out his earbuds. "Huh?"

"They think they spotted a caiman over there." Ben nodded his chin in the direction of interest.

Cooper's eyebrows shot up. "A caveman?" He smiled skeptically, trying to comprehend the meaning of the joke. "You're shitting me, right?"

The peki-peki glided smoothly toward the riverbank. Ernesto said something to Felix, and the driver pointed a thick finger toward the nearest shore. Here the river had eroded a section of the high bank, and a row of edge-bound palms bowed at various angles toward the water. Several young palms had already taken the inevitable plunge, pulling a confusion of roots from the unstable soil. As the canoe floated closer, a small caiman, roughly four feet long from nose to tail, appeared on a strip of beach between the fallen trunks. Its hindquarters wiggled as it skittered across the sand and slid effortlessly into the brown water. With one last swish of its tail, it was gone, swallowed up by the murky river.

Cooper had removed his sunglasses to better see the reptile, and the sudden brightness made his eyes water and his head throb even more. After several seconds of blinking and squinting, his gray eyes shot open, wild with amazement. "Wow! Did you see that? What was that—an alligator?"

"Uh-huh." Ernesto nodded. "Is white caiman. Just a baby. They are very shy."

Cooper was ecstatic. He slid closer to Auggie. "Did you get it?"

Auggie was scrolling through the images when suddenly he smiled. He angled the camera so that Cooper could see the display screen. The image showed the caiman in a dramatic pose, one clawed foot frozen in mid-air, hovering just above water. Its mouth was slightly open as though smiling for the photograph, revealing two long rows of pointed teeth.

"Great shot, man!" Cooper gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. "You're going to give me copies of these when we get home, right?"

"Sure," Auggie said, pleased by the compliment. "We'll have to e-mail all our pictures to each other when we get home."

"What do you mean?"

Auggie's thin lips moved from one side of his face to the other, finally settling into a puzzled grin. "You know..." he spoke very slowly, "when we get home. We can Dropbox all our photos. Sawyer, too."

Now Cooper blew an imaginary speck of dust from one of the lenses of his sunglasses. "I'm shit out of luck, amigo."

Auggie stared at him blankly, unable to decipher the meaning of this strange non sequitur. "What are you talking about?"

Cooper spread his empty palms out before him and smiled good-naturedly. "I don't have my camera anymore."

Auggie scrunched up his deep-set eyes. He recalled Cooper's camera, a compact digital Canon PowerShot purchased on a whim during their layover in Newark. That had been what? Two weeks ago? Since then, Cooper had been snapping pictures of everything in sight, even the massive pile of shit with which he had clogged the toilet at the little hostel back in Aguas Calientes, where the water pressure was nil. Despite the fact that he was a lousy photographer (most of his subjects came out blurry or horribly mangled, if at all), he loved taking pictures, and Auggie found it difficult to believe that Cooper—irresponsible, fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants Cooper—had been careless enough to have already lost his cherished new toy. "What do you mean? What happened to your camera?"

Bowing his head, Cooper slid the sunglasses back onto his face, and his eyes disappeared behind the black, insectile lenses. "It's gone."

"What do you mean, 'It's gone'?"

Cooper sighed ruefully. "It got stolen back in Cusco."

"What?" Auggie asked sharply. "Someone stole your camera? When?"

"Just as we were getting into the cab last night." Cooper studied Auggie's bewildered expression with interest. "I thought you knew."

"Of course I didn't know that. How could I know that? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was too drunk to chase after the dude," Cooper confessed with a shrug. "And we were all having such a great time with those Aussie chicks. I didn't want to spoil the mood."

Auggie smiled in spite of himself. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"Anyway," Cooper went on, "it's all up here." He tapped two fingers against his temple.

Auggie shook his head and sighed in resignation. He looked to Ben for support, but Ben was busy gathering information from their guide and was oblivious to the bizarre exchange.

"—the lodge?" Ben was asking.

Ernesto made a so-so gesture with his hand. "Mmm... is about four more hours."

"What about the research center? How far is that from the lodge?"

Frowning, Ernesto's small mouth grew smaller as he thought. He shouted something to the driver, whose words bubbled back in a rapid staccato.

Ben leaned across to Auggie. "What's he saying?"

Auggie cocked his head and listened. "Something about the time, I think." He shook his head. "I don't know. It's way too fast for me, man."

After a few seconds, Ernesto turned back to them. "Mmm. Is about same distance...four, five more hours from the lodge to the research center."

The three Americans looked at one another and nodded, settling in for the duration.

An hour later, someone spotted more movement on one of the beaches.

"That is a capybara," Ernesto explained, pointing. "They are world's largest rodent."

Roughly the size of a bulldog, the pudgy brown creature sat on its haunches, calmly gazing at them from its muddy bed. Auggie recognized the animal from a documentary he had watched on the Discovery Channel. He raised his camera and snapped off a half-dozen photographs, each one showing the creature from a slightly different angle.

This time, Ben was ready with his video camera. He zoomed in on the unsuspecting creature until it filled the screen. A small brown ear twitched lazily atop its short head, black eyes blinking dispassionately as they followed the upstream progress of the motorized canoe. "Just a few short hours ago, we arrived in the Amazon River Basin," Ben narrated in a faux-Australian accent, "and we've just spotted our first capybara, the world's largest rodent. Earlier we saw our first crocodile—"

"White caiman," Auggie corrected him.

"White caiman," Ben agreed, turning the camera on Auggie. "And here we see our resident researcher, Mr. Augustino Fernandes, as he photographs the elusive capybara. Say something for our audience, Professor Auggie."

Auggie blinked at the camera as though staring down the barrel of a gun. "I, uh—what do you want me to say?"

"Doesn't matter, mate. Just tell the audience what you think of your Amazon adventure so far."

Auggie squirmed, feeling the blood rush to his face. "Hello, everyone," he said in a monotone, absently scratching the nape of his neck. "We're having a great trip." He paused a moment and then added, "Everything went well with the flight and the bus ride, but we're all pretty tired after last night." He opened his mouth to say something else, but some jab of self-consciousness made him reconsider. He looked to Ben for guidance, but Ben only stared at him from behind the camera, watching him flounder.

As the familiar color rose in Auggie's cheeks, Ben decided to let him off the hook. "Okay, well, that's some fascinating shit, Auggie-dog. We'll be sure to come back to you later." He panned the camera over to Cooper. "Hey, Coop, what do you think? Got anything to say to the people back home?"

Cooper switched on his hundred-watt smile and smoothed his golden locks back from his face with his fingers. "Hey, everyone," he beamed. He paused to wave at the camera. "Our last night in Cusco was awesome," he gushed. "We found this Irish bar that made the most amazing Pisco Sours—"

"Hey, Coop," Ben interrupted, "we're in the jungle now. Let's just focus on the jungle stuff."

Cooper's eyebrows arched above the elegant frame of his sunglasses. "Oh, right! Well, first of all, this place is the shit. I mean that sincerely. It's only our first day, and there are alligators and birds and giant rats all over the place. I can't even begin to tell you how crazy it is. You'd just have to see it for yourself."

Turning the camera on himself, Ben smiled. "You heard it here, folks. As young Cooper said, this place truly is 'the shit'. Uh, that's it for now." With that, he powered down the video camera and turned his attention back to the shore.

The view along the river was a feast for the eyes. As they cruised along, Ernesto identified the various birds by name: the colorful macaws, the ominous turkey vultures, the gangly herons. The fragility and the beauty of the jungle astounded them. Every living thing, from the smallest insect to the tallest tree, was engaged in its own private struggle for survival, each one reliant upon the other; the ultimate circle of life.

Occasionally they stumbled upon other people—brown-skinned fishermen in dugout canoes overflowing with strange fish and unripened fruit, and naked children splashing at the river's edge—all of them cheerful and friendly in spite of their indigence. Their broad, smiling faces and waving hands were without guile, and the three Americans happily returned their greetings.

"Hey, what's that guy doing over there?" asked Cooper.

On the river's edge, a scrawny, shirtless man was working on a noisy contraption that leaned precariously toward the water from atop two rusted pontoons. A confusion of hoses, belts, and smoke-belching pipes, the floating machine reminded Cooper of something from a Dr. Seuss story. The man glanced up, the nub of a cigarette dangling from his thin lips, and waved a grease-covered hand at them.

Ernesto frowned. "Uh-huh. He is looking for the gold. Is okay, this method. Not good, but okay, you understand? Other people use the chemicals to find the gold. Is no good for the river." Ree-ver, he pronounced it.

Recognizing their cue, the boys nodded sympathetically.

Ben scowled. "Does anyone do anything to stop them?"

"Mmm. The government, they try, but the jungle—is too big to see everywhere all the time." There was a trace of sadness in the way he said this, though his expression remained unchanged.

As the gold sluicing machine and its operator slipped from view, the boys went back to scanning the shoreline for more signs of wildlife, Auggie jotting down notes in his journal and Ben shooting video for his travelogue. Cooper was content just to live in the moment.

An hour or so later, Ernesto opened a cooler and produced four small bundles wrapped in banana leaves. "This is the lunch," he said sheepishly, keeping one bundle for himself and handing out the others. He reached into the cooler again and came up with three plastic bottles of water and three little packages of plastic utensils, which he distributed to the tourists.

Ben opened his bundle with care. Inside the banana leaf was a fist-sized lump of rice mixed with chunks of mango, pineapple, and chicken. His stomach rumbled with anticipation. He had not eaten since yesterday, and last night's heavy drinking had left his stomach churning. He dug in eagerly and was pleased to find the food was pretty good—delicious, actually—a bit like pork fried rice, only tastier and less greasy. "This is really good," he managed between bites.

Cooper was listening to his iPod again, chewing happily as he watched the scenery drift by.

Balancing his bundle on his lap, Auggie twisted the cap from the water bottle and drank greedily, not caring when the excess dribbled down his chin and onto the front of his shirt.

"You okay?" asked Ben. He held up his unopened water bottle. "You can have mine if you want."

Auggie smiled and waved away the proffered bottle. "Thanks, man. I should be good now." Feeling a little lightheaded, he untied the thin strip of bark that held the banana leaf closed. Unfolding the leaf with care, he probed the contents with his fork. After a brief inspection of the food, he took a small portion onto his fork. He ate slowly, tentatively, and when he didn't drop dead from food poisoning, he finally allowed himself to relax a bit.

Ben was right, thought Auggie. This really is an adventure.

And someday they'd tell their grandchildren all about it.
Two

Some four and a half hours later, they came upon a wooden stairway that protruded from the jungle like a long brown tongue. There were no other visible traces of civilization, no welcome signs, no porters waiting to greet them or to help them with their luggage. The jungle loomed before them, awaiting their arrival.

"Hey, check it out," said Cooper. "This must be the place, huh?"

"Uh-huh," replied Ernesto, shouldering his small daypack. "From here we walk it to the main lodge."

Ben's eyes were wild with anticipation. "Awesome," he murmured.

Felix adjusted the tiller and aimed the peki-peki straight for the shore. At the last moment he cut the engine, and they drifted forward in silence until the prow pressed softly into the muddy bank. Ben, Auggie, and Cooper retrieved their backpacks and exited at the bow. It felt good to be on solid ground, to stand and stretch and feel the solid reality of this strange new land beneath their feet. Checking their gear, they waited while Ernesto and Felix exchanged a few words in Spanish. The two men shook hands, and then Ernesto came ashore and helped to shove the canoe back into the deep water.

"What were they saying?" asked Cooper.

Ben only shook his head. They turned to Auggie, who did the same.

The driver gave the motor some juice, and the peki-peki lurched forward into the rushing current. As the propeller churned the brown water, the driver's face erupted into a cheerful, gap-toothed grin, and he waved to them as he continued upstream.

Auggie followed the shrinking peki-peki until it disappeared around a bend in the river. The stark reality of their isolation suddenly overwhelmed him, and he found it difficult to breathe. "Felix... he's not... coming with us?"

Standing slightly apart from them, Ernesto was gazing at the gap in the forest from which the stairway descended. Against the dark profusion of the jungle, he suddenly looked laughably small, incredibly fragile. Now he turned to them with his calm, dark eyes. "The drivers, they stay in house on the other side of the river, uh-huh."

As they started toward the stairs, a flotilla of insects fluttered up from the coarse grass that grew along the water's edge. Their iridescent wings shimmered in the sunlight, intensely green and veined with ornate patterns.

"Woah," said Cooper, stopping abruptly. "Check out those butterflies."

Auggie was already rushing to find the proper depth-of-field setting on his camera.

"Mmm, these are moths," Ernesto murmured softly, as if fearful of frightening the insects away.

"Wow, those're moths?" marveled Cooper. "The ones back home sure don't look like that."

"Mmm. Is very pretty."

Suspended in air, the moths pirouetted in lazy circles, twirling round and round as though caught in a vortex. After several seconds they landed, one by one, on a patch of mud by the water's edge. Ben was momentarily hypnotized by the slow dance. He turned to Auggie, who was already reviewing his pictures. "Did you get a good shot?"

"I think so." His eyes were bright as he looked up from the camera.

Pausing before the yawning maw of the jungle, Ernesto waited for them to catch up. Cooper removed his sunglasses and hung them from the collar of his T-shirt. Auggie stopped to tie a loose shoelace. Buckling on his backpack, Ben turned to Ernesto, who looked perfectly at ease. The forest sounds reached them now: the rattle and hum of insects, the twittering of birds. In the distance, something that sounded like a muffled car alarm wailed hysterically and then stopped, mid-cry.

Ernesto turned to them. "Hey, guys? We go to the Amazonia Lodge now. Is just a few minutes through the jungle." With this underwhelming explanation, he turned and started down the narrow path leading into the cavernous trees.

Auggie lingered for a moment as the others went on ahead. He raised his camera, using the digital image on the screen to frame his shot: the towering trees, the drooping vines, the constantly moving shadows, the barely visible trail. Snapping a picture, Auggie looked at the screen and admired the result. The unmoving image did little to convey the intricacies of the jungle, but it would have to do for now. Tapping the POWER button, he lowered the camera to get a better look at the living jungle before him. Seeing it through his viewfinder was one thing, but witnessing it with his own two eyes was an entirely different experience, somehow invigorating, terrifying, and humbling, all at the same time.

A light breeze stirred from the river, and the trees swayed seductively, as if to whisper: There's nothing to be afraid of here, Auggie. Nothing to fear at all. Now, why don't you just run along and join your friends before you lose them. Before it's too late. Before it's too late to—

Go home!

Run!

Get out of here!

— run along now, run along.

Auggie shuddered. The sudden conviction that he was being watched, backed by no proof whatever, overpowered him. He ran his tongue across his lips and tasted salt. He was sweating profusely, and the heat of the day sat upon his face like a mask. He could rationalize that this new, unfounded fear was all in his head, and yet—

"Hey, man! You coming?" Ben was waiting just inside the mouth of the path, practically shaking with excitement. A little farther down the path, Cooper was smiling and moving his hands animatedly as he chatted with Ernesto.

Auggie took one last look up at the billowing trees. Wiping the sweat from his face with his shirtsleeve, he turned and trotted along to catch up to the others.

Ben clapped his hand on Auggie's shoulder. "Ready, bud?"

Auggie sucked in a breath and released it slowly. He turned to Ben with a nervous smile. "Okay, let's do this."

Taking one last glance at each other, the three boys stepped out of the light and into the permanent gloom of the jungle proper.

***

While Ernesto strolled on ahead of them, the three Americans walked in single file with their eyes tacked to the ground, fearful of what unknown creatures might lurk under the layers of fallen leaves. A profusion of branches loomed a hundred feet above them, blotting out the sun, and the shadows lay deep and dark between the towering trunks. Beneath the canopy was an alien world, no less mysterious than the untouched depths of the ocean floor.

A curtain of sound enveloped them, a pleasant cacophony of things that squawked, things that whistled, things that seemed to heckle them as they walked by. All around them the trees hummed and clicked and buzzed with unseen life. The fear of things that bite and sting was soon forgotten, replaced by the irresistible lure of the unknown. And so they walked in quiet wonder, exchanging furtive glances and shy smiles as the nature of the jungle revealed itself in increments. They walked with their faces tilted toward the patchwork sky, heads swiveling restlessly from side to side, trying in vain to locate the sources of these mysterious melodies. They walked with wide eyes and open mouths.

They walked as children amongst giants.

"Damn, it's humid," Ben murmured. "It's like walking through a clou—"

A splash of yellow sunshine lit up the path ahead. After walking perhaps half a mile, they had arrived at a break in the canopy, and the jungle abruptly gave way to a grassy clearing. They found themselves looking up at a magnificent two-storey structure that resembled an outpost from the days of early explorers. Constructed entirely of bamboo, mahogany, and other native materials, the thatched-roof lodge appeared as both a manmade marvel and a natural extension of the jungle. The entire complex rested on stilts and was flanked by elevated walkways that connected the main building to two separate, smaller structures.

Ernesto waited while Auggie took pictures and Ben captured the moment with his video camera, quietly narrating their arrival at the lodge. Several people—other visitors, by the look of them—were milling about the steps that led to the gaping arch of the foyer. They were all dressed in similar colors, mostly khaki and olive drab, and they were all wearing the same knee-high rubber boots, which were caked with mud from top to bottom. A lanky Peruvian man was busy showing them how to tuck their pants inside the shaft of their rubber boots, and the tourists were watching him with rapt attention.

Ben turned to his friends and found that Cooper was now standing in the bushes beside the stairway, studying an exotic looking cluster of bright pink and yellow flowers.

"Yo, check it out! Do you think they're real?"

"Get out of there," Auggie hissed. "You're not supposed to be in there."

"Dude, come take a look."

"No!"

"Take a picture, then."

"No!"

"Come on, just do it."

Auggie pleaded through his teeth. "Just get your ass out of there before you get us in trouble."

Cooper giggled. "Get us in trouble!" he repeated mockingly. "By who? The flower police?"

Ordinarily, Ben would have found this exchange rather amusing, were it not for the fact that they had an audience of strangers watching them. He had noticed that a few of the other guests were smiling down at them from the stairs, and he felt a sudden stab of self-consciousness. With their bright T-shirts, boarder shorts, and sneakers emblazoned with the logos of popular American brands, Ben and his friends might as well have been standing beneath a blinking neon sign announcing TOURISTS HERE! Remembering the adventure gear inside his backpack, he made a mental note to pack away his civilian clothes for the duration.

Ben said mildly, "Hey, Coop?"

"Say whaaat?"

Ben offered no reply, but gave his friend a long and meaningful look.

Cooper saw the hardness in Ben's eyes and pouted. "Fine..."

While Auggie helped Cooper out of the bushes, Ernesto and the lanky man exchanged a few words in Spanish. Or was it Quechua, the local dialect? Ben could hardly tell one language from the other. Ernesto shook the lanky fellow's hand, who then raised a palm in farewell as he led his rag-tag group of explorers across the clearing and toward the jungle.

"Is another guide," Ernesto explained as he led the three young men up the stairs. Auggie, Ben, and Cooper followed him, taking in their new surroundings.

"Hey, Ernesto," Cooper said, pointing, "what kind of flowers are those?"

"Mmm, these are the birds of paradise. Very nice flowers. They can be found all over the jungle."

"Cool."

"Here," Auggie said with a touch of pride. "Check it out."

He tilted his camera so that Ben could see the bright, waxy bulbs of the flower. Ben nodded, genuinely impressed. "Nice shot."

Auggie's grin brightened his entire face. "Thanks."

Ben tossed his arm around the thin boy's shoulders. "Just look at this place, man! It's amazing!"

"Are you kidding me?" Cooper said. He gestured toward the middle of the lodge, where a handful of people were sipping drinks at a long wooden countertop skirted with a mat of woven reeds. "There's a bar?"

Ernesto nodded. "Uh-huh. Yes. You can come here for the drinkess."

On the other side of the bar was a dining area with large communal tables and enough room to accommodate fifty or so guests. Scattered throughout the lodge were several couches and hammocks, all presently vacant. Ernesto set his backpack down on one of the couches.

"Hey, guys. I am going to seek for your room number. Okay?"

"Sure," said Cooper. "Thanks, Ernesto."

When Ernesto was gone, Ben turned to his friends with a wry smile. "So much for roughing it, huh?"

Auggie had his head tilted all the way back and was admiring the steep pitch and exposed beams of the cathedral ceiling. "I didn't realize how big this place would be."

"This is amazing," concluded Cooper. The three of them looked at one another and grinned.

A moment later, a young woman appeared with a tray holding three tall glasses filled with a rust-colored liquid. "You like drink?" she asked. She set the tray down on a tall wicker table, and the boys gathered around to see the offering.

"Thank you," Ben said. The glass was cold and beaded with moisture. He downed half the contents in a single gulp. "That's good. What kind of juice is this?"

The woman looked pleased. "This is mango juice," she said, smiling politely. "You like?"

"Yes, it's very good, thank you," Auggie said politely.

Cooper held the glass against his forehead and smiled. "Oh, yeah, that feels good."

The woman was still smiling as she carried the empty tray back to the bar.

"The people here are really friendly, aren't they?" asked Auggie.

"The people are awesome," Ben agreed.

Cooper paused with the glass hovering at his lips. "That Juice Girl was pretty cute." He took a delicate sip, licking his lips as though savoring a fine wine. "How old do you think she is?"

Before his friends could respond, Ernesto reappeared. "Coo-per, Ben-nah, Aw-gee," he said, announcing each syllable with care. "You guys are in room ten. It is over there." He gestured toward the elevated walkway to their left. "In two hour, we go for small hike to the jungle platform, okay?"

Cooper jumped up and gave the diminutive man a friendly clap on the shoulder. "I can't wait! Thanks, Ernesto. We'll see you in a little while, my friend."

Ernesto was visibly pleased by this open show of affection. His face, usually so passive, broke into a brilliant smile that revealed two rows of small white teeth. Ben and Auggie were not surprised by Ernesto's sudden change; they had witnessed this, what they fondly referred to as The Cooper Effect, countless times before. There was something about Cooper, some charming and endearing quality that set people at ease almost immediately. Ernesto was still smiling as they said their good-byes, and the boys were aware that some new connection had been made that circumvented the invisible barrier separating the tourists from the locals.

The three boys followed the wooden walkway to a long building made of bamboo and thatch. Here the walkway turned into a narrow catwalk that hemmed the back of the building and provided access to the guest rooms. There were no doors to speak of—only heavy cloth curtains suspended on wires, which could be drawn closed for privacy. The rooms themselves were quiet at the moment, and the long curtains rippled gently in the breeze.

"No doors?" Auggie blurted, and the others looked at him with interest. "I mean, do you think our stuff will be safe?"

"You worry too much," Ben said, grinning.

Cooper tried to peek into one of the rooms, but the curtain flapped shut before his eyes. "I think we're the only ones here right now."

Ben nodded. "They must be out doing all those excursions we read about."

The boys read the room numbers out loud until they reached the tenth room, which was located at the extremity of the building.

Ben paused in front of the doorway, effectively blocking their path. Pushing the curtain aside with a flourish, he turned to look at them with an arched smile. "Here we go," he said, and they followed him inside.

The first thing they noticed was that the room was completely open in the front; the only thing separating them from the jungle was a wooden railing with bamboo slats. Kitty-cornered by the railing, an orange hammock swayed invitingly. Beyond that, there was little else of interest: three small beds, a round wicker table, two chairs, and a long shelf that ran the entire length of one wall. Suspended above each of the beds was a white platform that housed a nylon mosquito net. For all that, the room was small but cozy.

"Nice!" Cooper said, wandering over to the railing. He stuck his head outside. "Look at this! You can practically touch the trees from here!"

Ben tossed his backpack onto the closest bed, which just so happened to be the one nearest to the railing. The thought of sleeping so close to the jungle made him uncharacteristically giddy. He turned to Auggie, hardly able to contain his excitement. "What do you think, man?"

Auggie stood silent, facing the jungle with an odd expression. His mouth was slightly open, and a bead of sweat was rolling down his cheek, apparently unnoticed.

"Auggie-dog?"

Auggie blinked once and then turned to Ben as though noticing him for the first time. "Huh?"

"What do you think, man?" repeated Ben. "Is it how you pictured it?"

Auggie wiped the sweat from his face with the back of one hand. "It's definitely impressive," he said, sounding genuinely awed. "I mean, you read about these places, or see them on television, but you never imagine you'll actually go there, you know what I mean?"

Ben nodded thoughtfully. "Hey, what do you say we unpack a few things for the hike and then we'll go fill up on some water before we crash for a bit?"

"Sounds good to me."

They were preparing to unload a few essentials when a bizarre caterwauling rose from the jungle.

Blooooop! Blooooop! Bloooooo—

Muscles tensed. Eyes widened. The three boys looked at one another, frozen but for the pounding of their hearts. At last Ben grinned nervously, and his blue eyes glowed with a strange light.

He's loving this, thought Auggie. He's really loving this.

Cooper was the first who dared to speak. "What... the hell... was that?" He imagined it was the sound an ambulance would make as it plunged into a lake.

Ben rushed to the railing, eager to see what kind of animal made such a strange sound. Outside, the jungle was a snarl of palm fronds, bushes, and vines. Cooper and Auggie joined him by the open wall. They waited but the sound did not return.

Ben was leaning against the railing on his elbows, eyes skimming the trees. "We're somewhere in the middle of the Amazon fucking jungle," he said dreamily. "We are miles and miles away from anywhere. And no one we know, no one back home, would even have the balls to come here." Now he turned to them with the rakish grin they knew so well. "We'll be talking about this trip for the rest of our lives."

Cooper gave him a one-armed hug and shook his hand. "Good call, man. This place rocks."

"I agree," said Auggie. "I know I was reluctant about the whole thing, but I'm pumped that I'm here."

Ben could not have been happier for the praise. For months, he had fretted over the details of the trip, his biggest concern being whether or not they would all have a good time. Seeing his friends enjoying themselves finally put him at ease.

"Let's get a picture," Auggie suggested, and the others chattered in agreement.

They took pictures of each other in various poses around the room, including several group shots using the timer option on Auggie's camera. Afterwards, Cooper retired to the hammock while Auggie and Ben sorted through their gear, reorganizing clothes and arranging toiletries and other essentials on the room's only shelf.

Folding a pair of hiking pants, Auggie turned to look at Cooper, who was stretched out in the hammock with his eyes closed. Looking very much like a sleeping child, his face was a paragon of innocence, as though he had not a worry in the world. "Hey, Coop, aren't you going to unpack some of your stuff?"

Slowly opening his eyes, Cooper looked at him and shrugged. "I'm supervising," he said, cackling. "You're doing a wonderful job, by the way. I might just give both of you a promotion."

Ben chuckled in spite of himself. "Man, you are one lazy dick, you know that?"

Cooper reciprocated with a smile that was all teeth.

"What should we do with the passports and all the other stuff?" Auggie asked, handing Ben a plastic bottle of insect repellent and a tube of sunscreen.

"Might as well leave them in your bag. There's no sense unpacking everything," Ben said, taking the items and placing them on the shelf.

Cooper cocked his head. "Why not?"

Auggie groaned. "Here we go again."

"Huh?"

"This is just a one-night stop on our way to the research center," Ben explained slowly. "You know about that."

A shadow of suspicion passed over Auggie's narrow face. "I gave you a copy of the daily agenda I created for us. Did you even look at it?"

"Sure, sure." Cooper's brow was knitted with a look of puzzlement. "It's just... I forgot we were only here for one night, that's all."

"Well," Ben said, "we'll just have to make the most of it."

"It is sort of a shame, though," Auggie lamented. "This place is pretty awesome."

"Hey, no argument here, but the research center will be even better," promised Ben. "It's the most remote lodge in the Amazon, which means fewer tourists and even more wildlife. A real adventure. You'll see."

Cooper tucked his hands behind his head, gazing outside as he lost himself in the jungle's song. He rubbed his temples distractedly, a nagging headache catching him unawares as it pierced through the fog of exhaustion. A short time later, Ben and Auggie retreated to their beds. All the days of constant travel had finally caught up with them, and the two boys grew increasingly quiet until sleep delivered them to darkness. Feeling increasingly unwell, Cooper silently slipped out of the hammock and padded out of the bedroom.
Three

Ernesto came to collect them later. Standing on the walkway, he called out to them from the other side of the curtain, waiting patiently for someone to respond.

"Hey, guys?"

Little by little, Ben emerged from the depths of sleep. Opening his eyes, it took several seconds before he remembered where he was. Even then, his mind was cluttered with the remnants of dreams, fragmented visions of the places they had seen during the course of their adventure, and the fellow travelers they'd befriended along the way. Most memorable, the three cute Australian girls they'd met back in Cusco at an Irish bar, Hannah and Emma and—what was the little one's name, the one Auggie was trying so hard to hook up with? In spite of the fact that they had spent two solid days with the Aussies, sightseeing all day and partying all night, Ben was surprised to discover he could not remember the little one's name. Then there was the funny German guy who knew little English beyond "drink" and "beer" and who kept offering to buy them shots of Pisco and the two female backpackers they met at the indoor market while trying to escape the rain one soggy afternoon in Aguas Calientes. After several failed attempts to lure them out for a night on the town, it was decided, by unanimous vote, that they were lesbians. The family from New York with the two bratty kids; the boy's name was Golding (Ben remembered this purely because it was such a pretentious name and also because the mother kept saying the boy's name over and over again, as though desperately wanting someone to comment on what a great name it was.) Ernesto and Felix, the peki-peki driver; the pretty Peruvian who had served them juice when they first arrived at the lodge. What the hell was that little Aussie's name? Lisa? Laurie? Yeah, something like that. Was it Lauren? In the dream, they were all hanging out together as one big group, even the two bratty kids, basking in the camaraderie of strangers in a foreign land. In the dream world, their names came easily, and each face was as familiar to him as an old friend's.

Now, shaking free of sleep, Ben found himself looking up at the bottom of the mosquito net platform, which dangled from a rope just a few feet above him. The net itself was still neatly folded on top of the platform, as yet untouched. He had fallen asleep on top of the sheets, still dressed in the same sweaty clothes as before, and the room seemed slightly darker than he remembered it.

His eyes were drawn to the open wall, where the yellow sunlight squeezed in through the railing slats, creating alternating bars of shadow and light across the floor. A galaxy of dust motes and sand flies whirled within these sunlit beams, hovering precariously on the edge of darkness. Far off in the jungle, something—presumably a bird, though Ben couldn't be sure—made a series of ululating cries that ended in a sorrowful, drawn-out note. The sound made Ben imagine that such cries were the animal kingdom's version of a party line. Only, in this case, it appeared as though there was no one there to take the call. The creature tried again and again, and still there was no response. The unfortunate caller, apparently deciding there was no similar creature out there to answer its cry, suddenly fell into a brooding silence. It was late afternoon in the rainforest.

Ben sat up and saw that both Cooper and Auggie were still asleep, Cooper on the hammock and Auggie on one of the beds. Cooper was sprawled carelessly, one arm hanging over the edge of the hammock, fingers dangling above the floor. Auggie was curled into a near-fetal position; even in sleep, he looked restless and meek. Ben watched them for a few seconds and they didn't move. For some reason, it crossed his mind that his friends might be dead. His muscles tensed. He held his breath, and in the dreadful silence that followed he had time enough to wonder if perhaps something venomous had bitten them while they were sleeping, causing a cardiac arrest or something awful like that, some other dreadful condition from which they would never awaken. In the span of just a few agonizing seconds, Ben had already imagined an entire scenario in which he must call each boy's parents to deliver the heartbreaking message. What would he say? I'm sorry, but your son is dead, just didn't seem to cut it. Would they blame him for dragging their sons along on this adventure? Then Auggie's mouth popped open with a soft exhalation—Paaaaah!—and Ben knew in that instant that the notion was ridiculous. Ben breathed a long sigh of relief, silently chastising himself for such foolish thoughts.

A voice said, "Hey, guys?"

Ernesto lingered on the walkway, waiting patiently. Ben could see his small sneakers in the space between the curtain and the floor and called out to him, but it appeared that Ernesto was too polite to enter the room, even upon invitation. Snatching up his Red Sox hat from the bed and placing it backwards on his head, he stood and stretched before heading outside to greet Ernesto.

When Ben returned a few minutes later, his friends were still sleeping peacefully. He woke up Auggie first and then Cooper. Ben knew the two well enough to know that Auggie would awaken in a haze, blinking like a newborn and muttering incoherently. He would probably roll over and fall back asleep at least once, and the process would begin all over again. Cooper, on the other hand, came fully awake at a word. He sat instantly upright, his hair stylishly mussed from sleep, his lean body already in motion. He all but leapt from the hammock—nimble as a cat—ready to go the moment his feet hit the floor.

Rummaging through his backpack for a change of clothes, Ben announced they were to meet Ernesto at the lodge entrance in fifteen minutes. Following Ben's lead, the boys exchanged their civilian clothes for their jungle gear: long-sleeved shirts with hidden mesh for ventilation, lightweight hiking pants, and hiking shoes. As they were changing, a strangely musical chirping sound came from somewhere inside the room.

"What the hell is that?" said Auggie. Then, turning to the other: "Did one of you idiots put a bird or something in my backpack?"

Cooper only shook his head and shrugged.

Ben chuckled, holding up his arm to show them his wristwatch. "I set it this morning so we'd remember to take our pills."

Auggie was nonplussed. "Damn," he sighed. "I never even thought of that."

Cooper grinned. "That's why we got Benny with us, so we don't have to think of those things."

Ben tossed him the plastic bottle of Malarone tablets. "I already took mine while you guys were asleep. Might as well dose up now, before we go hiking."

Cooper snatched the bottle out of the air with one hand. "How many should I take?"

"Just one. Technically, I think we're supposed to take them in the morning, but we already missed today's dose."

"Actually," chimed in Auggie, "we already screwed the whole thing up. We were supposed to start taking them days ago, before we got here. I also read you're supposed to take them at the same time every day."

Ben shrugged. "Nothing we can do about it now. After this, we'll try to get ourselves on a normal schedule."

Cooper was holding a pill up for inspection, examining it closely. "What's this for again?"

Ben smiled benevolently. "Anti-malaria. We need to take them every day. The doctor explained it to us, remember? If you forget to take it and the wrong mosquito bites you, you're fucked."

Cooper popped the pill into his mouth and gulped it down. Auggie took the container and shook a pill into his palm. Tossing it into his mouth, he swallowed it dry with a look of disgust.

Ben glanced around the room, taking inventory of their scant belongings. "I figure I'll bring my pack, so we can carry all our cameras and shit," announced Ben. "There's no use in all of us bringing one."

Cooper raked his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back behind his ears. He slipped on his sunglasses. "Sounds good to me, amigo."

"We can take turns carrying it if you want," offered Auggie.

As they dressed, Cooper talked excitedly about seeing jaguars and pumas in the wild. Prior to their departure, he had spent hours online, looking at hundreds of pictures of the elusive felines. The pictures all seemed to share a common theme, depicting the big cats in various states of repose: a large spotted jaguar crouched on a riverbank, its triangular head bowed to the water as it prepared to take a drink; a slender puma staring into the camera lens with bright eyes, mouth hanging open and tongue dangling as if smiling at the photographer; a small ocelot perched on a tree branch, front paw dangling casually, eyes wide with curiosity or fear. In studying these photographs, Cooper had seemingly convinced himself that these animals would be just as happy to see him as he was to see them.

He rambled on, mostly to himself.

"Maybe I'll get close enough to pet one," he finished.

"You never know," Ben said encouragingly. He shot a conspiratorial glance at Auggie, who rolled his eyes.

Cooper turned his head to the crush of vegetation just outside the open wall. "That," he whispered, "would be so fucking cool."

Auggie muttered something about jaguars being dangerous and rare, but Cooper, already retreating inside his fantasy, either did not hear or chose to ignore him. Ben, who was eager to begin their adventure, produced a small tube of DEET insect repellent and the boys took turns slathering the lotion around their ankles, wrists, and necks as he urged them to hurry up. As a final touch, Auggie donned a floppy safari hat. Ben thought it made him look too much like a tourist trying not to look like a tourist, but Auggie was already fretting over his appearance in the bathroom mirror, so Ben let it slide. At last, they appraised one another in their new outfits, various combinations of khaki and olive drab.

"Hold on," Ben said, powering up his video camera. Aiming the camera at the mirror, he said, "Hey, everyone. Today we arrived in the Amazon. After close to seven hours traveling upriver, we finally arrived at the lodge late this afternoon. We're about to embark on our first jungle hike, and as you can see—" he turned and angled the camera around toward his two friends "—we are now dressed for the occasion. Who knows, we may even spot the rare and dangerous jaguar." Here, Ben turned the camera on Auggie.

Auggie squirmed for a few seconds before he was finally able to rouse himself to speak. "We'll be really lucky if we spot one," he explained to the cold, unblinking lens. "Even in protected areas, they're still pretty rare."

"Okay, that was our resident professor, Augustino Fernandes, speaking." Ben panned over to the corner of the room where Cooper was sitting on the bed, watching him with rapt attention. "What do you think, Coop? Think we'll see one?"

"Meow," said Cooper.

Ben chuckled. "That's, uh, great, Coop. Very convincing. I guess I'll take that as a 'yes'."

Ben spun the camera around on himself. "I am so pumped up right now. I'm sort of at a loss for words. Cusco was a blast, and Machu Picchu was absolutely amazing—better than I thought it would be, even with all the tourists. But this—" He grinned into the camera, searching his mind for a way to articulate his feelings, but the words he grasped would not suffice. At last he shook his head. "This is just... a whole other level. That's it for now." He slowly rotated the camera again, panning across the wall of trees. After a few seconds, he pressed the POWER button and the camera shut down with a whir. Then he nodded, satisfied.

They were ready to go.

***

On their way back to the main lodge, the boys spotted a young Peruvian groundskeeper chopping brush along the walkway, so they stopped to ask where they could fill their Nalgene bottles with water. The day's work had left several large piles of chopped brush all along the walkway, and the boy, who looked no older than eighteen at the most, seemed grateful for the brief respite. Handily embedding his machete into the side of a small palm, he looked up at them and smiled. He was missing several teeth, but it was a friendly smile for all that.

"Do you know where we can find water?" asked Ben.

The boy, still smiling, shook his head.

Ben pointed to his bottle. "Agua?"

The boy's eyes widened. "Agua?"

"Si," said Auggie. "Um, donde esta agua?"

The boy made a series of gestures with his hand. When he was finished, he raised his eyebrows hopefully to see if they understood. Ben repeated the hand gestures to make sure he got it right, and the boy nodded happily. "Thank you," said Ben. "Gracias."

"Did you get all that?" Cooper asked as they continued down the walkway.

"Yeah," said Ben. "I think he said we need to go to the dining area."

Auggie looked back at the boy, who had already gone back to fighting his unwinnable war against the encroaching brambles. How do they do it? he wondered. How can these people live such difficult lives but still manage to be so upbeat and friendly?

On their way to the dining area, they found the lodge mostly empty, save for a young couple nuzzling against each other at the bar and an older man dozing in one of the hammocks with an open book resting across his chest. There were two water coolers attached to the railing, each on opposite ends of the dining area. Ben poured a few ounces into his bottle. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he drank. The water was cool, not cold, and it tasted as delicious as any Ben had ever had. When he was finished, he filled the entire bottle to the brim.

"How is it?" asked Auggie.

Ben moved aside for him. "It's fine. Make sure you fill up."

Auggie did. He had not realized just how dehydrated he was until he took his first sip and his stomach lurched in greedy anticipation. By the time Cooper was done filling his own bottle, Auggie had already polished off half a liter of water and felt as though he could finish the rest and then some. After refilling the bottle to the brim, he secured the cap and put the bottle in the side pouch of Ben's backpack.

Cooper clapped him on the shoulder. "You good?"

Auggie wiped some excess droplets from his chin. "Yeah."

"You sure?" Ben persisted.

Auggie's smile was as sharp as a scalpel. He didn't like being treated like the weak link, and he was surprised by the sudden revelation that he was just as eager as they were to see what the jungle had to offer. "I'm good," he said through gritted teeth. "Really. I've got plenty of water. Now let's get going. Ernesto's probably wondering where we are."

Retracing their steps through the dining area, they passed the rows of empty tables, crossed a short catwalk, and then entered a small lounge area that consisted of several couches and wicker chairs set around a coffee table. They could see Ernesto waiting at the entrance, his small frame etched against the afternoon light. A high, musical voice grabbed their attention just before they reached the main foyer.

"Coo-per! Hey-ay, Cooper!"

The three boys stopped.

Two girls were lounging on a couch near the bar. They waved their hands in a come-on gesture.

"Oh, hey!" Cooper was already doubling back to greet them when he remembered his friends. He called over his shoulder, "Be back in a sec."

Thus abandoned, Auggie and Ben looked at one another and shrugged.

"So..." said Ben.

"So..." Auggie agreed.

Ben walked over to the railing and Auggie followed. Ben gestured toward an unremarkable patch of flowers outside and turned to Auggie. "Hey, snap a picture of these flowers."

"Why?"

"So it doesn't look so obvious that we're spying on Cooper while he talks up the chicks."

Auggie considered this for a moment and then nodded decisively. "That makes sense."

Cooper chatted with the girls for a minute or two, and their laughter carried easily across the otherwise quiet lodge. At last, he gestured toward the place where his friends were waiting. There was a brief moment of silence as the girls appraised Ben and Auggie.

Ben watched all this from the corner of his eye, pretending not to notice.

"What do you think he's saying?" Auggie whispered.

"No idea." Ben stole a glance past Auggie's shoulder. "The one with the black hair looks like she might be pretty hot, and the little one's not bad, I guess. It's hard to tell from here."

A moment later, Cooper trotted back to the spot where Ben and Auggie were still feigning interest in the trees. Even as his footsteps sounded on the wooden floor behind them, they pretended not to notice him.

"All set?" Cooper asked.

"Oh, hey. You ready?"

They continued in silence toward the entrance. Ernesto was still waiting patiently, looking at the jungle as one might admire a great work of art. "You should wear these for the walking around," he said, motioning with his hand.

By the foot of the stairs were two long shelves, one containing an odd assortment of shoes and sneakers, including many foreign brands the boys had never heard of before; the other contained a row of bulky rubber boots in various sizes. At Ernesto's direction, the three boys swapped out their hiking shoes and replaced them with the boots, trying on several different sizes until they found a comfortable fit.

Ben grabbed a pair of boots, measured them against his hiking shoes, and sat down on the stairs to make the switch. As the long-haired boy sat beside him, Ben looked at him and said, "Alright, spill it."

Pulling off a shoe, Cooper gave him a baffled smile. "Spill what?"

"Who were those chicks you were talking to?"

"Oh... you mean Janie and Brooke?" He spoke their names with an air of familiarity, as though they were already old, dear friends. "They're volunteers from Georgia Tech. They're here to study parrots. I think they said parrots. Anyways, they've been here for over a month."

Plopping down beside him, Auggie gestured impatiently with his hands. "And you know this because—"

"Oh, I met them earlier."

"Earlier today?" Ben said slowly. "I thought you said you were going to the bathroom to puke or something."

"Yeah. I did. I mean, I was. I had the worst fucking headache, and I thought I was totally gonna puke. But then I realized I was just really dehydrated, so I went back to the main lodge to find that Juice Lady. That's when I met the girls." He smiled vaguely, as if savoring the details of some cherished memory from long ago. "Anyway," Cooper continued, already sounding bored with the topic, "they gave me some Excedrin, and I feel great now."

Auggie flashed Ben a conspiratorial grin. "The Cooper Effect," they said in unison. Ben clapped Cooper on the back and laughed.

"What's so funny?" Cooper wanted to know.

"You are," Ben said.

Cooper looked at him questioningly but said nothing.

"Okay, guys," Ernesto said. "Now we go for jungle walk."

"How long will we be?" asked Auggie.

Ernesto puckered his bottom lip as he considered the question. "Mmm. About a couple hours."

"Will we be back before dark?" asked Auggie, who was already drenched in sweat.

"Uh-huh. Maybe. We'll try, yes?"

Ben nodded as though he'd expected this all along. His blue eyes took on their mysterious shine, and his jaw muscles flexed as he tried to conceal his delight. A night hike through the Amazon? That would really be something. Taking a quick mental inventory of his backpack, he was glad he had remembered to pack the extra batteries and memory card for his video camera.

Try? thought Auggie. Something inside him clenched at the word and all that it implied. Try?

Meanwhile, Cooper had already started into the coarse grass, head swinging from side to side as he took in the sights and sounds. He remained in his own world for a few seconds, until some distant alarm sounded in his head, alerting him the others were not with him. Snapping back to reality, he discovered he had somehow walked all the way to the edge of the forest by himself, which in itself was not so strange; what was strange was that he had lost all sense of time, of himself, of everything. When he turned around, he was relieved to find the others coming toward him from across the field.

Ernesto looked at each boy in turn and was met with eager eyes and anxious smiles. He was used to this look, the look of the uninitiated and unfamiliar. The look of the tourist. Eventually, he knew, they would grow accustomed to their surroundings. They would adapt to the slow pace of jungle life, and the anxiety would dissipate—if he was lucky. If not, they would remain skittish, and that always made his job more difficult, trying to get a bunch of worrisome foreigners to open up to the jungle and all it had to offer. But first, he had to earn their trust, show them there was nothing to fear.

As they reached the place where Cooper stood waiting, a flash of red exploded from a thick copse of trees, and the three boys ducked instinctively as a brightly colored bird fluttered past their heads.

"Is macaw," Ernesto murmured softly. He continued walking.

"Beautiful," whispered Ben. He turned to Auggie. "Did you get it?"

Auggie frowned as he lowered his camera. "Nah, it was too fast."

Cooper stepped up beside Ernesto. "Will we see more like that one?"

"Uh-huh. At the research center, we go to the clay lick to see the birdess, many birdess."

"Cool."

Auggie smiled, remembering the documentary he'd watched about parrots and macaws eating clay: the minerals providing a vital but mysterious element of their diet. He vaguely remembered it had something to do with neutralizing the toxins acquired from other parts of their food.

"Hey, Ernesto," Ben said casually. "What's that for?"

In their nervous excitement, neither Auggie nor Cooper had noticed the knife that was strapped to Ernesto's belt. Roughly eight inches long from butt to tip, the handle was made of a dark wood, the blade concealed inside a tooled leather sheath.

"This?" Ernesto asked, looking down.

Ben nodded.

"Mmm," Ernesto said, thinking. "Is for just in case."

As they continued through the tall grass, Auggie tapped Ben's arm. "He's joking, right?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Ben flashed his friend a wild grin.

Ernesto started into the jungle, and the three boys followed.
Four

Auggie was utterly disoriented. Just five minutes into the hike, and he had already lost all sense of direction. Turning slowly, he saw only the vaguest impression of a trampled path behind him. The lodge and its grounds were long gone, swallowed clean by the steamy jungle. Ahead of him the path snaked its way through the infinite undergrowth, branching off into places unknown, and he had to hurry to catch up to the others. Ernesto alone seemed to know exactly where they were going, and the boys followed him without question.

Conscious of every step, they walked gingerly upon the fallen foliage, ever fearful of what might be lurking underfoot. There was so much to see that they found it difficult to focus on any one thing, so their eyes moved about restlessly, overwhelmed by the alien woodland. Every so often they stopped for Auggie to take photographs and for Ben to gather video clips for his travelogue. On more than one occasion they realized too late that Cooper was not with them and were forced to backtrack, only to find him staring at a tree or a flower with such rapt absorption that he had not even noticed their absence. On the third such occasion, they found him standing in a small clearing, gawking at the treetops with a blank expression, as if in a state of paralysis or deep meditation.

Even as they approached him in their clumsy boots, he did not move a muscle.

Ernesto, Ben, and Auggie watched him for several seconds, waiting for Cooper to notice them. When Cooper did not stir, Ben walked over and stood beside him. "Hey, Coop?"

Cooper started at the sound of his friend's voice. Jerking his head around, he saw that Ben had magically appeared from nowhere and was standing right beside him. A baffled smile crept across his face. "Oh! Hey!"

"You alright, man?"

"Yeah..."

"What're you doing?" Ben's shaved scalp glistened with sweat and he was smiling indulgently, but there was also a hint of concern behind those mischievous eyes.

Cooper tilted his head to one side, thinking. After a few seconds, he grinned sheepishly. "I really don't know what I was doing. Just taking in the moment, you know?"

"Alright," Ben said. "Why don't you walk ahead of us for a while? That way we won't lose you."

Ernesto endured all this dawdling with a kind of practiced patience. He was used to the strange ways of the turistas, and often found them faintly amusing. As they walked, he pointed out the different kinds of trees, from the towering Brazil nut trees, which rose high above the jungle canopy like sentinels, to the bizarre-looking Walking Trees, which ended in a cluster of phallic roots that served as rudimentary legs for seeking out sunlight.

"The roots grow above the ground, like the—" Ernesto gestured with his hand as he searched for the proper word. "—tri...pod, yes, the tripod, but with many legs. And the tree breakess the roots so it can move toward the sunlight for to make new roots."

Cooper positioned himself beside one of the broken roots, a long purple tube with a distinct helmet on the distal end. He aimed a finger at it and snickered. "Hey, check it out. It's the Ron Jeremy tree."

Ben laughed so hard that his shoulders nearly touched his ears.

"Move a little to your left," directed Auggie. Grinning, he raised his camera and snapped a shot of Cooper standing beside the enormous phallus.

Ben had taken out his video camera and was looking at Cooper through the viewfinder. "Hey, Coop, say something."

Cooper flashed his winning smile at the camera. "Hey, everyone. I don't know where the fuck we are right now—somewhere deep in the Amazon Jungle, I guess—and on my left you'll see my porno film stunt double—"

"Yeah, you wish," Ben snickered.

"—which was modeled after yours truly. And in case any of you ladies out there want to know, the answer is 'yes', I am single and looking to mingle..."

If Ernesto got the joke, he did not let on. He was standing a little ways down the trail, mouth slightly open as he surveyed the lower canopy with his binoculars. "Hey, guys?"

The boys quickly composed themselves as they gathered around the diminutive guide.

Ernesto lowered his binoculars and lifted the strap from around his neck. Aiming one small finger at a copse of trees, he handed the binoculars to Ben.

The binoculars were heavier than they looked, and, judging by the fine craftsmanship, Ben thought it likely they were also very expensive. He handled them with care and lifted them to his eyes. At first he saw nothing but branches and leaves. Ernesto pointed again and Ben followed his direction. A small, white-breasted bird jumped into view, so close that Ben could see the details of each individual feather: the various shades of gray that fringed the head and upper body; the tawnier colors that surrounded the downy white curve of its chest; the long, pearly tail. A slight tilt of the head, and the tiny beak split open and emitted a flutelike song. Ben absorbed all this with a childlike wonder.

"Is white-neck thrush," Ernesto whispered. "Very nice bird."

Ben nodded appreciatively. "It's beautiful," he murmured, and the bird bobbed its head up and down as though acknowledging the compliment. "Here," Ben said, passing the binoculars to Cooper, "check it out."

Cooper adjusted the focus dials. "I can't see—wow!" He broke into a boyish grin. "Hey, little guy. I'm watching you and you don't even know it."

"Here, let me take a look."

Cooper was still beaming as he handed the binoculars to Auggie.

Auggie readjusted the focus just as the bird turned its head. A pair of orange-ringed eyes glared into the lenses with a look that bordered on defiance. "A white thrush, you said?"

"Uh-huh."

Auggie returned the binoculars to Ernesto with a satisfied grin. "Cool. I'll have to remember that for my journal."

"These tree," Ernesto said, resting his hand upon a tall, gray sapling, "is for to make the raft. My father, he show me when I was boy."

Auggie, his small eyes blazing with curiosity, walked over and rubbed his hand along the smooth bark. The solid reality of the tree seemed to ground him. It was the first thing he had dared to touch in the forest, and it somehow helped him to accept, without a trace of fear or apprehension, that the jungle was not his enemy. "What kind of tree is this?"

"Is called Balsa, this tree. Uh-huh."

"How long would it take you to make the raft?"

"Mmm. If can find this tree? About one hour, maybe."

They stood amidst the massive tangle of the undergrowth, grinning at one another in honor of the moment. Ernesto nodded, secretly pleased by their enthusiasm. Without a word, he turned and continued down the path, and they followed him with a newfound vigor.

It was Cooper who first spotted the unusual insects. Ernesto was showing them the empty shell of a Brazil nut when movement on the path ahead caught Cooper's eye. At first he thought his mind was playing tricks on him because it appeared as though hundreds of wedge-shaped leaves were floating across the path, as though caught in an invisible current. It took him a moment before he realized the leaves were being manipulated by a wide corridor of ants.

"Check this out."

The others gathered around.

Ernesto said, "These are Leafcutter Ants. You see—there?"

Through the trees, about ten yards from the path, was a thick stump. Denuded of its bark, the stump squatted above a wide hole that bristled with movement.

"Is that their nest?" asked Cooper.

"Uh-huh. They brings the leaves to the nest. For the food." With his hand, Ernesto made the universal motion of bringing food to one's mouth.

Ben's eyes followed the corridor of ants. "There must be thousands of them. Do they bite?"

Ernesto shook his head.

"What about Bullet Ants?" This from Auggie, who was readying his camera. "I read that those things can be pretty nasty."

Ernesto shrugged. "Mmm. Only if you bother the nest."

"Bullet Ants?" Cooper asked incredulously.

"Largest ants in the world," Auggie supplied. "Their bite is so painful they say it's like getting shot by a bullet."

"That's fucked up," Cooper breathed. "How the hell do you know all this shit?"

Auggie took this as a compliment and shrugged modestly.

Ben turned to Ernesto. "Have you ever been bitten by one?"

Ernesto shook his head again. "No, but is very painful."

"What do you do if one gets on you?"

Ernesto shrugged. "I do like this." He made a sweeping motion with his fingers, thus demonstrating how one calmly flicks an insect off the back of one's hand.

Ben chuckled. "That's it, huh?"

Auggie squatted down with his camera to take a close-up while the others waited patiently. When at last he stood, his face was glistening from the effort. "Does anyone have some water?"

Ben shrugged off his backpack and opened one of the compartments. The Nalgene bottle was still cool to the touch and beaded with moisture. Ben handed it to Auggie, who took several long swallows and handed it back to him. "You good?"

Auggie smiled wearily. "Yeah, thanks. Just a little dizzy, that's all."

Ben turned to Ernesto. "He gets dehydrated pretty quickly."

Ernesto nodded thoughtfully. "If you want, we can rest here and go back to the lodge."

After a few seconds of deliberation...

(you can do this you can do this you can do this)

Auggie shook his head. "No. I'll be fine. Let's keep going."

"You sure?" Ben's forehead was wrinkled in concern.

Auggie nodded. "Yeah, but I might need some more water in a bit."

"Yeah, no problem. Whatever you need."

An hour later they arrived at the scaffold tower, which rose from the jungle floor and disappeared somewhere beyond the roof of the jungle.

"It looks like a giant Erector Set," Auggie murmured, tilting his head back to trace the metal skeleton into the treetops.

Ernesto gripped one of the crossbars in his hand and tried to move it. "See?" he said. "Very strong. Very safe. No problem."

Cooper had already started for the ladder when Ben cut in front of him.

"Race you to the top," Ben said.

"Okay, let's go!"

The tower rattled and groaned as the two boys scrambled for the top.

***

This must be what the world looked like before mankind came along and fucked it up, Ben thought.

He was standing with his video camera on the canopy platform, and all around him was an undulating sea of green as far as the eye could see. Unspoiled and beautiful beyond description, the jungle was so unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Ben had never considered himself the crunchy type, but it saddened him to think that man had already destroyed countless places like this one, only to replace them with steel and glass and honking horns. Even more depressing was the revelation that, someday, this amazing place would be no more, forsaken by man in the name of progress.

A commotion beneath the platform drew his attention, and he turned the camera just in time to film Auggie's safari hat as it appeared at the top of the ladder, followed by a forehead that glistened with sweat. Next came the familiar, deep-set eyes, now comically round with apprehension. Finally, the small mouth, lips pressed firmly together to form a straight line.

"What took you so long, Auggie-dog?" teased Cooper.

Auggie's upper lip curled upward in consternation as he pulled himself up onto the platform and rolled onto his back with a dramatic grunt. For a moment, he lay on his back, grimacing at the sky. "Just give me a minute," he said between breaths. After a few seconds, he rolled over onto his knees and forced himself to stand on trembling legs.

"It's perfectly safe." Cooper rocked back and forth on his feet and the platform rattled noisily. "See?"

Auggie spoke through his teeth. "Please—don't—do that—again."

Ben appeared by Cooper's shoulder. "He looks like Bambi on ice."

Cooper threw his head back and laughed at the sky. All round the tower, small birds exploded from the foliage, alarmed by the sound of these perceived predators.

Auggie gripped the railing with both hands. "You guys aren't helping," he said through gritted teeth. The familiar blush began to creep up from his neck and into his cheeks, a blotchy red the color of hives. "Do you see how far up we are?"

"Is okay," Ernesto said, climbing up onto the platform with ease. "Have been many time and is very safe."

Auggie nodded. He took a deep breath as he slowly released his death-grip on the railing. At last the majesty of the view stole over him. "This is—wow. I feel like I could just walk across the treetops," he said dreamily.

Cooper raced to the other side of the platform, and if the railing had not been there to block his path, he may well have plummeted to his death, still smiling like a little boy. "Look at those," he said excitedly, marveling at the towering height of the nearby trees. "They look like giant pieces of broccoli."

"What are those called, the tall ones over there?" Ben asked.

Ernesto nodded. "Those are Brazil nut trees I show you before. Very tall for to gather the sun."

"That is so cool," gushed Cooper.

Auggie carefully made his way sideways to the railing. The jungle was so vast; it was overwhelming. From this bird's-eye point of view, he found it both enchanting and strangely ominous. "Are there any villages or towns or anything out there?"

Ernesto stared out at the jungle with a faraway look in his eyes. "Mmm, not anymore," he murmured. "Very long time ago the people, they lived here, but no more in this part of the jungle. This is for the conservation, for tourist and the research. There is still so much we do not know about the jungle."

Seeming to echo without sound, Ernesto's words floated on the heavy air, lingering long after they were spoken.

All around them, the jungle buzzed and clicked and screeched. Surrounded by the alien landscape, the three boys stood on the precipice of the tower platform, trying to decipher the deeper meaning of Ernesto's words. Now all the childhood fantasies came rushing back. They were explorers on the verge of discovering a brand-new world, scientists in search of new medicines to cure mankind's greatest illnesses, heroes ready to plumb the ruins of lost civilizations for hidden treasures and forgotten knowledge. Each boy found it easy to imagine himself in the role of the hero, the clever explorer, the very fabric from which legends were born. Even Ben, who was normally so grounded, found himself being willingly swept away by these delusions of grandeur.

"We should get a picture of us," he suggested. He wanted to remember this moment, this euphoric childlike feeling that anything was possible.

Making a quick adjustment to the setting, Auggie lifted the camera strap up and over his head. "Ernesto?" he said, holding up the camera, "would you mind taking a picture of the three of us with those trees in the background?"

Ernesto backed up a few feet and looked at the three boys on the screen. They stood shoulder to shoulder by the railing with Auggie in the middle, his safari hat slightly askew. Ben had his arms folded across his muscular chest, and Cooper was posing in an at-home way with both arms on the railing. With the sweat pouring down their faces and not a care in the world, they were the best of friends at that moment.

"Say 'cha-eese.'"

The three boys readily obliged, and Ernesto took the shot.

After, they gathered round to look at the photo. Auggie had changed the camera's setting, and the photograph had the weathered, grainy look of a bygone era.

"Cool," breathed Cooper. "How did you get it to look like that?"

Ben rested an elbow on Auggie's shoulder as he leaned in to see the viewing screen. "It looks like it's a hundred years old."

"It's called sepia," Auggie said helpfully.

"We're the three amigos," Ben said, grinning. "Great explorers of the unknown world."

It was a moment frozen in time: three healthy young men in the prime of their lives, each smiling in varying degrees, but smiling in that careless, easy way limited only to the young and the young at heart. Three friends, each slightly different from the other in height and build, but looking remarkably similar in their tan and olive drab adventure gear. In the background: the unknown world. A rippling sea of green that went on forever: a mere suggestion of the mind-boggling 1.7 billion acres of tropical rainforest that stretched far beyond the horizon.
Five

Night fell like the guillotine.

It was nearing full dark by the time the three Americans and their Peruvian guide emerged from the trees, briny with sweat but still in high spirits. Yellow twinkling lights appeared in the darkness. Stepping out of the encroachments of the jungle, the illuminated lodge represented a familiar world, one of straight lines and geometric angles not found in nature; a manmade world the three boys associated with comfort, convenience, and safety.

The pulsating sounds of the jungle diminished as they crossed the yard, their headlamp beams pooling on the ground ahead of them. Now they could hear the steady thrum of a diesel generator, the clink of silverware, and the chatter of conversation punctuated by the occasional peal of laughter. By the time they reached the entrance, the boys could see the other guests milling about the bar and lounge areas while several Peruvians in matching collared shirts were busy setting the tables.

"We can leave boots here," Ernesto said.

"Do we eat soon?" asked Cooper.

"Mmm. In little while will be dinner." With his accent, it sounded like deener.

Ben looked at his wristwatch. "Okay. Do we have time to shower and change?"

"Yes. About half hour. When the dinner bell rings, is very busy. Sometimes they run out of the food. Is better to get there a little early."

Ben pulled off a boot and put it in the rack. "Will we see you there?"

Ernesto nodded. "Yes. I will meet you at the table, uh-huh."

Auggie was slipping on his hiking shoes. "Man, I can't wait to take a shower."

Ben shrugged off his backpack, rotating his shoulders to work out the knots. "That was awesome, Ernesto. It's probably the coolest thing I've ever done."

"Yes?"

"Yes," replied Cooper. "I can't believe how many cool things we've seen already."

A smile curled the corners of Ernesto's small mouth. "We will see many more anee-mals. Much more of the anee-mals in the jungle, mmm-hmm."

Ben erupted with joy. "I am so pumped up right now. I can't wait to see what's next!"

Ernesto giggled; the sort of high, girlish tee-hee often associated with young children. There was a round of friendly, unregulated laughter as the three boys joined in with their guide.

As the friends cut through the lodge, they stopped at the water cooler to refill their bottles, exchanging greetings with several guests. The interior of the lodge bustled with movement as the cooks prepared a buffet table and the guests flocked around the bar. A smaller crowd was gathered in the designated smoking area in the corner of the lounge while several others rocked lazily in the nearby hammocks. Glasses clinked; Spanish voices drifted out from the bamboo kitchen, which also sat on stilts and was connected to the dining hall by a short walkway; accented voices mingled with laughter around the bar. A teenage girl slouched in an armchair, her freckled face illuminated by the laptop computer that rested on her knees.

"Hey, did you guys see that?" Auggie asked his friends. "They must have Wi-Fi out here. We can upload our pictures and let everyone back home know where we are."

Ben felt a stab of disappointment. Since leaving the ramshackle dock back in Puerto Malaka, he'd begun to think of them, all three, as great explorers on the fringes of some undiscovered territory, but the grand illusion was now shattered. It could not survive the presence of teenagers in their trendy clothing; the availability of creature comforts and modern technological wonders did not conform to the image of great explorers using little else but their skill and wit to survive the perils of a savage land.

At last Ben frowned. "I don't know, man. I mean, we came out here to get away from all that shit. We're supposed to be roughing it, you know? I feel like that would be cheating somehow. Does that make sense? We should wait until we get back home."

Auggie stared longingly at the laptop. It was a newer model MacBook, far more advanced than the battered old Dell he had at home. "I guess you're right. But I still think it would be cool to update our Facebook statuses. You know, let everyone know where we are so they can see all the cool stuff we're doing."

"Hells no," said Cooper. "I don't want anyone to know where I am. That's what makes this such a great adventure, because we're so far off the motherfucking grid!"

Ben raised his eyebrows. "Exactly."

They paused a moment to quench their thirst.

"I don't think I've ever drank so much water in my life," Auggie said, panting.

"Me either," said Cooper. "I can't believe it's still this hot out. It's what—" He glanced at Ben's wristwatch. "Practically seven?"

Ben held up his arm. "Quarter past." He shrugged. "We'll probably get used to it soon enough." He led the way in his confident stride, backpack draped across one shoulder, admiring a few pretty faces that hovered round the bar.

Cooper was glancing about as though expecting to find someone he knew. His gray eyes finally stopped on a trio of girls, all of them blonde, sitting at the corner of the bar. They were laughing, taking pictures of each other while sipping brightly colored drinks from margarita glasses.

"How you doin', ladies?" Cooper smiled amiably.

The girls stopped what they were doing and looked at Cooper with ravenous eyes. One of them leaned over to whisper to the other two, and they nodded in agreement with whatever their friend had said, their eyes traveling from Cooper to Ben to Auggie, then back to Cooper.

Stealing a few backward glances, the three boys continued through the lodge and onto the walkway. With only two small lanterns stationed at the halfway point, the walkway was much darker than the interior of the lodge. Apparently, the generator's power was limited to only the common areas.

"Holy shit," Auggie said when they were a good distance away. "They were hot!"

Ben grinned at them both. "We're coming back here after dinner, we're going to get smashed, and we're going to find those three blondes. I don't care what time—"

In the pool of shadows beneath the walkway, something scurried through the underbrush. Ben clicked on his headlamp and angled the beam toward the ground.

"Did you hear that?"

"I heard something," Auggie said slowly.

The headlamp's beam painted a dull white circle on the ground. Ben moved the beam back and forth but saw nothing. If something was still down there, it was well hidden. They continued for the room, passing first a scrawny, bearded man who looked like a leftover from Woodstock, followed by a middle-aged couple holding hands. Arms swinging by his sides, the hippie seemed to wade out of the shadows. He proffered a benign smile to no one in particular as he stepped into Ben's light, Birkenstocks flip-flopping against the wooden floor as he continued past them and into the darkness. The couple that followed shortly after was middle-aged and dressed in matching collared shirts and khakis. Both were carrying small flashlights, and they simultaneously greeted the boys with a singsong English accent: "Hall-o." The boys cheerfully returned the greeting, moving aside to let the couple pass them on the narrow catwalk.

When they were gone, Ben turned to his friends. "You notice how friendly everyone is out here?"

"Yeah," Auggie said thoughtfully. "I like it, but it's strange."

"Strange how?" asked Cooper.

"I don't know. I'm just not used to it, I guess."

A long sigh from Cooper. "People are assholes where we're from."

Ben was gazing at the jungle. "Yeah, well, this is how it should always be. Life would be so much better."

They were nearing a remote part of the guest area, and it was now so dark that Auggie and Cooper were forced to turn on their own headlamps. They scanned the room numbers with their lights, counting them off as they had done on their arrival. By now they were far enough away that they could no longer see the lights or hear the sounds of the main lodge. The nearby rooms were silent, apparently vacant; their occupants having gravitated toward the dining hall in anticipation of the dinner bell. Surrounded by the black jungle, their room stood isolated at the farthest extremity of the lodge.

"It's so different at night," murmured Cooper.

"Spooky, isn't it?" asked Auggie. Spookier was closer to the truth, but there was little need to elaborate. Ben and Cooper were already nodding in perfect understanding; yes, the jungle was spookier at night. They arrived at Room 10, now dimly lit by a single kerosene lantern that rested in a small alcove above the table. Dancing behind the lamp's glass chimney, a tiny flame threw shadows that made the room appear to rock to and fro, like a ship at sea.

Ben flopped his backpack onto his bed. "I don't know about you guys," he said, "but I'm friggin' starving. Let's get our stuff so we can shower and get back to the dining hall."

"Sounds good to me."

"Okay."

"Hey," Auggie said, running the back of his fingers over the patchwork whiskers on his face, "are you guys gonna shave? It's been what? A week? I'm feeling kinda scruffy."

"Naw."

"Maybe tomorrow."

"Okay." Tossing his shaving kit onto the table, Auggie sat on his chosen bed and began to sift through his pack for some clean clothes. He had made it through the day unscathed, and though his stomach rumbled and his muscles ached, he felt lighter, more alive than he could ever remember. He looked at his friends in the dim glow of the kerosene lamp and sighed contentedly through his nostrils. "What a day, huh?"

"Shit, yeah," said Cooper, shaking Auggie's hand.

The shadows accentuated Ben's dimples. "And this is just our first day," he reminded them.

In the sickly light, the three boys looked at one another and grinned.

"Okay, let's go," Cooper said. "I'm starving and I don't want to be late for dinner."

***

"I got some great shots of those little squirrel monkeys," Auggie beamed. They were on the walkway again, on their way to the showers. "I didn't even see them until Ernesto pointed them out."

"Ernesto's the man," Cooper said.

"He really is," agreed Ben. "That little dude's not afraid of anything."

Minutes later they arrived at a bamboo outbuilding that housed a row of six curtained rooms, three on each side of an open-air corridor. The first room was clearly occupied, the curtain closed over and secured by a small hook: from inside came the hiss of running water.

"I got some great video, too," Ben said, arriving at an open doorway. He looked at his friends. Their faces were still rosy with the day's heat. Their clothes, like Ben's, were rumpled and dirty. Cooper's long hair had become shaggy from the humidity, and Auggie's bangs were plastered against his forehead. They were hungry and tired and grimy with sweat. Nevertheless, both boys were smiling in spite of these things, perhaps even because of these things, and Ben felt a great sense of relief. He was having the time of his life, and he wanted his friends to share in his happiness; anything less than sheer exuberance would have put a real damper on the experience. After all, this trip had been his idea, and he felt personally responsible for everything that happened here.

Each boy disappeared through a separate doorway. Three curtains were drawn closed. Moments later, there was the hiss of water as three showers were turned on, one after the other, in rapid succession.

Cooper undressed by the nervous light of the kerosene lamp. The interior of the small cubicle consisted of a toilet, a row of hooks for towels, and a stand-alone shower surrounded by a thick, transparent plastic curtain. He folded his soiled clothes with care and placed them on top of the closed toilet lid. The sound of quiet cursing came from the next room over. "What's wrong?" asked Cooper.

Someone spit out a mouthful of water. "It's fa-fa-freezing!" came the indignant reply. Auggie.

From a nearby room, Ben groaned playfully. "Oh, suck it up!"

Cooper chuckled and slipped behind the curtain. He turned the dial and the shower sputtered to life. The water was only room temperature, but felt much colder in the humid air. It felt strange to be showering in near-darkness, surrounded by the jungle and its infinite layers of sound, but Cooper found it oddly exhilarating. As the water washed away the day's grime, he was thankful for the reprieve.

A few minutes later, he stood naked and dripping before the mirror. His newly scrubbed skin glowed healthily in the lamplight as he went through his nightly ritual of brushing his teeth, combing his hair back from his face, and checking his complexion for any new imperfections. Finally satisfied, he dressed himself in fresh clothes and emerged to find Auggie and Ben waiting for him a little ways down the hall. They were leaning over the railing, talking in hushed voices as they shined their lights on the trees. Stars were starting to appear in the void, tiny specks of light that seemed to wink in and out of existence. The two boys' chatter died away as they noticed Cooper approaching with a towel slung around his neck.

Ben looked up as he approached. "All set, pretty boy?"

Laughing, Cooper tossed an arm around Auggie's shoulders. "Let's roll, dudes."

With that, the three headed back to their room to finish getting ready.

"Should I bring my camera with us?" Auggie asked no one in particular, as they got dressed.

"Shit, yeah," Ben said, pulling on a pair of tan hiking pants. "I'm bringing the vid. I want to make sure we'll remember everything from this trip."

"Okay," said Auggie, nodding thoughtfully. "I have to conserve the memory card, though. I've already used up a lot more space than I thought."

A few minutes later, they were ready to go.

"Got everything? What about you, Coop? Aren't you bringing your camera?"

"Um—"

Auggie tapped Ben's shoulder. "Dude, don't even ask."

Ben raised his eyebrows, grinning. "Okay, then. This is me not asking. Let's go."

As they stepped onto the walkway, the golden glow of the lodge beckoned them from a distance.

They were happy and clean and eager for whatever the night had to offer them.

The dining hall was a chaotic affair, full of colorfully dressed tourists and the buzz of conversation. The boys scanned the crowd and found Ernesto waiting for them, as promised. He was sitting alone at an empty table, taking tiny sips from a glass of mango juice and watching the tourists go loudly about their business. Ben noticed that Ernesto was still wearing the same outfit, which was remarkably clean in spite of their afternoon hike. He wondered how it was that Ernesto never seemed to perspire or show the slightest bit of discomfort in the humidity. Upon seeing the three Americans in their fresh gear, Ernesto smiled his tight-lipped smile and directed them to join the line that was forming to one side of the buffet table.

"What about you?" Ben asked. "Did you already eat?"

Ernesto shook his head mournfully. "No tonight. Tonight is the lasagna."

"You don't like lasagna?"

Ernesto made a sour face. "Mmm. I don't like-it the lasagna."

"Okay. I'm going to leave my video camera so I can carry the food back here."

"Me too," said Auggie. "Is that okay? Will you watch our stuff for us?"

Ernesto nodded. "Yesss. Is okay. Is safe. Very safe here."

"How can anybody not like lasagna?" Auggie asked as they joined the line. His eyebrows were knit in consternation; the very notion seemed to baffle him. Lasagna was delicious; didn't everyone love lasagna? It had never occurred to him that some people did not care for the dish.

Ben shrugged. Cooper was busy examining the buffet table and did not even hear the question.

The man in front of them suddenly turned and smiled at them. "Hey, how're you doing?" He had a slow American drawl, as though he were stoned. It was the bearded hippie they had passed on the walkway. He was wearing a dark green T-shirt with Che Guevara's solemn face emblazoned on the front.

"Hello," Auggie answered shyly.

"Not bad," Ben replied. "How's it going?" He noticed that the man's Birkenstocks were in tatters, and his long, bony toes were a patchwork of cuts and scrapes.

The hippie smiled, revealing two crooked front teeth. "I'm great. This place is pretty wild, huh?"

The line inched forward. "Definitely," agreed Ben. "How long have you been here?"

"Only a week," the hippie said, scratching his bristly chin. He shrugged his scrawny shoulders. "Been traveling for a month now, and this is my last stop before I head over to Brazil. Then it's back to the States." This last line was spoken with an obvious note of regret. "You just get here today?"

Cooper turned away from the buffet table, suddenly tuning in to the conversation. "Yeah! How did you know?"

The hippie smiled cryptically, shuffling his bony feet forward as the line progressed. "After a few days, you get used to the way people look when they first get here. Where you guys from?"

"Boston."

"Yeah? Cool. Hey, it's too bad about the Superbowl last year."

Ben flashed a cocky grin. "We'll get 'em this year."

"Where're you from?" interrupted Cooper.

They had finally reached the buffet table. "I'm from Cali," the hippie said, picking up a tray. "Well, looks like the line's moving. Hey, safe travels. Have a good trip."

"Cool," Cooper said. "You, too."

The boys picked up their trays and plates and moved along the buffet table, scooping up hefty portions of the maligned lasagna. Soon they arrived at a container full of a lumpy, yellowish food.

"What's that stuff?" asked Cooper.

One of the waiters happened to be standing nearby. He leaned forward and spoke in rapid-fire Spanish. "Papa a la Huancaína."

Cooper blinked in surprise. "Papa a la, what?"

The man smiled and repeated himself in perfect English, "Potatoes with sauce."

Cooper nodded gratefully and scooped a healthy portion onto his plate.

Behind him, Auggie and Ben looked at one another in amusement.

Cooper looked back at them, grinning. "What?"

"Nothing," Ben said, chuckling. "Just keep going, man. You're doing great."

A few minutes later, they returned to the place where Ernesto was sitting, their plates laden with a variety of entrees and side dishes. Even Auggie, who was typically so skittish when it came to foreign cuisine, had covered every inch of his plate with food.

The humidity and exertion of the hike had left the boys famished. They were silent for a few moments as they sampled their chosen dishes.

Ben looked over and saw Cooper taking delicate sips from a coffee cup. Ben gestured with his chin. "What are you drinking?"

Cooper swished the liquid around inside his mouth for a second or two before he finally swallowed it. Smacking his lips with a satisfied Ahhhhh, he looked at Ben, grinning. "Coca tea," he said cheerfully.

Ben snorted. "You love that stuff."

"Hell, yeah," said Cooper. "It's the balls."

"Is very good," chimed in Ernesto. "Is good for the—" He moved his hand in a circular motion around his midsection as he sought for the proper words.

"Good for your stomach," Auggie said helpfully. "For altitude sickness."

Ernesto nodded. "Mmm, yes. You have this drink before?"

Cooper was too busy chowing down, so Ben answered for him. "Yes, back in Cusco."

"Mmm," said Ernesto. "You stay in Cusco?"

"Yes," Ben said. "We stayed in Cusco for about a week. Then we went to Machu Picchu for a couple days, and then back to Cusco for a few days more before we came here."

Ernesto nodded. The muscular boy had just outlined the typical tourist itinerary. "Did you like Cusco?"

"Yes," replied Auggie, in an effort to join the conversation.

"Yes," Ben said. "We liked it very much. But it's not like here, you know?"

Ernesto nodded in perfect understanding. The city was not at all like the jungle.

"So," started Ben, scooping a piece of lasagna onto his fork, "what's on the agenda for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," said Ernesto, "we wake up early and go for a walk through the jungle before breakfast. Then we head to the research lodge."

"So, we should probably pack everyth—"

A bright flash interrupted them. They turned their heads and saw Auggie with his head bowed over his camera. He had taken a photograph of his dinner and was studying the result on the playback screen. Sensing their eyes upon him, he looked up at them and shrugged.

"So," Ben continued, "we should probably pack up everything tonight, right?"

Ernesto nodded. "Yesss. No too much time for the packing in the morning, uh-huh."

Ben picked up his video camera. "Hey, do you mind if I film you for our movie?"

Ernesto shrugged noncommittally.

Ben turned on his camera and pointed it at Ernesto. "And you said the research center is, what, about four more hours upriver?"

Ernesto nodded. "Yes, but river, it is very low."

Auggie looked at their diminutive guide. "So it could be longer?"

Ben seemed energized by this news. "We're going to be deep inside the rainforest, then?"

Ernesto nodded thoughtfully. "Mmm, yes."

Ben leaned across the table, relaxing on his elbows. "So, tell us about the research lodge. What kind of animals will we see?" He recalled Ernesto's fancy binoculars and added, "Will there be lots of birds there?"

Ernesto's face lit up, instantly youthful. "Many kinds of birdess, uh-huh."

Cooper glanced up, speaking as he chewed rapidly. "Cool. Like the ones we saw today?"

"Uh-huh, and many different parrots and macaws." He pronounced the word mack-oz. "They come to feed on the clay in the morning. Uh-huh. Lots of birdess all coming at once."

"What about big kitties?" Cooper asked excitedly. "You know, like jaguars and stuff."

"Here we go again," muttered Auggie.

"Mmm, maybe. Is difficult. They are very shy, yes." Ernesto thought for a moment and then added, "Also hard to see them because they only come out in the night."

Cooper's happy expression wavered a little. "But it's possible, right?"

Ernesto nodded slowly. "Mmm, yes. Is possible."

"Have you ever seen one?" Ben asked.

"I have seen, but only three time. I saw one two month ago on the riverbank near the research center. Very early in the morning, drinking from the water."

Cooper's smile returned as Ernesto recounted the experience. "Wow! What about black panthers? You ever see one of those?"

Auggie stole a glance at Ben and rolled his eyes. Ben shrugged.

Ernesto shook his head. "Is very rare."

Cooper turned to his friends with an expression that said I told you so. "Still, we might see one. That would be so awesome."

"Are there any native tribes that we can visit?" asked Auggie.

Ernesto shook his head. "No. The logging companies have taken the land, so now the tribes live another places. Many back in Puerto Malaka, for the jobs. To make money. For the families. Now the people, they try to stop the logging companies to protect the jungle and the animals, but is difficult to guard all the land, is so big. That's why the animals, the pumas and the jaguars, they go to hide from the people."

The kerosene light flickered across Ernesto's face, and all at once his youthful vigor seemed to vanish. In its place was the life-worn face of a bitter old man.

There was a moment of quiet reflection. Ben shut off his video camera and respectfully placed it on the table. Cooper had been following the conversation while happily shoveling forkfuls of food into his mouth, and now he paused mid-chew. The fork made a metallic ringing sound as he dropped it on his plate with a look of disgust. "That sucks."

Ernesto bit his lip, nodding, and the boys found it difficult to look him in the eyes.

For the remainder of the dinner, the boys went out of their way to engage their guide in lighter conversation. What was the other lodge like? Would there be hiking opportunities? Was it possible to go fishing for piranha? How big were the piranha? The boys picked their plates clean as they listened to Ernesto's slow, hypnotic voice. Shoving the final forkful of rice into his mouth, Cooper pushed his empty plate away, stood up from the table and stretched. He mumbled a vague explanation, something about going to the bathroom, and left.

He did not return.

Twenty minutes passed, and most of the tourists left the dining area. Auggie noticed that the waiters—two young men in matching Polo shirts—had stopped trying to clean the area, and were now standing by the empty buffet table, chatting quietly as they waited, too polite to ask the stragglers to leave. "We should probably go find Coop," he said. "He could be wandering around the jungle for all we know."

"Right."

"What time do we meet in the morning?" asked Auggie, getting up from the table.

Ernesto stood up dutifully. "We leave by seven-thirty, eight o'clock."

"So, we'll meet you at this table for breakfast?"

Ernesto nodded. "Yes, this table."

"Okay, then. We'll see you then."

Saying goodnight to Ernesto, Ben and Auggie headed off to find their missing friend. The walkway from the dining hall led them back to the arched entranceway of the main lodge. Auggie had a fleeting memory of walking up the wooden stairway on trembling legs, and the sense of awe he had felt as he first set his eyes upon the towering archway with its exposed crossbeams and thatched roof. How long ago was that? he wondered. The memory already had a fuzzy, almost dreamlike quality: Ben's satisfied smile; Cooper's jittery excitement; and his own morose face, drooping with fear and apprehension. But here I am, thought Auggie. I hiked through the jungle. I climbed to the top of the tower. I showered in a bamboo hut, and ate strange and exotic foods, and here I am. I survived. This last thought filled him with pride. It was hard to believe they had only arrived at the lodge that afternoon, when the sun's golden rays had still filtered through the canopy and into the clearing. Now those same stairs were barely visible, weakly lit by electric light, and terminating in darkness at the bottom. Auggie stopped for a moment to peer into the jungle, feeling suddenly and unexpectedly happy that Ben had talked him into coming here.

Ben stood beside him. The jungle pulsed with unseen life: the steady warble of insects and tree frogs, the lonesome ululations of birds. "Wow, man. That's intense."

Lost in thought, Auggie smiled but said nothing.

"Come on. Let's go find Coop."
Six

Inside the lodge, they passed a handful of teenagers who had staked their claim to a dim little corner of the lounge. Listening to iPods, playing video games, and surfing the Web, they sat clustered around a small table where a single powerstrip, the lodge's only public outlet, allowed them to recharge their electronic devices until the generator was turned off at midnight. Entering the bar area, the sounds of the rainforest gave way to those of human interactions. Voices rose and fell with the chatter of conversation, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of raucous laughter. The majority of these people were middle-aged or older, the men dressed in buttoned shirts with khaki pants, and the women in various combinations of halter tops, tank tops, and Capris. As they headed to the bar, Auggie caught snippets of Spanish, French, Russian, and both American and British English (or perhaps it was Australian English, for he could never differentiate one from the other). He thought it exciting, and even considered it something of a privilege, to be amongst these people who hailed from so many parts of the world. He wasn't sure why this excited him so, but he thought it was something he would reflect upon for some time, perhaps even write about in his trip journal.

Ben was casually scanning the room. "You wanna grab a drink?"

Auggie yawned into the side of his fist. After last night in Cusco, a drink was the last thing Auggie wanted, but he hesitated a moment, as though considering the idea. If he answered too quickly, Ben would try to change his mind. Ben was good at that. After a few seconds, Auggie shook his head. "It's probably not a good idea, man. I mean, I felt like shit all day, and we have to get up early to catch that other boat."

"Right."

Ben typically responded with monosyllabic answers when he wasn't really listening and his mind was focused on something else. Auggie knew this, and he had that old familiar feeling that his brash friend was about to rope him into another one of his harebrained schemes.

"Do you see those three blondes anywhere?"

Auggie bit his lip, secretly grateful for their absence. Maybe he'd actually get a good night's sleep after all. He shook his head.

"Let's take a walk over there. See if we can find them."

Most of the younger crowd, the twenty-somethings, had staked their claim on the farthest corner of the bar, as though by a natural instinct, drawn together by the commonality of youth. This is where they discovered Cooper, sitting on a chair between two attractive girls, both of them in their early twenties. Cooper was talking animatedly. He had one hand on top of the bar and was wriggling his fingers to propel the hand forward in a childlike mimicry of a spider or insect. The two girls were all but falling off their bar stools as they laughed at whatever it was he was saying. On the bar in front of them were three tall glasses filled with some sort of bluish-green liquid, each one garnished with fruit and a bright paper umbrella.

"There's Cooper, the lying sack of shit." Ben chuckled, simultaneously amused and annoyed.

Auggie was staring across the room with his mouth slightly open. He put a hand on Ben's shoulder and squeezed. "I think that's the hottest girl I've ever seen."

Ben nodded, barely hearing him. Sitting beside Cooper was a tall, voluptuous brunette with a waterfall of black hair that spilled past her shoulders, and legs that seemed to go on for miles. Ben had to drag his eyes away in order to look at Auggie. "We gotta get over there."

Auggie nodded emphatically. Ben turned on his video camera and focused the lens on Cooper. "So, Cooper mysteriously disappeared in the middle of dinner," Ben narrated. "He claimed he had to use the shitter, but this is where we found him, at the bar, shamelessly hitting on two hotties."

He zoomed in on the long-haired boy, who was still walking his hand across the bar, unaware that he was now the subject of the camera's cold scrutiny. Ben retracted the lens and turned the camera on Auggie, who was grinning warily. "We've seen this before, haven't we?"

Auggie breathed a sigh of resignation. "Yes, for better or worse, we have seen this many times before."

"Do me a favor and enlighten our friends back home. What do we call this?"

"This, ladies and gentleman, is what we call The Cooper Effect." As he completed the familiar phrase, Auggie was at last able to relax in front of the camera.

Ben flipped the camera around on himself. "The Cooper Effect," he repeated with a serious expression. When he could not hold a straight face any longer, he tapped the PAUSE button and looked at Auggie. "What should we do?" he asked rhetorically, still fiddling with the camera.

"I say we stick with the plan. We'll go say hello, then we'll grab him and head back to the room. I don't really feel like drinking tonight, anyway, and we all agreed that we should get some sleep because we need to wake up early—"

Ben looked up from the camera. Auggie was gnawing on his bottom lip with a look of quiet consternation. "Sure," Ben agreed, nodding, but his squinty blue eyes were all mischief now. "You're right. Let's go get him."

There was a brief pause as the two boys appraised one another. In most matters, Ben was completely unreadable, but when it came to his pursuit of the opposite sex, he was almost laughably transparent.

Ben grinned suddenly. "What?" he snapped.

Auggie shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. "You suck."

Ben shrugged, holding up his hands as if to say You got me. He pressed the RECORD button on his camera, and Auggie sighed dramatically as he followed him across the room. Ben had almost reached the bar when one of Cooper's girls, the smaller of the two, glanced up at him with curious interest.

Ben's immediate impression was that she was a little on the plain side. Fair-skinned and fragile, like a little girl—not at all like her exotic-looking friend. Cute, he supposed, albeit in a wholesome, girl-next-door kind of way. Heart-shaped face. Expressive green eyes. Swept back from her forehead in a high ponytail, her chestnut hair was textured with shades of blonde and burgundy. Two thick strands had escaped the ponytail, curving down across one eye and dangling just below her chin, giving her a slightly disheveled look that somehow worked for her.

From behind the camera, Ben stopped and brought a finger to his lips in the universal gesture of secrecy. The petite girl watched him with cool interest as he crept up behind Cooper. Ben puffed up his chest and inhaled. "Hey, asshole," he said in a domineering baritone, "you flirting with my girlfriend?"

Cooper's shoulders tensed. For two or three seconds he simply sat there, not moving, not even breathing. When he finally summoned the courage to turn around, his expression suggested he had already resigned himself to the idea that he was about to be pummeled by some hulking, jealous boyfriend. Upon seeing his two friends, his features softened into a look of joyful recognition. "Hey!" He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "I've been looking everywhere for... you... guys..." His eyes found the camera and he stared into the lens, a deer frozen in headlights.

Ben zoomed in on Cooper's guilty face. "Yeah, I can see that."

Cooper quickly changed the subject. "Let me, ah, introduce you to my new friends." He gestured toward the taller of the two girls, an olive-skinned beauty with bedroom eyes. "This lovely lady," Cooper said, snaking an arm around her trim waist and pulling her closer, "this is Doctor Janie."

In tight white shorts and a pink halter top that hugged the curves of her large breasts, Janie was a vision to behold. She had just finished taking a sip of her drink, and now she stepped forward, laughing, covering her mouth with one hand as though to keep her drink from spilling out. "Sorry," she said, dragging her fingers across her glistening lips. She smiled, and her teeth were chalk-white. "Nice to meet you!"

Ben flashed his winning smile while Auggie only stared at her, his mouth slightly open.

"And this lovely lady," Cooper said quickly, putting his free arm around the petite girl's shoulders, "this little bundle of cuteness is Doctor Brooke."

Janie gave Cooper a playful slap on the shoulder. "Why 'doctors'? Why not sexy nurses?"

Cooper looked at her with mock disgust. "That's the most sexist thing I've ever heard! This is the modern age, my friends, where women have the freedom to do anything we manly men can do."

"Manly men?" repeated Janie. The two girls looked at one another and giggled.

Inspired, Cooper pressed on. "Oh, keep laughing, ladies. You just set the women's movement back, like, a hundred years."

Another round of laughter from the two girls. Still giggling, the one called Brooke turned her attention to the handsome boy standing beside her. "Okay," she said, "I have to ask. What's with the camera?"

Ben looked at her quizzically for a second. He had forgotten that he was still recording, and now he looked at the camera in surprise. "Sorry," he said, shutting the power off and placing the camera on the bar. He offered her a good-natured smile. "I'm Ben."

"Nice to meet you," she said. Brooke looked at him appraisingly. He was ruggedly handsome, with the ghost of a dark brown crew-cut and several days' worth of stubble. And when he smiled, his blue eyes sparkled mischievously and crinkled at the corners in a way she found absolutely irresistible.

Ben turned slightly to accommodate the awkward-looking boy who hung at his shoulder. "And this is Auggie."

The boy named Auggie had a narrow face, tousled brown hair, and small, dark eyes. Sad eyes, thought Brooke. He hesitated for a moment and looked down at his feet, as if deciding what to do next. At last, he stepped forward and offered his hand. Brooke thought this was cute, and she accepted his hand with a smile. "Nice to meet you," she said. Her eyes danced back and forth between the two boys. "Well," she said in a melodious voice. "Would you boys like a drink?"

Ben turned to Auggie with a wry smile, same to say Fuck the plan. Auggie opened his mouth to decline the invitation, but Ben quickly spoke on his behalf.

"We'd love one," Ben replied. Brooke crinkled her eyes at him, sliding her chair over so he and Auggie could move closer to the bar.

Auggie thought: One drink. That's it. One drink, and then I'm going back to the room to get some sleep. Those two bozos can stay out all night for all I care, but I'm leaving after one drink.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a bartender appeared, ready to take their order. He was a stout Peruvian with wide-set eyes and a small black moustache that crouched under his nose like a caterpillar. He stepped up behind the bar and smiled patiently.

Ben nodded at the bartender. "What kind of beer do you have?"

Cooper and the two girls all groaned in unison. Ben and Auggie flashed one another a puzzled look.

"Beer?" spat Cooper.

Ben shrugged.

"Beer!" repeated Cooper. "Come on, dude. You're in the jungle. Get something jungley."

Ben tilted his chin. "Well, what are you guys drinking?"

Janie smiled around her straw. "It's called a Blue Alligator. It's sooo good."

"What's in it?" Auggie asked tentatively.

Cooper grunted. "Who cares? Just order one."

Ben turned to Auggie. "What are you gonna get?"

The collective eyes of the group were on him and Auggie felt the pressure of conformity. He cleared his throat. "I'll have what they're having."

Janie smiled happily. "Yess!" she exclaimed, pumping her arm. "I've converted another one."

Ben twirled his finger in the air. "Let's make it a round for everyone, then. Five Blue Alligators, please."

The bartender smiled affably and began to mix the drinks. When he returned, he placed the tall glasses on the bar, each one garnished with fruit and a tiny umbrella. He smiled at Ben. "Your room, sir?"

Brooke smiled at the bartender. "You can put it on my tab, Adolfo."

Ben smiled good-naturedly. "Hell, no. I insist." He turned to Adolfo, who was waiting patiently behind the bar. "You can charge that to room ten."

Adolfo nodded as he jotted down the information. Someone on the far end of the bar caught his attention, and he hurried off to make more drinks.

As Ben distributed the drinks, Brooke called over to the long-haired boy. "Hey, Cooper, I like your friends."

Cooper only smiled and lifted his glass in a silent toast, as if to say I told you so.

When the bartender was gone, Ben plucked the umbrella from his drink with a look of displeasure and placed it on the bar. Brooke watched him, smiling. She raised her glass and the others followed suit. Janie let out a whoop, and they all touched their glasses together.

Ben and Brooke stared at each other intently as they tilted back their drinks.

"Well?" asked Brooke. "What's the verdict?"

Ben smacked his lips. "Not bad," he said. "Not bad at all."

She looked over at Auggie, who was looking at his drink with an odd expression that bordered on appreciation. "Do you like it?"

Auggie nodded shyly. "It's very good." There was a pause as he took another sip. "What's in this again?"

Laughing, Ben gave him a slap on the back that nearly knocked him over the bar.

Brooke raised her glass in the air. "Welcome to the jungle, boys."

***

One after the other, the drinks went down with ease, and the two groups began to feel a growing kinship toward one another, the natural camaraderie of strangers in a strange land. Even Auggie seemed to loosen up a bit, although he could not stop himself from glancing at Ben's wristwatch every few minutes as he anticipated their morning departure growing inevitably closer. As the conversations flowed with the drinks, the boys discovered that Brooke and Janie were also heading to the research center the following morning, and on the same boat. As the news circulated around the group, hasty plans were made to rendezvous for breakfast, and the mood was elevated from simple cheer to drunken jubilation. As if by magic, another round of drinks appeared, and Janie raised a rambling, drawn-out toast to the Three Princes of Serendipity, after which she leaned over and boldly kissed Cooper on the mouth while the others rolled their eyes and laughingly suggested they get a room.

As Janie and Cooper paired off, Brooke, Ben, and Auggie slid over to the other corner of the bar, where they chatted about their recent travels. Ben recounted a few funny highlights from their adventures in Aguas Calientes and Cusco, a city Brooke knew well. She offered them an abridged version of her time in Peru, barhopping in Cusco and backpacking along the Inca trail, an experience Ben had longed for, but which Auggie had argued vehemently against, citing an array of health issues and physical maladies he had never mentioned before. As she recalled dangerous encounters in Southeast Asia, a brief stint in a volunteer program in South Africa, a semester in Austria, it became increasingly clear that she was far worldlier than they.

"Well, I've rambled on long enough," Brooke said, smiling at them both. "Tell me about you two."

Ben and Auggie looked at one another and shrugged.

"There isn't really much to tell," Ben said. "My friend Auggie here is a—"

"Wait!" Brooke interrupted. "Let me see if I can get it." She put her fingers to her temples as though tapping into some hidden power of perception. At last she snapped her fingers. "Got it! Auggie... you are... a... professional MMA fighter!"

All of them, even Auggie, laughed hysterically at that.

"No, seriously," she said. "I would guess... you're a teacher."

"Holy shit!" Ben said, slapping his hand down on top of the bar.

Brooke's face glowed in the lamplight. "Am I right?"

Auggie gave Ben a playful shove. "Come on, you told her, didn't you?"

Ben raised one hand in the air. "Swear to God, I didn't say a word."

Auggie looked at Brooke. Slightly buzzed, he was finally able to look her in the eyes. "How did you know?"

Brooke shrugged. "Honestly, you just have that look, you know? You have this sort of quiet intelligence. Not to mention, you seem like a really patient person. I could just picture you being a teacher, I guess."

"Well, you nailed it. I teach high school biology. And I just started working on my doctorate. Someday, I'd like to teach at a college or university, and then do my research during the summer. But for now, high school's fine. And the kids are pretty good, overall."

"I think that's awesome," Brooke said. "My mom happens to be a teacher—seventh grade English— so I've got a lot of respect for your chosen profession. Anyway, what about you?" She turned to Ben.

Ben took a long sip of his drink. "Well, I was in the physical therapy program at Springfield, but I kind of had to take a year off. So I've just been bartending at my uncle's place until I can save enough money to go back and finish out the program. After that, if all goes well, I'll get a job in sport rehabilitation, and maybe get hired by a professional sports team..."

"That's great!" Brooke said cheerfully. She had perceived a note of bitterness, a slightly wounded tone in Ben's voice as he mentioned the bartending job, so she decided to change the subject. "You guys are both in professions that give back something to the world. So I guess we're all alike in a way, if you see what I mean, because I'm here to find a way to protect the environment..."

As she spoke, Ben studied her features. He now saw that she was much prettier than he had given her credit for. Dark lashes and eyebrows. Eyes that were almost prismatic, simultaneously capturing and reflecting the light. Then those pretty lips, which always seemed just on the verge of smiling. He noticed how she always paused to take a deep breath before she spoke, lips curling sensually to reveal a slight overbite, then the smile growing gradually wider, showing more and more teeth, accentuating her high cheekbones. He could not help but to imagine what it would be like to kiss that smiling mouth, those plump little lips. A peach tank top clung to her thin frame, and a pair of denim Lowriders hugged her tiny waist, revealing two smooth, toned legs. At length he decided that he no longer begrudged Cooper for sneaking off from dinner to stake his claim to Janie, sexy as she was, for it was the winsome, fragile green-eyed girl who truly captivated Ben.
Seven

The celebration ended with the two groups parting ways at the bar. The girls were staying on the opposite side of the lodge, in an unobtrusive corner normally reserved for staff members. There was the obligatory round of hugs, followed by a few departing words and the usual "good nights," and then Cooper and Janie added an exclamation point to the end of the evening by kissing like teenagers in the middle of the lounge while a dozen or so barflies looked on in amusement. It was Brooke who finally coaxed the two apart, taking her friend by the hand and all but dragging her away. Thus departing, the five Americans made hasty plans to meet for breakfast before starting off for the research center.

Now the boys were meandering down the long catwalk that led back to the guest wing. Pleasantly intoxicated, they did not want the night to end. Stumbling toward the room, stopping here and there to take photos and video clips they would dimly and blushingly remember later on, those first feelings of awe came rushing back to them. The dampness of the evening revealed a strange new essence, a latent vitality in the air that diffused the sweet floral notes of nocturnal flowers; the pungent smell of jasmine; the smoky aroma of rotting leaves. Even Auggie—perturbed though he was about the improbability of a good night's sleep and the inevitable hangover thereafter—could not ignore the wonders of this enchanting new world, or the special quality of this moment.

Stopping suddenly, Cooper tilted his head back to the sky. "Wo-oh, look at that!"

The moon was invisible at this hour, obscured by the vertiginous height of the canopy, and in its absence the sky was cloudless, black and studded with stars that winked like Christmas lights.

Ben stumbled into Cooper and caught himself against the railing, laughing gleefully at his own clumsiness. Leaning back, he followed Cooper's upwards gaze, blinking as he struggled to focus. "Is that—"

"The Milky Way," confirmed Auggie, stepping up beside him.

Surrounded by the black spires of the jungle, the trio stood shoulder to shoulder, united in friendship, the spirit of adventure, and the warmth of intoxication. A pensive silence settled amongst them. In the absence of human voices, the night sounds seemed to intensify as the symphony of crickets, birds, and tree frogs swelled around them.

"Wow," whispered Ben. "It's just—it looks so—"

"Milky?" laughed Cooper.

Ben said nothing, but the lantern's yellow flame illuminated his drunken smile.

Cooper summed up their collective thoughts in one breathless declaration: "Awesome..."

They lingered for a few minutes more, long enough for Cooper to consider sleeping beneath the weeping stars. He imagined what it would be like to sleep on the courtyard grass, to awaken to the first golden rays of sunlight, to experience the birth of a new day as the jungle and its creatures did. He would have risked the larger creatures too were it not for the incessant insects that even now, as they lingered, had stopped to sample his flesh.

"Who would have thought..."

"What?"

"You know," Cooper went on in a faraway voice, "that we'd make it this far?"

Ben snorted in agreement. "Three guys from Bridgewater, Mass."

"This is awesome."

"The balls."

"Even better than Machu Picchu..."

"Those girls..."

"Best night ever."

A pause.

"Yes," Auggie agreed in a formal tone. "This truly is the balls."

Turning to one another, the three of them howled with laughter at this most eloquent affirmation.

"Alright," Ben said reluctantly, "we should probably get some sleep, huh? We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow and we don't want to be dragging ass again. You guys ready to call it a night?"

Cooper shrugged noncommittally.

Auggie had spent much of the evening contemplating a retort for just this moment, a sarcastic barb in the form of I told you so, but was now too tired and too content to initiate a back-and-forth discussion on the chance that it might only prolong the evening and destroy any chance of rest. Instead, he nodded.

With that, they continued down the lighted walkway, veering left onto the bunkhouse catwalk.

"These jungle noises are crazy," Cooper slurred excitedly. "They remind me of that cantina. You know the one I mean? From Jedi?"

Ben and Auggie both chuckled at this strange but improbably accurate comparison.

"The cantina," Auggie chirped, "was from the original Star Wars. You're thinking of Jabba's palace."

"What was the name of that fat dude's band?" Cooper persisted.

"Sy Snootles and the Rebo Band," Auggie replied without hesitation.

Cooper became weak with laughter. Leaning on the railing, he doubled over in hysterics.

"Shhh..." Ben hissed, also trying to contain himself.

Cooper howled. "How the fuck do you remember shit like that?" he asked between breaths.

Auggie only chuckled and shrugged.

After gathering themselves, they continued. The first nine rooms were pitch black, leaving but a single lantern—the one in front of Room 10, their room—as a vague beacon in the darkness. At last they arrived. Ducking through the curtain, they stumbled inside.

Sitting on the end of his bed, Ben began to unbutton his shirt. Glancing to his side, he saw that Auggie was rummaging through his backpack, carefully removing items and setting them aside on his mattress. After tucking in the bug net, Ben fell back upon his pillow with a sigh. "Are you going to kill the light?"

"In a little while," said Auggie. "I just wanted to jot down a few things in my journal."

Through the white mesh of the mosquito net, Ben could see the ghostlike outline of his introspective friend. Auggie was sitting with his legs propped up and his back against the headboard. A little notebook rested on his knees; he was deep in thought as he nibbled on the back of a pen. After a few seconds, Ben rolled over and fell asleep.

***

After saying goodnight to the boys, Brooke and Janie were on their way back to their quarters when Janie caught the toe of her sandal in a crack between two floorboards and plummeted headlong toward the drop. They were on the elevated walkway on the opposite side of the lodge, and Janie had gone on ahead, swaying her hips from side to side in a drunken dance and singing off-key while Brooke watched her from behind, faintly amused. Now, twisting in mid-air, two clumsy arms flailed as Janie struggled to keep her balance. Several steps behind her, Brooke could only watch helplessly, gritting her teeth in anticipation of the inevitable fall.

The momentum of this bizarre flight carried her friend forward in an ungraceful arc, and she grunted in surprise as the railing met her midsection. But by some stroke of luck, Janie managed to catch hold of it at the last possible moment, thus preventing her from tumbling over the edge of the walkway and crashing down to the shadow-dappled earth below.

For several seconds, she remained bent at the waist with the railing against her hips and her upper body drooping over the post so that she found herself face to face with the disaster she had barely averted. The dim electric lights spilled over the walkway, illuminating a patch of well-trodden earth lined with gravel, forming a culvert that directed rainwater away from the grounds and into the forest. Even in her current state, Janie could envision the result of such a fall, could imagine the horrific outcome of her face after it collided with those sharp stones, and she barked out laughter at her good fortune. Brooke sprinted over to her, instantly relieved and annoyed, already dreading the familiar routine. Any minute now, Janie would start puking over the side, and Brooke would dutifully hold her hair out of the way until Janie's stomach was empty. After, Janie would become obstinate and would want to lie down, probably right there on the walkway, and Brooke would be forced to wait with her until she came to her senses and decided to move. Then Brooke would have to coax her back to the room and stay awake until she was sure her friend was safely asleep. It's going to be one of those nights, thought Brooke.

With an inward sigh, she placed her hand on Janie's back. "Hey there, girl," Brooke said soothingly. "Are you okay?"

Janie turned to her with a dopy smile. "He's so hot!" she blurted in exaggerated drunk-speak, overdramatizing every syllable.

Brooke smiled back at her, relieved. "Who?" she teased.

Janie looked at her with cloudy eyes. "Who do you think?" she retorted, still smiling amiably. "Cooper!" She pushed away from the railing, teetering with her arms held out to the side as though walking on a tightrope. Perhaps a full two seconds went by before she wobbled and grabbed onto the smaller girl for support.

Ducking under Janie's arm, Brooke clasped her hands around the taller girl's waist. Giggling, Janie allowed herself to be half-carried as they continued down the walkway. "I knew who you meant," Brooke said. "I was only messing with you."

"Messing with me..." Janie scoffed. She seemed to get a kick out of that.

"Yes, now keep your voice down. You'll wake up the whole place."

Janie nodded with the exaggerated affectation of compliance; head bobbing up and down as if on a spring. "But he's so hot, isn't he?"

"Oh, he's not bad," Brooke teased again. Yes, Cooper was pretty hot, but he was not Brooke's type at all. After a moment, she added: "You seem to get along pretty well."

"Chee-yeah," scoffed Janie. "Well, I kissed him, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you sure did. Everybody who was at the bar tonight knows that. And now everybody who wasn't at the bar tonight knows it, too. So, please, Janie-girl, keep your voice down."

Janie giggled. "You like Mr. Cool, don't you? What's his name? Ben? He's pretty hot, too. Those eyes! And—hooo!—Did you check out his body? Oh, don't give me that look! I know you saw the way his muscles moved beneath that shirt! He's got that whole tough-but-sensitive thing going on. I'll bet you he's a champ in bed."

Brooke rolled her eyes but Janie did not notice. They were approaching a T-shaped intersection, and drawing closer to the fenced-in building that housed the lodge's main generator. The generator rattled and clicked and the air smelled vaguely of diesel. The occasional hiccup in the fuel line made the lights flicker overhead, and Brooke, feeling suddenly fatigued, began to push her friend to walk a little faster.

"Yes," Brooke agreed in a subdued voice, "I admit it. Ben is pretty good-looking..."

"Hey, I'd fuck him. And so would you."

Brooke hesitated, smiling.

Janie tightened her arm around the smaller girl's neck. "Just say it!"

"Okay, fine. I would sleep with Ben. Maybe. Even though he is a tourist. There, are you happy?"

Janie threw her head back and cackled at the sky.

After hooking a right at the corner, they arrived at the kitchen area, dark and empty at this hour. Tucked away behind the kitchen, the staff lounge, and several small 'offices', the girls' quarters were much less accommodating than the boys'—little more than glorified huts, really. The room was also half the size: two single beds, four bamboo walls, and a single window with no curtain for privacy. But here they slept amongst the native people: the various guides, cooks, groundskeepers, bartenders, and members of the waitstaff. At night, they could hear the low, rapid chatter of Spanish; the sough of Peruvian music; the sighs and snores of regular, everyday people. This was just the way the girls liked it. After spending more than a month in the jungle, they felt at home amongst these people, had learned most of their names, which ones were dating, which ones were married, which ones had children, and a plethora of other intimate details about their lives.

Suddenly, the generator made a low wubber that wound down gradually and finally snapped off with an audible click. The overhead lights winked out, their red filaments fading to pink and, finally, black.

Janie shook with laughter. "Oh, fuck."

Brooke pulled her along. "Come on."

"Seriously," Janie garbled, "I'd fuck all of them."

Her body convulsed with laughter, and Brooke nearly lost her, just managing to catch hold of her shirt before Janie face-planted in the darkness. Totally oblivious, Janie continued to stumble forward.

"Not all at the same time," Janie went on. "Hey, what do you think about the quiet kid? Auggie?"

They were almost at the staff quarters and, thankfully, a few kerosene lamps still glowed in the windows, providing several landmarks to help guide their way.

"Aw, I think he's kind of sweet," Brooke said, remembering the way Auggie had hung at Ben's shoulder and how he had offered her his hand for a formal introduction. This sent her mind off in another direction, and she started thinking about Ben. Janie was right about one thing: he was far more attractive than just "pretty good-looking." Almost devastatingly handsome, in fact. Those brooding blue eyes and dark lashes simply made her melt. Though he seemed to possess a kind of unspoken machismo, she found herself attracted to that confident—yet, borderline cocky—grin.

Janie was still babbling as they arrived at their room.

"—he's a virgin?"

"Huh?"

"He kind of has that look, you know? Maybe I'll de-virginize him. You know, take one for the team."

"You're awful, you know that?"

Janie tossed back her head and laughed at the moon. After a few seconds, she looked at Brooke in the yellow glow of a nearby lantern. "You know I'm just kidding, right?"

Brooke didn't say anything. In the gloomy half light, Janie thought she could see the beginning of a smile forming across Brooke's face.

"I love you," Janie blurted, somewhat desperately.

At last Brooke rolled her eyes with a sigh. "Yeah, yeah. I love you, too. Come on."

Brooke pulled aside the curtain and guided her friend into the room. Janie shuffled forward in the unsteady light and flopped face-first upon the nearest bed.

"That's my—" Brooke stopped herself, already predicting at that moment the futility of reason. Instead, she removed the open-toed sandals from Janie's feet (Janie giggled a little at this, but made no effort to help at all) and placed them on the little bench by the door where their other gear was stowed: two daypacks, the two larger North Face backpacks that contained the bulk of their possessions, various articles of clothing, a few spiral-bound notebooks, and a miniature iPad.

Unbuckling the straps, Brooke pulled off her own sandals and arranged them neatly with the others. She smiled; her own sandals looked like a child's when placed beside Janie's. Since the maids did not tend to the staff quarters as they did the tourists', the mosquito nets were still tucked neatly in place. Brooke pulled the net down and tucked it in around her bed (now Janie's bed) making sure not to leave any gaps for the mosquitoes, sand flies, or any of the other nasty critters that might want to bite, or poke, or sting.

Janie spoke with her face muffled against the pillow. "I'm horny."

Now it was Brooke's turn to giggle. "You're always horny."

"Yeah. I should go back and find Cooper."

"He's probably asleep right now. Just like we should be."

"He's so fucking hot."

"Yeah, I think we pretty much established that."

"And funny, too. Without even trying. He's got that charming, endearing quality. Like a silly, innocent little puppy."

Brooke was silent for a few seconds. "Do you think it's an act?"

"No." A pause. Then the squeaking of bedsprings as Janie rolled over. "Why do you say that?"

"I don't know. He could just be a smooth-talker. Or maybe just an airhead."

From under the pillow came the muffled reply. "You're an airhead."

Brooke smiled. "One of us is an airhead, and it isn't me."

Janie cackled beneath the net. "Ugh. I guess I am sometimes."

"Yes, but only when you're smashed. Now go to sleep."

"Okay... Fine! G'night, little Brooklyn, my little Brookey-wooky..."

"Good night, Janie."

Brooke began securing the mosquito net on the other bed, which was now her bed for the evening. When she was finished tucking in the net, she climbed into an opening she had left between the folds and did her best to tuck in the flap behind her. She slipped under the top sheet. Though it was just past midnight and still very humid, Brooke knew from experience that the small hours of the night could sometimes carry a mild chill. She lay against the pillow and closed her eyes. The pillow, the covers, the mattress smelled like Janie. Brooke smiled in spite of herself. In the twilight between the waking world and sleep, she stopped thinking about Janie. Instead, a face hovered before her. It was a handsome face, with a strong jaw, squinty blue eyes, and a confident, slightly cocky grin. When her friend started snoring loudly, she did not stir. Still thinking of Ben, she too drifted off to sleep.

***

Auggie flipped through the pages of his journal, smiling at the previous entries: vivid descriptions of some college girls they had met in Cusco; his impressions and theories about Machu Picchu (which he lovingly described as "a great citadel which clings to the mountainside amidst wisps of clouds and the green steps of terraced farmland," and summed up the experience by noting Peru's biggest draw as "a remote tourist trap that still somehow maintains a mystical aura that transcends the ages"); a few quick notes identifying the names of various restaurants and bars they had visited, including his favorite meal (it was a toss-up between a falafel with cucumber sauce and tapas), and his favorite drink (a Pisco Sour he'd enjoyed at a miniscule bar in Aguas Calientes, where the bartender was a smiling Quechuan woman who did not speak English, nor could she understand Auggie's limited Spanish). Though reading his journal brought a smile to his thin lips—one or two even solicited a chuckle he had to muffle with his hand for fear of waking his friends—these memories had already begun to grow fuzzy around the edges, as though he were an old man reflecting on the travels of his youth. Auggie knew, without question, that it was being here, in the Amazon, which had surpassed those other memories, causing them to fade into obscurity. How could anything compare to this? he wondered. No one back home will ever understand. Even when they see the pictures and hear our stories, they'll think they know what it was like to be here, but they won't. They'll have no idea. Only Ben, Cooper, and me...

This last thought touched him in some new and unexpected way. The three of them were now one, forever bound by this unique and magnificent experience. They were different now. Equal.

Turning to a blank page, he tapped the pen against his lips, thinking.

Outside, the night songs of the forest rose and fell. Something small, perhaps a mouse, rustled in the grass outside and then stopped. It crossed his mind to investigate this mysterious noise, but the complicated process of exiting and entering the netted bed was enough of a hindrance to talk himself out of it. A loud twilling sounded from somewhere nearby. Auggie was amused to know this was a tree frog; as part of his pre-trip planning, he had listened to dozens of audio clips on YouTube. He looked over at his friends, both of them motionless and apparently already asleep beneath their bug nets. Auggie lost himself in the night sounds.

I travel not to learn more about other people and places but to learn more about myself.

Though he could not recall the origin of this quote, he felt it was apt enough for the occasion.

After a time, Auggie put the pen to paper, and it moved across the page as though guided by a force all its own.

Today was the most amazing day of my life, he began.
Eight

Sixty miles upriver, far removed from the sounds and smells of the humans, a family of capybaras had emerged from the forest to luxuriate in the sweet grass and aquatic flowers that grew in profusion along the water's edge. Hovering just above the river, the moon spilled its wintry light across the narrow sliver of beach, and the barrel-bodied rodents and their shadows stood in stark relief against the white sand. A dozen or so males were wading through the shallows in search of food, while several females stood onshore watching over the pups. The little ones weaved in and out of the herd, whistling and purring in their baby voices, while the adults watched them play with a kind of stoic patience.

In time, the little ones grew tired of this dizzying game, and they stopped to suckle from a large female who happened to be standing nearby. Pushing and shoving, they jockeyed for position, wrestling for a taste of her precious milk. All around them the jungle was a garden of sound, alive with the syncopated rhythm of nocturnal creatures and their ritual wanderings, and the capybaras were blissfully unaware that death was close at hand.

A jaguar had spotted their movements from the opposite shore, and had swum across the river, positioning itself on the edge of the jungle as it searched for the perfect place from which to strike. Roughly six feet long from the tip of its nose to the end of its tail, the well-muscled cat slid gracefully through the shadows, slinking forward with its head down and its belly low to the ground, concealing itself within a leafy hollow that skirted the finger of sand where the capybaras frolicked. The jaguar's usual prey of monkeys, capybaras, and caimans had become scarce as of late, and its rosette-covered pelt stretched tight over its stocky frame, revealing the ripple of each muscle, the articulation of each bone. In its weeklong quest for food, the adult male jaguar had slimmed down to a nimble one hundred and eighty pounds, and the undernourished cat was hungry to the point of madness.

Crouched low to the ground, its powerful hindquarters twitched with coiled tension, and its long tail began to flick anxiously from side to side. Licking its lips in anticipation, the jaguar's yellow eyes followed the pudgy brown rodents with keen interest as they pranced up and down the sandy beach.

The nursing female, followed by a single bleating pup, had wandered away from the group in order to sniff the different varieties of vegetation that sprouted along the edge of the jungle proper. But before she reached the terminus of the beach, she stopped suddenly, and the lone pup, taking advantage of her idleness, pressed its snout against her rounded belly in search of milk. Facing the trees, she sat back on her haunches, brown eyes scanning the tree line, ears twitching as she listened for anything that might wish to do her or the little one harm. But the jungle was deceptively calm. With the youngling still nuzzling up against her underbelly, she sniffed her way along the sand, moving closer, ever closer, to the dark curtain of the jungle. She had just stopped to nibble on some young ferns when the trees came alive.

Leaping through the air, the jaguar exploded from the shadows in a fury of claws and teeth.

Barking in alarm, the capybaras scattered and fled into the river. Much like hippos, they were excellent swimmers, and had the ability to stay submerged for several minutes at a time. Galloping toward the water's edge, the female nudged the pup ahead of her in a desperate attempt to flee.

They had almost reached the water's edge when the jaguar crashed down on top of her, burying its claws into her thick flanks. There was a squeal of terror, and then pain, as her legs collapsed beneath the crushing weight of her attacker. Snapping its head forward, the jaguar bit down between her ears, driving its sharp canines through the skull and into her spongy brain, instantly rendering her immobile and silent. In her last glimpse of life she saw the little one splashing into the shallows in the supreme chaos of terror. Then her brown eyes went dim as the life ebbed from her body.

Relaxing a moment on top of the still warm body, the triumphant feline panted heavily in the humid air, its muzzle stained red with the blood of its kill. Then it lifted the bulky carcass into its mouth and carried it across the sand toward the privacy of the trees, eager to content itself on the succulent, fatty flesh.

The jaguar had almost reached the tree line when it sensed a presence. Muscles tensing, it froze, yellow eyes moving across the dense vegetation with a combination of curiosity and alarm. Something was out there; the jaguar could sense it, just beyond the screen of trees. After a few seconds, the big cat dipped its head, lowering the dead capybara onto the sand with something akin to tenderness.

Licking the blood from its jaws, the jaguar gazed intently into the jungle, sniffing the air for some sign of the interloper. Its heightened olfactory senses registered a human smell, but there was something else, some overpowering scent that gave the jaguar pause—something it associated with the unmistakable stink of death. Blinking slowly, the troubled feline looked down at the carcass, considering. Should it defend its only food source, or retreat into the river and the safety of the opposite shore? Before it could decide, its ears detected a sudden movement in the jungle, and by then it was already too late.

A shadow detached itself from the trees. A shadow that walked with the upright bearing of a human. The jaguar had encountered humans many times; poachers, fishermen, explorers, even tourists. But this strange, stealthy thing was unlike any human the jaguar had seen before. Muscles tensing, whiskers twitching, the starving cat was preparing to defend its kill when something made it reconsider. Retreating slowly, it turned toward the river and found itself surrounded. A row of shadows stood on the margin of sand, blocking the way to the water. Ears flattening back against its broad head, lips peeling back to reveal its bloodstained teeth, the jaguar flexed its powerful shoulders, digging its claws into the sand in preparation for the fight.

As the apex predator of the rainforest, the jaguar had not known fear for many, many years—not since its mother was killed by a group of poachers who coveted her valuable pelt, and the jaguar, just a cub then, had escaped into the woods, frightened and alone. The years of its life had slipped unheeded through the corridor of time, and the jaguar had no recollection of that day, no memory of what it was like to be a frightened, motherless cub. Although it did not remember fear, the instinctive hunter recognized its presence in an instant. Baring its teeth, the jaguar growled from somewhere deep within its throat. But the sound, which should have sent any living creature running for its life, did not deter the things that were not human.

In a blur of speed, they closed in on the crouching feline, attacking all at once. Slicing the air with its massive claws, the jaguar was driven to the ground beneath a swarm of bodies. The shadow figures overpowered it with ease, ripping and tearing at its tough hide with their scalpel-like claws. Rolling across the sand, the jungle cat released a womanish cry of pain, before something long and sharp punched through its mouth and into its brain cavity, and its body went suddenly limp, its tail still swishing the air in the final throes of death.

Across the river, several capybaras bobbed to the surface of the water, watching from a safe distance. The beach was mostly quiet now; the jaguar lay motionless upon the white sand. Strange new predators, an entire group of them, had surrounded the jaguar and were presently feasting on its muscular flesh. The capybaras did not know the nature of these creatures, but, unlike the jaguar, they were well-acquainted with fear. Slowly, quietly, with their noses and eyes hovering just above the waterline, the surviving capybaras swam away to locate the rest of their scattered herd.
Nine

Cooper was frustrated.

He and Janie had been fooling around all night in the field outside the main lodge, surrounded by the throbbing jungle. Several times, he had removed her clothes only to find her fully dressed again. Now, for the first time, they were both fully and gloriously nude and about to have mad, passionate sex when... they were interrupted by the sound of birds chirping.

"What's that?" Janie asked, jerking her head up in surprise.

"It's nothing," he assured her, pulling her down on top of him. He gave her his winning smile, the one that had helped him loosen the morals of even the most respectable girls. Warmed by his smile, she leaned over and pressed her mouth against his. Things were just starting to get hot and heavy when the birds sounded their song again and everything blurred to gray.

Cooper awoke abruptly to the early morning light, desperately trying to cling to the fantasy. Even as he came to, he knew it was a dream, but he wanted to finish it, the final act. Unfortunately, the daylight was already washing away the details of his dream. He was alone in his bed, and his erection felt as though it were going to explode. Those damned birds—

And there it was again, that annoying racket.

No, not birds. Ben's wristwatch, chirping out the hour.

"Ugh!" Auggie moaned, rolling onto his stomach and pulling a pillow over his head. "Someone please shut that thing off!"

Cooper tossed the mosquito net aside and jumped up from the bed, feet landing with a thud upon the wooden floor. Ben's bed was empty, the covers rumpled and the mosquito net untucked from the mattress. On the table, resting beside the bottle of Malarone tablets, Ben's wristwatch blurted the unwanted alarm. Perhaps he had gotten lucky last night? Then Cooper remembered that the three of them had returned to the room together, and he cast that thought aside. Cooper padded over to the table and picked up the watch. He jabbed at every button until at last it fell silent.

A moment later, Ben pushed through the doorway curtain, dripping wet and wearing only a towel.

"Rise and shine, bitches."

Auggie's voice was muffled against his pillow. "Dude, really?"

"What's wrong?" Ben asked cheerfully.

Cooper swayed unsteadily, blinking in surprise. "I fucking hate you right now," he croaked.

"Urgh!" Ben groaned, shrinking back. "Man, your breath smells like ass."

Cooper shrugged. "Yeah, I sort of puked over the railing last night."

"You lightweight." Ben produced a tin of Altoids from his shaving kit and handed one to Cooper, who popped it into his mouth without even looking at it, before collapsing, facedown, on his bed.

"Thanks," Cooper muttered around the mint.

Ben shook his head. "No problem. Yo, Auggie-dog, what about you? Please tell me you didn't puke, too."

Auggie sat up with a grunt. "No... but I wish I did."

"See?" Ben said with a laugh. He dropped the towel he was holding and began to get dressed in the clothes he had set aside the night before. "Even Auggie didn't puke."

"Yes," Auggie said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Even I didn't puke last night."

Pulling the mosquito net aside, Auggie sat perched on the edge of the bed, glowering at Ben like a gargoyle. Rubbing his puffy eyes, he grunted again as he crossed the room, finding a bottle of water on the table and guzzling most of it down in a single gulp, not caring whose bottle it was or where it had come from. Returning the bottle to the table, he noticed Ben's watch for the first time.

"Where's the Malarone?"

"Over there," Ben told him. "On the shelf."

Auggie nodded, picked up the water bottle again, and stumbled over to the shelf. He uncapped the bottle, popped one of the bitter pills into his mouth, and took another swallow of water. He looked at Ben, who had already dressed and was folding his dirty clothes to store away inside his backpack. "Did you already take yours?"

"The Malarone? Yeah, I popped one before I hopped in the shower."

"You left your watch here," Auggie said. There was an accusatory note in the way he said this, as though Ben were guilty of some potentially fatal error.

Chalking this up to the discomfort of a hangover, Ben let the snappish tone slip past him. "Yeah," Ben said, sagely. "I left it here on purpose so you guys would wake up and take your pills."

"It wouldn't shut up," Cooper chimed in from the bed. "So I shut it off."

"What if the alarm doesn't go off, and we all forget to take the pills?"

"That's why I set the alarm," explained Ben, "so we'd all be on the same schedule."

Looking at Ben, Auggie's black button eyes seemed to grow smaller. "Yeah, but what if we're not all together when the alarm goes off? Like, if you go for a walk or something, and Cooper and I are chilling out in the room?"

"Then I'll remind you guys when I get back."

Auggie nodded uncertainly, gnawing on his bottom lip.

Ben rolled his eyes and began to unbuckle the watch from his wrist. "Here, if it will make you feel better, why don't you wear it?"

Auggie shook his head slowly. "No, I trust you."

Ben held the watch out to him with his eyebrows raised. "Just take it."

"Are you sure?"

Ben's arm remained extended with the watch in hand. Auggie was looking at it with a kind of childlike longing, as though he were afraid he'd reach for it only to have it snatched away from him.

"Just take it," Ben repeated, pressing the watch into Auggie's awaiting hand. "It's probably better this way anyway."

Auggie strapped the watch onto his bony wrist with a look of relief. "Okay, cool. I'll take good care of it, I promise."

"I know you will." Ben gave him one of his icy looks, the kind that made people squirm. Then his face broke into his trademark grin, and he returned to the task of gathering and packing his belongings. After a few seconds, Auggie stretched with a groan and began to do the same.

"Whose turn is it to do the final sweep?"

Still lying facedown on the bed, Cooper raised his arm in the air. "I'm never gonna drink again."

Ben and Auggie looked at one another. "You said that last time," Auggie said. He smiled, feeling the tightness and pressure around his eyes.

"Yeah," Cooper groaned. "But this time I mean it."
Ten

The river, like the jungle, was always changing.

An hour after they left the lodge, the water became turbid and gray, the color of sewer water. Gone were the sandy shores and swaying palms that, only yesterday, had conjured images of tropical locales and exotic women with rum libations. In their place, massive walls of green encroached the banks, which were little more than the suggestion of solid ground, jagged scrawls of dark sludge that descended quickly into the unknown depths below. The trees and underbrush were a tangled confusion of vines, branches, foliage; it was impossible to tell where one growth ended and another began. With its fan-shaped fronds and solid trunks, the previous day's landscape had, for the most part, a familiar aesthetic, whereas this new landscape was a nightmare for the eye; like a child's interpretation of a jungle, it resembled an unplanned, unfinished scribble of green with no discernible pattern and no perceivable boundaries.

Cooper and Janie had sequestered themselves in the front of the peki-peki, lounging together on a pile of lifejackets with their bare feet up on the bow, sharing Cooper's earbuds so that they could listen to his special vacation playlist on his iPod. Cooper had ceremoniously stripped off a blue wicking T-shirt and he now lay shirtless with tiny beads of perspiration shimmering on his hairless chest. With her head resting on his bare shoulder, Janie wriggled her toes in time to the music, the sunlight winking off a silver ring she wore beside her big toe. Right now they were listening to Coldplay's "Lost," which seemed rather fitting for the moment. Although Janie had already traveled this part of the river several times over, they were so charmed by this sudden and unexpected romance, discovered here, in the middle of the prehistoric jungle of all places, that neither she nor Cooper gave much thought to where they were at this point in time.

After making a halfhearted attempt to get the foreigners to wear their lifejackets, Ernesto, still dressed in the same nondescript T-shirt and cargo pants as the previous day, had resumed his place at the back of the canoe, where he watched the river for signs of life, occasionally raising his binoculars to scan the tree line. This left Ben, Auggie, and Brooke to their own devices. The newly formed trio sat in the middle of the canoe, Ben and Brooke on the starboard side, and Auggie on the port, leaning close to hear and be heard over the buzz of the motor.

For the duration of roughly an hour, everything was fine. Brooke chatted with the two boys about her research, the variety of flora and fauna they could expect to find at the research center, and what it was like to spend an extended period of time in the jungle.

"I love it here," Brooke concluded with a sigh. "I feel like I could stay here forever and not miss anything." Then she smiled, as if a new thought had suddenly occurred to her. Beneath her dark sunglasses, she was all cheekbones and white teeth. "Well, I'd miss some things, like my family and stuff, but you know what I mean, right? People back home thought I was crazy for wanting to come here. Well, now I think they're the crazy ones. Traffic... pollution... cable TV... the whole rat race... who needs any of it?"

Ben looked at her seriously. "I couldn't agree more. The three of us were just talking about that very same thing the other night." He glanced across at Auggie.

Because Ben seemed to be waiting for sort of affirmation, Auggie nodded.

Now Ben turned back to Brooke, resting his elbow against the side rail and his chin on his knuckles as he leaned toward her. "What are your plans after? Do you think you'll come back here?"

"Once I finish school, I plan to..."

As he listened, Auggie hoped she didn't notice how his eyes traced the athletic curves of her neck and shoulders, the smooth bumps of her collarbone, inevitably finding their way down to the small valley of cleavage. Ben was sitting very close to her and occasionally, when the boat tilted to one side or the other, she all but spilled into his lap, laughing and apologizing each time as though it were the first. Several times Auggie had tried to get Ben's attention in order to point out something interesting, but Ben was looking at Brooke as if she were the only person in the world. On more than one occasion, Ben and Auggie exchanged a surreptitious glance, and Auggie saw that mischievous light dancing behind his friend's eyes. Every time Ben and Brooke bumped into one another, her hand shooting out to rest on his shoulder to steady herself, his arm snaking behind her back to offer his support, Auggie withdrew deeper and deeper inside himself. He was two feet apart and worlds away from them, and when it dawned on him that he had the entire length of bench to himself, he suddenly felt like a leper. It was clear to him that Ben and Brooke were being valiant in their efforts to engage him in their conversations, which somehow made Auggie feel even worse about the whole business. That they had to go out of their way to make him feel included seemed a far greater insult than if they had ignored him altogether. At least if they had been rude about it, he could have become angry at them and allowed himself to brood a little, but in fact they were both being so damned nice, it made him feel awful for even thinking about sulking.

Here and there they came upon other humans, indigenous people in dugout canoes laden with fruit or fish. On one occasion, they saw a group of three or four children splashing in the shallows, apparently unattended by any grownup. Behind the little bathing area, a worn path meandered up a slight incline and then disappeared; judging by the well-trodden path and the thin trickle of smoke that rose above the trees, there must have been some sort of dwelling back there, hidden by the brush. Auggie withdrew inside himself again, trying to imagine a life in the heart of the jungle. Surely, many of the natives had been to Puerto Malaka, but wasn't it possible, even probable, that some had never ventured beyond the lushness of the rainforest? Did they even know about such wonders as the Internet? Had they ever watched television, or ridden in a car, or felt the chill of an air conditioner? What did they think when they saw a plane fly overhead? At length, Auggie found it impossible to comprehend such things, which were based purely on speculation. These questions only led him to more questions: had Ernesto been raised in similar conditions, and, if so, how did he feel about his childhood? Did he resent his parents? Surely, had he remained in the jungle, he would not have known any differently, but he had chosen to enter the "civilized" world in order to get an education, so now—? This presented Auggie with a philosophical dilemma: do poor people resent their penury, or are they content because they do not know any other way of life? Perhaps, he concluded, ignorance truly is bliss.

The sputter of a diesel engine drew their attention to the shore as they passed an ungainly metal contraption that seemed to serve no perceivable function but to make noise and belch smoke. Save for three or four wooden bowls that had been arranged upon the trembling platform, there were no other signs of human life. Upon seeing the unmanned machine, Brooke's mobile mouth turned downward.

"Hey," Cooper said. "It's another one of those gold extractors, right? Like from the other day?"

Brooke's eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms. "That's exactly what it is," she replied in a voice that trembled with anger. Her small hand became a fist that opened and closed, opened, closed. "Those prospectors are destroying the river. And the vapors pollute the air. We've already seen some of the damage, but the long-term effects will be immeasurable. There are species here that haven't even been named yet, and these assholes are going to wipe them out before they can even be discovered. For what? Some yellow rocks that can be found almost anywhere in the world?"

Ben studied her admiringly. This sudden outburst intrigued him. Her anger was passionate, deep, and instant, and it somehow made him like her even more.

For the next three hours, the going was slow, their progress impeded by the rocky shallows and by the occasional cluster of fallen trees. Several times they actually felt the wooden vessel scrape bottom—a cringe-worthy sensation, not unlike fingernails on a chalkboard—and the five Americans looked at one another and grimaced as they each grabbed for the nearest lifejacket. Only Felix seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to navigation, somehow lifting the propeller shaft out of the water just in time to save the blades from sure calamity. Gradually the river grew deeper, then wider, pushing the shorelines farther and farther apart, and now the sun beat down upon them, unobstructed by the canopy. Auggie busied himself with sunscreen, slathering the stuff on his face, neck, and forearms while the others watched him with amusement, laughingly pointing out the places he had missed. "Sensitive skin," he offered, already feeling a heat upon his face that had nothing to do with the sun.

Then, as they rounded a particularly wide bend, he scrunched up his eyes and stood up suddenly, a neglected smudge of lotion still glistening on his cheek.

"Hey, what's that?"

An island had appeared before them: a near-vertical ridge of land, which divided the river in two. A wooden staircase clung precariously to the escarpment, inviting the eye to follow it to the top of the rise, where an arrangement of stilted huts sat perched amongst the trees. The huts seemed to extend beneath the trees and out of view, suggesting a small community or village of some kind. To Ben it seemed to resemble one of those way stations of the world, the kind of place where rough-and-tumble explorers might stop to rest and replenish their supplies before embarking on some perilous journey. His eyes flashed blue beneath the shade of his Red Sox hat. "That place looks cool. What is it? Some kind of village?"

Brooke smiled, remembering her own excitement upon seeing the huts for the first time. "It's a checkpoint. Well, actually, it's the checkpoint. We have to sign-in before we enter the reserve."

"Wait," said Ben. He turned his camera on and directed it at the petite girl. Resuming his faux Australian accent, he narrated, "I'm here with the lovely Brooke, somewhere in the heart of the Amazon, and we've just arrived at a small village set upon a picturesque hill. And Miss—?"

Since last night, Ben had wondered about Brooke's last name, but it had felt rather awkward just to come right out and ask. Now, by means of the video introduction, he had left the door open for her to fill that blank herself.

"Harlow," Brooke supplied, unknowingly laying that mystery to rest.

"Miss Harlow," Ben said with emphasis, trying and liking the sound of her last name, "would you enlighten our audience, please?"

Brooke immediately slipped into her own version of an Aussie accent, only hers was much better, hitting all the syllables with perfect enunciation. "Well, Mr.—?" Lips parted, eyebrows raised, she waited expectantly.

"Sawyer," Ben replied, grinning behind the camera as he realized how the tables had been turned. Wow, he thought. She's a clever one.

"Well, Mr. Sawyer," Brooke continued in her broad Aussie dialect, "this little village is actually a checkpoint, where we will soon disembark from this here watercraft in order to sign the register—" She paused, trying not to laugh as she noticed Ben's smile widen behind the camera. "The register is strictly a formality to ensure the safety of our group in the event that we enter the jungle, never to be seen again."

At this last part, Ben did laugh. He hit the STOP button and powered down the camera. "Holy shit," he chuckled. "That was pretty damned good."

"That," Auggie chimed in, "was impressive."

Brooke wrinkled her nose, blushing. "Thanks," she said.

"Seriously," Auggie said. "When Ben does his, he sounds like a constipated Brit."

Ben feigned a wounded look and laughed. "Hey, hey, hey. Be nice."

The peki-peki's motor dropped several octaves as Felix guided them toward the shore. In the bow, Cooper was hurriedly pulling on his socks and hiking shoes, eager to explore this interesting new feature of the river's geography. "This is so friggin' cool." Pulling the blue T-shirt over his head, he smiled apologetically at the tall girl at his feet. Janie was a vision in her tight shorts and pink tank top, which now had a little tree-shaped dark patch between her breasts, where the sweat had soaked through. "Slow down," she said. "It really isn't all that interesting." But Cooper, in his excitement, was already up and scurrying around the canoe like a squirrel.

Auggie watched as the hill loomed above them, until the huts vanished over the rise and all he could see was the coarse grass with the earthen divot running down the center where the stairway had been built to replace the well-worn path. His feet tingled with the anticipation of movement. He'd been sitting for hours, and he was looking forward to stretching his legs. He grabbed his camera, looping the lanyard around his neck. He was fiddling with the lens when he felt something cold press against his arm. When he looked up, he saw Ben holding a bottle of water toward him.

"Here," Ben said. "It's getting really hot out there. You don't want to get dehydrated."

Auggie accepted the water with a nod. "Thanks, Mom." Taking a long sip, the cooling effect gave him an instant sense of euphoria that temporarily assuaged his old fears.

The motorized canoe glided toward the shore, the prow sliding to a slow stop as it kissed the muddy bank. A little wake followed after them, and eventually passed them, and the peki-peki rocked to and fro with the aft still protruding out into the water like a tail. Ernesto hopped off the bow and helped them onto dry land as they swayed with the motion of the afterwash.

As they started up the grassy slope, a flotilla of moths came twirling up from the long grass as though caught in a vortex. Their iridescent wings caught the sunlight and flashed shades of green. Cooper turned to Janie. "Those're moths, not butterflies," he explained.

Janie smirked at him. "Yes, I know."

He had to look at her to see if she was joking, but she wasn't. Cooper had clearly wanted to impress her with this modicum of knowledge and, seeing that she had stolen this small bit of joy from him, Janie felt a stab of guilt and hurried to catch up to him. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it, and in good time he was smiling again and order was restored.

"Hey, guys," said Ernesto. "We are going for to sign the book in the ranger station. There is a bathroom if you need."

"How long will we be here?" asked Ben.

"Mmm, ten minutes. We want to get to the research center soon, is still far."

Ben glanced at his wrist instinctively, and for a brief second was startled when all he saw was the pale outline of flesh where the watch used to be. In a flash of forgetfulness, he was mad at himself for losing it, but then he remembered he had given it to Auggie for safekeeping and the anger vanished in an instant.

Auggie followed along behind Cooper and Janie, with Ben and Brooke coming after him, and Ernesto in the back. Felix was not among them; he was apparently staying behind with the canoe. As Auggie walked, taking little sips from his water bottle, he wondered if that great explorer, Percy Fawcett, had ever come upon such a place during his adventures in the Amazon; a primitive civilization, one of the outliers on the edge of this new and forbidding frontier.

Janie and Cooper were side by side as they approached the stairway, but then Janie said something to him, something the others could not hear, and Cooper took off running, taking two steps at a time. Ben called out to him, but there was no stopping the long-haired boy. Once at the top, Cooper turned to see the river moving slowly through the jungle, rubbing up against the banks like a snake trying to shed its skin. He let out a whoop and his voice carried out across the water and through the trees.

Raising his fists above his head, Cooper shouted gleefully. "I'm king of the world!" With that, he turned and vanished from sight.

The others gathered at the crest of the hill. From this high vantage point, they could see the true power of the river, which had carved a deep groove through the rainforest. Down below, Felix was leaning against the bow of the peki-peki as he smoked a cigarette. The two remaining boys produced their cameras and took advantage of this photo opportunity.

"Do you want me to take one with both of you?" asked Janie.

Making a few adjustments to the lens, Auggie passed the camera to her, placing it gingerly in her hands, as though it were an expensive vase. Then he went and took his position beside Ben, who was already standing precariously close to the drop. Just before Janie snapped the picture, Ben leaned over and whispered to Auggie, "You got some shit on your nose."

Auggie's hand shot out instinctively to wipe the sunscreen from his nose just as Janie pressed the button on the camera. Ben grinned devilishly and Auggie smiled in spite of himself. "You dick."

Ben shrugged and called out to Janie. "How did that one come out?"

"Mmm. Not so good. Let me take another one," Janie said, looking at the screen. She took a moment to focus, as though she actually knew what she were doing, and snapped another shot. "Here, see if you like it."

Auggie was about to retrieve the camera when Ben spoke up. "Hey, can I get one of me and Brooke?"

Brooke smiled playfully. "Sure."

Janie and Auggie both looked at one another and shrugged.

Brooke stood next to Ben and they each put an arm around the other's back. They looked at one another, smiling not for the camera but for each other, and anyone could see that they made a nice couple.

"Say cheese..."

Ben and Brooke turned toward the lens at the same time, and their smiles remained.

"Do you want me to take a picture of you girls?"

"Yes!" said Janie. She galloped over to where Brooke was standing and hugged her diminutive friend.

"Hey, Auggie, why don't you stand between them?" suggested Ben.

Janie made a come-on gesture to Auggie. "Yeah, get over here, you."

Blushing, Auggie positioned himself between the two girls. Janie draped her arms around the shy boy's neck, thrusting one leg out in a suggestive pose and mugging for the camera with a lopsided grin and dark, bedroom eyes. On the other side, Brooke put a hand on Auggie's shoulder and leaned her head against him, her eyes bright above a sincere smile that showed her perfect teeth. Ben gestured with his hand, directing them to move this way or that, in order to capture the river and trees and sky in the frame.

Through all of this, Ernesto had remained silent, watching them with an air of infinite patience. Now he spoke up. "Ben-ah?"

Ben turned to him.

"I can take the picture." Ernesto put his hands up to form the vague shape of a rectangle, pressing with his finger an imaginary button on top of the imaginary camera.

"Oh, you'll take one of all of us? Cool."

Ben handed him the camera and jumped into the shot on the other side of Brooke, who automatically put her free arm around his waist. Ben put his own arm around her and pulled her snug against him.

"Say 'Cha-eese,'" Ernest said, his quiet voice rising slightly with the last syllable.

They smiled, and Ernesto took the shot.

After, when Auggie retrieved his camera, he was pleased to find that each of the photographs was to his liking. Well, Janie's were a little off-center, but he could live with that.

"Ready?" Ben asked them.

Auggie nodded.

"Ready," the girls answered together in time.

Ernesto, leading them to the main hut, explained to a disappointed Cooper that the rangers rarely ever stayed at this post due to its remote location. Apparently, even the locals did not care for this degree of isolation. They crossed a small yard of sorts, overgrown by coarse grass and littered with rusted barrels, wooden carts, and various pieces of defunct farm equipment. Similar to its neighbors, the main hut crouched on stilts, and its wooden steps were sturdy in spite of their weathered appearance.

Ernesto led them up the lopsided steps, through the screen door, and into the dim interior, where the shade offered a welcome respite from the sun. A small desk contained a jar full of pencils and a ledger in the form of a spiral-bound notebook. The ledger was folded open, its place held with a small stone, so that the names, dates, and countries of origin written inside were plainly visible, many more than one might expect in this distant corner of the world. Ben read a few of the entries aloud: Germany, Spain, England, Canada, France, and so on. With a sense of humble pride, Ben signed his name amongst the others, those he now viewed as the chosen ones—fellow explorers from the far-flung reaches of the globe. When he was done, he jotted down Cooper's name because his friend was still nowhere to be found.

Eventually, though, they did find Cooper. While they were busy signing the guest register, he was exploring an adjacent hut, which had been transformed into a makeshift museum housing rows of shelves upon which there rested dozens of glass jars of varying shapes and sizes. The jars were full of formaldehyde or some other kind of liquid preservative, and each one contained a specimen that had been collected from the jungle. Cooper moved from shelf to shelf, inspecting the contents of each jar, sometimes muttering softly to himself. A humungous snake head glared ferociously through a hazy yellow liquid, baleful eyes dim with malice, its mouth forever open to reveal the backward curving fangs that seemed ready to tear through the glass. Attached to the jar was a faded label that simply read "Bushmaster – viper." Cooper had never before heard of a bushmaster, and he was somewhat excited to add this to the long list of other dangerous species that lurked in the rainforest.

All along the shelf were dozens of other curiosities, each with its own jar and descriptive label: a huge eel, coiled upon itself like a spring was identified as "Baby electric eel"; a tiny reptile, barely the size of Cooper's hand, was dubbed "White Caiman"; various kinds of frogs; something that looked like a pig fetus. The top shelf on the opposite wall was wider than the rest, for it housed a specimen unlike any other: resting atop the horizontal plank was an enormous skull, wide at the crown and growing more and more narrow toward the snout. Rows of large white teeth dotted its lengthy jaws.

In the dusty light, Cooper read the small index card tacked to the shelf below the skull: Negris Camis: Black Caiman. Beneath this was a bit of additional information, written by a different hand: Black Caiman can reach lengths of up to 4.5 meters and reside in Oxbow lakes.

"Holy shit," murmured Cooper. Suddenly, he sensed a presence and, looking up, saw that the others were gathered around behind him. He'd been so absorbed in studying the details of each creature that he had not even noticed them until now. "Hey," he said quietly. "Did you see the size of this thing?"

Ben raised his eyebrows. "Four and a half meters. What does that come out to, Professor?"

"A little under fifteen feet," Auggie answered without hesitation.

The girls glanced at one another, clearly impressed.

"Fifteen feet? That, my friends, is one big boy. Remind me not to go swimming around here. I—" Cooper had turned to look at them when something caught his eye. "What's that?" A sleek, tawny animal peered out of the shadows, watching them intently. Its body was dappled with black rosettes, and its eyes glittered like jewels above a snarling mouth. "Look!" Cooper exclaimed, already dashing over to investigate. Kneeling on the dusty floor, Cooper found himself nose to nose with a large stuffed animal, roughly the size of a fully-grown German shepherd. "What is it?" he asked, tapping his finger against one of the glass eyes.

"It's a jaguar," Janie said. "Just a toy. Probably the park rangers brought it here as a joke."

Cooper clicked his tongue and said, "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty." Suddenly his eyes flashed with inspiration. "Hey, Ben! Hey, Sawyer! Take a picture of this shit!" Lying on his back, Cooper pulled the stuffed jaguar's paws on top of him and began to roll around as if in agony.

Auggie laughingly produced his camera. Then Ben was at his shoulder with the video camera, narrating: "Here's a fine example of what happens when The Cooper Effect fails miserably."

Face contorted in a pantomime of terror, Cooper raised his arms above his head as though trying to defend himself against the stuffed beast. The others shook their heads as at a wayward child, but they could not help but smile at the ridiculous display. The camera flashed twice as Auggie took two photographs in rapid succession.

Ben shut off the video and turned to Auggie. "Did you get it?"

"Yeah, you?"

"Naw, it's all blurry. I guess it's too dark for the vid."

Auggie turned his attention back to the viewing screen. He snorted. "Take a look."

He angled the screen so that the others could see. Somehow, the picture was even more amusing than the real thing, and the small room reverberated with their laughter.

Behind them, the screen door opened silently and a shadow appeared in the doorway—a thin black smudge etched in a rectangle of light. Stepping into the museum, Ernesto looked down at Cooper with mild interest. The sight of the strange long-haired boy rolling about on the floor with the stuffed jaguar brought the hint of a smile to the slender man's face. "Hey, guys? It's time we should go. Uh-huh. Time to the research center is still little while."

Cooper jumped to his feet and wiped the dust from his hiking pants. "Okay, cool. You guys ready?"

The two girls and the three boys looked at one another in turn. They were ready, alright.

From the shade of the museum hut, they stepped out into the bright sunlight, where the heat dropped on them like a blanket. They were nearing the edge of the hill when Ben counted heads and found that Auggie was not with them. As the others went on toward the rickety stairway, Ben lingered behind on the grassy track, expecting to see the familiar jittery face appear at any moment. When Auggie did not appear after several minutes, Ben meandered down the path toward the huts. There was no hint of anger or impatience in either his expression or his gait; in fact, he wasn't really thinking of anything in particular. He rather liked this area, with its quaint little village and grassy meadow, and he was doing his best to soak it all in before they moved on to the next place.

Arriving at the museum, Ben pulled the handle on the screen door, and its spring screeched in shrill protest as he opened it. Stepping inside, he remembered how Ernesto had appeared behind them without a sound, silent as a ghost. Mysteriously, the spring had not fussed over the diminutive man's entry. The sudden transition from daylight to shade made it difficult to see inside. As his eyes adjusted, he spotted Auggie standing before the great caiman's skull, staring into the empty holes where the creature's eyes once gleamed with a cold, reptilian intelligence. Beads of sweat glistened on the boy's high forehead, tracing silvery lines from his hairline down to the narrow tip of his chin. Ben watched him for a few seconds but Auggie did not stir.

"Hey," Ben said, "we're leaving."

Auggie continued to stare into the empty eyes as though gazing upon all the secrets of the ages. The vacant eyes seemed to hold him, and even as he felt a strange shudder in the pit of his stomach, he could not look away.

"Auggie-dog?"

Auggie stirred suddenly. He took a step back and raised his camera so that he could fit the skull and the placard into the frame. In the bright flashes that followed, the room was transformed into something that reminded Ben of some cheap carnival sideshow. Satisfied, Auggie raised his head from the viewfinder and his eyes looked like caverns in the gloom. "Alright, man. I'm ready." That knot in his stomach was starting to fade, and he absentmindedly dismissed it as a side effect of the Malarone.

Ben clapped him on the back as the two boys trotted down the steps. Out of the darkness and into the light, they began down the well-worn path, moving at a steady clip to catch up to the others, leaving the tiny village to the solitude of the afternoon shadows.
Eleven

After nearly five hours on the water, they arrived at a steep reddish bank beyond which lay the forest proper, green above and dark below, with the distinct absence of underbrush between the towering trunks—the vague suggestion of a path that cut its way through the trees. A narrow walkway, more ladder than stairs, leaned crookedly against the wall of clay, following the precipitous drop to ground level, where it eventually ended in a dilapidated dock.

Felix manipulated the tiller until they were perpendicular with the high bank, angling them skillfully against the current, which was now considerably stronger than before. He urged the throttle forward until the peki-peki's prow touched down upon the grassless shore, careful to avoid the jutting dock. The Americans, energized by the prospect of solid ground, began to gather their belongings. After helping each other put on their backpacks, one by one they leaped from the bow and began their ascent with a newfound vigor.

Ernesto said a few parting words to Felix before he too made the leap to solid ground, carrying on his shoulder his only luggage, a red, child-sized backpack, and his binoculars, which still dangled around his neck. Felix gunned the motor in reverse and the peki-peki backed away from the shore and entered the grip of the current. From atop the bank, the five Americans turned and waved to him as he aimed the bow toward the middle of the river. Shaggy hair rippling in the breeze, Felix smiled and waved back to them as the peki-peki lunged forward, continuing upstream and out of sight.

Ernesto walked up the steep stairway with ease. When he reached the top, he turned to the Americans and gestured toward the path. "We go to the research center?"

Littered with stray branches and fallen leaves, the path to the research center was a narrow affair, barely visible in places, and flanked by thin gray trunks. The trees seemed closer, the shadows darker, making that other path, the one at the Amazonia Lodge, seem like a major highway by comparison.

Janie and Cooper took the lead. Janie knew where she was going and only lagged a little because she found it enjoyable to witness a newcomer's reaction to the place she had, for the course of the past month, called home. Cooper found excitement in the smallest of things; every leaf, every twig, every sound held a mystery to him.

Auggie watched them from behind. They were talking animatedly about something or other and probably ruining their chances of seeing any wildlife that might have been ahead. Treading carefully over the mat of leaves, Auggie kept his eyes on the ground, looking for, but hoping not to see, signs of movement there. His mind flashed back to the museum—the bushmaster with its hooked fangs and malicious gaze, poised as though ready to strike. Suddenly, he was glad of Cooper's excitable nature. Perhaps scaring away all the animals was not such a bad thing at the moment, especially if that included snakes.

Behind Auggie, Ernesto watched the jungle with passive interest, as though looking for something in particular. Not far behind, Brooke and Ben brought up the rear. In the eternal gloom beneath the canopy, Brooke's green eyes seemed to glow with a secret light. As they walked, she turned her head sideways and said, "You're going to love it here." Ben grinned at her. As the shadows flickered across their faces, they looked at one another appraisingly, silenced by a sudden shyness.

"Hey."

It was Auggie. He had stopped, waiting, so that they would catch up to him. Perspiration glistened on his face and his chest trembled with shallow breaths. Thin lips pressed together, he greeted them with a wan smile.

Ben stopped short, brow furrowed in concern. "You don't look so good, man. Did you take your hydration tab?"

Auggie's small eyes blinked slowly. He shook his head. "I couldn't find them. I think maybe one of you guys grabbed them by accident."

"Hold on." Ben rummaged through his pack, zipping open this pocket and that. After a moment, his hand emerged with a plastic tube, roughly the size of a roll of quarters. Ben popped the cover off and shook a purple tablet into his hand. "Here."

Auggie made a sour face. "Those aren't mine."

"I know. These are from my own stash. It's grape; it's good."

Auggie shook his head uncertainly. "I don't want to use yours. You might need them."

Ben held out his hand with the tablet in the palm. "Dude, don't worry about it. Just take it."

"You're sure?"

Ben only looked at him insistently with the proffered tablet still resting in his open hand.

"Thanks, man." Auggie took the tablet, broke it in two, and dropped it into his Nalgene bottle. The tablet began to fizz, turning the water a bright purple. Raising the bottle to his nose, he took a whiff of the effervescent liquid. He must have liked what he smelled, for he followed it with a long sip that made his protruding Adam's apple bob up and down like a piston. Smacking his lips, he said, "Not bad. Thanks."

"No worries," Ben said, relieved. He stole a glance at Brooke, who watched them with an expectant smile. "Don't wait so long next time."

"I won't."

"You good?"

Auggie nodded his head.

"Okay, let's catch up with the others."

Ten minutes later, they glimpsed what seemed now to be a familiar sight ahead: an opening in the canopy filled with daylight, an artificial clearing at the center of which rested a stilted lodge of bamboo and basic timber, a manmade stronghold against the encroaching jungle. With its open floor plan, a small dining area, and arched entryway, the Wildlife Research Center was a miniature version of the Amazonia Lodge, but with the stamp of functionality over convenience. Ben stopped to admire his new surroundings. By all appearances, this was a true outpost, some relic of a bygone era built on the fringe of a new frontier.

Brooke was watching him intently. "What do you think?"

Ben was staring straight ahead. Now he grinned at her wonderingly. "This is more like it."

Auggie sidled up beside him. "Do you want to shoot some video?"

"Definitely," Ben said. "But let's go check out the room first."

Auggie wanted to say they should film their arrival video now, when their reactions were still fresh and authentic, but he did not want to make a scene, especially in front of Brooke.

"This place is awesome!" Cooper shouted down to them from inside the common area, where he was sitting sideways on a hammock and swinging back and forth, his backpack in a jumble at his feet.

Ben walked up the wide wooden stairs with Brooke beside him and Auggie in tow. The floorboards creaked as he walked over to where Cooper sat waiting, and Ben saw there were several other hammocks, just beyond the entrance. To his left was a long, narrow corridor, drenched in shadow. To his right, another walkway led to a dining area large enough to accommodate perhaps twenty people. "Cool."

"Janie said she'd be back in a minute," Cooper announced, apropos of nothing.

Just then, Ernesto reappeared, still wearing his binoculars around his neck and carrying his little red backpack over one shoulder. "Hey, guys? I can show you to the room."

Cooper hopped up from the hammock. "Alright!"

"I'm going to go find Janie," Brooke announced. "I'll see you guys around. Oh, and later on, Janie and I are going to give a little presentation about the macaws and the clay lick."

"Cool. Where will we find you?"

"Right over there, in the dining area."

"Okay."

"Well, have fun, guys!"

"Thanks."

"See you later."

"Bye."

Ernesto guided the boys down the hallway, past double rows of curtained doorways. At last he stopped at a doorway and tapped his finger on the curtain. Hanging just outside the doorway was a square wooden placard with the number 8 carved into it. Otherwise, the room was indistinguishable from all the others.

"This is ours?" asked Ben.

Ernesto nodded. "If you like, we can meet in a little while to go for a walk in the jungle?"

Auggie was looking at the watch on his wrist, squinting to see the numbers. "How long till we meet?"

"Mmm, thirty minutes?"

Ben looked at Auggie and Cooper and did not see dissent among them. "Perfect," Ben said. "Thanks, Ernesto."

Cooper pulled aside the curtain with a flourish and the three boys entered their new quarters.

Bathed in honey-colored sunlight, the room was a tiny rectangle, barely large enough to accommodate the three single beds flanking the walls. Similar to the Amazonia Lodge, the extremity of the space was open to the jungle, and beyond the wooden railing, a cluster of fan-shaped fronds rippled peacefully in the breeze. Beside each bed was a small stand with a miniature kerosene lamp, and there were three small shelves along one wall where they could store their toiletries and other essentials. Unlike the lodge, there was no hammock, table or chairs, for the space was too cramped to include such luxuries.

As though pulled by an invisible force, Cooper rushed to the railing, dropping his backpack on the floor without a care. "Wow! This is even cooler than our first room! And there's a little clothesline out here." He turned back to the others. "Maybe we can finally wash our shit? I don't know about you guys, but my backpack's starting to smell a little ripe."

Auggie and Ben walked over and stood beside Cooper at the railing. Ben struck a comfortable pose, leaning against the railing on his elbows. Sticking his head outside, he could see a row of other rooms, three on one side, perhaps five on the other. Ben counted three rooms that had clothes hanging outside them: a few towels, some socks, a few pairs of hiking pants and shirts.

Ben turned happily to his two friends. "This is the place. This is what we came here for."

"It's a lot smaller than the other room," Auggie declared. It was not a complaint; he rather liked the efficiency of compact spaces.

"I'm kinda bummed there's no hammock," Cooper said. "But I guess we won't be spending too much time in the room, huh?"

Auggie surveyed the three beds. "I'll take that one," he said decisively, gesturing toward the bed closest to the door.

"Okay," Ben agreed. The other two beds were on opposite walls, but closer to the open end of the room. "Any preference, Coop?"

Cooper was still staring at the jungle, lost in thought. After a few seconds, he shook his head.

Auggie set his backpack on the newly claimed bed. "Let's take a few minutes to sort out our stuff."

For the next ten minutes, the three boys set about the task of unpacking their belongings, arranging in separate clusters their pills, sunscreen, and toiletries along the shelves. Cooper pulled some soiled articles of clothing from his backpack and hung them on the clothesline to ventilate. Ben emptied out all his clothes, smelling each article and creating two piles to separate the stinky ones from those he had yet to wear. He refolded the fresh clothes and put them back inside the pack, while he put the others in a pile on top of his bed. Auggie did the same, and afterwards he turned to Ben.

"Do you think they have a washing machine?"

"Probably not. But they should have a sink or a hose so we can scrub them down with these." He held up a little package of laundry wafers, each one roughly the size of a postage stamp. The wafers, Ben explained, dissolved in water to create suds for washing.

"Always the Boy Scout," chuckled Cooper.

Ben only shrugged, grinning.

Once they had each settled into the room, they sat on their separate beds, already drenched in sweat. They were tired from the long boat ride, but their faces glowed with a healthy coloring, and their eyes were bright and alert.

"I gotta tell you," Auggie said to no one in particular, "I was a bit skeptical about leaving the first lodge behind to come here."

"Yeah? And now?"

A sheepish smile spread across the narrow face. "This place is unbelievable. I mean, the other lodge was amazing, but in a different way, you know? But this place is the real deal."

"Yeah, I don't think we'll see too many tourists this far out—"

"Seems like we're the only ones here."

"—or kids with laptops—"

"Now we're way off the grid—"

"—or lines at the dinner buffet—"

"—most remote lodge in this part of the jungle!"

They grinned at one another in their excitement.

"How much time do we have?" Ben asked suddenly.

Auggie glanced at the watch on his wrist. It was an automatic gesture, one that he'd grown accustomed to over the course of the day. "We've got about ten more minutes before we're supposed to meet Ernesto."

Ben sprang up from his bed, energized by his new surroundings. "Let's take a quick walk around this place and check it out. What do you think?"

Cooper was already up and heading for the door. "Shit, yeah," he said, waving his arms excitedly. "What're you waiting for? Let's go exploring."
Twelve

"Holy shit," Ben whispered.

Auggie turned to look at him. Ben's face was dripping with sweat. His square jaw flexed involuntarily, and his squinty eyes had widened enough to show their whites. A stranger may have mistaken these things as signs of fear, but Auggie knew this expression all too well. Ben was having the time of his life.

They were hunkered down on the damp ground behind the monstrous roots of a Ceiba tree, somewhere in the middle of the rainforest. Ten yards ahead of them, a drove of wild pigs, perhaps twenty in all, were moving in a line of twos and threes across the path, sniffing the ground in search of seeds or roots.

Kneeling, Ben was balanced on one hand like a runner, trying his best to keep his other hand from shaking as he captured the event on his video camera. The pigs were now so close he could hear the sound of their hooves as they struck the earth. Not only that, but he could smell them. Musky and sharp, the odor somehow cut through the haze of disbelief. Sensing someone beside him, he cocked his head and saw Auggie positioned in much the same manner, camera raised as he waited for the perfect shot. Behind him, Cooper and Ernesto crouched together, watching in silence. Cooper was grinning like a fool while Ernesto studied the drove with his binoculars.

Auggie looked at Ben and nodded. He didn't mind the heat or humidity so much, or the cramps that were forming in his hamstrings, but the mosquitoes were starting to take advantage of this forced inertia, perhaps drawn to his perspiration, and it was beginning to drive him mad. You can do this, he told himself. Look how far you've come already. Don't be the weak link. Just wait a little longer. In a few seconds, they'll be just close enough for a clear shot, and it will be worth every bit of the discomfort. The pigs were moving even closer now, and in the back were a few piglets, struggling to suckle as the sows moved about. Oh, wow, thought Auggie. A mother and her little ones. This will make an amazing photo, like something from National Geographic.

Shifting his weight to the opposite knee, he took care not to make a sound as he repositioned himself. Through his hiking pants, he could feel the cool moisture of the mud and fallen leaves. Sucking in a breath, he pressed the POWER button and the lens whirred softly as it extended from the body of the camera. The pigs did not seem to notice, and Auggie released the breath slowly. Cocking his head slightly, he brought the viewfinder to his right eye while squinting the left, and the pigs leapt into view as he sharpened the focus. The mosquitoes continued to buzz around him, now mostly forgotten. Steady, steady. As two of the piglets trotted to nuzzle up to the mother pig, Auggie snapped a series of photos, capturing the animals in various poses.

At practically the same moment, the leaves whispered with the laziest of breezes, and the pigs, perhaps smelling the presence of the four men, raised their heads. Alarmed, they began to rub their tusks together, creating a hollow rapping, like a fast-moving spin drum. Plunging headlong into the underbrush, the drove disappeared amidst a clatter of stamping hooves and banging tusks.

Ben sprang to his feet. "That was amazing!"

"You should see my pictures," Auggie said, rising beside him. His face was dotted with perspiration and his smile was all teeth.

Whooping with joy, Cooper dashed over to join them. "Holy shit! Did you guys see that?" Stumbling over a root, he fell to the soggy ground and was instantly up again, laughing as he wiped his filthy hands on the side of his pants. He was still laughing when he reached them.

Auggie was reviewing his pictures so the others could see. Manipulating the camera's features, he magnified the unsuspecting pigs on his viewing screen. "Check this one out."

Here was a sow in mid-step as she crossed the path, her little ones clustered around her hindquarters. The piglets' fuzzy heads were raised affectionately toward their mother's sagging belly as they nursed. Mother's head was angled slightly, and the small eyes seemed to look directly into the camera with a heightened awareness, as though she knew she was being watched.

"That," exclaimed Cooper, "is fucking awesome!"

Auggie beamed with pride.

Ernesto came over and stood dutifully a few feet away. Ben waved him over. "Ernesto, come see." Ernesto's thin lips turned slightly up at the corners; though his expression revealed little, he was delighted to be included in their joyful moment. Auggie angled the screen toward him and Ernesto nodded appreciatively. "Is very good picture, Aw-gee. You see the baby pigs. They stay for to feed from the mother, uh-huh."

Cooper pointed at the screen over Ernesto's shoulder. "And what are those? Are those teeth?"

"Those are the tusks," Ernesto said. "You hear the sound when they bang the tusks for to warn the danger."

Ben was using his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow. "Are they dangerous?"

Ernesto smiled a little, hesitating. "Mmm..."

"Really? Could they kill you?"

"Yes," he answered matter-of-factly. "If they attack many at a time, they can be dangerous. But they running away because they are very shy."

"How did they know we were there?"

Ernesto made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Maybe the wind."

"Oh, they smelled us?" asked Ben.

Ernesto nodded. "Yes."

Cooper chuckled. "I could sure smell them."

"What would you do if they ran at you?"

Ernesto chuckled quietly. "I would run. Maybe climb the tree, uh-huh."

The boys looked at one another and the humor of the moment washed over them. The pigs were gone. With the tramping of trotters and the rattle of tusks they had fled, leaving behind them little piles of droppings and clumps of overturned earth. The danger had passed, and they could laugh about it now.

"Come," said Ernesto. "We go further down the path?"

The boys did not question this simple request, nor did they ask where they were going. They were exhilarated by the experience and by the thought of death averted.

They hiked deeper into the jungle, stopping here and there to take photographs and video clips as Ernesto identified the new and interesting features of the flora and fauna. That was the best part about the rainforest; everything was new to them, and therefore, everything was interesting. An hour passed, maybe more. It was difficult to tell how long, for time had lost all meaning for them. They walked in silence, mesmerized by the sights and sounds, expressing their thoughts and emotions with raised eyebrows, a pointed finger, a furtive smile. This self-imposed isolationism was disturbing at the onset, a harsh disconnect from the everyday world of constant communication, but soon the strangeness wore off and the silence became a welcome deviation from the norm, just like everything else they had experienced there. Even Auggie found himself living almost entirely within the moment, paying little mind to the past or the future. It was a liberating feeling, one that left him wondering how this trip might change him for the better.

They heard the little bird before they saw it. Its cries shattered the stillness, a piercing wolf-whistle that echoed on and on through the treetops.

WOOOT!-wooooh!

Cooper laughed delightedly. "What on earth is that?"

"This is Screaming Piha," Ernesto explained. "Is very nice bird. One of the loudest birds in the world, uh-huh. Let's see if we can find."

With their ears as their guide, they walked for several more minutes before Ernesto stopped and raised his binoculars. The bird let out another blast of sound, and Ernesto pointed to the lower limbs of a thin copse of trees. "You see?"

The boys searched the trees. High above them, the canopy was a roof that blotted out the sun, and the foliage was a curtain that kept its secrets hidden. After a minute or two, they looked at one another and shrugged. Ernesto had anticipated this. Placing two fingers in his mouth, he produced a high, piercing whistle. Though he could not quite match the volume and the intensity of the Screaming Piha, the mimicry was uncanny.

Almost immediately, the amorous bird replied with a series of long blasts: WOOOT!-wooooh! WOOOT!-wooooh! WOOOT!-wooooh!

"That's amazing," Auggie uttered in disbelief. "It actually answered you!"

Ernesto removed his binoculars and passed them to Auggie, who happened to be standing beside him, eagerly waiting for a photo opportunity.

Auggie lifted the binoculars, scanning the trees until he spotted his quarry. The unassuming bird was small and plump, with a whitish underside and a spiky crest. It sat quietly for several seconds before its head jacked back and its beak opened wide to reveal the bright orange interior of its gullet. Magically, the now-familiar voice spilled forth from that tiny maw, now extraordinarily loud due to their close proximity.

WOOOT!-WOOOOOOOH!

"Hey, Auggie-dog," Cooper said, "I think it likes you."

Studying the bird for a few more seconds, Auggie passed the binoculars over to Cooper. Ben was busy filming, and Auggie wanted to capture a few stills, perhaps even a short video clip of his own. The boys passed around the binoculars until they completed the circuit in Ernesto's hands.

Ernesto raised the binoculars to take one last look at the Screaming Piha. "Is very nice bird," Ernesto repeated. He lowered the binoculars and looked at each of the boys in turn; their faces glistened in the gloom, and their clothes were wrinkled and stained dark with perspiration. "We should head back to the research center," suggested Ernesto. "Soon will be dinner."

Guzzling water from their bottles, the three boys looked at one another, mouths open, panting in the heat. The mention of food reminded them of a hunger they had long forgotten. Silently, they turned and headed back the way they had come, each of them satisfied with the course of the day. Their stay at the research center had barely begun, and already they had seen and experienced so many extraordinary things. Now they were returning to their remote outpost, eager to see what wonders the jungle might reveal to them on the way back to their new home.
Thirteen

"Come see?"

The boys stepped tentatively over the carpet of leaves, their headlights creating puddles of light to help guide the way. The humidity was somehow worse at night, and their clothes stuck to their bodies like wetsuits. Their discomfort was exacerbated by the oily insect repellent and the long-sleeved shirts they now donned to protect their exposed flesh from the relentless mosquitoes and sand flies. Feeling a tickle on the back of his neck, Auggie released an unintentional gasp. There was the slap of hand against flesh as Auggie's fingers explored that vulnerable spot, fearful of what he might find. A blinding circle of light illuminated his narrow, frightened face.

A few hours earlier they had hiked a network of trails that surrounded the research center. They had spotted a troop of adorable little monkeys (squirrel monkeys, as Ernesto called them), a plump white bird with a black-crested head that scurried along the ground like a turkey, and a few brightly colored macaws. They had also seen a variety of insects: leaf-cutter ants, bullet ants, and, most memorably, a nasty-looking creature that Ernesto said was some sort of venomous centipede.

Auggie had taken dozens of photos, Ben had filmed several video segments, and Cooper had marveled at everything with the enthusiasm of a child. After, they had returned, briny with sweat and caked in dirt, just in time to meet up with the girls for a late lunch of rice, beef empanadas, and fresh fruit from the jungle. Everything had run like clockwork; everything had gone smoothly. They had even made tentative plans to meet up with the girls again that evening. But then Ernesto had suggested to the boys that they take a short hike before dinner, and the lure of yet another adventure pulled them right back into the jungle.

Only, this was different.

By daylight, the jungle was a fragile wonder, full of colors and sounds that could usually be traced to their creators. On the other hand, the nighttime jungle possessed an ominous tone. Now the dazzling colors were gone, swallowed up by hungry shadows, and every sound was magnified tenfold, as though trying to warn them, the human intruders, away. At the lodge, there was at least the illusion of safety, where the friends were surrounded by humans who could assist in the event of an emergency, but here at the research center, it seemed far more likely that predators held dominion over this part of the land, and the possibility of help seemed a distant hope at best.

"Are you okay?" Ben's voice floated out from beneath his headlamp.

"Yeah," Auggie said, after a moment. "I thought I felt a bug or something."

"Turn around."

Auggie felt Ben's hand pulling on his collar, sending little shivers up and down Auggie's spine. Ben brushed a hand across the back of Auggie's neck. "You're good," Ben said reassuringly. "Just a leaf."

Auggie felt his muscles relax. He looked at Ben and nodded appreciatively. "Thanks."

Ernesto brushed aside some branches and pushed his head inside the opening. A moment later his head reappeared. "Come see?" Ernesto repeated in a soft voice, parting the branches so that the boys could see inside.

The boys gathered around him, and their headlamps revealed a large brown spider sitting on a fan-shaped leaf. Its eyes glowed amber in the bright LEDs. Auggie leaned in, raising his camera to his eyes. On the display screen, the spider went through all the gradations of a fuzzy blob to extreme clarity. He snapped a picture, moved in closer for a better angle. "Do you know what kind of spider this is, Ernesto?"

Ernesto nodded. "Uh-huh. This wandering spider."

"Wandering spider?"

"Mmm, yes. This spider, it can be found anywhere. In trees. On ground. All places, you understand?"

Auggie nodded and leaned in closer. The spider appeared blurry on the camera's screen. He made an adjustment to the setting and slid the camera closer, until the lens was a mere three inches from his target. "Is it poisonous?" he asked, snapping off several pictures. Ben was standing just behind him, trying to adjust the zoom on his video camera.

"Yes," Ernesto said calmly. "Is about seventeen times more deadly than a black widow spider, uh-huh."

Auggie tensed visibly. He felt as though someone had just dumped ice water down his back. Cooper and Ben giggled nervously as Auggie slowly backed away.

"Careful, Auggie-dog," giggled Cooper.

"So, what you're saying is that pretty much everything out here is poisonous," Ben said.

Ernesto grinned. "Mmm. Many things, yes. But not all are deadly."

"What about snakes?" asked Cooper. "What kinds of snakes are there?"

"There are coral snakes. They are very deadly. Some snakes are not poisonous."

Auggie was eyeing the spider suspiciously. Feeling another tingle on his neck, he immediately inspected the spot with his hand. There was something there, on his neck. Cold panic gripped him. Crushing the mystery object between his fingers, he flung it to the ground. No, not a spider, just a leaf. Auggie shivered in relief. "But you must carry the antivenom with you, right?"

"No."

The day's color drained from Auggie's face. "What if someone gets bitten?" His voice was loud, shrill in its fear. Beneath the surface lay the bitter anger of his insinuation.

Ernesto looked at him calmly. "We have the antivenom at the research center."

Ben wondered what would happen if Ernesto was on the receiving end of such a bite. How would they ever find their way back to the research center without him?

But Auggie heaved a sigh of relief. "What about anacondas?"

Cooper interjected. "What about the bushmaster, like the head we saw in the museum?"

"Mmm. Anacondas are rare around here. They are very shy. They like the lakes and the ponds, deeper the water, uh-huh. But the shushupe, the bushmaster, is very scary. I have not to see one in the jungle."

"Shit," breathed Cooper. "If they scare you, I'm fucking terrified."

The three boys looked at one another and nodded in earnest, each one imagining the terrible presence of the bushmaster, the hypodermic bite of its backward curving fangs, the cold indifference of its reptilian eyes—a fearsome predator whose very name placed it firmly atop the hierarchy of the jungle's deadliest creatures.
Fourteen

The man with the pinched brown face and missing front teeth collected his cards from the wooden table and began to arrange them in his callused hands. Sunlight slanted in through the open doorway of the two-storey bungalow, illuminating the flies that spun dizzying circles in its amber beams. The men were playing Golpeado, a local version of rummy. Stumpy fingers shifted the cards back and forth and two bushy eyebrows knitted with the effort of trying to read the cards in the ruddy light. At last, the man's black eyes sparkled as the meld began to reveal itself, and he knew that he was "going rummy." He was fifty-three years old and his mop of hair was thick and black, with not a hint of gray or silver. This was Felix, the oldest of the river boat guides.

Grinning at last, he laid the rummy meld down on the table for the others to see. With a collective groan, the other two men tossed their cards down in disgust. Like Ernesto, Felix was a born member of the Ese Eja tribe and had grown up on the banks of the Amazon. Though the other guides sometimes teased him about his advanced age, they also respected him, and his word was gospel among the young men who sought a better life through the tourist trade. Felix's fellow players, Felipe and Oscar, were brothers. The boy with the toffee-colored complexion, Felipe, was the elder at twenty-five and already had a wife and two children. At just over six feet tall and rippling with lean muscle, he seemed, at first, an imposing figure, though those close to him knew him as an affable person with a penchant for playing practical jokes. Three years his junior, Oscar shared neither his brother's physique nor his good looks. He was a squat, apelike man with a lazy eye and a large mole on his right cheek, from which there spouted several wiry hairs. Neighborhood bullies had flattened his nose when he was just a boy, and in the onset of adulthood, it gave him the appearance of a brawler. Oscar seldom spoke, and everyone, including his own brother, suspected that he had been born a bit slow.

Felix laughed and collected his winnings: a pack of cigarettes and a little more than twelve Peruvian nuevos soles. Looking across the table, Felix opened the new pack of cigarettes, making a point to sniff the fresh tobacco just to rub it in. The younger men watched with sad, brown eyes; grumpy with indignation. Felipe muttered something obscene, and Felix laughed. He pulled a few cigarettes from the pack, holding them up as a kind of peace offering, and then pushed them across the table. Felipe and Oscar's faces broke into sudden joyful smiles. "Gracias, gracias!"

Felix nodded, getting up from the table. "I'm going for a walk," he told them. "I will see if I can be equally lucky with a fishing pole. Would anyone like to come?" The two boys looked at him through a cloud of smoke and shook their heads in unison. Felix shrugged. He left the soles on the table; they were good boys, and he trusted that the money would still be there upon his return. Grabbing a beer from a cooler and stuffing it into his pocket, he walked outside into the sunset and headed down the rutted path to the water.

By the river was a small dock with two canoes and a peki-peki. Off to one side was a small storage shed. Felix lifted the latch and removed his favorite fishing pole, a simple affair he'd fashioned himself, which consisted of little more than a bamboo rod, a rusted reel, and some string. Next, he lifted out a plastic tackle box. After many years beneath the glare of the equatorial sun, the once-vibrant aquamarine had long since dulled to gray. He supposed, in a strange way, the tackle box reminded him of himself: old and worn, yet fully able to serve its function.

Felix opened the tackle box and hunched over to inspect its contents, eyes straining in the twilight. Inside were all the various tools of his favorite pastime: a variety of homemade weights, hooks, flies, and lures made of rubber, wood, and metal. Though the once-gleaming barbs of the hooks had since dulled with oxidation, a few of the lures retained the glamour of their former glory; bright splashes of red, green, and blue. Felix picked up a medium-sized lure—similar in size and shape to the bowl of a serving spoon. The lure, which was painted a loud, unnatural green, was adorned with a few small, brightly colored feathers that helped to give the little fish the appearance of having a tail and also acted as a stabilizer in the water.

Turning the lure in the light, he examined it for defects. This was his favorite and most reliable lure, and it conjured up his crowning achievement as a fisherman: the memory of the time he once landed a massive pirarucu. Better known to the foreigners as arapaima, the fish was more than six feet long from nose to tail and had weighed well over two hundred pounds. Felix had been a younger man back then, and still packed with the hard muscles of youth, yet it had taken well over an hour before he was able to land his mighty prize. In the end, it was worth the effort; he had triumphantly returned to the village with his trophy, and those who were present still spoke about it from time to time. The story usually began with Did you ever hear the story about the giant pirarucu that Felix caught? It was the largest one I ever saw, bigger than any man in the village. Big enough to swallow a child...

Felix's fishing glory had taken place long before the waterways became polluted, before the river was wrought with sport fishermen who were too unskilled to use handmade lures on the more elusive fish. In those days, the giant fish were still seen with some level of frequency, and it was always a wonder to cast one's line or net into the river and await what luck or fate might bring you. That was part of any fisherman's attraction to the sport—that sense of mystery, that climactic moment just before some unknown thing from down there was wrestled to the surface for human eyes to behold. Of course, for the local indigenous people, nourishment was always a priority. Nowadays, one was lucky to catch something that was even big enough to eat, maybe a bass or a catfish, let alone one of the giants. Were there still monster fish out there? Felix thought so, though their population was steadily depleting. Much like the jaguar and the puma, the river giants had pushed farther into the jungle to seek safety from the humans who hunted them. Felix doubted he'd catch one such fish on this evening, but one could always hope.

Well, something was better than nothing. One species that he was still able to catch with some regularity on this stretch of river was the pacu, a strange fish with flat, humanlike teeth, which were used for eating nuts that dropped into the water. Though not as tender as the piraracu, the pacu was still very tasty when pan-fried. Maybe tonight the spirits would bless him with good fishing. He fluffed up the feathers a bit and then added a little clump of brown stuff to the hook. The brown stuff was a mixture of saliva, ground Brazil nuts and seeds, combined with a little bit of fish oil—his secret weapon against the pacu.

After stringing up the lure, Felix brought the rod and tackle box onto the dock. He flicked his wrist and the line shot out. With a small plop, the bobber breached the surface ten or so yards away and then popped back up to be carried another twenty yards downstream in the swirling current. Satisfied with his cast, Felix pulled the bottle of beer from his pocket, twisted off the cap, and drank. The sun crouched low on the horizon, and the river was a dark mirror. In the reflection, he had to squint to see the bobber, which created its own little wake on the surface. He had almost finished his beer when he caught a glimpse of a dugout canoe drifting toward him from the upstream bend of the river. He squinted into the gloom, trying to see if he could recognize the boat by its design, but his eyes were not what they used to be, and anyway, he was content with waiting. Lighting a cigarette, he leaned back on his arms, letting his feet dip into the brown water.

A few moments later, the canoe careened toward the shore, butted a log protruding from the shallow water, and continued its slow drift. Now curious, Felix grunted as he rose, puffing on his cigarette. Though it was still more than fifty yards from him, it was now clear that the craft was empty. It bumped off a few branches and became ensnared by some overhanging bushes, and Felix was forced to get in his own canoe to investigate.

As he paddled upstream to the trapped canoe, the thought crossed his mind that he should tell one of the other river boat drivers where he was going. But the canoe was so close to where he was sitting, it seemed an unnecessary inconvenience to walk back to the guides' lodge to report such a mundane find.

He pulled his canoe alongside the empty one. As he suspected, it was abandoned. On the floor lay a rusty machete, some clothes, and a small tackle box with the lid open, full of fishing lures. Felix looked for water inside the canoe—a sure sign that the passenger or passengers had fallen overboard—but there was none. Then he noticed something strange about the tackle box. Leaning over, he used his paddle to slide the tackle box closer to him. When it was within reach, he lifted the box up onto his knees.

A few flies were buzzing around one of the little compartments and he waved them away. Inside he found a variety of lures of all shapes, sizes, and colors, but one in particular stood out among the rest. It was a hideous-looking thing: red and brown, with a long, dark streamer spilling off one end. Squinting, he picked up the lure and examined it in the fading light, turning it around and around in his callused hands. The lure seemed to be constructed of some type of organic material. It was soft; it was pliant; it was sticky and wet.

"Qué es esto?" he wondered out loud, baffled by the peculiar craftsmanship. What is this?

With a cry of disgust, he dropped the lure into the river, and watched it disappear into the murky depths.

For it was not a lure at all, but a knot of coarse black hair.

Human hair.

It was still attached to a chunk of the brown scalp from which it had been taken.
Fifteen

Back at the research center, the five Americans sat in the dining hall, sipping bottles of Cusqueña, a popular local lager, as they watched Auggie and Brooke compete against one another in a fierce game of chess. The two were evenly matched, and Auggie relished the challenge. Utterly absorbed in the game, he ignored the hum of conversation around him, focusing his mind for a singular purpose, until there was nothing else but him, the mathematical perfection of the board, and his opponent.

Cooper, Janie, and Ben chatted amiably in the background. Then Cooper began to serenade Janie, and momentarily they were all laughing. Auggie barely noticed them as he planned his next move. Tilting his head back to take a sip of his beer, Ben watched him from the corner of his eye. Auggie was having a good time, and Ben felt unburdened and grateful for it.

The festive atmosphere of the lodge seemed worlds away. Gone were the clinking glasses, the stuffy men in their designer gear, and the women with their perfect tans, arms twinkling with gold and silver bracelets. The lodge was great, a sanctuary amid the chaos of an untamed land. Had he never traveled to the research center, Ben would have returned home absolutely thrilled by the experience. Yet looking back, Ben felt as though a veil had been lifted; it all seemed so pretentious now. Yes, the jungle lodge was a paradise, but it was a fool's paradise, a place for people who liked the idea of adventure, without the effort and sweat and potential danger that went along with a true adventure. The research center, on the other hand, was the real deal. No crowds. No little kids running around. No Wi-Fi. No obnoxiously noisy generator—in fact, no generator at all. Here they had discovered the true jungle vibe, the simplicity of living moment to moment, the untainted rhythm of life.

After a buffet dinner consisting of chicken, yellow rice, potatoes, and fresh fruit, they gathered at the bar for a few celebratory drinks. Two older couples were there, along with three or four others who did not seem to speak English and kept mostly to themselves. They chatted with the German couple for a little while, recounting their morning at the clay lick. The Germans were friendly people, apparently on their honeymoon, and they were eager to practice their English. Now the jungle song was in full swing, and the night was winding down. Between laughter and stifled yawns, the Americans decided to call it a night.

Arriving at the lounge area, Ben, Auggie, and Cooper bid Janie and Brooke good night, agreeing once again to meet up the following day.

Their first full day at the research center had come to an end.

***

At some point after midnight, Auggie twisted awake from an uncomfortable sleep. His bladder was full, and he'd put it off for as long as he could. Grabbing his headlamp, he climbed out from under the bug net, shining his light first on Cooper and then Ben, hoping that perhaps one of them needed to use the bathroom too, so he would at least have someone to accompany him there. But the other two boys were fast asleep, sprawled out on their beds and breathing evenly in their dreaming.

No big deal, Auggie told himself. Nevertheless, he slipped on his hiking shoes, not even considering the option of bare feet in the dark.

Out through the curtain, he focused the headlamp beam on the wooden floor. He turned out of the room, conscious of the groaning of the floorboards beneath his weight, a sound that was magnified by the night's tranquility. A little ways down the hallway, he passed several rooms, silent at this hour. Presently he arrived at the long stretch of open walkway where he could see the darkness of the jungle on both sides and the moonlit sky overhead. He paused for a few seconds to consider the vastness of space, but a rustling beneath the walkway got him moving again.

Some impulse made him feel the need to touch something, to anchor himself to something solid, and he placed his hand on top of the wooden railing, sliding his palm across it as he walked. The smoothness of the wood beneath his fingers helped to calm him. Slowly he relaxed.

He was almost at the turn when something bit his finger. Pulling his hand back in revulsion, he looked down and saw a thin splinter jutting up from the handrail. Examining his finger, he saw a dark bead of blood forming in the place where the sliver of wood had jabbed him.

"Ouch," he squeaked, and cursed under his breath. There was a splash of heat on the back of his neck and he jerked his head around, slightly embarrassed, suddenly sure that someone had been standing there to witness his wimpy reaction. But no one was there; it was the middle of the night, after all. For once, he was happy to be alone. Sucking on the wounded index finger, he continued on.

Could've been worse... Could've been a spider...

The wandering spider, he recalled Ernesto telling them earlier, could be found just about anywhere. Auggie was still thinking about this as he arrived at the yawning entrance of the bathroom corridor. He caught a glimpse of movement and stopped, peering into the darkness. Billowing out from the doorways, the long curtains fluttered madly, creating a shifting gauntlet in the center of the corridor.

...The silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain thrilled him, filled him with fantastic terrors never felt before...

He stepped back from the entrance, shivering at this half-remembered line from Poe. The thought entered his mind to turn back (he could always try to hold it until morning), but a sudden contraction of his bladder suggested he had better let nature take its course, and fast.

Screw it!

Ducking under the nearest curtain, he shuffled over to the toilet, struggling to get his pants unbuttoned before he pissed himself. Pushing his boxer shorts out of the way, he made it just in time. Taking in a deep breath, he tilted his head back and sighed in relief.

His business now complete, Auggie backtracked to the room, feeling strangely satisfied with himself at this small act of bravery. He was treading carefully, trying hard not to make too much noise, when he was once again overtaken by the sensation that he was being watched. Someone or something was on the walkway with him, stalking him from behind.

It's nothing, he assured himself. Just your imagination. Still, he could not shake that sensation of eyes watching him, waiting. The thought of it made him shiver, and he began to walk a little faster.

Turn around, then. Prove to yourself that there's nothing there.

Auggie thought his inner voice was probably right, but he certainly wasn't going to turn around and test the theory. Besides, what if there was something out there? What if it wanted him to turn around?

No, I'm not going to turn around. And you know why? Because there's nothing there. I don't have to prove—

A loud roar shattered the night. Auggie jumped out of his skin. Just the wind, he told himself, but when he looked at the jungle, the trees were barely moving at all. Mind racing, he broke into an all-out run, no longer concerned about the groaning floorboards, or what someone might think of his hasty retreat.

He had just entered the dark corridor where the guest quarters were located when the hair-raising cry returned. Running faster, he burst through the curtain and into his room.

"Holy shit!" Cooper hissed, holding one hand over his heart. "You scared the hell out of me. Where'd you go?"

Auggie shined his light to reveal Cooper and Ben standing at the railing. Ben had his video camera out, and Auggie could see the glowing red dot that indicated the RECORD function.

"You guys heard it, too?" he asked between breaths. As he stepped into the room, he caught a glimpse of their faces. They were excited and scared and loving every second of it.

Ben grabbed Auggie by the arm and pulled him to the railing. "Shine your light out there."

Auggie turned his head to and fro, but even the high-output LEDs of the headlamp could do little to cut the darkness. As the light flashed back and forth across the foliage, the low growl reverberated through the trees, much closer than before. Auggie fumbled at the headlamp, his fingers finally finding the power button. He pressed it, and the jungle disappeared in a wall of black.

"What the fuck is it?" Ben whispered, his voice full of wonder. He turned the video camera on his friends, who were vague shapes in the moonlight.

Cooper spoke with confidence. "It sounds like Bigfoot."

"How the fuck would you know what Bigfoot sounds like?"

A pause. "I saw a documentary about him on the Discovery Channel."

Ben snickered a little. "Well, that explains it then."

"What? You don't believe me? I'm telling you, it's a motherfucking Bigfeet—"

Cooper's unintentional mispronunciation made them forget their fear. Leaning against the railing, Ben put his head against his forearms and laughed so hard that he nearly doubled over. Even as some nearby trees shook with movement, and the throaty howl grew nearer, he could not stop laughing.

"I think I know what it is..." Auggie said at last.

"Yeah," Ben said, his eyes shining mischievously. "A Bigfeet."

"Fuck you," Cooper said, playfully. "You know what I meant."

"No, I think that's a howler monkey."

Ben turned the camera on Auggie. "Are you sure, Professor?"

Cooper gazed into the darkness beneath the trees. "Are you kidding me? That's a monkey? It sounds like King-fucking-Kong out there."

"No, I'm not sure. But I think that's a howler monkey, and that sound is like a defense mechanism."

"Well," said Ben. "That solves that. I'm going back to bed." With that, he powered down the camera.

"Me, too."

A snicker. "Me, three."

One by one, they retreated to their separate beds. There was the rustle of movement and the squeaking of bed springs as they settled in again. There was a period of tranquility, broken only by the gusts of the howler monkey.

"Bigfeet," Ben whispered in a mocking tone, and then the three boys found themselves howling as well.
Sixteen

Far from the research center, it squatted in the muddy shallows, its long neck stretching out over the water as though scouring the river in search of prey. The gold-dredging machine sat perched atop its floating platform, a small crane extending outward at a forty-five degree angle, giving it the appearance of a head that rested at the end of an elongated cervix. After the neck there came the irregularity of the many gears, crankshafts, pulleys, and three drums of fuel, all of which gave the vague impression of a segmented, humped body. At the opposite end of the platform was the angular ramp that housed the dredger's conveyor belt. The ramp sloped downward, almost to the surface of the water, thus completing the image of some prehistoric monstrosity by offering the suggestion of a long, flat tail.

A haphazard collection of scrap wood and metal, the dredger haunted the river's edge, scaring away most of the animals that relied upon the river as a source of food and drink—a manmade monster where nothing manmade belonged at all. The smell of grease and diesel, combined with the otherworldly stillness of the object, were enough to keep the nocturnal animals on alert, and so they gave a wide berth to the beast that guarded the river, moored as it was to the nearby shore. Somewhere close by, a fish breached the surface and disappeared again with a small plop, and still the mechanical monster sat brooding while the forest creatures watched it from afar.

Only the insects seemed undaunted by the river god.

On the floor of the platform was a simple wooden bowl that contained some type of foodstuff, what appeared to be bits of meat and vegetables in a thin, reddish liquid, perhaps a kind of stew. The bottom of the bowl was alive with the movement of maggots, their white bodies twisting and squirming in the pallid light, and a few stray flies hovered protectively above the rim, spinning round and round, as though unable to stop their dizzying inertia.

There was plenty of room for more flies to join their brethren, but the others had recently discovered a far greater feast several yards away, just beyond the riverbank. There, at the end of a drag-trail and just inside the tree-line, lay the prospector's body.

Gazing up at the coldness of space, two wide, unblinking eyes conveyed the eternal horror of the gold prospector's demise, an unmitigated mix of terror combined with the dim hint of awareness, perhaps even resignation, as though whatever he had glimpsed in those final moments was far more terrifying than death itself.

As the stars spread across the sky, the putrefaction of the body invited more and more flies. Soon the strange death-dance ended, and the flies began to light upon the dead man's face until it too became a shapeless void, a swirling universe of things that glittered and shone.

Rotting away beneath a nondescript T-shirt and a pair of threadbare, grease-spattered shorts, the prospector's hands were gnarled and callused, the fingernails still packed with the grease of a hard day's work. Two of the fingers jerked suddenly, as though pulled by an invisible string. The flies hummed louder in their agitation, tracing mad circles in the air, spinning round and round above the body.

Even as the fingers began to twitch with defective life, it was only enough to momentarily disperse the flies before they returned once more to feed on the living corpse.
Seventeen

The four stilted huts stood in a solemn circle, cradled in shadow and facing one another warily, like strangers in the dark. The screen door of the check-in hut was slightly ajar, its timeworn spring no longer strong enough to keep it shut. A sudden breath of wind pushed through the moonlit clearing, the rusty spring groaned, and the door opened and closed, opened and closed. The tall grass whipped about as though stirred by an invisible hand. On occasion, circular patterns emerged, miniature crop circles witnessed by none before the wind sucked back and obliterated any trace of a design. As the wind gathered strength, the door winged open, stretching its aged spring to its breaking point before the current changed direction and the door snapped shut with a loud report.

Inside the checkpoint hut, a tattered notebook rested upon a wooden desk, filled with the signatures of wildlife photographers, sport fishermen, bird watchers, new-age hippies, wannabe explorers, bored baby boomers, and lost souls from around the globe. The wind seemed intent on taking possession of this written chronicle, riffling through the pages like an invisible hand.

Outside, three mice scurried through the tall grass that grew amidst the huts. One of them came upon a bit of food, a tiny morsel left behind by some hungry human. It paused, nose twitching as it sniffed the air. No humans were present at the moment. They had come and gone during the bright, sunny hours, tracking their scent around the hilltop and inside the mysterious structures. This was their way, it seemed. The humans visited regularly, occasionally leaving behind a few small treats, but then, thankfully, they moved on. Tiny eyes watching for other potential threats, the mouse took up the crumb in its tiny paws and quickly shoved it inside its mouth before the other mice could see his good fortune. Then the door banged shut again, and the startled mouse took flight across the clearing and disappeared into the grass from whence it came.

Overhead, the sky was a black field littered with stars that seemed to weep for their own demise, a thousand pinpricks of light that died eons before the first bipedal creature ever set his eyes upon them. The tremulous voices of the crickets and tree frogs were softer than usual, subdued by the humidity and the instinctive awareness of a coming storm.

Inside the museum, dust motes and insects danced in the moonlight that diffused through the window screens, and the great caiman skull stared across the empty space at the rows of animals in their glass coffins. As the moon rolled across the heavens, a wedge of light fell upon the skull's massive brow, sliding slowly down the length of its tapered snout. All at once its hollow eyes seemed to blink open, and it appeared to grin with a kind of savage amusement, as if at a secret only the dead could know.
Eighteen

Deep in the unknown heart of the jungle, both predators and prey had grown ominously quiet. From some distant part of the rainforest, a bird uttered a lonely cry that echoed beneath the trees, bouncing around the canopy before slowly fading into oblivion. Not even the trees stirred, as if they too had been frightened into stillness.

Four dark figures slid stealthily through the underbrush. Their shadows glided with a swiftness limited only to animals well adapted to their surroundings. Here and there the canopy allowed pencil beams of moonlight to filter through. As the pearly light flickered across their bodies, the figures appeared as humans, walking upright in single file through the steamy night. Their bodies were crisscrossed with scars and open wounds that festered unattended, and their teeth were stained red with the blood of a fresh kill.

As a light rain began to fall, the foremost creature stopped to scent the wind, and the others fell in line obediently and began to do the same. Four mangled heads turned skyward, their faces no longer recognizable beneath the gaping wounds and calcified protrusions that sprouted from their heads like malformed horns. The one in front was significantly bigger than the others, roughly six feet in height and rippling with thickly packed muscle. This was their soldier and the alpha of the group, partly due to his strength and stature, and partly because it was he who had created the others in his own image.

The soldier and his progeny tasted the air in search of prey, basing the hunt on an instinct they knew nothing of.

A moment later, there was a rustle behind the cordon, and the straggler pried himself loose of the brier, still dressed in the remnants of clothing stained dark by his own dripping blood. Thin legs wobbling, he was slower than the others, for he had not yet evolved like them. There was a muffled grinding sound as his jaws ratcheted open and then snapped shut with such force that his molars shattered, the tiny pieces crumbling away into dust. Still the jaws worked tirelessly, wearing the teeth down to jagged little nubs.

Alert to his otherness, they waited patiently for him to turn. Instinct made them sympathetic to this, his awkward phase. At last he staggered into line, his face wet and glistening. A patch of hair and scalp had been torn away from the top of his head, and the wound was bleeding profusely and buzzing with hungry insects.

High above the canopy, the clouds shifted rapidly across the sky, and the stars disappeared and reappeared, repeating this celestial magic show until the heavens finally dwindled from gray to black, and the glittering lights faded completely, vanishing as though they would never return again.

Soon they resumed the hunt. Concealed by the perfect darkness, they swept the jungle clear.
Nineteen

They were awake before the sun.

As had become their daily routine, Ernesto came to get them, calling softly outside their curtained room until someone eventually responded. Today it was Auggie who was pulled from the womb of sleep, his bed being the closest to the door. Bleary-eyed, he flipped aside his covers, pulled free the bug net, and parted the curtain. Ernesto was standing in the black hole of the hallway, holding a flashlight that looked tiny even in his small hand.

"Hi," Auggie mumbled, wiping away the grit from his eyes.

"Hello," Ernesto whispered. "You have tirty minutes for to get ready for the clay lick. We will meet at the entrance?"

Down the hall, perhaps two or three rooms away, several people were snoring in chorus. Syncopating the others, one of the snorers was clearly louder than his brethren, almost cartoonish in both volume and vibrato. For some strange reason, the snorer's clumsy oscillation reminded Auggie of the sound a car engine makes when it turns over but refuses to start.

"Okay," Auggie said. "Thanks, Ernesto. I'll wake up the others."

Ernesto nodded and vanished down the length of hallway, the puddle of his flashlight beam wavering before him.

Auggie pulled the curtain back in place and sat down on the edge of his bed. Listening to the early morning birds, he found a book of matches and lit the kerosene lantern on the stand by his bed. Shaking off the remnants of a dream, he reflected on the events of the past few days. He was having a great time, but there was something about the jungle that still mystified him, something he could not quite put his finger on. He was still deep in thought when Ben rolled over with a groan and spoke from behind the ghostly veil of his bug net.

"Hey," he croaked.

"Hey," replied Auggie.

From beneath the net, Ben squinted through the darkness. He could just make out Auggie's thin frame positioned on the bed by the door, the unmistakable shape of his long, boyish face and protruding ears. "What did Ernesto say?"

"We're supposed to meet in thirty minutes at the main entrance."

Ben fell back on his pillow for a few seconds, closing his eyes and reveling in the jungle air, which was fragrant and thick with moisture even at this early hour. It occurred to him that he had never before felt so alive or so connected to the world around him. This, he thought, is how life is supposed to be. Not shirts and ties and taxes—all that other bullshit we deal with on a daily basis. Just this. Why can't life be this simple all the time? After a few more seconds, he sat up with a grunt, pulled aside the net, and began to rummage along the shelves. Using his headlamp as a flashlight, he began to take inventory of his belongings, separating the various pieces of chosen gear: batteries for the video camera, bug repellent, sunscreen, baseball hat, sunglasses, hydration tablets, protein bars, and various articles of ventilated clothing.

Ben spoke over his shoulder. "Hey, did you set the alarm for the pills?"

A dim blue light appeared in the darkness as Auggie fiddled with the watch. "Yeah, I think so." He studied the features for a moment. "It says 'alarm.' I think I set it for seven. Might as well take them now, though."

Ben grunted in agreement as he searched his pack for the container of pills.

From down the hall came a sound that was half-snore, half-growl.

"That fucking guy," said Ben, "kept me up half the night."

"I must've slept right through it."

"Listen to that," Ben grumbled. "I mean, I know I snore sometimes, but that's fucking ridiculous. It was funny at first, but..."

"It's still pretty funny," Auggie said, yawning. "Maybe we can use the vid to get a recording. You know, walk down the hall and do a little bit for our documentary."

Ben looked at him with a sideways grin. "That's pretty fucking funny. Good idea, Auggie-dog. Let's do it. Then we'll come back and get our shit together for the clay lick."

"Should we wake up Cooper?"

Ben opened his mouth to respond but then a voice cut him off.

"Wake up Cooper for what?" Cooper rolled over and looked at them from behind the net. His blond mop was tousled by sleep, plastered against his forehead, and dark with perspiration.

Ben and Auggie conveyed their plan, and Cooper flung himself out of bed with a maniacal cackle.

In the early morning, long before the first colors of daylight brushed the sky, the three Americans tiptoed down the dark corridor to the place where the king of the snorers seemed to dwell. Auggie shined his headlamp on Ben, who started a brief narration before the sound of the snoring reached its crescendo and then came tumbling down into a loose-lipped babble. The boys snorted with their hands covering their mouths. This was followed by a brief cessation, a lull before the snoring regained its rhythm, and then someone—probably the King Snorer himself—punctuated the silence with a loud and boisterous fart that sent the boys fleeing back to their room in fits of laughter.

Auggie gripped his stomach with both hands as tears dribbled down his cheeks.

"Oh, my God!" Cooper exclaimed in a high-pitched voice that only added to the other boys' hysterics. "That was freakin' awesome!"

Ben's shoulders shook with laughter. He was sitting on the bed, already rewinding the video clip to check the quality of the audio.

"I can't hear anything."

"Turn it up louder."

Ben did. Auggie and Cooper crowded round him, grinning in anticipation, and when the fart squeaked out the video camera's speakers, all three boys exploded into uncontrollable giggles.

Cooper sat down on the floor, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Don't play it again," he drooled, pausing for air. "I can't take it anymore."

The boys sat and listened to the audio several more times, and it seemed to only become more humorous with each repeat performance. Finally regaining their composure, Ben passed around Malarone tablets and a bottle of water, and each boy took his dose in turn.

By general consent, they decided there was not much use in changing into fresh clothes, which were already in short supply. In spite of the eternal humidity, each boy had gone to bed wearing hiking pants and a long-sleeved shirt, which seemed the appropriate attire to keep the insects at bay during the trek to the clay lick. They gathered a few belongings inside Ben's pack and started toward the main entrance, stopping on the way to refill their bottles from a ten-gallon jug of purified water that was just outside their room in a small "recreation" area with a rattan sofa and two rattan chairs, set around a simple wooden coffee table.

Smoothing the hair back from his face, Cooper made farting noises with his tongue as they rounded the corner to the main entrance. He stopped suddenly as he saw the two girls, Janie and Brooke, standing around the entrance with four others, two men and two women. Brooke had not noticed the boys yet. She was standing just beyond the entrance, looking up at the sky. She was wearing camouflage hiking pants, bulky rubber boots, and a dark green, long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. A white paisley bandana covered her hair, giving her a sexy "bad girl" appearance that made the boys look at her as though seeing her for the first time.

In boots, jeans, and a tan explorer shirt, Janie was chatting with one of the couples, a man and woman who looked to be in their fifties. The bearded man's scalp gleamed in their headlight beams, the remainder of his white locks slicked back from his face, tumbling to his collar in wet-looking curls. The woman was naturally beautiful, short and waifish, with a blond pixie hairdo streaked with silver and large glasses that magnified her light blue eyes. Both man and woman were dressed in tan explorer shirts and dark brown pants, giving them the rugged look of true explorers.

Janie looked up at the sound of their approach. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she looked sleepy and beautiful. "Hey!" she exclaimed, perhaps too loudly for the quiet of the morning.

All eyes turned to the three boys. Brooke saw Ben and they exchanged a secret smile.

Janie's lips pressed together in a playful smirk. "What took you bitches so long?"

***

With Ernesto leading the way, the motley group walked carefully through the trees in their knee-high boots, their headlamps pooling on the ground before them. Soon they saw a light and emerged on the riverbank, where an uncharacteristically solemn Felix waited below with the peki-peki. Once down the rickety stairway, they helped one another into the motorized canoe, slipping on their lifejackets and squeezing shoulder to shoulder onto the benches.

Cooper turned to Janie. "Hey, your room wouldn't happen to be a few doors down from ours, would it?" He gave his friends a conspiratorial glance and they began to giggle like children.

Janie lowered her eyebrows. "No. We're on the opposite side of the showers, in the staff area. Why?"

Cooper made a farting sound, and Auggie, who was taking a drink from his Nalgene bottle, shot twin streams of water through his nostrils as he choked on his laughter. This only furthered the humor, and the three boys did their best to contain themselves as Brooke and Janie watched them, smiling uncertainly. The two girls looked at one another and shrugged. Boys will be boys.

"Long story," Ben explained. "Not really, but we'll tell you later."

The clay lick was only a short boat ride upstream from the dock. As the sky opened like a wound, they arrived at a narrow rise of land, a small island perched at the confluence of the main river and one of its many tributaries. As Felix guided the peki-peki to the shore, Ernesto picked up a bulky daypack and turned to the passengers. "Is here, the clay lick."

Ten pairs of booted feet settled into the muddy bank, scaring up a flotilla of green moths that had been concealed in a nearby thicket of grass. After the gear and small folding chairs were unloaded from the peki-peki, Felix shoved off from the shore and pulled away. With a wave of his hand, he spun the bow around and headed back toward the research center, effectively stranding them on the nameless strip of land. Behind him, the wound opened wider along the horizon, and the rising sun spilled its crimson light across the treetops. The two couples plodded on ahead, carrying tripods, folding chairs, and long-range cameras, while the two girls and three boys walked behind with Ernesto, each carrying his or her own folding chair. The path ascended into a dark forest where the trees overlapped, creating a kind of natural tunnel that sloped down through a tiny meadow dotted with flowers. Then they reentered the forest, and the ground rose gradually, enough to make them break into a fresh sweat in the increasing humidity. At last the forest opened to a bare area that overlooked the river from a height of perhaps fifteen feet. Below them, an unnamed tributary of the river meandered slowly, throwing off little ghost-like wisps of vapor, and on the opposite side was a red cliff that rose another thirty feet before terminating in the undergrowth.

"Is the largest clay lick in the world," Ernesto explained with an obvious note of pride. "The birdess come every day and circle to look for predators. When they feel is safe, they makes the noises and then they come down to eat the clay, uh-huh."

Right now, the clay lick was an empty slab, absent of life. Ernesto produced a small propane stove and a titanium tea kettle from his pack and set about the task of boiling water while the foreigners picked their viewing spots and readied their cameras. Besides the bearded man and his wife, who Janie said were from England, there was also a young Dutch couple, a lanky man with an affable smile and his companion, a fair-haired girl who could easily have been mistaken as his sister.

"They're professional photographers," Brooke explained. "They've been here for about two weeks. And the guy with the beard—he's also putting together a documentary for BBC."

The boys nodded, impressed. Auggie looked at his small camera and felt a bit of envy toward the group of professionals. They were arranging their tripods and testing out their telephoto lenses.

"Would you like?" Ernesto said, appearing with the pot of boiling water and a basket full of metal cups and various tea bags. Cooper recognized the telltale green wrapper immediately.

"Coca tea!" he exclaimed. "Ooh, I'll take that one!" The boys each took a cup and a packet of the earthy tea. In the early dawn, they were content to sit and sip their tea as they faced the clay lick, waiting.

Auggie looked over at Ben, who was sitting with his video camera balanced on his lap and staring at the clay lick with that faraway smile; then at Cooper, who was sipping his tea and flirting back and forth with Janie.

Leaning forward, Brooke tapped Auggie on the arm. "You want to look that way at first. You'll hear the birds before you see them. Then they'll start to come in groups. The little green parrots will arrive mostly together, then the blue parrots, followed by the scarlet macaws, the blue-and-yellow macaws, and so on. Not necessarily in that order, of course, but you get the idea."

"Amazing," Auggie breathed softly as the heat rushed into his cheeks. Turning his head, he saw that she was the closest person to him now. Smiling to herself, her eyes were full of wonder as she gazed across at the clay lick. He imagined what it would be like to have a woman look at him that way, with such intense interest, as though he were the most important thing in the world. As his imagination ran away from him, the heat began to spread from his ears down to his neck, and he felt the maddening urge to scratch himself.

All at once the tranquility was broken by a loud, discordant squawking, and the sky exploded with flashes of color. A bright red macaw circled above the clay lick as dozens of his kindred landed in the branches of a tall tree that poked its crown through the roof of the canopy. Soon the branches of the surrounding trees were aflutter with birds of all plumages, their harsh cries echoing up and down the river.

"Oh, look," she said, pointing over his shoulder.

A cluster of green parakeets flew frantically from the left, finding a separate tree on which to stake their claim. Auggie leaned toward Cooper. "This is gonna be great. It's too bad about your camera."

Cooper tapped two fingers against his temple. "It's all up here, my friend."

Ben shot a few stills and recorded a few short clips, though the zoom on his video left something to be desired. At last putting the camera aside to watch in "real time," he silently hoped Auggie was having better luck than he.

Since arriving at the research center, Auggie had begun to show noticeable signs of improvement. It was unlikely that his nervous habits and awkward demeanor would ever disappear completely, but at least he was coming out of his shell a bit. Little by little, he had surrendered himself to the lure of the jungle life, in ways that surprised not only his two friends but Auggie himself. Though he still conducted himself with the utmost caution, never straying far beyond the main grounds and never after dark, there were several occasions when he had ventured out on his own—drenched in insect repellent, and camera in hand—only to reappear an hour or two later, triumphant in his return.

On such occasions, Auggie's face glowed with a newfound vitality as he excitedly recounted his brief adventures and proudly showed off his newest photographs, much to the delight of his friends. Having studied all the facts and figures of the region, Auggie's inquisitive nature was beginning to pay dividends. Not only was he putting his research to good use, but he was finally experiencing it firsthand. For the very first time, he understood that the intellectual mind need not be confined to classrooms, libraries, and lecture halls, for the only true way to study the world was to be a part of it.

Birds arrived from all directions, and soon the vivid reds, blues, greens, and yellows of their bodies dotted the treetops like Christmas decorations. Their agitated cries became hushed, almost conversational, as they surveyed the area for any potential threats. At last there was a series of loud squawks—a battle cry that spread through the treetops—before the various flocks took wing and descended on the clay lick by the hundreds.

"There are so many different ones," Cooper said in a hushed voice.

Ernesto nodded. "Is many different kinds. More than three hundred different species, uh-huh."

Sunshine crept tentatively up the tributary, filling the space between the watchers and the clay lick. Then, as the yellow light touched upon the morning haze, the clay lick came alive. Colorful wings flapped lazily as parrots and macaws and parakeets traded places up and down the red bank, scooping up the clay with their beaks, pausing on occasion to preen themselves. Soon their song became a cheerful note, and an atmosphere of celebration developed among them. Vibrant and carefree, the birds behaved as though they somehow knew that life for them would forever be an endless summer—that time would never rob them of their youthful splendor, and their delicate plumes would never know the bitter chill of winter.

Auggie found that his lens was just sufficient to capture the birds at this distance. Zooming in on a pair of scarlet macaws, he saw how their bright wings shivered convulsively as they fed. Auggie snapped several pictures, checked the images with the preview function, and then focused on a group of green parrots. He smiled delightedly, and suddenly all his fear and apprehension seemed to vanish.

Watching his friend intently, Ben thought about that old cliché, the one about carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Although his was a much smaller burden, it was no less concerning at times. After all, he was the one who had planned this entire trip. Whatever happened—whether the trip turned out to be an utter failure or the thrill of a lifetime—it would fall squarely on him. Of course, Ben had planned the trip, so it appealed to his own sense of adventure. And Cooper was easy; he could practically entertain himself. Auggie, on the other hand, took interest in everything and pleasure in nothing, for he was too cautious to truly enjoy himself. Only now...

At last, Ben breathed a mental sigh of relief.

There was Auggie, smiling with camera raised, totally absorbed in the avian spectacle before him. For the second time in as many days, Ben felt the burden of responsibility ebbing away, leaving him with a light, pleasant feeling. As he contemplated Auggie's happiness, he felt a sense of being watched, and, shifting his gaze slightly, he made eye contact with Brooke. Somehow, he knew that she had been observing him all along, and he had the uncanny feeling that she'd read his every thought. He nodded at her, and she nodded back, and then they smiled knowingly at one another for a long moment. Still smiling, Brooke raised a finger and pointed at the clay lick, and Ben looked at her for another second or two before returning his gaze to the red bank.

The birds went noisily about their business while the humans looked on in quiet wonder.
Twenty

The tree rose up and up, disappearing in the leafy roof of the canopy as if to touch the sky. Its brown trunk was the width of a cottage, the thick buttressed roots snaking out along the jungle floor like the tentacles of some mythical beast. Standing beside the great Ceiba tree with his video camera in hand, Ben felt humbled by its imposing presence.

Brooke gestured to a smaller tree nearby, its trunk tangled with a net of vines. "Look over here for a minute. These are the vines I was telling you about before."

Ben zoomed out to get a shot of the vines. "So this is what they use for malaria?"

"Yeah, I think the native tribes grind it down and boil it in a tea or something. Sometimes they combine it with other plants as part of a spiritual ceremony. But the most amazing thing about it is that the jungle causes the disease but it also provides the cure. Almost everything we need to survive can be found right here... food, medicine, oxygen..." She smiled shyly. "Sorry, I'm rambling. I'll shut up now."

Ben smiled back at her. "No, this is awesome. I like listening to you ramble."

Brooke rolled her eyes. "Okay, but can you put the camera away for a little bit?"

"Consider it done." Ben slipped the video camera inside the dry-bag, first cinching up the top of the bag and then fastening the plastic clips to keep it watertight. "I know I'm really obsessive about this camera thing," he said, putting the dry-bag away inside his backpack, "but I love the idea of putting a little movie together so I can show everyone how amazing this place is."

When he looked up, Brooke was smiling at him.

For several seconds they stood in comfortable silence, admiring one another.

"Up there," Brooke said suddenly. They were already shoulder to shoulder, and now she leaned against him, touching his arm for balance as she aimed a finger straight up toward the vertiginous height of the tree. The unexpected softness of her touch excited him, made him shiver with delight. Perhaps seventy feet above them, a series of branches protruded from the top of the vertical trunk, splayed fingers that reached ever upward. Just beneath the branches was a long wooden box that dangled from a thick length of rope. The rope was looped through a pulley and attached to the trunk at intervals. At the base of the tree was a long coil of slack that was used for lowering the box by releasing the rope through the pulley.

"That's one of the artificial nests. The macaws use it for breeding, and we climb up there to check the health of the chicks."

Ben had to tilt his head all the way back to focus on the wooden nest.

"Wow," he breathed. "You go way up there?"

"Yeah. Janie and I both."

"That's badass," he murmured, wondering if he himself would have the stamina to undertake such a harrowing climb.

She nodded reflectively. "Sometimes we use ascenders to get up there and take a look, but the majority of the time we can lower the nest down to the ground, where we weigh, measure, and take photos of the chicks to make sure they're healthy. If one is unhealthy, we bring it back to the center to see if we can nurse it. When we first got here, we had this baby scarlet macaw—Janie named him Rex because she said he looked like a little dinosaur. He was just this sickly little thing, but we were able to hand feed him until he was strong enough to eat on his own."

As she laughed at the memory, Ben marveled at the way the afternoon shadows accentuated her cheekbones. Again he wondered how her beauty had escaped him on that first night at the lodge. From the first, he'd felt an instant attraction toward Janie—tall, voluptuous Janie, with her dark tresses and bedroom eyes. Brooke had merely been an afterthought, the Plain Jane sidekick with the quick wit and a ready smile. A bit too average, he remembered thinking. But looking at her now—the wet strands of hair poking out from beneath her bandana; the tiny beads of sweat glistening on her chest; those expressive eyes and well-formed lips, always on the verge of smiling—he thought she was the most hauntingly beautiful woman he had ever met. It was amazing how something as simple as conversation, a brief interaction, and the way someone looked at you could change your entire perception of a person.

Suddenly, the humor left her face and her voice became strained. "Now they're building that Interoceanic Highway... did you see the construction when you left the dock back in Puerto?"

Ben nodded. He had a vague recollection of seeing a dozen or so construction vehicles, bulldozers, and other pieces of heavy machinery parked along the dirt road leading from Puerto Malaka to the river dock where Felix had met them in the peki-peki.

"They're destroying so much jungle just to build another goddamned highway, and it's already had a huge impact on the mating habits of the local animals, especially the bird population." Her voice rising higher and higher, Brooke's eyes flared passionately in the telling of her story. Suddenly she paused, took a deep breath, and smiled apologetically. "Sorry," she breathed, the cheerful color returning to her voice. "I was ranting again."

"Don't be sorry," Ben said gently. "Look, I'm not going to pretend I know a lot about this stuff, but I love the outdoors in general, and I love this place. I think it's bullshit that anyone would want to tear it down, especially to build a road that no one even needs..."

"Anyway," Brooke continued, the smile returning, "we got Rex back to health, and he still comes to visit the lodge sometimes, almost, you know, like he's coming to say 'thank you'."

Brooke's fingers were still resting on his arm, and now they moved unconsciously, caressing his bare skin. Ben knew he was staring, but he was unable to look away. Her head was tilted all the way back and she was still focused on the artificial nest. Sunlight filtered down through the canopy, creating a sparkle effect across her face and illuminating the depths of her eyes. After a few seconds, she turned and looked at him. For a time, they simply looked at one another, as if trading an unspoken secret back and forth between them. Ben now saw that her eyes were not entirely green, for they had different depths he had never noticed before, delicate brush strokes of scarlet and tiny flecks of hazel and black, an ever-expanding universe of color. It crossed his mind that he should kiss her now. Her plump, smiling lips beckoned him, practically daring him to make a move. Leaning closer, he saw her mouth begin to open in anticipation. Eyelashes fluttering, she squeezed his arm.

Brooke saw the handsome face move in at last. A pleasant dizziness consumed her, as though she were no longer herself but a character in some romantic movie.

A branch cracked beneath the weight of some unseen creature, and their heads jerked in time toward the sound. There was silence as they scanned the underbrush for the source of the sound.

"What was that?" whispered Ben.

Brooke held up a hand to silence him. Her keen eyes remained fixed on the jungle, moving from trunk to trunk, bush to bush. There was the rustling of leaves and then—

There was no wind, yet ten yards away, a bush shook with movement. Something was lurking there.

Brooke twitched and Ben's back went rigid. Instinctively, he positioned his body in front of her in a protective posture, his hands closing to form tight fists as he prepared himself for anything.

"Shit! They caught us!"

Cooper and Janie popped up from behind the dense thicket where they'd been hiding.

Ben and Brooke looked at one another, relieved and devastated, the romantic moment now shattered before it had even truly begun.

Cooper galloped over and gave Ben a high five. "What's up, man? We thought we'd check out the bird house."

"I love how you always show up on time," Ben said with an obvious note of displeasure.

"Really?" Cooper asked.

"What I mean," Ben said carefully, "is that it's amazing. How you found me. When I was all alone. With Brooke. In the jungle. By ourselves."

"Cool," Cooper nodded, and raised a knowing eyebrow. He gave Janie a look that said I told you so. "Someone was worried you guys wanted to be alone. Well, then, since we're all here, let's get this party started!"

Thrusting his hips to an imaginary beat, Cooper danced his way over to the two girls and began to grind up against them. Erupting into gales of laughter, they pushed him away, only to have him return again, flailing wilder than before. After several seconds of this, he stopped and lifted his sunglasses. "Hey, did you see the size of this fucking tree?"

"Hey, where's Auggie-dog?"

"The Professor?" Cooper said, walking over to the massive trunk. "Hey, that really is a cool fucking tree." Running his fingers along the smooth bark, he said over his shoulder, "I think he said he was going for a walk to take some pictures. He said something about a termite nest or something. He's getting some really great shots, let me tell you."

Brooke turned to Ben. "See? No need to worry. This place has a way of getting under your skin."

Cooper turned around. "Oh, yeah, Auggie's having a blast."

Ben nodded, relieved.

Janie batted her long eyelashes and smiled seductively. "Well," she sighed, "I guess now it's a foursome." She was not wearing a bra, and the sweat had beaded along her tanned cleavage. Her nipples protruded slightly from the confines of a tight white tank top that left precious little to the imagination.

"Alright!" cheered Cooper. He put one arm around Brooke's shoulders, the other around Ben's.

Ben and Brooke looked at one another and chuckled awkwardly.

"Okay," Brooke said at last. "What do you guys want to see next?"
Twenty-one

The days and nights lazed on, one blurring into the next.

In time, they fell into the carefree rhythm of the jungle life. This usually began with hiking at dawn, followed by a light breakfast, after which they would gather in one of the common areas to read or play chess, sometimes wandering around the nearby trails to shoot video and take photographs, always returning to the research center with a small sense of pride for having "survived" the jungle sans Ernesto. There was always something to do, or nothing at all. This was, perhaps, the jungle's most attractive feature: the option to sit idly and do nothing, to fritter away undisturbed hours daydreaming about everything and nothing, to watch the shadows grow long from the comfort of a gently rocking hammock.

Then, just before noon, Ernesto would inevitably find them no matter their location, quietly offering to take them on a hike to some unknown destination, always bringing them back to the research center in time for lunch and water, blessed water, to quench their endless thirst. No matter how weary they were, or how oppressive the heat, these hikes never ceased to invigorate them, for there was always something new to see, always something wondrous to experience that made these small discomforts worthwhile.

Full, content, and exhausted from the hours of walking in the moist heat, they would retire for their daily siesta, only to awaken hungry several hours later, just in time to shower and get ready for dinner. Later on, a night hike, full of mystery and potential danger, perhaps followed by a game of cards, a few rounds of drinks at the bar, and sleep, blissful sleep, to the accompaniment of the nocturnal symphony.

Soon this strange new regimen fastened itself upon them, and it seemed as though they had never known anything but this gypsy way of life. And so the days and nights lazed on, and the jungle continued to lull them with its siren's song until it became the nucleus of their lives, and the outside world slipped from their thoughts as though it had never truly existed in the first place.
Twenty-two

The camping trip was Ben's idea.

In recent days, the novelty of the research center had begun to wear off. One afternoon, the three boys were violently shaken from an afternoon nap to discover a scarlet macaw perched on the shelf in their room and rummaging through their belongings. This fazed not even Auggie, who cursed at the bird and then pulled a pillow over his head before drifting back to sleep. On one occasion, during the small hours of the night, Ben witnessed something that looked like a puppy scampering across the railing of their bedroom. He asked Ernesto about it the following day, and no one was particularly surprised or even shaken by the news that the 'puppy' was likely a giant river rat.

They were able to visit the clay lick once more before a storm front swept in, bringing two consecutive days of heavy rains that forced them inside for hours at a time (I know it's called a rainforest, but this is ridiculous! mused Cooper), before the sun finally broke through the clouds and they were able to resume their exploration of the soggy jungle. When the ground had mostly dried, a few of the workers sponsored an impromptu soccer game, and Ben and Cooper did a passable job of representing their country as Auggie, Brooke, and Janie watched from the shade of the dining hall, sipping on cold bottles of Cusqueña. There was plenty of laughter, plenty of adventure, and all around them was the lushness of the jungle with all its sensational beauty and age-old mysteries still begging to be discovered.

Their brief stay at the upscale Amazonia Lodge now seemed a distant memory, and their time in Cusco and Aguas Calientes had the blurred quality of a half-forgotten dream. But while Auggie and Cooper seemed to thrive in this simple life, Ben's heart ached with the pull of wanderlust, and he was already longing for a new adventure. Part of this had to do with his restless nature, the urge for constant motion, and the desire to fill every moment with new experiences with which to stimulate his senses. Besides, the thought of shedding all traces of civilization and truly experiencing the Amazon in its most primitive form... it was too great an opportunity to pass up.

Surprisingly, convincing the others to go along with his plan did not take as much arm-twisting on his part as he'd originally anticipated. In fact, once the girls were on board, everything else fell neatly into place. They would pack their necessities (for the boys, this meant most of their gear), and Ernesto would make arrangements for tents, sleeping bags, and other provisions. Felix would pick them up the next morning, and they would head upriver to a seasonal Brazil nut camp that was located along one of the many tributaries of the main river. There, Ernesto would teach them about the medicinal plants of the jungle, take them on remote hikes along the terra firme trails, and, if they were lucky, there would also be an opportunity to go fishing for piranha (also Ben's idea, but Cooper was fully on board), and enjoy the isolation for a few more days before the boys were scheduled to leave and the girls would return to their research.

We're going far off the beaten path, Ben had explained. They were in the dining hall and had just finished their dinner when he began to outline his plan. There won't be any other tourists out there. Hell, there won't be any other people out there. This is our chance to see what the jungle was like before people came here. I doubt even those guys from the BBC have been out this far. It was, Ben assured them with a look in his eyes that was eerily reminiscent of that night in his apartment back in Bridgewater, an adventure that would dazzle their grandchildren someday.

What about Big Kitties? Cooper had inquired immediately.

Ben favored him with a roguish smile. You never know...

Cooper slapped his hand down on the table so hard that the silverware jumped. I'm in!

Now they looked across at Auggie, who was staring into the night as he chewed intently on the corner of his thumbnail. Once again Ben was promising them the trip of a lifetime. And once again, Auggie realized, they were placing the burden on him to make the vote unanimous. All he had to do was say "no," and all of this would be over, this silly idea, this wild, ill-conceived notion that they needed to prove their manhood by doing the most reckless thing possible.

At last he nodded.

Cooper let out a whoop while Ben grinned knowingly.

"What the hell?" Auggie groaned to no one in particular, but even he could not help but feel the sweeping pull, the adrenaline rush of another adventure. "Like I have a choice, right?"
Twenty-three

She knows the names of all the stars.

"Oooh, see that one?" she whispered excitedly, and the melodic quality of her voice made him savor her every word. "That's part of Orion's belt..."

As they sat on the front steps of the research center, the stars winked down at them from a moonless sky. Layer upon layer of them, all scattered about like glitter in the river dark.

Following her finger across the sky, Ben nodded attentively, though in truth the heavens were merely an afterthought for him. After spending the better part of a week together, they were alone, finally alone.

With a sidelong glance he saw that Brooke was looking at the sky, but something in her demeanor gave him a sneaking suspicion that she was watching him from the corner of her eye.

"Orion," she explained, "is the Hunter. Those three stars right there are part of his belt. Delta, Epsilon, and Zeta..."

Shadows spilled across her face, accentuating her cheekbones and well-formed lips. Dark lashes blinked dreamily as her luminous eyes stared up at the heavens. Ben would have been content to sit and listen to her talk forever, but after being quiet for so long he felt the need to say something, to be a part of the conversation. But he was so focused on her words, her lips, her face, that he forgot everything he wanted to say.

"I think it's amazing... that you know so much... about this stuff," he stammered. Really? It's amazing that you know so much about this stuff? he chided himself. Stuff? Man, you sound like an idiot.

Brooke didn't seem to notice his clumsiness. "I love astronomy. Orion is my favorite because it can be seen all around the world. Most ancient cultures worshipped Orion, along with the moon." She was still gazing at the sky as she said this, her eyes sparkling in the starlight.

A mosquito or a sand fly landed on his arm and he brushed it away. "What about the Incas?"

"Them, too," she replied enthusiastically. "Although they were mostly dedicated to the sun god, Inti. They worshipped Inti as the Giver of Life, the one who brought them light and warmth. When you guys were at Machu Picchu, did you hike to the Sun Gate?"

"Yeah, actually we did." Ben smiled as he recalled the apparently easy hike, which had turned out to be something of a challenge due to the winning combination of high altitude and a nasty hangover.

"The Sun Gate," Brooke continued, "is actually believed to be dedicated in honor of Inti, and the sun actually comes directly through the building at certain times of year. Sorry, I'm rambling again."

"I told you before, don't say that. I love listening to you talk."

With a longing sigh, she leaned against him and casually rested her head on his shoulder. Then, almost as an afterthought, she slipped her arms around his waist. It was a snug fit, as though they were made for one another. Like two pieces of a puzzle finally joining together for the first time. After a few seconds, she tilted her head toward him, lips parting slightly to reveal a hint of her white teeth. He wanted to kiss her, and he was pretty sure she was waiting to be kissed, but what if he was wrong? Never before had he felt such uncertainty, such hesitation; and it perplexed him.

Brooke smiled at him as though she knew what was coming and realized it was inevitable. She saw how closely he'd been watching her—had, in fact, known all along—and her heart fluttered furiously, a wild bird trapped inside a cage. Their eyes lingered on one another long after most people would have looked away. Something passed between them, some unspoken understanding that this, whatever this was, could no longer be denied.

Resting her hand on his forearm, the tips of her fingers danced lightly over his skin. Eventually they discovered a slight indentation in the flesh, a pinkish scar, perhaps four inches in length, which ran vertically up Ben's elbow.

"What's this?" she asked, fingers drifting slowly back and forth across the scar.

Hesitating, Ben considered how he should answer the question. The bitter memories came rushing back to him, but they did not seem real—little more than the remnants of some half-remembered dream. Anything connected to his past did not seem to matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was right here, right now.

A lock of reddish-brown hair had fallen across her face, and now she tucked it back behind her ear. As he measured his reply, he wished he'd had the courage to do that for her, to reach out and touch her hair, her face. Something had passed between them. Ben wasn't exactly sure what that something was, but in that moment he knew that this was more than just a casual fling. This had meaning... for both of them.

"Oh, that," he answered at last. "Remember I told you I had to take some time off from school?"

"Of course," she replied, doing her best to sound innocuous. Once again she detected that wounded, slightly bitter tone.

"Well, the truth is, I didn't have much choice. I was forced to take time off because I couldn't finish the program. Long story short, I was in a little accident..."

Though he suddenly found it difficult to look at her, the tenderness in her eyes compelled him to continue.

"Actually, it was more than just a little accident..." He stared off into the distance, recalling that fateful day. "I was out riding my street bike—racing it, actually. Me and this guy I went to school with. We were going pretty fast, screaming down the street like a couple of assholes, when a dog ran out in front of us. I remember swerving. I remember that part clearly. Then my bike clipped a rock or a branch or something and I ended up in the woods. I never did find all the pieces of the bike. Anyway, I shattered my elbow and ended up with a pretty bad concussion." He smiled ironically. "Can't do much in the way of training when you got a broken arm. That's the reason I had to drop out. Of course, Springfield doesn't just give you your money back, so I had to work full time to pick up the slack."

She had been watching him closely—the grinding jaw; the sudden, hard look in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Ben."

"Eh," he said, shrugging. "It's my own dumb fault."

"Does it still hurt?"

"Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes it does. But I'm working my way back." He paused for a moment and then turned to her with a devilish grin. "The good news is, the dog made it out okay."

Brooke smiled back at him, fingers playing softly over the scar.

Glancing down at her hand he noticed, not for the first time tonight, that her fingernails had been newly trimmed and painted to perfection. Bright red in color, they shone in the moonlight like little pieces of candy. There was something about the color of the nail polish—or any shade of red on a woman—that he found incredibly sexy. He lifted her hand. Kissed her fingers. They tasted sweet and salty, and her skin smelled like flowers. This first taste of her body excited him in ways he never thought possible. Mind wandering, he imagined what the other parts of her tasted like, imagined the details of her naked body and what it would be like to kiss every inch of her, to lay her down and make love to her in this strange, exotic place.

"Funny," he said. "I haven't talked about that for a long time. It's just one of those things, you know? But there's... something different about you. Something I can't explain. It's—"

Something in her eyes, some inexplicable quality that invited trust. It was in the way she looked at him, as if they had already known each other for years. And, in a strange way, he felt as though he had known her for years. He had never believed in the paranormal, things such as psychics and mind readers, reincarnation and past lives, but now he wasn't so sure. It was that connection, that inexplicable and undeniable connection. As if we already know each other better than we know ourselves, the thought sprang at him from nowhere. Like two souls cut from the same cloth...

Body twitching in anticipation, Brooke's knee bobbed up and down as she tapped her sandaled foot on the wooden step, a nervous tick she'd had for as long as she could remember. She looked up into Ben's face, and her heart beat a little faster when she saw the way he was looking at her. Those unwavering blue eyes. Admiring her. Devouring her. She licked her lips. Hoped he recognized this gesture as a signal, a sign. She trembled in her longing. Is he teasing me on purpose? That look in his eyes... like he can see right through me. He knows. He must know. Come on! What's he waiting for?

What's he waiting for?

What's he waiting—

"Are you...?" Inside, she cringed. She couldn't believe she was going to ask the question, nor could she believe the hold he had on her, this relative stranger—and a tourist of all people. She lowered her eyes for a few seconds, looked at the well-worn steps, looked but saw nothing, for her mind was still focused on the intensity of his eyes, his masculine jaw, the curve of his lips. Gathering her courage, she raised her eyes to meet his cool gaze.

Watching her steadily, mouth slightly open, Ben licked his lips. As though he knew what she was going to say but wanted to tease the words out of her anyway. "Am I what?" Having made this challenge, his mouth settled into a daring grin.

She bit the corner of her lip. For some reason she could not explain, his confrontation tantalized her. That coy smile and the fact that he was forcing her to ask him this question... was turning her on. Oh, you're such a fool, she told herself. Just say it and get it over with, and if he laughs at you, well, that's his loss. Pushing her heart-shaped face toward him, she decided to risk it all. "Seriously, are you going to kiss me or n—?"

Pulling her closer, his lips stopped the words at their source.

This sudden boldness took her by surprise, and her body quivered with excitement. Swept away by the moment, the rest of the world faded into obscurity, leaving only the two of them. His lips were strong like his body, but his kiss revealed a tender side. Closing her eyes, she lost all sense of time and place. It was as though her mind had temporarily shut down and only her body, in its quest for pleasure, remained.

Her lips were plush, moist, and even softer than he imagined. Ben had never felt like this before, not from a simple kiss, and a crazy thought entered his head: The kiss to end all kisses. Not so crazy, maybe. He had a sinking feeling that this was the kiss against which all others would be measured for the rest of his life, and he wondered what would happen a few days later when they would be finally forced to say good-bye. She'd go back to Georgia, and he'd go back to Massachusetts, and what then? With such a distance between them, what were the odds that they would remain in touch? In the end, he realized that they might have only this one moment, this one chance, and he decided to embrace it for all it was worth.

They kissed.

As they discovered the desired rhythm, he opened his eyes to admire her. He saw that her eyes were still closed. Caressing her face, the dark lashes fluttered open, revealing those bottomless shades of hazel and green, and it occurred to him that he could lose himself in those eyes and never come back. As if reading this thought, she smiled. He couldn't see her mouth, but he could feel the muscles pulling upward, could see how her eyes bunched up at the corners. Her fingertips played across his rough stubble, and it reminded him of how long he had been away from civilization. He hadn't shaved for—how long had it been? Several days? A week? He couldn't remember. These thoughts flashed through his mind, and he realized that he could stay here forever, could abandon everything he had ever known to stay here with this girl, to live this way forever and—

A familiar chirping interposed, dashing apart his fantasy.

Foreheads touching, they stopped kissing and looked at one another bashfully.

On the heels of a deep sigh, she giggled. "What's that sound?"

"Um," said Ben, "I think I know."

Behind them, the interior of the research center was steeped in shadow. Here and there, the miniature kerosene lanterns threw splashes of yellow light and the darkness trembled as the flames danced behind their glass shades. They turned their heads toward the lounge area just as Auggie materialized from the shifting gloom of the hallway. Head bowed, he was examining the wristwatch. He looked up, startled, noticing two people were watching him from the stairs. "Oh, hey." Fumbling with the tiny buttons, he finally brought the cursed note to end. "Sorry. I was just going to get some water."

"I guess it's time to take our meds, huh?" Ben said playfully.

Face flushing, Auggie realized he had interrupted them. He felt the weight of their gaze upon him as they waited for him to take his leave. Avoiding eye contact, he filled his bottle at the water cooler, mumbled an awkward good night, and floated off in the direction from whence he came.

For a moment the couple watched him as he scurried for the corridor, a skinny young man dressed in tan hiking pants and a white explorer shirt, head still bowed as he feigned great interest in the now silent watch strapped to his wrist.

When he was gone, Brooke and Ben turned to each other, both laughing quietly.

"Aw, he's so cute."

Ben gave Brooke a sideways glance. "You think so?"

The question was innocuous enough, but Brooke detected a subtle note of jealousy in his tone. She smiled. "Not that way. What I mean is, he's got this sort of... endearing quality."

Ben chuckled. "Reminds me of that rabbit—you know the one I mean? The one from Alice in Wonderland?" In a crude imitation, his voice rose tremulously: "'I'm late! I'm late! For a very important date!'"

"Awww."

"The funny part," Ben told her as they leaned against each other companionably, "is that it's my watch. He was so worried about taking our Malarone on time, I let him borrow it for safekeeping."

"You guys are on the daily pill?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Why, aren't you?"

"No, our doctor put us on a stronger dose, so we only have to take ours once a week. It's just easier to remember, but Janie keeps forgetting hers." She spread her hands as if to say, What can you do?

Ben shook his head in recognition. "It's the exact same thing with Cooper."

Brooke tapped her hand against his knee and laughed. "Wow, they really are perfect for each other, huh?"

They looked at one another, smiling.

"I think it's cool that you guys have all been friends for so long. I hardly ever talk to my friends from high school."

"Yeah, we're pretty close. I mean, we've practically known each other all our lives."

"You love them," she stated in sudden seriousness. "I can tell by the look in your eyes when you talk about them. You're like brothers."

Ben blinked at her in disbelief. Once again, he was astonished by her ability to read him, to perceive him in a way that he himself had never even considered. "Yeah," he murmured, reflectively. "Yeah, I guess I do. That's what makes this trip so great, you know? To be able to come here with my childhood friends, to think of how far we've come together since we were kids. It... blows my mind."

"You don't think he feels—you know—a little left out?"

Ben tilted his head quizzically.

"What I mean is, Cooper and Janie are always sneaking off together, and now us?"

"Who? Auggie?" He shook his head slowly. "It's sort of tough to explain, but Auggie's never really cared too much about that stuff. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's had a girlfriend here and there, but they never really had anything in common. Believe it or not, he's a really picky guy. No, I don't think he'll be really interested in anyone until he finds someone as smart as he is..."

Brooke was watching him, smiling. "Smaht?" she repeated, mockingly.

Ben wrinkled his nose. "Did the Boston accent come out?"

"Oh, yeah. Big time."

"Anyway," Ben continued, grinning, "I will say he took quite an interest in Janie at first. You should have seen his face when he first saw her, but it was already pretty obvious that she and Coop were a better match."

"Oh, trust me, I know that look. We've been roomies for going on three years now, and I've seen plenty of guys with that same look. But don't let the party girl act fool you. She's got a lot more going on in that head of hers than she lets on."

They lingered on the steps for a while longer, but the romantic mood had slipped away from them. It was okay, though, because they knew they still had the camping trip to look forward to... a few more days to recapture the magic. Ben escorted Brooke back to her room, where she gave him a quick kiss on the lips, and that is how they bade each other good night.

Even after she disappeared inside the room, he remained outside for a few seconds, smiling at the fluttering curtain, amazed at this unexpected romance in this unlikely setting.

Ben had a noticeable spring in his step as he turned and headed back to his own room, invigorated by the stars, the trees, the tranquility of the late hour. Entering the narrow hallway, he found his room by memory. There were no human sounds on this night. All was quiet save for the chorus of insects, the spontaneous twill of a bird or frog.

Lifting the curtain, he slipped inside. Room 8 was dimly lit by a single kerosene lamp that rested on a nightstand. In the trembling light, Ben saw that Auggie and Cooper were both in their beds, apparently fast asleep beneath their mosquito nets. But as he tiptoed around Auggie's bed, Ben had a strong suspicion that his friend was only pretending to be asleep. Ben pulled off his hiking shoes, placing them neatly out of the way, and slid under his bug net, tucking it in behind him.

He was tired, and all too aware of the long day ahead of him tomorrow. Yet he couldn't get the fragile green-eyed girl, or her plush red lips, out of his head.

Since Ben couldn't find sleep, sleep eventually found him. Thoughts drifting, he was smiling when it came, and still smiling when it drew him down into the darkness.

Swirling through his mind, he conjured up the memory in fine detail: her kaleidoscopic eyes, the taste her mouth, the feel of her hair, the sexy red shine of her fingernails. Any one of these things was enough to arouse him, but the most arousing thought, and his final thought of the evening before he fell asleep, was this:

She knows the names of all the stars.
Twenty-four

Check-out time.

The final sweep.

Standing in the empty room, Auggie was overcome with sadness. The shelves were bare, the bug nets already tucked away and the beds turned down. Devoid of their personal effects, the room stood forlornly vacant and waiting for the next group of tourists to enter, wide-eyed and dreaming of adventure. Everything was in its place, as impersonal as when they found it: empty and welcoming, as though they'd never even been there at all.

He knelt on the floor and looked under each of the three beds—nothing down there but a few dust bunnies, the dried-up husk of an insect that might have been a cockroach. Standing, he paused to look at the now-familiar patch of green beyond the open wall. The trees rippled lazily, whispering their secrets to the wind, and Auggie stood mesmerized by the undulating leaves.

In his mind's eye, he imagined how touristy he, Ben, and Cooper must have looked upon their arrival when every sight was still brand new, and every sound was still a mystery. Soon they'd be returning home, back to their mundane lives, and everything they had experienced here would become little more than a distant memory; a collection of photographs and video clips that could never come close to replicating the experience itself. Their friends and family members were bound to be impressed by the images and stories of their travels, but these images and stories would do little to convey the true magic of this place, the feeling of actually being there and experiencing the sights, sounds, and smells in person.

Auggie wondered if the three of them would ever return here, or if, as Ben had suggested, their experiences in the rainforest would inevitably become a part of the tapestry of their lives, something to one day share with their children, or perhaps even their grandchildren. And then a sad thought occurred to Auggie: by the time he got married (assuming he would one day find the right girl and settle down) and had children, this place may already be gone. With the new road being built and all the illegal logging and pollution, it was only a matter of time before there was nothing left to destroy. The thought angered him. What was it about people that made them so destructive? Pondering the nature of humanity, he quickly lost all sense of time and purpose.

Yes, people were capable of unspeakable things. But they weren't all bad, were they?

A smile crept across his face as he recalled his favorite memory from the trip thus far. Last night, as they celebrated their impending departure for the camping trip over a few bottles of Cusqueña, some whim caused Cooper to retrieve his iPod and his portable speakers from the boys' quarters. With this small effort, the long-haired boy had unwittingly instigated an impromptu dance party right there in the middle of the dining hall. As the music wafted through the jungle, Brooke and Janie took the floor and began swaying to the retro beat of Daft Punk's "Get Lucky." As the girls urged them on, they were soon joined by Ben and then Cooper, who even managed to inveigle Manuela, the female bartender, along with a few of the busboys, to join them. Auggie had been content just to watch on the sidelines, but soon the giggling girls had grabbed him by the arms and pulled him onto the makeshift dance floor. Lulled by the infectious disco rhythm and secretly pleased with the attention afforded to him by the two girls, Auggie had allowed himself to be swept away by the moment.

Little by little, he'd let go of his anxiety and let the music guide him.

I danced!

The thought alone made him smile in disbelief.

And so it came to be that on his last night at the research center, and nearing the end of the greatest adventure of his life thus far, Augustino Fernandes and his friends, both old and new, danced the night away in the Amazon Rainforest as Cooper played the role of DJ on his iPod.

Above all else, he thought that he would never forget that last sensation of togetherness and total freedom. For in those fleeting, unforgettable moments, he'd had no worries in the world, no worries at all. There had been no shame, no fear of castigation—only weightlessness.

Total bliss.

His best memory.

The sound of Ben's wristwatch blurting out the time brought him back.

Snapping out of the memory, Auggie realized that his eyes had grown moist. Wiping them with the back of his hand, he had just started for the door when he remembered how Cooper was always hanging his clothes to dry. Knowing how careless Cooper could be, Auggie crossed the room and peered over the railing, but the clothesline was a naked wire. Just as he was turning to leave, the trees caught his eye. As the jungle held him in its spell, the leaves rippled sedately and the branches swayed, as though bidding him farewell.

Lingering at the doorway, he turned and snapped one final photo of the room as they left it, which was precisely how they had found it on that first day, only now... only now, it seemed different, somehow. Wiping his eyes, he looked at his fingers and saw that they were dry. Pushing the curtain aside, he stepped into the dimness of the hallway and headed off to find his friends.
Twenty-five

The sun was a colorless smudge behind the clouds, like a flashlight seen through tinted glass. At this early hour, even the water seemed darker and more forbidding than ever. As far as anyone could tell, the world ended roughly ten yards from the riverbank, consumed by the ghostly, rolling fog.

Emerging from the path, the group now gathered on the high bank.

"Hey, Coop," Ben said, handing Cooper the video recorder.

Cooper took the camera and focused it on Ben. "Go ahead," Cooper said, smirking.

With an affected English accent, Ben narrated, "This is Ben Sawyer with the BBC. I'm here in the lovely Amazon Rainforest and, as you can see, the weather has taken a bit of a turn. Yes, to the... chagrin of my trusty companions, it does indeed rain in the rainforest. Oh, and here you can see the look of excitement on their faces..."

Cooper angled the camera on Janie, Brooke and Auggie. In their hooded ponchos, they looked not like explorers at all, but children waiting at a bus stop. Behind them, the storm clouds piled high above the opposite shore. Pulling his safari hat down to shield his eyes from the mist, Auggie stared glumly into the camera.

"Yes," Ben went on, "you can almost feel their overwhelming joy as they embark on a cruise down the mighty river in search of, um, in search of..."

"The secrets of the universe!" Cooper blurted, and now the others laughed in spite of themselves.

"Okay. I guess that's a wrap," Ben said, retrieving his camera. Clapping his hands, he turned to the others. "Come on, guys, this is going to be awesome! We're in the Amazon jungle! A little rain never hurt anyone."

Directly below them, Felix was lounging casually on the bow of the peki-peki, brown legs swaying in the current. Ben's voice drew his attention and, squinting through the mist, he looked up at them and waved.

"After we load the gear," Ernesto said, "then we pick up the other guides, uh-huh."

A few seconds passed before they understood. "Other guides?"

Ernesto nodded. "Yes, the other guides for to help with the camping."

Brooke touched Ben's arm. "You'll like them. The other guides, I mean. They're really nice."

Ben smiled. "The more, the merrier, right?"

Carefully navigating the wet stairs, they slopped across the muddy bank and began their final preparations. Though each did his or her best to maintain a high morale, the increasingly dismal weather had already cast an ominous pall over the group, and they were silent as they loaded their gear aboard the peki-peki. Eyes flicking to the dark horizon, Ben abandoned all hope of a glorious departure.

Suddenly all the carefully imagined details were dashed apart by the impending storm. There would be no golden sunrise or the promise of a clear blue sky—the kind of backdrop that would inspire them on this great adventure and carry them through any minor hardships on their way to discovering an exciting new frontier, for the pitiless clouds and pallid sun inspired none of these things. In fact, it was all Ben could do to admit his error and suggest they return to the research center and unpack their things. After all, this entire camping trip had been his idea. When it came right down to it, they were only here because of him. Sure, they were making a damned fine show of being cool about the whole thing, but would anyone protest if he were to advocate they go back and spend the remainder of their vacation at the research center, as originally planned?

Ben was about to suggest this very thing when a face entered his vision. It was narrow and somber and rather timid looking. The kind of face you passed on the street and did not remember later on. An average face, though to Ben it was a face that was as familiar as his own. Auggie was leaning over the side of the peki-peki, waiting for him to hand over the last few pieces of gear. The safari hat, pulled low over his brow, did little to conceal his pinched expression.

"Sorry," Ben said, snapping to. Lifting the pack, he placed it in the waiting hands.

Just then, Cooper appeared. "So much for the dry season, huh?" He smiled wryly.

Ben glanced at the sky and shrugged. "Don't worry," he assured them. "Ernesto said the rain will clear up later on."

Janie had been watching this somber interaction from inside the peki-peki, and now she leaned out over the rail. "You're not afraid of a little rain, are you?" she called out in a sing-song. No one answered, and so she added, "It usually only lasts an hour or two."

Ben gave his friends a look that said See? There you have it.

Auggie nodded but said nothing.

Ernesto gave the thumbs-up to Felix, who started the motor with a pull. Aiming the bow into the current, Felix gunned the engine. The propeller gargled as they glided upstream. Behind them, the mist first obscured and then swallowed the wooden stairway in a white veil. It was as though the jungle did not want to remember even the most primitive evidence of mankind's presence.

Clouds bloomed like black roses in the sky, blotting out the sun.

At last the rains came roaring down.

"It'll clear up," Ben repeated, mechanically.

Drifting in silence, the others watched and waited.

***

But the rain did not stop, at least, not right away. For the first hour it blew in violent gusts, stirring up a fine mist that swayed back and forth across the river like a white curtain. Manning the tiller, Felix smiled while the rain drummed against his face and the wind tousled his shaggy hair. Years of experience combined with instinct, and he navigated the shallows with ease. He welcomed the rain and was thankful for this brief reprieve from the heat, however long it might last.

Slightly forward of Felix and covered by the back of the plastic canopy, Ernesto sat beside the two guides, Felipe and Oscar, whom they'd picked up earlier in their journey. The brothers were chatting quietly in Spanish while Ernesto listened with half an ear, eyes wandering to the sky as though he were looking for a sign from the heavens. He had directed the Americans to unroll the rain flaps that were furled beneath the canopy, and now they sat inside a kind of tented tunnel, a little moist but dry for the most part. Meanwhile, the Americans did what they could to maintain high spirits, laughing and joking in spite of the bleak beginning to their camping trip. They watched and waited for the sun, especially Ben, who still felt personally responsible for the failure or success of this new adventure, but little of anything was to be seen through the foggy windows or beyond the bow, where the mist had erased all but a few hundred yards of river. From his backpack, Cooper produced the portable speakers for his iPod, and he entertained them with songs from his special playlist, singing along to The Naked And Famous, Imagine Dragons, and The Gaslight Anthem in his off-key voice. One of the girls had brought along a deck of cards, and they were momentarily engaged in a half-hearted poker game when Auggie noticed a break in the clouds.

"Hey, dude, check it out." Auggie tried to get his friend's attention, but Ben was peering at Brooke above his cards as though she were the only person there—as though she were the only person in the world.

"Ben."

The sound of his name being spoken broke his concentration. Ben dragged his eyes over to Auggie with a visible effort. "What's up?"

"Look."

Ben turned to Auggie questioningly. Auggie gestured with his chin and Ben followed his gaze outside. The rain had begun to taper off, and a shaft of light now pierced the clouds, angling toward the trees like a celestial sword.

"YES!" Ben exclaimed, jumping up. "Here, take these." He stuffed his cards into Cooper's hands, and Cooper gamely began to examine the cards without question as Ben rushed to the front of the watercraft. Tossing aside the rain fly, he stepped outside. The rain felt good upon his face, and he smiled, closing his eyes. With the exception of Cooper, who was still studying the new cards and had not noticed the commotion, the others gathered with Ben at the front of the peki-peki. Now he opened his eyes and grinned at them. "It's clearing up!" he beamed. "We're good to go!"

As if on command, the sun pushed through the clouds, and the rain slowed to a light drizzle and then stopped completely. With a newfound vigor, they rolled up the plastic rain guards and secured them in their proper places. The sun burned away the mist, revealing the much-welcomed colors of the forest. Crowding the muddy banks, unbroken ramparts of green bristled with a variety of plant life: leafy palm trees; snarls of undergrowth; shiny green spears that resembled overgrown ferns; here and there, poking up through the canopy, thick towers of perpetual green. The fresh, after-rain smell of the jungle beckoned them.

Aboard the peki-peki, the five Americans cheerfully stripped off their ponchos, grateful for the heat of the sun upon their faces. For the next two hours, the mood was elevated to that of a celebration. Cooper played his iPod while they sang along in cheerful, off-key voices, inducing Ben to film them with his video camera while Ernesto and Felix looked on from the stern, chatting animatedly in Spanish.

Without warning, Cooper sprang to his feet. "Look!" he shouted, pointing across the water. "There are some more of those weird-looking dog-things!"

"Capybaras," Janie supplied, laughing.

"Yeah!"

Ben joined Cooper at the open bow, calling back over his shoulder.

"Hey, Auggie-dog, where's your camera?"

Still sitting beneath the canopy, Auggie looked unimpressed. "I already took some shots of that group we saw on the first day."

"Yeah," Ben said, "but these are different ones. It's not like you see them every day or anything."

"Hurry!" Cooper said urgently, pointing over the rail. "Look, that one has a little bird on his head."

Auggie shrugged, unmoved. "Nah. I need to save some space on my memory card. You never know what we might see later on..."

The others watched the pudgy brown animals with interest. As the capybaras slipped from view, Ben turned and saw that Auggie had his journal open on his lap and a pen in his hand. He was looking away from the group, talking to Ernesto with extreme interest as he jotted down notes. He did not seem to notice when the others returned to their seats. Nor did he seem to notice the curious way in which Ben had looked at him, as though he were a stranger.

An hour later they arrived at a fork in the river. Several trees had fallen from the shore, their tangled roots still clinging to chunks of the dark soil from which they had pulled free. The peki-peki began to slow as Ernesto and Felix conversed in a volley of Spanish. Felix gestured toward the trees and shook his head solemnly.

Janie turned to the others, pouting. "I think we've reached the end of the line."

Ben's heart sank. "What do you mean?"

"The campsite we were going to is somewhere down that branch of the river. The storm must've knocked the trees down and we can't get to the site."

Ernesto came over and sat down beside Brooke. He looked at each of their faces in turn. He could tell by their disappointed expressions that they were already anticipating the bad news. "We cannot continue," he said slowly. "The trees, they block the way to the camp."

Ben took a deep breath. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

Ernesto thought for a few seconds. He shook his head solemnly.

"Is there somewhere else?" Ben asked. "You know, some other place we can camp?"

"Mmm..." Ernesto's face grew tight. He called over to Felipe, who was conversing with his brother. Felipe's forehead wrinkled as he thought for a second. Then he responded in rapid-fire Spanish. He pointed upstream and nodded.

"There is 'nother place," Ernesto said, nodding slowly. "There is old Brazil nut camp. Mmm, but has not been used for a long while."

Ben's face lit up. "But we can camp there?"

Ernesto nodded. "Yes, maybe, but is farther down the river."

"How far?" asked Auggie.

"Is not too far. Is...mmm...'nother hour-half, two-hour maybe."

Cooper raised his eyebrows hopefully. "Will there still be lots of things to see?"

"Yes, still is nice for watching the animals, many different animals, and for the walking trails. Very nice things for the photographs."

"So, we can go there?" asked Janie. "It's cool?"

Ernesto looked at the sultry brunette and smiled with his eyes. "Yes, is cool. If you want, we can go."

"Yeah!" Ben practically shouted. He looked at the others. "What do you say?"

"I am so there," Janie said, holding out her fist to Ben.

Ben bumped his knuckles against hers and they exchanged a conspiratorial smile. "Alright, what about the rest of you?"

Cooper clutched Janie around the waist and scooped her onto his lap before she could protest. "This pretty lady ain't going anywhere without me," he said, locking his fingers together around her midsection. "Count me in."

Janie giggled in surprise, and suddenly she was ten years younger, a high school freshman on her first real date. Though she made a show of rolling her eyes, that telltale happy expression never left her face. Putting her arms around his neck, she looked at the others and shrugged. "That's right," she said, smiling. "From this point on, we're a package deal."

Now their attention shifted to Brooke and she looked back at them with a playful, pouty smile. "What?"

"We're waiting on you, Brooklyn," Janie said in a sing-song.

"Fine," she said. "Let's do it."

"What about you, Auggie-dog?" asked Ben. "Are you game?"

Auggie didn't like this sudden deviation from the original plan. Not one bit. There were other things to consider, important safety protocols involving flood waters and storm warnings and whether or not they even had the proper gear and provisions for this new location... but he was all too aware that any form of protest would only paint him as a coward and a buzzkill. Once again Auggie felt the pressure of conformity. Everyone was watching him, eyes brimming with hope as they waited for his answer.

Should be some great opportunities for photographs, he reasoned, trying to convince himself. Maybe we'll even get to see one of Cooper's Big Kitties after all. Then he thought about all their friends back home, all the naysayers who probably doubted he'd ever make it this far. Hell, I never thought I'd make it this far, he realized with a jab of shame. He could only imagine their astonishment when he began posting his pictures and blogging about this, the adventure of a lifetime. How would their perceptions of him change when they realized that Augustino Fernandes had braved a place that most of them would not even dream of daring, a place that most of them could not even locate on a map?

After a moment, he shrugged. "We've come this far," Auggie said, intrigued by the steady, confident tone of his own voice. With a charming smile, he added, "No sense in turning back now, right?"

Ben broke into a surprised grin. "Alright!" he exclaimed, clapping Auggie on the shoulder. Still beaming, he turned to Ernesto and said, "The Brazil nut camp it is."

Calm as ever, Ernesto got up and made his way to the back of the boat. There was a brief discussion between Ernesto, Felix, and Felipe. At last, Felix nodded and pressed the throttle. The peki-peki pushed forward, slowly gaining speed, and the five Americans began to laugh and cheer, and slap each other five.

They were off again on a new adventure.
Twenty-six

Eventually they arrived at another tributary, a narrow stream where the trees crowded the banks and the branches overlapped to form a natural tunnel. Felix killed the engine and raised the propeller, securing it in an upright position to prevent it from scraping bottom. Deeply shaded and stitched with reeds, the stream was barely wider than the peki-peki, and Felipe and Oscar used long oars to push them along through the shallows. The five Americans sat quietly in the bow, listening to the gentle slap of water against the hull. Now the sun was barely visible through the dense foliage and the dank air made them shiver. Looking back, Brooke saw daylight, bright and yellow, at the end of the tunnel through which they had entered, and for the briefest of moments she wondered if they should not simply head back to the research center and mourn their failed camping trip over some drinks at the bar. But then she caught a glimpse of Ben. He was standing at the bow as if waiting for something, head turning slightly back and forth as he surveyed his new surroundings. Though she could not see his face, his excitement was clearly evident in the tension in his shoulders, his slowly swiveling head, the unnatural stillness in his arms and legs, as if he were a coiled spring, ready for anything. She smiled to herself. Admiring his eagerness, his ready spirit, she quickly lost any desire to turn back.

A half hour later, the peki-peki finally came to rest on a small, fan-shaped sandbar that sloped upward toward a hollow in the trees. Balancing on the bow, Felipe leapt ashore and secured the peki-peki to a thick trunk while the Americans gathered their belongings. Crouching by one of the benches, Ernesto waved his hand beneath it until his fingers located the hidden instrument. When his hand reappeared, he was holding a wood-handled machete, its long blade scarred from years of hard use.

"Awesome," Cooper murmured, watching as Ernesto tucked the blade inside a threadbare sheath.

Joining Felipe on the shore, Ernesto handed him the sheathed machete and the two spoke briefly in Spanish. Nodding, Felipe started up the muddy bank and into the jungle.

Cooper tapped Auggie on the arm. "Hey—where do you think the big guy's going?"

"My best guess," Auggie said, smiling indulgently, "is that he's going ahead of us to help clear the path."

Following Ernesto's guidance, they pulled on the bulky rubber boots and unloaded the remainder of their gear. Felix and Oscar dutifully conveyed the bulk of the provisions—tents, water jugs, and two containers of edibles—to the shore.

Jumping down onto the muddy bank, Cooper could hardly contain himself. Wide-eyed and grinning at everything and nothing, he said, "Woah, this place looks awesome."

"Yo," Ben called from the bow. "A hand, please?"

"Right."

Cooper turned as Ben passed the backpacks to him one at a time.

Ben was looking at the jungle, the ghost of a grin dimpling his cheeks. Auggie walked over and stood beside him.

"Where's the path?"

Still grinning, Ben turned to him and shrugged. "This is going to be great. You'll see."

Ben's enthusiasm was infectious and Auggie smiled in spite of himself. "One for the grandchildren?"

"Definitely one for the grandchildren."

Cooper's voice came from behind them. "Hate to break up your moment, but you're standing awfully close to the water's edge, dudes."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? And?"

"Did you already forget about Big Boy? You remember, from the museum?"

Auggie instantly recalled the massive caiman skull and began to slowly back away from the water.

"Relax!" Cooper snickered. He stepped forward to deliver a playful punch on Auggie's arm. "I was only fucking with you, dude. You should see your face!"

"Are you greenhorns ready for this?" Brooke called over.

Cooper gave her a puzzled smile. "Greenhorns?"

"You know," Janie blurted. "Greenhorns, city slickers, tourists."

Slipping on his Red Sox hat, Ben grinned sarcastically. "Alright, alright. I admit it. We're just a bunch of dumb tourists, and we'd be lost without you, our fearless leaders."

Walking past him, Brooke knocked the hat off his head. "And don't you forget it."

Ernesto was waiting at the trees, his tiny backpack slung around one shoulder. Now he turned to them. "Okay?"

With this, they unceremoniously set off for the defunct Brazil nut camp, following a circuitous trail that seemed to disappear completely at times, devoured by the hungry jungle. Every so often, they came upon the freshly cut vines and branches that Felipe had left behind as he forged on ahead of them with the machete, though Felipe himself consistently eluded them.

Twenty minutes later, they stopped to rest. The walls of green pressed in around them, thick mats of underbrush woven with vines and leaves so dense you could barely tell where one plant ended and another began. The path itself was also overgrown. Exotic ferns sprouted from the ground between fallen branches and trees, and it was now so humid that it seemed as though they could scoop the water out of the air and drink it. Even Ernesto's forehead was dotted with tiny beads of perspiration, though he did not seem to notice this. As the Americans stopped for a water break, he scanned the trees with his binoculars.

"Do you see anything?" asked Janie. She and Cooper had been walking side by side behind Ernesto and were now the closest ones to him. There was a dark V-shaped sweat stain on the front of her shirt, accentuating her cleavage, and her hair was pulled back into a messy up-do. Panting like a dog, Cooper lifted his sunglasses, placed them on top of his head, and looked at her admiringly. She immediately sensed his eyes upon her and gave him a flirtatious smirk.

Ernesto looked at them and shook his head apologetically. There was nothing interesting to show them at the moment. In all likelihood, the animals had probably fled far in advance of their noisy arrival. Once they settled in at the camp, they would rid themselves of their cumbersome gear and go for a proper hike. Stooping over, he picked up a branch and examined it, frowning.

"What is that?" asked Cooper.

"Is branch that's been broken, uh-huh."

"Good old Felipe, huh?" Cooper said.

Ernesto turned the branch in his hands. "Is not Felipe."

"What do you mean?"

Tossing the branch aside, Ernesto shrugged noncommittally. "Are we ready for to continue?"

Brooke, Ben, and Auggie gathered next to Cooper and Janie. The five of them appraised one another; they each looked simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated. Auggie had his camera around his neck, and he shot a few stills of the group as they took in their surroundings.

"Hey, Ernesto," Ben said, "do a lot of people come camping here? Tourists, I mean."

Ernesto shook his head. "Tourists no come," he murmured cryptically.

Ben wanted to know more, but Ernesto already had the binoculars pressed against his face and was scanning the trees for birds and monkeys and God knew what else.

"Well..." Ben said, turning to Auggie. "This is cool, huh?"

Head bowed to his camera, Auggie was reviewing his most recent photographs, trying not to drip sweat on the viewing screen. Despite his present discomfort, he managed a pleased smile. "We're definitely not in Kansas anymore."

"That," Ben followed, nodding slowly, "is exactly why we came here."

Just then, Oscar appeared on the path behind them. Every visible inch of him seemed loaded down with gear: backpack, tents, food containers. In each hand he carried an Army green duffel bag stuffed to the breaking point. Smiling amiably as he passed them, he seemed entirely unaffected by the burden.

A minute or two later, they heard the sound of footfalls, and Felix waddled up behind them, his face a river of sweat. On his back was a large frame pack loaded to the seams. Strapped to the outside of the pack were two tents and a large cooking pot. Like Oscar before him, Felix also had his hands full with two bulky duffel bags. Watching the older man struggle like a beast of burden made Ben feel guilty, and he rushed over to offer him a hand.

"Let me help you," Ben said, reaching out his hands. Felix tried to protest out of decorum, but Ben persisted and the portly guide gladly relented.

"Gracias, gracias." Felix smiled amiably, handing him the two duffels. Despite his missing teeth, it was a friendly smile all the same.

Ernesto had meandered on ahead, and the line was moving forward behind him. Checking their bags and stowing away their water bottles, the others huffed and puffed in the humid air as they struggled to keep up with him.

"Hey," Brooke said. "I'll carry one of those."

"That's okay," replied Ben. "I think I can manage."

Brooke gave him a look. "Don't be such a hard ass."

Ben blinked in surprise. "What?"

"You heard me," she said, playfully shooting him a dirty look. She extended her hand toward him in a give-me gesture, and he handed her one of the bags, grinning. "Don't forget," she teased, easily taking on the added weight, "you're just a tourist here. Janie and I, we live for this shit."

"Ouch!" Ben said.

Cooper laughed. "Ha! Remind me never to mess with you bitches."

"Damn right!" Janie exclaimed with a giggle. Walking past him, she turned and landed a solid punch on his bicep. "And that's for calling us 'bitches'."

"Ow!" Cooper said, rubbing his arm. "Geez, it was just a figure of speech!"

Scurrying ahead, Janie turned and stuck her tongue out at him, and Cooper had to fast-walk to catch up to her. He had almost reached them when a branch jumped out, knocking his sunglasses to the ground.

"Shit."

Bending over to retrieve his beloved shades, a tiny movement in the brush caught his attention.

"Hey!" he called out. "I think I found a few of those bullet ants!"

Janie called back to him in a sing-song from somewhere farther down the path. "Coo-per, we're lea-ving!"

"They look drunk!" he added in a bemused voice. Turning around he saw Auggie loitering on the path behind him. He looked at Cooper and shrugged.

"Hurry up, you slowpokes!" Ben shouted, and his voice already sounded smaller, as though it had traveled across a great distance.

"Yeah, yeah." Balancing the sunglasses on top of his head, he hurried to catch up.

As Cooper disappeared behind a screen of trees, Auggie lagged behind on purpose. He had already swallowed a liter of water, his bladder was full, and he'd been waiting for an opportunity to relieve himself in private. Feeling the ache of anticipation, he waited for the others to wander out of sight. Then he quickly unzipped his pants and tilted his head to the sky, feeling almost euphoric as he pissed on the side of the path. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes. Looking down at his stream, he saw that his urine was a dark yellow, and he recognized this as a sign of dehydration. He was already feeling shaky, and he wondered what would happen when his drinking water was all used up. At this rate, his supply might only get him through another day. Then what? Earlier that day, he'd mentioned this concern to Ernesto, but Ernesto had dismissed the query with a shrug, murmuring something about natural purification. Like Ben, the diminutive Peruvian did not seem to worry much about anything. Perhaps he'd meant that they were bringing an extra supply of water with them? Or maybe he planned to somehow gather water and boil it? Auggie wasn't sure. It was hard to press such issues and not come across like a total wuss.

Still pissing, he waved his hand at some flies that had begun to swarm around him, perhaps attracted by the smell of urine. In any case, he was easy prey at the moment, and the thought of a bite or sting on his exposed penis made him shudder. He finished abruptly, shook off, and quickly zipped up his pants.

Adjusting his safari hat, he listened for the others. There was no wind, and the foliage drooped with the humid air. In the absence of human noise, the rattle of cicadas was overwhelming. It was the sound of a thousand rattlesnakes shaking their tails in unison, only much louder. Otherwise, the forest was suddenly very still. Between the stillness and the thought of snakes, Auggie felt a growing sense of unease. Not that he had forgotten about snakes, exactly, but over the course of the past few days, he'd taken it for granted that they were a rare sight along the well-traveled paths around the research center. But this current path was far from the safety of the research center; in fact, judging by its overgrown appearance, it seemed as though the jungle had already reclaimed this manmade avenue as its own. This only added to the fact that he was now alone. So the others had gone on ahead, and had not even noticed his absence. Had they really gone on so far that he could not hear them at all? It was not surprising, then, that so many great explorers had ventured into the Amazon never to be seen or heard from again. One could wander off the path and vanish in seconds, invisible to any passersby. It occurred to him that he could have unwittingly pissed on the bones of some fallen explorer, and the sweat began to cool on his back. What if he himself became lost? How long would it take before his body decomposed and nature claimed his remains? He shivered. Okay, time to catch the others.

He started to double-time it down the path, eyes glued to the ground in search of snakes and spiders. The jungle here was not as pretty as it had looked at either the rainforest lodge or the research center. It was darker. Swampy. Ominous. It even smelled different; sort of rotten, like decomposing leaves. Still, senses on high alert and his shirt soaked through with sweat, he was amazed at how alive he felt at that moment.

Eventually the old fears came creeping back to him. He could not shake the feeling that he was being watched, that they were all being watched, and well beyond the natural scope of things. Of course they would be watched in the jungle; right now there would be hundreds, if not thousands of things that watched, smelled, and sensed their presence. No, this was different. This felt more like being observed, and that implied the presence of something sentient, something with a purpose.

He tried to shake the feeling by turning his thoughts elsewhere. As he walked deeper into the covert, he began to think about the missing explorers again. He wondered what that would be like to just... disappear. Forever. What would people say about him after he was gone? Augustino Fernandes disappeared while exploring the fabled Amazon—this epitaph sounded far more romantic than, say, killed in an unfortunate accident, or died of natural causes. What would people say about him when he did not return home by the end of the week? What would people say when he did not return at all?

A few minutes later he came upon a little bridge. It wasn't much of a bridge, really, little more than two logs cut in half and nailed together so that the flat part faced up, and rotted at that. Beneath it was a small stream, perhaps six feet wide and extending a little ways in both directions before being swallowed up by the vegetation. Arms extended for balance, he started across. He had almost made it to the other side when he noticed the unusual flower.

At the end of a long green stem, vivid pink petals peeled back to reveal a crimson pistil. The flower seemed to grow from the mossy stump of a fallen tree that protruded from the center of the stream, forming a kind of natural pedestal. It was a good fifteen yards away, but even at that distance the sudden splash of color beckoned the eye. Continuing on, Auggie did not trust himself to take the photograph until his feet were on solid ground. Lifting his camera, he walked along the shore until he was almost directly opposite the flower. Zooming in, the pink petals leapt into sharp detail. He thought it would make a brilliant photograph, if only he could get a little closer, but the muddy bank and the stream itself were obvious deterrents. Snapping off a few pictures, he checked the screen and frowned. Not bad, but none of the pictures did the flower justice.

Screw it, he thought. I've come this far. Stepping tentatively, he began to inch his way toward the flower. Hiking shoes squishing into the soft soil, he stopped just shy of the waterline, raised his camera, and took a test shot. Much better. Impressive, actually. The others will be jealous that they missed this. Leaning out, he framed the shot with the dark green moss of the trunk forming a nice contrast to the delicate pink of the flower. As he readied himself for another shot, he felt something tickle his foot. There was a second of panic before he looked down and saw that the muddy impressions of his shoes were slowly filling with water. So his feet would be wet, then. Big deal. This was the jungle, after all. He raised his camera and snapped four more shots, crouching slightly in order to get a slightly different vantage point.

When he was done, he glanced back toward the bridge and into the deep aperture in the jungle where the stream originated from parts unknown. He wasn't sure what made him look in this direction; perhaps it was simply that lingering fear of being watched.

And he was being watched.

Out of the corner of his eye, he perceived several dark figures standing just beyond the bridge. So the others had finally noticed his absence and had decided to wait for him after all.

Auggie offhandedly noticed the tension in his shoulders. Turning his head awkwardly, he wondered how long they had been standing there. "Hey!" he called out. "I'll be right over!"

Powering down his camera, he lifted his legs slowly, trying hard not to lose his balance, fearful that one false step would make him the source of their amusement. Focusing his attention on his legs, he could sense their collective eyes upon him. Probably waiting for him to fall so they could bust his balls and all get a good laugh at his expense. Some friends! He wobbled, nearly fell, caught his balance at the last moment, and somehow managed to stay upright. There was a flutter in his chest as he imagined the others watching him with their cameras ready, waiting for him to stumble.

Finally extricating himself from the mire, Auggie trotted up the little slope. Slippery with leaves, he took care to force the edges of his hiking shoes into the soft earth in order to gain better traction. Arriving at the top, he smiled to himself, elated by his small victory. Face flushing with pride, he felt the tension leave his shoulders. He felt lighter now, the fear having fled in the wake of his discovery and in his return to the safety of the group. He was excited, eager for them to share in his happiness. At the top of the rise, he inhaled deeply, letting the humid air fill his lungs as he composed himself. As the air hissed out between his teeth, he started back toward the bridge.

He ducked under a branch, dodged another, and stepped over a fallen tree.

"Hey, did you guys see—"

Pushing a thicket of ferns aside, he emerged in the sketchy clearing that flanked the bridge.

There was no one there.

Walking to the other side of the bridge, he stopped and listened. Straining his ears, he heard the gurgle of water, the throbbing insects, and now something else... something that sounded like a low, rolling drumbeat.

"Hey, guys?"

Auggie stood panting in the heat. He was certain he had seen... something. Or someone. Several someones, actually. Returning to the memory, he had a recollection of seeing at least two or three people standing a little ways upstream. Just standing there, watching him. As though waiting for him. But now that he thought about it, he could hardly recall anything unusual or extraordinary about the incident, nor could he identify even one of the figures as any specific member of his group. He had initially chalked this up to his lousy eyesight—though in reality it had more to do with the fact that his only real focus at the moment had involved not falling in the mud and embarrassing himself—and the fact that he had only really seen the mysterious figures out of the corner of his eye.

The drumroll continued. A mosquito whined in his ear and he absentmindedly waved it away. There were many thin branches, a few of which were choked with vines, but no fallen trees or stumps—nothing, in other words, that would even remotely resemble the arms, legs, and heads of human beings.

Just shadows, Auggie reassured himself. Still, in spite of this perfectly logical dismissal, he was overwhelmed by the sudden urge to run. A light breeze rippled the leaves and the trees swayed rhythmically. The leaves whispered their incomprehensible riddle. Again he felt on the verge of discovering the answer to some profound secret; yes, some ancient and magnificent secret the jungle did not want him to discover.

Run along now, Auggie. Run along.

Glancing quickly over his shoulder, he realized that the source of the drumroll was actually the sound of his own pulse as fear made the blood blaze through his veins; it was the distant thudding of a heartbeat inside his head.

Moving at a steady clip, he continued down the path in search of the others.
Twenty-seven

After clearing away the vines, fallen branches, and other vegetation that had since taken over the defunct Brazil nut camp, the five Americans set up the tents while their Peruvian guides chopped wood, dug a fire pit, and scraped the moss from an old wooden table—the only relic left behind from some long-ago harvest—before arranging their provisions for later use. When the turistas had finished stowing away their own gear, Ernesto had taken them hiking while Felix, Felipe, and Oscar stayed behind to finish organizing the camp. Later, they had returned to the much-welcomed smell of mango rice with chicken cooking over the open fire.

"This is so cool," Cooper said in a faraway voice. "It's like we're really a part of the jungle now."

Felix and the two brothers had withdrawn to find sleep inside their tent, leaving Ernesto to entertain the five Americans. Presently they were gathered round the fire pit, and their faces glowed cheerfully as they watched the flames dance inside the ring of stones. The fire created an ever-changing circle of light that gradually decreased in intensity before terminating abruptly in shadow, a darkness so palpable it seemed almost a living thing.

They had never seen so black a night.

Nor had they ever felt so content just to be alive.

An exquisite cacophony of insects, frogs, and birds enveloped them, and their senses were aroused by the delicate aroma of nocturnal flowers, as sensuous as any perfume ever was.

Gazing into the undulating flames, Ernesto thought of home. It had been nearly a month since he'd last seen his lovely Carmen and his precious Liana, and he had one more week of guiding turistas before his next sojourn. Hopefully, when their vacation was over, they would be muy generosos and tip him well. Then, perhaps, he could bring a gift home for both his wife and child. Nothing too expensive, of course. There was that yellow dress that Carmen had mentioned... maybe a used bicycle for Liana; she was at that age where children wanted everything, and she had been asking for a bicycle for almost a year now. One could never tell with foreigners though. Sometimes the wealthiest ones did not tip at all. Although they did not appear to be especially wealthy, these young ones seemed a generous bunch...

A loud slap shattered the tranquility. "Alright," said Auggie, feverishly scratching at the back of his neck, "who has the bug spray?"

Ben tossed him the tube of DEET. "You're still getting bitten?"

"Yeah," Auggie said, trying but failing to conceal his displeasure. He slapped his arm. "It's these damned sand flies. They keep crawling up my shirt."

Ernesto gestured with his hands. "Mmm. Try it, moving closer to the fire, Aug-gie."

Nodding at the suggestion, Auggie squirted the repellent on his hands and applied it on his forearms and the back of his neck. After, he slipped the tube into his breast pocket for safekeeping. Scooting on his behind, he moved a little closer to the crackling flames.

Earlier that day, Ernesto had taught them how a certain termite nest could be used as a natural insect repellent. He had used the machete to remove the nest—roughly the size of a basketball—from the tree to which it had been attached and had brought it back to camp for just this occasion. Now a thin feather of smoke rose into the air as he tossed another chunk of the nest into the flames.

"Is good for to keep the insects away."

"Yeah, much better, thanks." Auggie waited a respectable thirty seconds before squirting more DEET onto his hands and rubbing it into his hair.

"Hey," Cooper broke in. "I want to play a song for everyone."

This announcement was met by the rolling of eyes and the groans of dissent.

"I was just thinking about how peaceful it is," Ben said. "Please don't ruin it."

"Really," Cooper said, producing his iPod and speaker case. "Just one song!"

Auggie was wearing his camera around his neck, and now he lifted it to make his point. "I was hoping to take a few night shots. You'll scare all the animals away."

"One song."

Brooke decided to play along. "What song is it?"

Janie leaned against the long-haired boy, resting her head on his shoulder so she could see the iPod's screen. "Darlin'," she said sweetly, "if you play 'Welcome To The Jungle', I'm going to have to punch you."

"I second that," Ben said, laughing.

Cooper seemed not to hear them. "Okay, ready? Everyone close your eyes."

"Whaaat?" Auggie croaked in disbelief. "Now you're just pushing your luck."

This was followed by murmurs of assent that quickly segued into giggles and the hum of conversations. For a moment it seemed as though Cooper had lost them.

"Come on," urged Cooper with a charming smile. "Just humor me."

"Alright, alright," Ben said, raising his hands to quiet them. "Let's give Coop a chance."

"Thank you!" Cooper directed this mostly to Ben, who nodded and gave him a look that seemed to say Please don't make me regret this.

Cooper pressed PLAY and the auto-tuned vocals of a popular club song made his friends all groan in unison. The Americans opened their eyes and looked at him with collective scorn. Meanwhile, Ernesto slowly opened his eyes, not comprehending the joke. Cooper paused the song and looked at them with feigned indignation.

"Ugh!" Ben jeered. "Come on, man."

"You didn't close your eyes!" Cooper shouted, chuckling to himself. "I was watching you!"

Brooke shook her head. "I can't believe you even have that on your iPod..."

With a look of mock disgust, Janie leaned over and gave him a playful tap on the shoulder. "Really?"

"Okay, okay," Cooper said, holding out his palms. "I was just kidding. Come on, close your eyes this time. For real. I won't screw with you this time. I promise."

When Auggie saw how, one by one, the others had closed their eyes, he decided to play along. "I feel like I'm in elementary school," he mumbled, grinning with his eyes closed.

Once again, Cooper pressed PLAY and now a different song faded in, one they had not heard before. A mellow guitar riff reverberated through the trees.

As the drum beat entered with military precision, Cooper glanced around the circle of faces, overjoyed to see that even Ernesto had decided to participate. The slight Peruvian sat stone-faced, eyes closed as though in deep meditation.

Smiling to himself, Cooper closed his eyes and let the music take him away.

The music ebbed and flowed, at first clashing and eventually mingling with the sound of crickets and frogs in perfect harmony. The guitars and drums built toward a triumphant crescendo, slowly regressed into a ponderous breakdown, then rose once more toward an uplifting climax. Somewhere in the middle of the song, Ben felt the now-familiar touch of Brooke's fingers as they slipped into his hand.

With his eyes closed, Auggie's thoughts began to travel, filling his mind with fleeting images, sweeping visions of Machu Picchu and the surrounding pitons; the Bingham train, with its many windows and picturesque views, and the American brats who spent the majority of the trip whining that there was nothing to do; the Irish bar back in Cusco; the cold nights inside the little hostel; that first day cruising up the river, with all his anxiety and apprehension; the glorious birds of the clay lick; and now here, with his friends, on yet another adventure. It was everything Ben had promised and more. The trip of a lifetime. The one they'd surely tell their grandchildren about someday.

And now Auggie recognized how he had changed inside: the old fears were not gone, not entirely, but he could almost control them now, almost master them, and still achieve some kind of balance, some semblance of a normal life. He was not the same timid boy who had started this trip. Things would be different from now on. Life... would be different...

As the song played on, Cooper stole a glance around the campfire and saw the others still sitting attentively with their eyes closed. Ben and Brooke were holding hands. Janie was smiling vaguely. Ernesto and Auggie both looked serene in their private meditations. To Cooper, this was the closest thing to perfection. He lived for such moments, and it occurred to him that this was something he'd remember for a very long time. He closed his eyes, grinning. The song had almost reached its coda.

As the final notes faded into the night, they slowly opened their eyes and looked round at one another, smiling. Ben was the first to break the silence.

"That," he proclaimed, "was pretty fucking cool."

Now at ease, Auggie watched the others. He felt strangely invigorated, as if he had just returned home after a very long journey. Looking across the circle of light, he saw that Ernesto was just now opening his eyes. The Peruvian guide, his expression unwavering, turned to Cooper.

Cooper had turned off the iPod and was basking in the moment. "What do you think, Ernesto?"

"How do you call this, this music?"

"It's called Explosions In The Sky." Cooper smiled. "That's the band. I can't remember the name of the song."

Ernesto nodded thoughtfully. "And this song, it has no wordess?"

"No," Cooper replied. "Just instruments. Guitars and stuff."

Pausing, Ernesto sat as one weighing an important question. At last, he nodded his head decidedly. "Yes, I like. Is very good this music."

Cooper clapped his hands together. "Ha!" he gloated. "See? I told you guys."

"Yeah," Auggie agreed. "You did."

As the fire died down and the insects moved in, Auggie decided to call it a night.

"I'm going to sleep," he announced.

Ben and Brooke murmured in agreement.

"Hey, Coop, you coming?"

Cooper was whispering something to Janie, who was smiling from ear to ear. "We're going to stay up a little bit longer," Cooper said, draping an arm around the brunette's shoulders.

The others soon dispersed.

"Too bad we couldn't see the stars tonight," Ben said with a touch of nostalgia. The light from his headlamp bobbed along the ground as he walked Brooke to the entrance of her tent.

Brooke turned to him with a smile. "The stars are always shining," she said simply, "even when you can't see them."

Something about these words resonated with him, and he was struck silent. Standing on her toes, she gave him a kiss on the mouth. Taking her face in his hands, Ben held her there, savoring her soft lips, savoring the moment, savoring the night. Reluctantly, after a very long time, she eased out of his arms.

"See you in the morning."

As he watched her unzip her tent and slip inside, he stood there for a few minutes, smiling to himself. Still reflecting on the deeper meaning of her words, Ben shuffled off to his tent. Once there, he paused a moment to appreciate his surroundings, turning in a slow circle, trying to commit every detail to memory—the jungle, the stars, the slow kiss good night. Clicking off his headlamp, he turned and headed into the womblike darkness of the tent, eager for sleep and whatever new and exciting experiences tomorrow would bring.
Twenty-eight

"Hey...Ben..."

Ben rolled over in his sleeping bag. In the haziness of sleep, he saw a soft green glow coming through the thin fabric of the tent wall. The nylon rippled and bulged. Someone was standing just outside the door, fumbling at the zipper.

Pulling his arms free of the bag, he sat up on his hands. "Who is it?" he croaked.

No answer.

Grunting, he climbed out of his sleeping bag and unzipped the door.

Brooke was standing outside the tent with her sleeping bag and pillow under one arm and some sort of electric glow stick in the other. "Hey," she whispered. Fidgeting awkwardly, she wrinkled her nose and smiled. "Can I come in?"

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Ben held the flap open for his petite visitor. Brooke slipped inside and pulled off her hiking boots, which she placed to one side of the door. As Ben pulled the zipper closed behind her, he felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Or maybe I only dreamt about this, he thought. When he turned around, he saw her unrolling her sleeping bag next to his. Hell, maybe I'm dreaming this right now. "What's up?" he asked, squinting in the green glare.

Brooke was arranging her sleeping bag and pillow. "I'm sorry, but is it okay if I crash in here tonight?"

"Yeah," he answered happily. "Yeah, of course. Here, let me make some room."

For the first time, Ben noticed that the interior of the tent was more spacious than he recalled. Then he saw the reason: an empty sleeping bag had been bunched up and abandoned against the back wall, leaving an empty space on the middle of the floor. On the opposite side of the tent, someone was laying on his back with the sleeping bag's hood zipped tight around his head and his toes pointing straight up in the air. Only one person Ben knew slept that way.

Ben turned to look at her with a suspicious grin. "Where's Cooper?"

"Cooper," Brooke said, pounding her pillow into shape, "is currently shacked up in my tent with Janie."

"Oh," Ben said.

"Yeah."

"Sorry about that. Hey, make yourself at home."

Brooke snickered. "Thanks."

Ben settled back into his sleeping bag. A few seconds later, she clicked off the light and presently the tent was filled with darkness. He felt her body brush against him as she squirmed around to get comfortable.

"Good night."

"Good night."

In the darkness, she rolled closer to him. With the lightest touch, her arm found its way over his stomach and her fingers moved as with a life all their own, tracing lazy circles on his chest. Sighing contentedly, she rested her head against his shoulder.

They slept.

***

Auggie awoke with a frustrated sigh. He had to go to the bathroom, and though he had tried to put it off for as long as he could, he was now nearing the point of critical mass. Moonlight filtered into the tent from above, providing just enough light for him to see Brooke and Ben snuggled together on the opposite side of the tent. Pushing the flap on his sleeping bag aside (it was far too humid, even at this hour, to close it all the way) the moon provided just enough light to find his boots and locate the rainfly zipper. Quietly exiting the tent, he took a few groggy steps over to the tree line where he quickly cinched down his pants and urinated.

Shivering in relief, he had just started back to the tent when he noticed a dark hump moving on the ground, just a little ways past the fire pit. Reddish embers glowed in the pit, and suddenly a head jerked up, looking at him.

It's the two lovebirds, Auggie realized, feeling the heat rush to his face. He looked away guiltily. They must have snuck off to fool around after everyone else had gone to bed. Now he understood why Brooke had changed tents. She was probably afraid the amorous couple would return to the tent and start screwing right next to her.

"Sorry, guys," Auggie mumbled, doing his best to hurry along in the dark. "I didn't see anything."

Janie didn't say anything; Cooper only responded with a grunt.

Couple of horn-dogs, Auggie thought as he retreated inside his tent. Pulling off his boots, he slithered back into his sleeping bag and rolled onto his side to face the tent wall.

With Cooper face-fucking Janie outside and Ben cuddling with Brooke inside, Auggie could not help but to feel the sting of jealousy.

After this trip, he told himself, things will be different.

For some reason, his mind flashed back to a book he'd read in high school, The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway. In the novel, a character named Robert Cohn is going through a kind of midlife crisis when he tells the narrator that he wants to travel to South America. Cohn is worried that life is passing him by and he wants to do something different for a change. The narrator, Jake, who is no big fan of Cohn's, refuses the offer. He explains that traveling will not solve Cohn's problem. According to Jake, the problem with travel is that it doesn't change you... because you're still the same person no matter where you go.

But Auggie no longer believed that.

You've changed, he told himself. You might have started this trip like a Robert Cohn, but something happened along the way, and now you're different.

You've seen and done things you would have never imagined only a few weeks ago, and now you've changed. And soon everyone will know it.

Everyone will know it.
Twenty-nine

Auggie and Ben are going to freak the fuck out!

Cooper was walking alone down the circuitous terra firme trail, admiring the trees and soaking up the sounds of the jungle when this sudden thought filled him with pride. In his hand, dangling at the end of a small length of twine, was the source of this pride: a plump, speckled fish, roughly eight inches in length from nose to tail and nearly just as wide. Filtering down through the canopy, the afternoon sun sparkled along the flank of the silvery fish, throwing needles of light in every direction and accentuating the reddish-orange coloring of its underbelly. The barbed hook was still embedded in the side of its mouth, and the plumpness of the fish pulled the line taut, causing its jaws to remain open in a look of perpetual surprise. Inside, the mouth was packed with tiny triangular teeth, menacing even in death.

A fucking piranha! Cooper thought excitedly. The memories came in a flurry, like shards of a dream: the first sharp tug of the line. The bending of the rod, which was really little more than a wooden switch Felipe had carved from a sapling. The fierce, albeit brief, struggle that followed. Then, at last, the landing: the wet shine of its body, the final frantic struggle against the line as it tasted the poison air, the revelation of the snapping jaws and pointed teeth. As the piranha lay dying on the floor of the peki-peki, he had felt sorry for the little fish. In the end, once removed from its natural element, even the fearsome piranha had stood no chance at all. Ordinarily this would have troubled Cooper, but Felix had made a series of cutting and shaking gestures—like filleting and then frying something in a pan—that assured him the fish would not go to waste that evening, and Cooper became intrigued by the prospect of living off the land as the natives did.

I wonder what it'll taste like. Chicken, probably. Everything always seems to taste like chicken. If Felix's smiling face and belly-rubbing were any indication, then piranha were known for being yummy. I'll have to ask Auggie to take some pictures before we cook it. Of course Auggie would want to take pictures; Auggie took pictures of practically everything. And Ben—he'd definitely want to make a recording for posterity. Maybe Cooper would even do one of those documentary-style videos like what's his name, recounting the tale of how he'd caught the ferocious beast, all the while dramatizing the ordeal. Cooper smiled to himself. Yeah, that'd be funny. People back home will trip their shit when they see it.

Boots moving soundlessly across the damp foliage, Cooper sauntered down the path as casually as if he were strolling down the sidewalk of his own hometown, occasionally stopping to admire a particularly interesting tree or insect. On several occasions, he spotted those unusual trees with the phallic roots and was happy to discover that he could identify them as Walking Trees. Once, he even thought he recognized a bullet ant crawling around on a mossy log, though it crossed his mind that it could have just been a different species entirely. Without Ernesto there to confirm it, it was difficult to say for sure; everything, even the ants, seemed to grow bigger in the jungle.

The Professor would know, thought Cooper. Auggie was like a sponge. By now, Cooper was pretty sure that Auggie's head was ready to explode from all the information he'd absorbed on this trip.

For some reason, his friends had decided not to accompany him on the fishing trip led by Felix and Felipe, instead opting to stay behind at the campsite. Cooper wondered what they were doing. In all likelihood, Ernesto would have taken them for a short hike or something. Probably they had also collected firewood in preparation for the evening. Whatever they were doing, they were going to be jealous as hell when they saw his lucky catch.

He was still beaming when he arrived at the stream that marked the halfway point to the camp. Finally, a landmark! So he was still on the path. That was good. For a fleeting moment he had suspected he was lost, but not wanting to ruin his happy mood, he'd convinced himself not to worry over it, that his feet would remember the way. Still, he was happy to see a familiar sight, if only to set his mind at ease. Up and over the bridge, he paused at the halfway point to take in the view. The stream shimmered in the crimson light, passing under the bridge, and then traveling a little ways in the opposite direction before being obscured by the underbrush and disappearing into parts unknown.

A noisy bee lit upon a nearby flower, a pretty white lily that sprouted from the side of a tree. Cooper followed its dizzying progress, marveling at its ungainly body, its miraculous ability to fly. A splash of color drew his attention farther downstream where another flower, this one tall and gloriously pink, grew straight up from a mossy stump. Cooper smiled happily. In these moments before dark, as the birdsong softened to a reverential tone and the crickets and frogs became a deafening choir, he felt a sudden, spiritual connection to all living things. Utterly absorbed in the sights and sounds, shirt soaked with perspiration and the heat pressing in around him, Cooper forgot where he was and what he was doing. After a time, he forgot who he was. A sense of warmth and contentment came over him as he retreated somewhere deep within himself. In the moments that followed, he stopped living and started being.

Perhaps ten minutes passed while he stood there, mesmerized by the peaceful scenery. It could have been much longer, for time was a river that flowed away from him. He struggled to touch it, to grasp it, but the more he tried, the more it seemed to escape him, slipping effortlessly through his fingers. Eventually, his musings became the very abstraction of thought, full of images and sounds that seemed to have no common thread, and the urgency of the hour was soon forgotten.

Then, as though waking up from a dream, he remembered who he was and what he was doing there. As his senses returned, he was somewhat startled to find himself still standing in that same place on the bridge, a dead fish dangling from the string in his hand. The white lily fluttered emptily; the buzzing bee was gone. Darkness crept across the sky and the sun was a dying ember. While he was lost somewhere in the ether, evening had come upon him.

Totally Zen, thought Cooper, although his fascination was cooled by the touch of fear.

He held the piranha up to his face, and its dead eyes stared at him without interest. "Time to go, little dude. The others will be wondering where we are."

Walking briskly down the path, he wondered why Felix and Felipe had not yet caught up with him. They had dawdled at the peki-peki, apparently to finish stowing away the fishing gear, and in his restlessness he had wandered down the path without them, assuming they would catch up. Considering how long he had lingered, they should have met up with him by now. Maybe, thought Cooper, they'd gone off to smoke a joint or something. This brought a flickering vision of the two native Peruvians, the stout river boat driver and his towering assistant, sitting in the middle of the jungle getting stoned. Would they speak in Spanish? Yes, of course they would. What would they say? Something in Spanish, probably. He chuckled at the image of two stoned Peruvians conversing in their native tongue.

Still visualizing this, Cooper did not notice the company of shadows that stalked beneath the trees.

Night was coming quickly.
Thirty

They were lounging around the fire pit, watching the crackling flames and cheerfully recounting the day's events, when Ernesto cocked his head toward the path and frowned.

Auggie, who had carefully positioned himself between the two girls, was sitting directly across from Ernesto and was apparently the only one who noticed the subtle change in their guide's demeanor. Must've heard an animal or something, Auggie reasoned. Trying to tune out the murmur of conversation, Auggie strained his ears to listen, but the whine of insects, birds, and tree frogs dominated the background. I don't hear anything, Auggie concluded, because there's nothing out there.

But if this were the case, Ernesto had not arrived at the same conclusion, for he was still staring at the jungle with rapt attention.

"What is it?" Auggie blurted at last. Now the others took notice and they too looked across at Ernesto for an answer, but the quiet Peruvian evaded the question for several seconds. Then, without turning, he said to them, "Someone is coming."

Something about the way he said this put them all on high alert. Tension spread instantly throughout the group. It had a heat all its own, as palpable as the fire around which they were seated. All eyes were now focused on the path, a yawning black hole filled with shadows that recoiled from the dancing flames.

Ben switched on his headlamp and swept the beam back and forth across the area, but the bright LEDs only created a dizzying effect as branches and tree trunks leapt in and out of view and the shadows retreated deeper into the darkness. He clicked off the light and they sat in silence, waiting. After maybe thirty seconds, Cooper and Janie began to whisper to one another. Then someone made a joke, and laughter, loud and nervous, filled the clearing. Ultimately, they decided that it was better to be noisy and foolish than silent and frightened. Soon the somber mood lifted and their voices grew bolder until they began to overcompensate by talking louder than was needed. All the while, Ernesto kept his eyes on the path, responding not in words but subtle movements: the nod of his head; the shrug of a shoulder; the now familiar waving of his hand in the so-so gesture.

In the seconds that followed, a sense of normalcy returned... and then fled just as quickly.

The sound of heavy footsteps along the path shocked them into stillness.

Just beyond their circle of light, something was moving toward them. There was the blur of movement as something staggered toward them, swaying drunkenly, feet scuffing the fallen leaves.

Clicking on his flashlight, Ernesto stood up and directed the beam on the path.

Stepping into the light, Felix materialized from the dark path. Squinting, he raised an arm to shade his eyes from the bright LEDs, while his other arm remained limp at his side.

"It's Felix!" Cooper exclaimed happily. "Hola, Felix!"

The announcement brought a general air of relief to the camp.

Moving a little closer, Felix stopped, swaying slightly on his feet. In the light they saw how his face was beaded with sweat and how his eyes flickered in their sockets.

Their eyes found the bizarre-looking wound at roughly the same time.

The purple-black lesion covered the length of his forearm and seemed to be advancing toward the elbow. At the center of the sore, a golf ball-sized volcano of flesh had risen to the point of rupture, oozing blood and pus from a notch in its crater.

Felix managed one more step before he stumbled over a root and dropped forward with his arms hanging limply by his side, and the others could only watch in horror as his face met the ground with such force that the earth seemed to tremble beneath their feet.

***

He was alone in the void. He could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. So this must be what death is, Felix realized. Death was the stripping away of all the senses, leaving only the mind intact—that last vestige of the human condition. So being dead was not the religious experience he had always hoped it would be. But it wasn't scary either. Darkness surrounded him and he embraced it. There was no pain, no pain at all, just an overwhelming sense of comfort, of weightlessness, of total bliss. Death, he decided, was actually rather pleasant—like returning to the womb.

Then, somewhere in the darkness, he felt a tug. Or a push. Something moved. He could not see it or hear it, but he sensed it, the vague impression of something stealthy, something that

(lurked?)

(slithered?)

lingered just beyond his awareness. Felix gathered up his thoughts and directed them at the presence. Who are you? he demanded. The intruder did not answer him. Instead, it only tried to burrow deeper into his mind, as if to escape his awareness. Whatever it was, Felix knew this presence did not belong here with him. The feeling of bliss was gone, replaced by one of helpless dread. A single word suddenly bubbled forth from the vastness of his mind, and that word was parásito.

A parasite.

An intruder.

A thief.

An organism that survived by stealing what it needed from other creatures. As the presence burrowed deeper into his mind, Felix felt some fundamental part of him changing. His memories, for instance. When he tried to conjure up the faces of his loved ones, he could no longer see them. There was something else, too. When he tried to picture himself as a boy, his mother and father, his brothers—the memories would not come. In fact, he wasn't even entirely certain that he'd ever had a brother, or brothers. Nor could he remember his parents' names.

Then, from somewhere, nowhere, everywhere, Felix heard a voice. Or voices. From somewhere beyond the void. A sound that carried forth across the great abyss, from the world of the living to the world of the dead.

"Felix?"

Felix?

This word means something.

"Felix?"

What was it? So familiar...

"FELIX!"

Yes, of course...

A name.

His name.

Someone was calling out to him. But what about that thing? What does it want from me? With each passing moment, he found it increasingly difficult to form a lucid thought. Perhaps even more terrifying, he now felt strangely euphoric, as though he were pleasantly drunk. Felix couldn't be sure, but he had the dim impression that whatever was in there with him was intentionally trying to anesthetize him... but to what end? The answer occurred to him as through a thick fog. Though the presence did not seem to be intelligent (at least, not by human measures), it was certainly aware. It had a plan, and its plan was simple: it wanted to survive, and it would do so at all costs. The parásito would use its host as long as possible before discarding it for a new one.

***

"Felix? Felix!"

A cool sensation, not entirely unpleasant, as his senses began to return. There was a sucking sound as he began to slide out of the void. The sound became a white roar, as though someone had turned up the volume on a radio tuned to static. Then... light. The black sky. Stars. Faces. Looking down at him.

As his senses sharpened, Felix looked up to see a crowd of faces looking down at him. To Felix, it felt as though he were looking out from the bottom of a very deep hole. They were leaning over him, studying him as though he were some unusual insect they had trapped inside a net. As the presence retreated to some other place inside his head, Felix found he was able to think, to concentrate again. It occurred to him he must be lying down for them to be hovering over him in such a manner. He tried to move his legs and felt only a cold, not entirely unpleasant tingling sensation from the waist down. Blinking up at them, Felix moaned in fear and pleasure. Something tickled his forehead, rolling slowly down the side of his face. Several seconds passed before he realized that his face and hair were wet. Someone must have splashed water on him, trying to bring him around. The last thing he remembered was fishing, and then something had cut his arm, perhaps one of his hooks. He could not remember. He thought it might have been a spider. He recalled seeing a rather large spider in its web when he was securing the peki-peki to a tree. No, that was wrong, too. It was Felipe who had seen the spider. And then... the rest was a blur.

"Are you okay?" Ernesto asked.

"Dónde está Felipe?" Oscar hovered over the fallen riverboat driver. His one good eye was round with fear while the other stared off at some faraway place in the distance.

Felix tried to respond but his jaws were locked shut and he could not command them to open. With no small effort, he pulled Ernesto nearer and whispered in his ear. Ernesto looked at him in doubt and then gestured toward the others to help lift Felix.

The muscular americano, the one with the shaved head, helped Ernesto pick him up off the ground. They half-carried him to the lean-to where they sat him on the edge of the platform. One of the girls brought him a jug of water and he drank greedily. Felix felt... not right. Something was wrong. He was no longer himself. Some fundamental part of him had changed, but in a way he could not articulate, let alone comprehend. After they had tended to his wounds, he told them that he needed to lie down for a while. He was still feeling a bit dizzy, and he thought some rest would do him well. They helped him into his tent and he fell asleep almost instantly, still thinking that something was not right with him, but not knowing the reason for this feeling.

After, the five Americans waited morosely by the fire while Oscar paced around the clearing, occasionally talking to himself in Spanish and several times returning to the tent to check on Felix.

Ernesto had ventured off some time ago to find Felipe. He had not wanted to leave the Americans alone, but he had decided it was safer for them if they stayed together at the camp, and so he had left Oscar to take care of the turistas... and to keep an eye on Felix. Nearly a full hour had passed, and there was still no sign of either Ernesto or Felipe.

"Any ideas about what happened?" Ben asked solemnly.

Brooke shook her head slowly. "I don't know. Something's not right. Why wasn't Felipe with him?"

"Maybe they got into a fight or something," suggested Janie.

"A fight?" Auggie asked in a startled voice. "Over what?"

"I don't know," Janie replied thoughtfully. "Whatever guys fight over. I was only guessing."

"Maybe there was an accident or something," Cooper suggested. "You guys saw the bite mark."

This was the first time that someone had referred to the wound as a bite, and it opened the door to all sorts of new possibilities that none of them wanted to consider.

"Something bit him," Ben said, blinking in surprise at his own statement. "But what could do something like that?"

Brooke and Janie looked at one another. "A spider?" asked Janie.

"I don't think it's a spider bite," Brooke said. "I don't think their venom spreads like that."

Janie shrugged a shoulder. "What about a snake?"

"It's possible," Brooke said, nodding. "But it's not like any snake bite I've ever seen."

"Then what?"

Brooke shook her head. "I don't know."

"Look," Auggie said, blushing, "I know you guys will think this is crazy, but ever since we got here I've had this, I don't know, this feeling, like..."

"Like what?" Ben asked.

Just then, a light appeared on the path. Ernesto appeared with his headlamp. He was carrying a backpack over one shoulder. Oscar stopped pacing and rushed over to him. Ernesto handed the backpack to him, placing it gently in his hands, as though it was some kind of precious keepsake that deserved to be treated with respect. Oscar stared at it with a grave expression. There was a brief exchange in Spanish. When they were finished, Oscar plodded away with the backpack and slumped against a tree with his head bowed.

Ben looked at Janie. "Did you understand any of that?"

Janie's eyes were wide as she looked at the group. "Yes," she whispered. "And it's not good."

Brooke took Janie by the hand. "What is it?"

Janie turned to her slowly. "Felipe's gone..."

They looked at one another as they tried to comprehend the meaning of this new information.

"...and he took the boat..."

"Well, what does that mean?" Auggie demanded. "How are we supposed to get out of here?"

Janie eyes flashed in the firelight. "I don't know."
Thirty-one

The low grunts of an animal drew them from their tents, and one by one they gathered in the clearing, shining their lights on one another while taking a silent head-count.

Cooper swayed sleepily as he wiped the grit from his eyes. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure," Janie said, hugging herself. "It sounds like an animal got into the camp."

"Ugh!" Auggie covered his mouth, gagging. "What's that smell?"

Brooke, who had one hand over her mouth and the other on her stomach, could only shake her head.

"Where's Ernesto?" Ben's voice had an urgency none of them had heard before. "And Oscar?"

"We are here."

Spinning the light around, they saw Ernesto strapping the knife to his belt while Oscar stood beside him, shifting back and forth on his feet like a nervous ape.

"What is that?" Auggie whispered. When Ben had first awakened him, he was certain that this was all part of some elaborate practical joke. He would go outside and Cooper would pop up from behind a bush and scare the shit out of him, and they would all share a good laugh at his expense. Now, wide awake and with a rising sense of dread, he only wished this were so.

They looked in the direction of the sound and followed it to Felix's dome tent. A jagged hole had been torn along one side and the two pieces of the nylon wall flapped open like a wound.

Janie's voice trembled. "C-cómo estás, Felix?"

At the sound of the girl's voice, something within the tent began to thrash about as though unable to escape. A terrible realization filtered through the group: something had gotten inside while Felix was sleeping. Whatever it was, it was still inside. Ernesto walked over to the lean-to and aimed his flashlight along the shredded seam. As the beam found the hole, they could perceive a single silhouette inside. An elongated head; two shoulders; a trim torso. Long and lean, it was clearly a human shape. There was only one person whose body shape could cast such a shadow.

Oscar took a tentative step forward, his voice rising hopefully. "Felipe?"

The thrashing stopped, and the shadow-head jerked in the direction of the light.

"What the hell—" Ben made as if to look inside the gap, but Ernesto's free hand shot out in front of his chest, blocking him. It was the first show of force by their native guide, and it took Ben by surprise. Stopping short, Ben jerked his head around and fired a questioning look at the diminutive Peruvian.

Ernesto was wearing an odd expression, lips slightly parted, head tilted uncertainly. Although he did not look afraid, his eyes were wider than usual, and the sharpness of his gaze told Ben that whatever was happening inside the tent, it was miles away from good.

With Ben close behind him, Ernesto crept in cautiously, angling the flashlight beam inside the tent. Something shifted inside, moving away from the light. The torn flaps of the tent wall fluttered in the breeze and the hole yawned wider. Both men saw it at precisely same time: Felix's blood-spattered face staring up at the tent ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes. His throat had been torn out, and the blood continued to dribble from the severed cords. Whatever had killed him was still inside. And judging by the terrible sounds of its hunger, it was still gorging itself on the flesh and bones of the portly peki-peki driver.

Ernesto's now juddering light found a dark shape crouching in the back of the tent. Behind the nylon walls came a rapid wheezing, as though someone were hyperventilating. Then the tent exploded and the thing that used to be Felipe leapt out of the hole and into the clearing.

One of the girls shrieked. Ben cursed loudly as he stumbled back, losing his balance as the creature all but bowled him over. Underneath it all, Cooper kept repeating the same phrase over and over: "Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!"

In the dim firelight, Felipe squatted on the ground like a gargoyle and glowered, his face barely recognizable behind a mask of blood. His jaw had been broken, and his mouth drooped open with a look of permanent shock, revealing broken, bloodstained teeth. And his eyes—

Ernesto yelled something in Spanish. It was the first time anyone in the group had heard him raise his voice, and the suddenness of it made them jump. Even Felipe seemed surprised; slowly he raised up from his squat and stood motionless, glaring at Ernesto from across the open space of the clearing. For several seconds nothing happened. There was a very long pause, a moment frozen in time in which the world and everything in it seemed to slow to the point of absolute stillness. Then, with an animalistic roar, Felipe went in for the kill.

Felipe leapt with ease across the clearing and came crashing down on top of Ernesto.

But Ernesto was ready for him. In a flash he drew his knife from its sheath and plunged it into Felipe's chest just as the larger man knocked him to the ground. If Felipe felt the knife at all, he did not show it. Pressing closer, his shattered teeth clicked together as they sought to tear the flesh from Ernesto's face.

Janie was the first to react.

Without thinking, she reached down and grabbed the first thing that caught her eye—a tapered log that was poking up from the ashes of the fire pit. Dashing across the clearing, she raised the log and smashed it over Felipe's head. The log broke open, releasing a shower of sparks that fluttered through the air like fireflies. With a startled cry, she dropped the smoldering stub of wood and fell to her knees in pain, clutching her charred hand against her chest.

Ben eyes darted back and forth across the camp in search of a weapon, but he saw none.

"OhmyGod!" someone cried out shrilly. "Somebody help him!"

Fuck it, Ben thought. Hands balled into tight fists, he started toward the two men.

Cooper and Auggie were both inching closer to the fray, each waiting for the other to make the first move to help. Cooper grabbed at Felipe's shirt and pulled, but the shirt ripped apart at the collar, sending Cooper tumbling backwards as Felipe turned and snarled at him.

At that moment, Oscar emerged from the shadows from behind Felipe. Speaking in a soft, inquisitive voice, he reached out one trembling hand and touched his brother's shoulder. Felipe's arm shot out with blinding speed and seized Oscar by the forearm, snapping the bones with a violent twist. Howling in agony, Oscar stumbled backwards, struggling to make sense of the unnatural angle at which his arm was now bent.

Here was the distraction for which Ben had been waiting.

Running at full speed, he tackled Felipe from behind and the two men rolled end over end across the ground. Twisting his body, Ben wrestled his way on top of the big Peruvian. In a flurry of blows, he drove his fist into Felipe's face, up and down, up and down, like a piston. He was still hammering away at the snarling face when he felt something give beneath his knuckles—shit, I broke his nose, Ben thought crazily—but his fist continued to rise and fall, as though it had a mind of its own. Breathing heavily, Ben had his arm cocked back and was about to deliver what he hoped would be the knockout punch when he first noticed the full extent of the damage he had wrought upon the once-handsome face. Felipe's nose was not just broken, but broken in, pushed back into his face to reveal the glistening red cavity beneath. Sensing Ben's hesitation, Felipe bucked his hips, knocking the boy off balance and flinging him to the ground. The next thing Ben knew, he was on his back and Felipe was on top of him like a rabid dog, trying to rip his throat out.

As the snapping jaws pressed closer, Ben felt the putrid heat of Felipe's breath against his face, and he knew that death was near. Repositioning his arms, Ben clasped his hands around Felipe's neck, squeezing and pushing at the same time. Muscles trembling with their last bit of strength, Ben knew he could not hold the stronger man at bay for long. Desperate for an advantage, he angled his head so that the beam of his headlamp shone directly into Felipe's eyes, and what Ben saw made his heart stop. Where Felipe's eyes should have been were two gleaming black orbs that bulged from their sockets as if ready to burst.

With his last ounce of strength, Ben reached up and pushed his thumbs into the insectile eyes. Shrieking, Felipe clawed furiously at Ben's hands, but Ben refused to let go. Pressing forward, he felt his thumbs squish deeper as the eyeballs popped beneath the pressure, and something that looked like motor oil began to trickle down his fingers.

There was a sickening thud. Shuddering from head to toe, Felipe grunted and toppled to the ground, his legs quivering. Ben glanced up and saw Ernesto holding a large rock between his hands. The bottom of the rock was stained red from where Ernesto had brought it crashing down on the back of Felipe's head.

"OhmyGod!" Brooke was tugging at Ben's shirt, trying to pull him to his feet.

Auggie's eyes were wide with terror. "Ben! Ben!"

Ben stood up on rubbery legs. He looked at Auggie and Brooke, but a few seconds went by before he could actually see them. He nodded absently.

Auggie was on the verge of a breakdown. "Di-did you see his face? His eyes?"

Ben grabbed him by the arm. "Is everyone okay?"

"You saw it, right? What the fuck was wrong with him?"

Ben shined his light across the clearing and saw Janie and Cooper were clutching one another. Still holding the rock in both hands, Ernesto was standing over the fallen man, whispering something in Spanish, something that sounded like a prayer. Felipe was still snarling, a low warning sound, like a cornered animal. Then, with a wild scream, Felipe lunged at him.

Ernesto was all calmness and economy of motion. Stepping aside, he lifted the rock and brought it down on the broken, twisted face. The rock came up and down, up and down.

Letting the bloodstained rock fall from his hands, Ernesto, breathing heavily, stared down at the still-twitching body as though hypnotized.

Felipe's face was gone. In its place was a hollowed-out cavern that seemed as black and hopeless as the night itself.

Babbling softly, Oscar, clutching his sagging arm against his chest, shuffled forward like a man in a dream. As he saw what was left of his brother's face, he knees seemed to fold under him and he fell to the ground with a shrill cry. Burying his head against Felipe's unmoving chest, he wept.
Thirty-two

They moved swiftly through the shadows, carving their way through the dense tangles of underbrush with ease, unaware of the damage they wrought upon their newfound hosts. Their leader, the alpha, was also the oldest of the brood. He was naked save for a few stubborn rags—the last vestiges of a former life that refused to be torn away by the greedy jungle—and beneath these scraps of cloth, his once-muscular flesh had turned black and creamy with decomposition. His progeny were only slightly better off. Surrounded by a universe of flies and mosquitoes, their bodies were riddled with scars and wounds that festered with infection and squirmed with maggots. Death hung about them like a pall—the unmistakable stink of decay—the sickly sweet smell of gangrenous rot.

The nocturnal animals had long ago sensed their arrival and fled.

Monkeys retreated into the upper canopy. Frogs climbed into their secret hollows. A troop of pigs that had been foraging in the area had since tramped away, leaving piles of dung and overturned earth. Now the area was deathly quiet. The wind did not stir, and even their footsteps did not seem to make a sound as they surreptitiously crawled through a densely woven thicket.

Then, sensing a vibration in the air, they stopped as one.

From somewhere far-off in the distance, one of their new scouts had released a high-pitched shrieking, a cry that signaled danger to the others. Uttering a series of clicks and guttural vocalizations, the alpha delivered a message that was passed up and down the cordon until the sound became rhythmic and constant, like a chant. All the while the alpha watched them, his bulging black eyes shining with a cold intelligence.

Then, as though compelled by some invisible force, the chant ended abruptly on a single note, and they began to move with a purpose toward the direction of the intruders.
Thirty-three

"What the fuck are we gonna do, man? Seriously, what the fuck are we gonna do?"

Six figures huddled together around the fire pit, exhausted but unable or unwilling to return to their tents. Flames danced atop a small pile of kindling, providing little light, although the fire alone offered them at least some sense of security. After regaining their composure, Ernesto and Ben had covered Felipe's body with a sleeping bag. Kneeling beside the makeshift pall, Oscar kept a lonesome vigil over his brother's battered corpse. Praying with his head bowed, he rocked slowly back and forth, occasionally mumbling in Spanish or Quechua, strings of mournful-sounding words that included his dead brother's name, before breaking off into sobs.

Now here they were, in the middle of nowhere, with two dead bodies lying no more than fifteen feet away. Stranded. They were stranded in the middle of the Green Hell. It wasn't real. None of it could be real. They all had difficulty finding words, any words, in the wake of such horror. They were too busy trying to make sense of all that had happened. Now Cooper got up and began to pace around the fire.

"What the fuck are we gonna do?"

Their collective eyes slowly turned to Ben for an answer, but the muscular boy seemed preoccupied with keeping the fire going. Stoking the flames with a stick, he did not even look at them.

"Ohjesuschrist, how the FUCK are we gonna get out of here?"

Auggie watched him steadily through the dancing flames. "The boat's gone..." he said hopelessly, and Ben shot him a withering glance that said, Shut up! Just shut up!

Cooper began to pace faster and faster, sneakers kicking up ashes and bits of leaves.

At last Ben raised his head and said, "Sit down, Coop."

Cooper stopped abruptly, and only now did they see how badly he was trembling. Pushing his hair back from his eyes, he looked at them pleadingly. When he didn't move, Janie got up and went to him, resting her bandaged hand on his shoulder. "We'll figure something out," she said in a tender voice. "We gotta keep it together, okay?" With this, Janie took his hand and he allowed himself to be led back to the fire, where they both sat down with their arms around each other.

Ben turned to Ernesto, who was staring into the embers as though trying to work out some problem in his head. "Do you have a radio? A walkie-talkie or something we can use to call for help?"

Looking up, Ernesto shook his head solemnly. "There was a radio on the boat."

"Well, of course someone will be coming looking for us," Auggie said shakily. "Right? I mean, they must have protocols in place for this sort of thing. Five tourists just don't go missing without a search. Am I right?"

Ben looked around at the frightened faces and the chatter died down as they waited for him to speak. "No one knows where we are," he said in a tight voice. "We were supposed to go to that other campsite, but we came here instead. Right now the most important thing is to keep our shit together. And we should probably find a few weapons. Just in case."

This was followed by a long and meaningful silence.

"But someone will come to find us, right?" Auggie asked in a high, trembling voice. "I mean, search parties, helicopters? Someone will come looking?"

Brooke touched his arm. "Nobody knows we're here. Even if they send a search party, we're not even due back at the research center for a few more days."

Surprised by the contact, Auggie shrank away from her. "So, what?" he asked. "We just sit and wait? Cross our fingers that someone will come find us?"

"We could," Ernesto began quietly, "we could start to go through the jungle. To get closer to the research center, where we can maybe spot-it a boat, uh-huh."

The five Americans looked at one another grimly. Hiking through the forest on an established path was one thing; heading out into the uncharted recesses of the world's largest jungle—a place already infamous for having claimed the lives of some of the world's greatest explorers—was something entirely different.

Auggie finally roused himself to speak, choosing his words as carefully as possible. "Ernesto, are you sure you can get us back to the research center? Is there, like, a specific trail we can take?"

Ernesto was silent for a very long time as he measured his response. At last he said, "No, I've never done. But we can follow the river and tell direction by the sun, uh-huh."

"Do you think it's—" Auggie licked his lips. "Do you think it's safe?"

Ernesto rested his hand on the frightened boy's shoulder. "Gather your things. Everyone. Only what you can carry. We must leave here now."
Thirty-four

Grainy and gray, the image was something straight out of a 1970s horror film. On a bed of leaves the body lay perfectly still beneath the unzipped sleeping bag. Speckled with blood, the layers of fabric did little to conceal the shape of a head, the stump of a nose, the rounded indentations that marked the location of two eye sockets—all features that were clearly recognizable as human, nothing like the nightmarish visage that was now obscured beneath the folds. Felipe, or whatever Felipe had become before he died.

There had been some talk, awkward and brief, about moving Felix out of the tent in order to place his body beside Felipe's. But one look inside the shredded tent was enough to convince them that this was not possible. The blood-spattered interior was just the beginning. Scraps of flesh littered the floor, and Felix's corpse lay in tatters, gnawed through the bone in places. There would be no removing the body, not without exposing themselves to the dripping gore within. In an effort to preserve the body, they loosened the guy lines and collapsed the poles, and Felix's tent became his burial shroud.

"What are you doing?"

With the touch of a button, the lens zoomed in and Felipe's shroud-covered body dominated the screen. Two muscular brown legs protruded from the lower portion of the sleeping bag. Felipe was still, so very still. Like a mannequin. Hard to believe that this broken sack of flesh was once a living, breathing person. It all felt so surreal. The jungle. The attack. Everything. How could any of it be real? Just a few hours ago they had been lounging around the fire, having the time of their lives, and then... Ben watched the body for a few more seconds, both repulsed and fascinated by the stillness of death.

"I said, 'What are you doing?'"

Shutting down the camera, Ben turned to find Auggie standing close by, gaping at him. Ben started at the sight of him. "I was filming the...the... I was filming. I thought we should document everything that happened. Just in case, you know, the police want to see it or something."

Auggie nodded vaguely. That was Ben, good old Ben, the Boy Scout. Always planning ahead.

"Are we leaving now?"

"Yes," Auggie's face glowed with the flush of fear. "We're almost ready."

"Good." Ben nodded thoughtfully. After sealing his camera inside the waterproof bag, he placed it inside the innermost compartment of his backpack for safekeeping. "Good," he repeated as he lifted the pack to his shoulders. "The sooner we get our asses back to the research center, the better."

Ben started toward the group, but Auggie touched his arm, stopping him. "Hey, wait."

"What is it?"

"It's just—" Auggie lowered his voice. He hesitated, tongue flicking nervously across his dry lips. "I can't make sense of it, you know? I mean, what the hell happened here?"

Ben looked at his friend. The button eyes, the trembling lips, the blotchy face. Auggie, for all his brains, was as helpless as a child. Yet Ben held him in the same regard as Cooper. They were brothers, all three. Although he was clearly frightened, Ben did not feel pity for the boy, nor was he the least bit disappointed by Auggie's gentle nature. Instead, what he felt was something akin to a brotherly instinct to protect him, to see him through this strange ordeal. At last, Ben put his hands on Auggie's shoulders. "Everything's going to be okay, man. You'll see. Ernesto knows his shit. If anybody can get us out of here, it's him."

"But what about..." Auggie's eyes flicked toward the direction of the body. "What I mean is, what happened to Felipe? And Felix?"

Squeezing his shoulders, Ben said, "For now, let's just focus on getting out of here, okay?"

"What he did...to Felix..."

"Please, man, we have to—"

"But you saw his face..." Auggie said, shuddering.

Ben's jaw clenched and he nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Yeah, I saw it. No doubt. I don't know...what happened. Some sort of drug? You know, like PCP, or that other shit? Bath salts?"

"But his face..."

Ben's eyes drifted to the body that lay covered by the sleeping bag. Yes, his face. Ben would not soon forget that living-nightmare mask with its bloodstained teeth and bulging eyes. Just thinking about it made his head swim.

"I don't have an answer for it. Not a real answer, I mean. But we don't have the luxury of time to figure things out. That will have to wait for later. Right now, we just have to get the hell out of this place, until we know that we're all safe, okay?"

Auggie searched Ben's eyes, and what he found there did little to comfort him. The old, unflappable confidence was gone, replaced by a look of raw determination. And something else, too. Something Auggie had never seen before. Fear, he thought. If Ben was afraid, what did that mean for the rest of them? Yet, there was a strange kind of logic to Ben's reasoning. It would do them no good to linger here with the two bodies, which were sure to attract insects and predators of all shapes and sizes. Better to figure it out later. Maybe Ernesto could figure it out. Better still, maybe he already knew the answer.

"Okay?" Ben repeated.

"Okay," Auggie agreed at last.

Turning away from the deceased, the two boys joined the living in their final preparations.
Thirty-five

The first dawn arrived with a glimmer of hope.

Ernesto was relentless in his push to get them as far away from the Brazil nut camp as possible, and they had smashed, hacked, stumbled, and crawled their way through the green crush all through the night. Scratched, bruised, bug-bitten, and weary, they had survived the grueling nighttime trek and all its potential hazards. At times the underbrush had been so dense, and the trees so crowded, that they were forced to lie on their stomachs and wriggle across the damp earth. Up and over the treacherous deadfalls, through thorns that slashed their flesh like razor blades and thickets so dense that even Ernesto's machete could not part them, on and on they walked. But the worst part of this nocturnal journey was the insects, which were a constant torment—mosquitoes and sand flies and God knew what else—leaving their skin raw with bites and stings. The insects found their way into everything—their clothes, their ears, their noses, even their eyes. The everlasting jungle had lost its glamour. The Green Hell was truly living up to its name, for every inch of it had become wretched, almost sinister.

Deep shades of purple seeped into the sky, awakening an orchestra of birds and insects whose morning song seemed the very essence of hope. These much-welcomed sights and sounds imbued the Americans with a sense of finality and made them certain—beyond any doubt whatsoever—that rescue was not only inevitable, but imminent. Soon they would be found. Surely, people must be looking for them. They did not know who these people were, or how anyone could possibly know where to look for them, or even how much time would pass before they would be missed at the research center, but surely they were not the first group of tourists to get lost in the jungle. Surely, the Peruvian government would exhaust all its resources to ensure the safe rescue of the five missing foreigners.

The light was growing stronger, and the first drops of sunshine began to trickle down through the canopy, marking an end to the nocturnal terror. The trees began to stir, their leaves whispering softly in quiet celebration. Birds took wing, squawking and whistling with newfound vigor. Directly in front of them, a troop of squirrel monkeys began to chatter in the low-hanging branches, seemingly unafraid of the human interlopers. From somewhere far away, something that sounded like an owl released an exaggerated, humanlike ooooh!

In the dusty light, Ernesto took one look at the turistas' tired, dirt-caked faces and said, "We rest now."

Without a word, the Americans collapsed to the ground in exhaustion while Ernesto and Oscar stood slightly apart from them, apparently discussing their next move.

Finally, Cooper roused himself to speak. "What are they saying?" he asked, panting.

Janie shook her head. "I don't know. I think that's Quechua."

The sky blushed pink and all at once daylight was upon them, warm, yellow, and full of promise. The sight of it made them want to weep with joy. If only the sun would deliver on its promise and find them safely out of this place.

Soon came the heat, oppressive and enervating, transforming their mouths into unquenchable deserts even as it squeezed the sweat from every pore.

It seemed to Auggie that the jungle did not want them to leave, and he wondered if perhaps the very same fate had befallen Percy Fawcett and all the countless others who had arrived in this horrid place in search of fame and fortune and adventure, never to be seen again.

Even Cooper perceived this increasing opposition, and he felt foolish for ever believing he could become one with the jungle. There was no spiritual energy here, no Path of Enlightenment either; such beliefs were merely the products of his overactive imagination. In reality, the jungle was little more than a prehistoric death trap. It was the perfect killing machine, one that murdered indiscriminately, capable of covering up its crimes in a thousand different ways without leaving behind a single shred of evidence. And it was only through this newfound disillusionment that Cooper allowed himself to accept the universal truth: man and nature could never truly live in harmony, for one was constantly trying to destroy the other.

Though the memory of it wormed its way into their every thought, no one dared to talk about what had happened at camp during the small hours of the morning before the sun came up. Nor did anyone dare mention the names of Felix or Felipe—not even Oscar. In a desperate effort to avoid these forbidden subjects, they seldom spoke at all, and on the rare occasions they did, it was under the tacit agreement to keep their discussions topical. Can we take a break for a minute? Do you think it's safe to cross here? Oh, it's time to take our meds. What about snakes? Hey, where's the bug spray?

I'm almost out of water.

Me, too.

I'd give you some of mine, but I ran out a few hours ago.

For his part, Ernesto was the ultimate coach, urging them on, always squeezing just a little more out of them than they would have ever thought possible. As the sun floated higher in the sky, the humidity closed around them like a fist.

They pushed on through the day; there was nothing else for them to do.

On and on they walked.
Thirty-six

As the sun began its slow descent, Ernesto unceremoniously chose a place to set up camp for the evening. It was a rather poor choice for a camp, he knew, surrounded by so many damaged trees and in such close proximity to a low-lying swamp, but he could see in the Americans' eyes that they could go no farther.

Unshouldering their backpacks, Ben, Auggie, Cooper, Janie, and Brooke all sank to the ground, alternating between guzzling water and panting like dogs. Meanwhile, Ernesto and Oscar engaged in a brief discussion regarding the layout of the campsite. The others could not understand all they were saying, but their gestures made it rather easy to follow the conversation. The air was thick with humidity and the stink of sweat; it was the smell of the human body being pushed to the extreme. Ben looked around at the glistening, dirt-caked faces, and what he saw alarmed him. Their eyes were glazed and unfocused, as though they had lost all sense of hope and purpose.

Brooke leaned against Ben heavily, resting her head against his lap. Her body was rigid, her muscles tense. He looked down at her and she smiled weakly at him through the wet tangles of hair. He found it difficult to return the gesture. When he was finally able to form some semblance of a smile, it felt cheerless and false, though if she sensed his apprehension she did a fine job concealing it. "Are you okay?" he whispered. Looking up at him, she nodded emphatically, and her face looked as open and innocent as a child's. Ben ran his fingers through her damp hair, smoothing it back from her face. The tension left her body and she closed her eyes, her smile somehow deepening with his every touch. Amazing, he thought, that she can still smile at all after what we've been through.

There had been little preparation in their departure from the Brazil nut camp. Since they had left in such a hurry, they had only taken two of the tents—the boys' large dome tent and Ernesto's small pup tent—and even then they had not bothered to bring along all the poles and guy lines. Nor had they brought their sleeping bags and pillows. Ernesto spoke quietly to Oscar, who nodded in response. Then Ernesto came over to talk to them while Oscar used his one good arm to wield the machete and cut a nearby bough, which he used to sweep the ground clear to make way for the tents.

"We camping here," Ernesto said, shyly. "For one night only. We have two tents. You can share the tents. It will not be too much room, but I think all can fit inside. We will set them up there, away from the old trees."

"What about you?" Brooke asked. "And Oscar?"

Ernesto pooched out his bottom lip and shrugged. "We will stay by to keep a fire going." He licked his lips and then added, "For to keep the insects and the animals away."

"You don't have to do that," Ben persisted. "The five of us can all try to squeeze into the big tent, and you and Oscar can share your tent."

"Is okay," Ernesto said. "We grew up on the river. We are used to sleeping outside, uh-huh."

"I can stay up with you," Ben offered. "We can take turns sleeping."

A deep crease darkened Ernesto's brow. "Mmm, no need for the three of us, Ben-ah. Oscar and I can take turns asleeping by the fire."

A terrible thought occurred to Ben: He wants to keep watch—to make sure we're safe. He doesn't want us to know that there's anything to be afraid of. He doesn't want us to know that there's something still out there. An image flashed through Ben's mind at that moment—something barely recognizable, like a landscape viewed through a foggy windshield— but it was there and gone before he could snatch the thought from obscurity.

"Ben?"

It was Brooke. She was standing beside him with a look that was part curiosity, part concern. Staring off into the trees, Ben's eyes were two black circles surrounded by a thin blue corona. It was as though his spirit was gone, and all that was left was this earthly shell, this statue made of flesh and bone.

"Ben?" she repeated when he did not respond. She rested her hand on his shoulder.

Upon her touch, his eyelids began to flutter rapidly. "Yeah?" he asked vaguely.

"Are you okay?"

Ben shivered a little, as though his spirit had just returned to his body. When he turned his head to look at her, he did not seem to recognize her. Then, all at once, the pupils constricted and the life drained back into those brooding blue eyes.

"Sorry," Ben said, visibly relaxing. "I just had this strange feeling, like something I should remember but I can't." He held out his hand to her and she took it, lacing her fingers with his. "Anyway," he went on, "let's get the tents set up before it gets dark."
Thirty-seven

At home, while planning their Amazon adventure, Ben had been unable to find any reviews regarding the quality of the food that would be served during their jungle stay. In the spirit of preparedness, he, Auggie, and Cooper had each loaded up on emergency rations in the form of protein bars, hydration tablets, and trail mix. While Cooper had eaten all but one of his protein bars out of sheer boredom during the long flight from Boston to Lima, Ben and Auggie had both rationed out their portions, eating only one apiece during their hike in and around Machu Picchu. Now they dug through their backpacks in order to take stock of their remaining supplies.

Between them, they had seven protein bars, one bag of trail mix, two small bags of Corn Nuts, and five hydration tablets. Ernesto had also packed some bananas, a small amount of leftover mango chicken with rice from the previous night, and a package of plantain chips. After some discussion, they decided to eat the leftovers since the prepared food would be the first to spoil.

Stomachs grumbling, mouths salivating, they gathered around Ernesto's bonfire as they waited for the food to cook. Gone completely were those feelings of camaraderie and the thrill of adventure that had been so prevalent the night before; they were too weary to socialize, and any sense of excitement had died with Felix and Felipe.

"Do you think— " Janie began and immediately stopped herself. Bowing her head, she began to fidget with her fingers. "Never mind."

Cooper leaned closer to her. "Think what?" he coaxed gently.

The once sassy brunette had said very little since the Brazil nut camp and had become increasingly more distant, almost to the point of abstraction. A few days earlier, Janie Castellano would have verbally castrated anyone who had the gall to treat her as the stereotypical "helpless female", but tonight she had been uncharacteristically compliant when Brooke offered to put ointment on her cuts and scrapes, nor did she protest when Cooper began to scrub her face and neck clean with a Wet-Nap. Now, as she spoke, they turned to her expectantly, silently compelling her to continue. "Do you think we'll have enough food to last until... until we get back?"

Ernesto felt the combined weight of their eyes upon him—eyes that burned with a dim and fragile hope—and he was glad when he did not have to lie to them. "Yes," he said, nodding. "There is food all around us in the jungle. Fruits, nuts, flowers. Food, plenty of food, good food. So eat, eat. Is good for to keep up the energy so you don't lose your strength."

Dinner was ready. Ernesto served the meager portions in plastic cups and passed the containers around their little circle. The silverware had been abandoned back at the Brazil nut camp, and no one uttered a complaint when they were forced to eat with their hands. For dessert, Ben divided three of the protein bars in half and passed the pieces around the circle. It occurred to him that perhaps he should be more particular when it came to rationing their supplies, but in the end he decided to follow Ernesto's advice about the importance of keeping up their strength.

Watching the embers burn, Auggie tried to picture Felipe before last night—the handsome movie star face, with its chiseled angles and dark eyes—but no matter how hard he tried, the memory would not come. In its place was a nightmare variant; the handsome, brooding features twisted into an impossible funhouse sneer, the movie star smile shattered and dripping with gore. Even this image was difficult to hold for very long, for it was soon replaced by a hollowed-out cavern of a face, shattered beyond all recognition by Ernesto and his trusty rock. And Felix, poor jovial Felix, whose throat had been torn out while he was still alive...

Auggie shivered at the thought of the two bodies lying alone at the Brazil nut camp, left to the mercy of all manner of animal and insect life. He had never considered himself a religious person; though he had attended church as a boy and even received his first communion, he still found it difficult, if not impossible, to put much stock in anything that could not be examined, observed, or calculated in some scientific way. All the same, he felt there was something morally wrong about not giving the bodies a proper burial.

...Left them there. We just left them there like... like garbage.

What if it were one of them back there? Ben or Cooper or the two girls? What if it were him? Would they have also left his body behind to putrefy in the jungle heat?

Then a terrible thought crept into Auggie's mind: What if we all end up that way? Who would know? Who would ever know?

Suddenly, his throat closed and he began to choke on a mouthful of rice.

"Are you okay?" Brooke asked, rubbing his shoulder.

Auggie nodded, still choking. His shoulder muscles were full of knots and spasms, and her touch had a salutary effect that gave him the chills. Swallowing hard, the lump of food squeezed slowly down his throat and at last he could breathe again.
Thirty-eight

"Talk to me," Cooper pleaded gently. "Please."

In the darkness of the tent, she could just see the vague profile of his face and hair in the moonlight. She was glad she could not see his eyes because that also meant that he could not see hers. She was afraid—more afraid than she had ever been in her entire life—and she did not want him to see her cry. The night song blotted out most other sounds, though on occasion she thought she could hear the murmur of conversation from the next tent over. There was a faint glow outside the tent wall, a flickering white dot in the distance, and she found some small comfort in knowing that Ernesto and Oscar were still out there keeping watch by the tiny fire.

"I'm scared," Janie whispered, and she was pleasantly surprised by the relief that followed this confession. "I'm scared," she repeated, as though tasting the words in her mouth for the first time. "I'm sorry, I—" The words died in her throat as she choked back a sob.

"Hey," Cooper whispered soothingly. "Please, please don't apologize. We're all scared, even Ben, though he doesn't really show it. But Ernesto—"

"I just can't stop thinking about Felix... and Felipe. I—I've never seen..." She shuddered at the memory of Felipe's black eyes and bloodstained teeth. "Can we not talk about this anymore tonight?"

Cooper found her hand in the darkness. "That's probably a good idea. Why don't you try to get some sleep, okay? Ernesto and the big guy are both standing watch, and you need to rest for tomorrow."

Janie laced her fingers with his. Then her lips, warm and wet, brushed against his skin as she kissed the back of his hand. This unexpected show of affection gave him pleasant chills, and for a fleeting moment he entertained the possibility of a sexual interlude, though he knew it was neither the time nor the place to indulge in such thoughts.

"Will you—will you watch over me while I sleep?"

"Absolutely," he replied without hesitation. "You don't even have to ask."

"I don't mean all night or anything," she added quickly. "Just, you know, until I fall asleep."

"Yeah, no problem."

A pause. "You're a good guy, Cooper."

A touch of humor crept into Cooper's voice. "T-thanks. I think."

"No, really. I mean that. Most guys fucking suck. But you, you're really sweet. And good-looking. And funny. And you don't spend every second trying to get into my pants."

"Thanks," he said again. "But, just for the record, I've been trying like hell to get into your pants. Do I need like a key or something? You got that thing locked up like a chastity belt!"

It took a second for her to realize he was joking, and when she did, she began to laugh and cry at the same time. "I'm sorry..." she sniffled.

"Hey," he whispered. "It's okay." Reaching out blindly, his fingers found her face and he began to stroke her hair. "It was a really dumb joke."

Rolling closer, she pressed her lips against him, fumbling in the dark and missing his mouth altogether. She found this amusing and was still giggling when his mouth found hers. He kissed her deeply, passionately. After, she put her head on his chest and they embraced one another. He stayed that way for some time, and when her breathing became rhythmic and her arms went slack, he knew she was asleep.

Almost immediately she began to dream, watery snippets of memories: she and Brooke and their friends dancing on the beach in Panama City during spring break; a random conversation with her mother about her Aunt Beatrice, crazy Aunt Beatrice, who was going back to rehab for the umpteenth time. The dream at last shifted to a more recent memory: she was dangling high above the ground as she peeked inside one of the artificial nests, and inside she saw a young chick, a baby macaw. The macaw was mewling softly, and as it lifted its bald head, she could see that it was badly deformed. Its eyes were the eyes of a hooked fish, and from the center of its tiny skull there sprouted a whitish-gray horn with several points, like the twisted roots of a tree. In the dream, she drew back from the chick in blind terror, flailing wildly as she became hopelessly tangled in the ropes that held her. One of the ropes found its way around her neck and she started to choke, hanging like a piñata sixty feet above the green earth. Then, mercifully, her dream faded to black.

Feeling her shudder, he held her tighter, wondering what she was dreaming about.

After a time, though he struggled against it, Cooper joined her in sleep.
Thirty-nine

Still wavering in and out of sleep, Brooke rolled onto her side and reached out her arm in search of warmth and comfort, but her hand passed too quickly through the chill air, landing with a soft thud on the nylon floor. Inching closer, her hand continued forward in search of contact, but where Ben had been sleeping beside her there was only an empty space. All at once the alarm bells began to ring inside her head, and she sat up on her elbows, no longer sleepy but instantly awake.

It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and when they did she was able to confirm what she had already feared: Ben was gone.

Please... let him be okay.

Rolling over, she saw that Auggie was still there, sleeping soundly in the fetal position.

Fumbling for the tab, Brooke unzipped the tent door and crept outside. Like a beacon, her eyes were instantly drawn to the dim glow of Ernesto's fire, perhaps twenty yards away. She could see the dark outlines of people there, vague shadows that blocked the light, though it was difficult to tell if there were two men or three. Perhaps Ben had joined the two guides to keep vigil over the fire? This seemed likely, only too likely, knowing Ben. Hugging herself against the chill air, she had just decided to join him when she heard branches breaking behind the tent.

She whirled around and froze, staring into darkness.

"Ben?" she called. Maybe he had only popped out for a bathroom break. Had she not been so skittish, she would have stayed asleep, and he would have done his business and been back inside before she'd even noticed. Now here she was, creeping around in the dark like a stalker, suddenly feeling like a fool. Well, she did have to go pee, but unlike the boys, she did not have the luxury of just whipping it out any old time she had to go. No, for her it was not so easy. As a girl she had to drop her pants and squat... which meant that she needed someone to stand guard for her. Surely, Ben would understand that. At the very least, she thought this was a valid excuse as to why she had come looking for him.

"Ben?"

Inside the tent, she heard Auggie murmur something unintelligible, and then some part of him, maybe a leg or an arm, made the fabric bulge as he shifted positions in his sleep.

Peering into the darkness, she listened.

There was only the susurration of insects, her own shallow breathing, and now, she noticed, something that boomed like a drum inside her ears.

"Hello?"

The voice came from behind her. Near the fire.

She turned and saw a familiar figure standing there, illuminated by the dim light.

Ben.

Suddenly she felt a prickle of fear slither down her spine. She had to fight the desire to run to him, to race into the light as quickly as possible, to throw herself into his strong arms. But before she could do so, the rational part of her that told her if she were to make a sudden move of any kind, something very bad would happen to her. Backing away slowly, she turned and started walking toward the fire.

"Hey!" Ben said, coming toward her. "What's wrong?"

Behind him, Oscar was slouched over against a tree trunk, apparently asleep. Ernesto was watching her, and now he stood up behind Ben, somehow managing to look at ease and totally alert, as always.

Brooke had started walking toward him when, behind her, a single branch snapped beneath an invisible weight. To her frightened ears, it seemed as loud as a firecracker, a gunshot, a stick of dynamite. She shivered, her legs suddenly boneless. Somehow, she wasn't sure how, she knew she was being watched. The sensation was almost palpable, like a cold fire that started in the pit of her stomach and worked its way into her heart. She managed one more step and then froze, unsure if she could move even if she wanted to.

Eyes—watching her. Studying her.

The logical part of her was convinced this was simply her imagination running rampant. If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one there to hear it... does it make a sound? Sure, yeah sure. Except she was there to hear it, and that's probably exactly what she had heard, just some rotted old branch falling off a tree. And even if she was right, even if there was something out there watching her, it was probably just a monkey or a pig or some other little creature. But even as she told herself these things, the undeniable reality was this:

They were not alone.
Forty

Cooper awoke to the sound of voices. He could hear someone crunching around outside his tent, and he was sure he had heard Ben calling out to someone close by. Slipping out from under Janie's arm, he crawled to the door, unzipped it, and stuck his head outside.

"Yo," he croaked, brushing the hair out of his face. "What the hell's going on?"

Ben was walking toward him with a baffled expression. "Everything's fine, man. Go back to sleep."

Cooper watched as Ben walked over to the neighboring tent. Brooke was standing just in front of it, so still that Cooper had not noticed her at first.

"What's wrong?" Cooper heard Ben ask.

Cooper strained his ears, but they were talking in whispers now and he could not make out what they were saying. Eyes wandering slightly uphill to the fire, Cooper saw Ernesto's small frame as he stood watching them.

"Cooper?"

Shit. Janie.

She was propped up on her arms, her hair hanging down around face in wild tendrils. She was wearing a tight tank top, and her revealing cleavage glistened with perspiration. Once again Cooper felt that painful longing he could not quell.

Wiping the sand from her eyes with one hand, it was clear she was not yet fully awake. "Is everything alright?"

Cooper smiled at the confusion of this hard-as-nails girl who typically seemed so composed. "Yeah," he whispered. "Everything's—"

A dark shadow on the back wall of the tent stole his thoughts. As he watched, the shadow seemed to grow taller, finally taking on the shape of a person. A second shadow rose beside it, quickly followed by a third.

Before Cooper could even comprehend what was happening, a rip zigzagged down the middle of the tent wall and the shadows spilled inside. Arms reached into the tent, yanking Janie through the opening with such brutal force that it looked as though she were chained to the back of a truck. Janie let loose a single, bloodcurdling scream, and then all that remained was a ragged hole in the back of the tent, the deafening roar of insects and tree frogs, and the darkness of the jungle beyond.

Janie Castellano was gone.
Forty-one

After a protracted search in which not a trace of Janie was found, they made their way back to the campsite where Ernesto urged them to pack their belongings as quickly as possible. For thirty seconds or so, no one moved save Oscar, who had already lumbered off to repack his gear. They could just see the yellow orb of his headlamp bobbing about as he stripped his bulky rucksack of its nonessentials.

"I tried to help her," Cooper murmured. He raised his head and his eyes were round as marbles, glassy and bloodshot and desperate for absolution. "I tried to reach out for her, but... it all happened so fast..."

"It's not your fault, Coop." Ben touched him on the shoulder, but this small act of kindness only seemed to deepen his despair.

Cooper winced at the contact. "It all just happened so fast..." he repeated, staring off into the darkness as though trying to piece together those final moments in his head. "I reached for her and... and she was gone."

"Ben-ah?"

Ben shifted his attention to Ernesto, who had taken several steps away from the group. Ben saw the urgency in his eyes and nodded. Ernesto lingered for a few more seconds until he was certain that Ben understood the message before wandering off to help Oscar with the packing.

When Ernesto was gone, Ben turned to them and said, "I'm sorry, but Ernesto wants us to get moving. We should pack as light as possible, so let's gather what we need before we leave."

"Leave?" Brooke asked in a tiny voice. "We can't just leave!" Beneath eyes that trembled with tears, she was smiling incredulously. Ben thought it was probably the most heartbreaking thing he had ever seen. "No, no, no." Brooke shook her head so violently that her hair tumbled across her eyes. "She'll be back. You'll see. She's coming back. I know it."

"The best thing we can do for Janie," Ben said gently, "is to go get help and then come back and—"

"WE DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE THE FUCK WE ARE!" Brooke screamed shrilly.

Cooper and Auggie were loitering close by, and they both flinched at this unexpected outburst.

Ben caught Brooke by the sleeve and pulled her closer, wrapping her up in his arms. "No!" she cried. She pounded her fists against his chest.

"Shhhh," he whispered, brushing the hair out of her face. "Everything's gonna be okay..."

She gave a halfhearted effort to pull away from him, but in the end she put up little resistance.

Five minutes later, the others gathered around them. Ben still held her fast, though the sobs had given way to sniffles, and the tears had run their course for now. Even in the most tragic of moments, one could shed only so many tears before the well eventually ran dry.

And so, having gathered their meager belongings, they once again fled under cover of night, abandoning the two tents as they were, and leaving Janie Castellano alone to an uncertain fate in the darkness.
Forty-two

A full day passed with no sign of Janie or her abductors, whoever they were. With Ernesto in the lead and Oscar bringing up the rear, they walked on through the forest, sick with fear and exhaustion. And thirst, always the thirst. Overhead, the pink sky slowly darkened to purple. Soon the traitorous sunlight fled the forest. Night was upon them, with its intensity of sounds and untold terrors.

They stumbled along, silent in their misery, as Ernesto sought a proper hiding place. Restlessly, they followed, eager for the reprieve, however long it might last. Finally, they arrived at a massive Ceiba that dominated the earth and sky, its buttressed roots fanning out in all directions. The roots created natural pockets, each one deep enough to conceal three or four grown men. Ernesto removed his backpack and hung it on a low branch nearby. As the others squeezed through the underbrush, he looked at them in turn. Clothes, arms, and faces smeared with sweat and grime, the four Americans were almost unrecognizable. Only Oscar, with his apelike gait, hooked nose, and lazy eye, was a familiar face as he lumbered along at the back of the line, occasionally stopping to clutch his mangled arm to his chest in pain.

Shining his headlamp, Ernesto appraised the natural fortification of the tree, the thick encroachments of the roots that would shield them from view. Like the leg of some monstrous elephant, the grayish trunk of the Ceiba tree dominated the landscape, rising perhaps a hundred feet or more before its limbs splayed like an umbrella, blocking out the sky. Caught in its lofty boughs was a thin veil of mist that hovered like the spirits of their dead. For some reason, this gave him pause to think of his family back at the little house in Puerto Malaka. Carmen would be waking up to feed little Liana, their three year-old girl. He pictured their faces: Carmen's oval face, wide-set eyes, and kind smile; Liana's small features, long lashes, hair so black and shiny it was almost blue, her tiny voice. At such a young age, would she even remember her father if he never came home? The thought saddened Ernesto.

Still, he had a responsibility to complete his job, and his job was to ensure the safety of the turistas, so he would do whatever possible to get them back to the research center in one piece. And after? Well, he supposed he would take some time off to spend with his family. Surely, in light of all that had happened, Fabian, his boss, could not expect him to jump right back into the jungle with the next group of tourists. There would likely be an inquest, a brief one, to review the company's safety measures. Surely his employer would understand Ernesto's need for a short vacation.

Then Ernesto remembered the inhumans. Los muertos, Felix had called them. That was the last thing Felix had said to him—the last thing he had said to anyone—before they had helped bring him to his tent, only to be murdered a few hours later by one of his closest friends. Los muertos. The dead. There had always been stories, Ernesto recalled, of evil spirits that lived deep in the untouched heart of the jungle. But even as a boy, he knew these were simply cautionary tales, traditional myths and legends passed down from tribal elders to teach one lesson or another. In the many years since, Ernesto had experienced numerous close calls with the jungle's deadliest creatures, but he had never before known the true meaning of fear, not until he stared into those desolate black eyes and smelled the foul stink of death rising from the pit of those hungry, snapping jaws. "We stop here," he murmured, nodding with conviction as if in response to an unanswered question.

Their collective relief was instant. It rippled through the group, moving from person to person, as palpable as an electric current. As their lungs labored against the humid air, Cooper, Auggie, and Brooke looked at one another wearily as they dropped to the ground. Of the four Americans, only Ben remained standing, his jaw set with a stubborn resolve. Oscar was whispering to Ernesto in Spanish, and Ben went over and stood by them, dutifully awaiting his orders. Ernesto looked at the boy and thought about telling him to go back and join the others in their rest. Ben's legs were trembling with exhaustion, and he was panting like a dog, but the look of resolve in his eyes made Ernesto reconsider. He liked this boy, just as he liked all of the Americans, but Ernesto also found that he was gaining a deep trust and respect for them as well.

"Ben-ah," Ernesto said. "We are going to gather the branches for to make a shelter."

Removing the sheathed knife from his belt, he held it out to Ben. "You keep for now."

"Are you sure?"

"Is good knife," Ernesto said. "My cousin make this knife. I might need for sometimes, but you keep for now."

Ben accepted the knife with a nod. "Thank you."

"Stay close."

Ben nodded again. "I understand."

Using the knife to cut the leafy boughs, Ben, Oscar, and Ernesto set about the task of feathering their makeshift nest while the others lingered on the moist ground, eager for whatever respite they might find in the shade. Crawling on his hands and knees, Ernesto completed a careful inspection of the area, and though he did not say it, they understood that he was making a sweep for any snakes or poisonous spiders that might be lurking by the base of the great tree. When this task was complete, they settled in among the branches and leaves.

Auggie was in tough shape. His face and body were crisscrossed with wounds wrought by the underbrush, and a thin trickle of blood oozed down his mud-mask. Even worse, the sand flies and other insects were a constant torment, and he was peppered with bites and stings. Cooper and Brooke had to help him to their new refuge. "We have to make sure he takes the Malarone," Ben said, checking in on them. "We don't know what kind of things those bugs carry... Malaria, dengue..."

Brooke put the back of her hand against Auggie's forehead. She looked at Ben, frowning. "Ben, he's burning up. It might be heat stroke. Either way, he needs lots of water, and some rest."

Ben fished the Nalgene bottle from his backpack. Shaking the bottle, he frowned. "We're almost out of water."

Ernesto suddenly appeared beside him. "Come," he beckoned.

Ben followed Ernesto to the other side of the clearing, where Ernesto paused before a thick, twisting vine that went up and up into the canopy. Ben watched with interest as Ernesto brandished the machete and began to hack away at the tangled vine. Ernesto made short work of cutting through, and immediately the purpose was obvious as a clear fluid began to leak from the severed end.

Ernesto cupped his hand under the trill and drank. "Is good," Ernesto assured him.

Beneath the trickling water, the Nalgene bottle filled up quickly. "Thank you, Ernesto."

When he was finished, Ben returned to their resting place with his new supply of precious water. Brooke was holding Auggie's hand as he shivered, his eyes shut tight.

"Here," Ben said. "Take my hydration tabs."

Auggie's eyes were both angry and frightened. "I don't need your help," he said, trembling.

Ignoring him, Ben shook two tablets out of the tube and handed them to Brooke. Crushing the tablets with her fingers, she poured the powder and leftover fragments into the Nalgene bottle. The water began to fizz.

Auggie allowed himself to be tended to with a kind of stoic patience. Some part of him knew that he needed the hydration mixture, especially the sodium and electrolytes contained therein, but he hated being the weak link once again. For the first time, he began to understand how his mind was so much stronger than his body. He had always believed, in a general sense, in the power of the human mind. But now, for the first time, he acknowledged that this was a truth, at least for him.

Brooke lowered the Nalgene bottle to Auggie's lips. As he cupped it between his trembling hands, he felt a searing pain, like hot needles in his brain. As the tears sprang to his eyes, he continued to pour the precious fluid into his mouth. His thirst seemed endless, and the water, though warm, was a blessing.

Ben was looking at Brooke for guidance. "What about the Malarone?"

Auggie lifted his head. Nodded weakly. "Yes."

Ben gave him a tablet and Auggie chased it down with another gulp of the electrolyte mixture. The lump of his Adam's apple worked up and down as he struggled to swallow the bitter pill, which felt the size of a golf ball as it scraped along the inside of his throat.

"Here," Ben said, handing him the container of pills. "Why don't you hold onto these."

With a trembling hand, Auggie clutched the bottle against his chest. "Th-thanks."

Ben nodded, satisfied that this gesture was able to give his friend some small sense of comfort.

Auggie closed his eyes. He felt the delirium of exhaustion, fear, and dehydration. Thoughts swam in and out of his mind, random thoughts, tattered memories stitched together with no design. At some point in his sleep, he began to murmur incoherently. Something about ice cubes and Coca-Cola. Eventually he fell silent, tumbling back into the pit of sleep.

***

Lying together on the dewy ground, Ben and Brooke faced one another without speaking. A tear ran down the side of her face and he brushed it away with his fingers. Comforted by the gesture, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, as though meditating. Without opening her eyes, she found his hand and kissed it, a simple act that somehow managed to fill him with joy and made him want to cry at the very same time. Pulling his arm around her, she nuzzled closer to him until their chests touched and they could feel the beating of one another's hearts. Kissing her on the forehead, he felt a surge of emotions, all of them stemming from the same thought: the need to protect her, to see her through this madness and carry her safely to the other side. This was followed by another, equally powerful knot of feeling, one which confounded and frightened him. Helplessness. He felt utterly helpless.

In his head he had already exhausted all the various options, all the possible means of escape. Someone could climb a tree; Brooke had experience doing this. If only she could get above the canopy, perhaps she could spot some sign of civilization. They could try swimming until they arrived at the research center or one of the other lodges, but of course the river itself presented its own set of risks. Light a fire; maybe someone would see their smoke and come to investigate? But who—or what—would be drawn to their signal? It seemed just as likely that they'd wind up burning the entire jungle to the ground, and them along with it. No matter how hard he tried, he could not visualize an outcome in which they would all return safely home. And what was home? Home was a place three thousand miles away, far beyond this Green Hell, over the snow-capped Andes, and across the great Atlantic. An impossible distance. Yes, they were so far away from home. So far away... from anything. They might as well have been stranded on the moon.

This is my fault. If I hadn't pushed them to come here...

Ben clenched his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. Still scrolling through all the possible solutions and their outcomes, his body finally surrendered itself, and sleep carried him away from the horrors of the waking world.

Later, he awoke with a start. He'd slept fitfully, dreaming of his old bedroom in his parents' house on Baker's Lane. The walls of the bedroom were a dark blue, adorned with posters depicting his favorite athletes: Ray Bourque flying down the ice in the now-defunct Boston Garden, a young Tom Brady holding up his first Super Bowl trophy, the entire Red Sox team of 2004 crowded together in celebration of their World Series win. In the corner there was a small desk where he completed his school work and the large closet where his old toys—all said, about one hundred Star Wars and G.I. Joe action figures and vehicles—were packed away in boxes, all but forgotten in his teenage years. In the dream, it seemed that he could even smell breakfast cooking: the mouth-watering aroma of bacon and eggs. It must have been a Saturday morning, then, when his mom and dad were both off from work and the family sat down to a communal breakfast. Young Ben tossed the covers aside and sat up. As his feet connected with the floor, he looked toward the front window, the one that faced the street, and smiled. Outside, the birds were chirping, and the massive oak in the corner of the yard stood tall and proud, like a soldier. He felt the warmth of the sun upon his face and then...

Slowly emerging from the comfort of the dream, he found himself on the ground, staring up at the patchwork of foliage with no sense of time or place. The sunshine penetrated the forest at an angle, and as his eyes adjusted to the waking world, he saw the light glinting off the blonde streaks in Brooke's hair. She must have rolled over in her sleep, and he must have pulled her closer, for her back was now pressed against him. Still sound asleep, and Ben was glad he had not disturbed her. Judging by the position of the sun, it was just after daybreak, which meant that he'd slept all through the night. Careful not to wake the girl, he sat up and looked around. Cooper and Auggie were a few feet away, and the evenness of their breathing suggested they too were sleeping, but Ernesto was nowhere to be seen.

Alarmed by the notion that their trusty guide was not there, Ben sat up fully and turned his head, finally spotting Ernesto outside the nest. Weird, he thought. I wonder why I dreamt of the old house. How long ago was it that Mom and Dad sold it? It must have been what, five or six years ago? Shortly after he'd graduated from high school, in any case. Strange. Why would I dream of the old house now? Then the answer came to him as quickly as the question: Because he had never felt as safe as he had as a young boy, growing up in the old house on Baker's Lane, where his second-floor bedroom overlooked the woods out back and his parents' room was just down the hall, and if he stuck his head out the window and craned his neck to the left, he could just see Cooper's backyard with its chain-link fence and in-ground pool...

As Ben extricated himself from the nest, he felt a painful longing to return to his dream world, to experience the comfort and safety of his childhood, to go downstairs and eat breakfast with his parents, to taste the bacon and eggs, to chase them down with a cold glass of orange juice... Even if they weren't real, these imagined indulgences seemed the very height of opulence out here in the jungle.

It must be one of life's little jokes, Ben reflected sadly, how we take everything, even life itself, for granted. We waste our childhoods wishing for what we don't have, longing for the future, dreaming of ways to speed the time so we can hurry up and see the world. And in our later years, we'd give anything just to slow things down and go back to what we once had.

As was his way, Ernesto was standing slightly apart from the others, gazing calmly at the jungle. Dwarfed by the chaos of the underbrush and the elephantine trees, he seemed not to move at all, looking very much like a lost child trying to find his way out of the woods. By the subtle context of his movements, it was obvious that he was looking for something, but what?

When Ben was certain that no one was watching, he crept out of the nest and walked over to him. Ernesto saw the muscular boy out of the corner of his eye but did not acknowledge him. Out of the four remaining Americans, Ben seemed to him to be the most... solid. There was something about Ben, some deeper perception of the world around him, that made Ernesto suspect that the boy could sense his unease.

They stood in silence for a while, and then Ben advanced an idea that had been troubling him for some time. "We're being followed," he said, surprised at the matter-of-fact tone of his own voice. Casting a sideways glance, he saw that the others were still lounging beneath the serpentine roots. Better to let them rest. As though hearing Ben's thoughts, Cooper rolled over onto his side, legs twitching, hands clawing at the empty air. Janie's abduction had broken something in him, some fundamental part of him, and even in his sleep he seemed to be struggling against some unseen foe.

The small man continued to study the jungle as though waiting for a sign. After what seemed like a very long time, he nodded. "Yes."

So Ernesto already knew about the presence in the jungle. Ben was not at all surprised by this revelation. The diminutive Peruvian seemed to have an almost supernatural connection to the rainforest and its creatures. He was able to interpret the stillness and what the rustle of each twig meant; he could see, with ease, what the others could not; his ears were attuned to sounds they could not perceive.

Ben shifted uneasily. "What are we going to do?"

Ernesto turned to look at him, expressionless as always. "First, we make it the weapons." He made a cutting motion with his two index fingers, scraping one against the other. "Make it the spears for to attack. Then keep on walking for the research center, uh-huh. Maybe two, three day. Must be moving, always moving."

The rustle of leaves caught their attention, and they turned to see Brooke crawling out from the pocket beneath the tree. Her eyes widened questioningly and Ben motioned for her to join them.

"What's happening?" she asked, hugging herself. Small leaves were tangled in her hair and one side of her face—the side she had been sleeping on—was newly streaked with dirt. "Is everything... okay?"

Ernesto hesitated deliberately, allowing Ben to explain in his own words their dire situation. Brooke listened carefully, biting her lip as she considered what he told her.

When Ben had finished, he licked his thumb and cleaned the dirt from Brooke's cheek. She smiled at him wearily, but the smile quickly vanished. "There's something else," she said reluctantly, looking back and forth between the two men. "As much as I hate to say it, I think we should only travel at night. Whoever's out there—they won't expect that. It's too easy for them to spot us while we're wandering around in the daylight. They seem to find us every time we set up camp." She hugged herself, shuddering at the memory of Janie's screams.

Ernesto's face grew pinched as he considered the idea. "Yes," he replied at last. "We can find the safety place for to hide during the day, and at night we will walk with the shadows. For as you say, we can better use dark for to hide."

"So we'll stay here until nightfall?" asked Ben. "That's not a bad idea. Auggie should be ready to go by then."

Ernesto nodded. "Yes, we should rest. Oscar will watch over us. For now, I too am going to rest. For sleep—and for to think. We will take turns for the guard. Then we will leave when the darkness comes."

The three of them walked back to the Ceiba tree together, Ernesto settling into his own little pocket while Ben and Brooke returned to theirs.

Auggie saw them coming and quickly shut his eyes. He had only caught bits and pieces of their secret gathering, and he did not want them to know he had been eavesdropping. Something about the clandestine nature of their meeting angered him. Why hadn't they consulted him? Or Cooper? Who were they to make all the decisions? I'm just as important as the rest of them—no, more important. It's always Professor this, Professor that... They all know I'm the smart one. If anything, I should be the brains of this operation, not them.

He was not sure when he noticed the web; he could have been looking at it all along, but it wasn't until the sunlight found the silver filaments that he noticed the beetle that was caught near the spiral center. The beetle's legs worked uselessly, so entangled it could barely move. With a sense of fascination, Auggie fell asleep watching the web, waiting for the spider to come and check its trap.
Forty-three

It was just before dawn when they happened upon the monkey.

The hours of darkness had blurred together, becoming a continuous moment in time that stretched on and on into oblivion. Only when the sun began to rise did the darkness relinquish its long embrace. In those strange hours that filled the space between night and day, as the golden light filtered down through the canopy illuminating little puffs of fog that drifted up from the soggy ground, hope seemed closer at hand than ever before.

The jungle stirred around them.

Birds began to flit amongst the branches. From somewhere in the distance, something cried out like a frustrated child and then fell into a deep and brooding silence. It had been ages since anyone had spoken, and they jumped at the sound of Auggie's voice.

"What the hell's that?"

Dangling from the bottom of a low-hanging branch, perhaps twenty feet above the ground, the wiry spider monkey was a furry pendulum that swayed to and fro in the dusty light. Moving cautiously, the imaginary path brought the humans nearer to the little creature, but the monkey did not scurry away, as was expected. At first, the group was faintly amused by the sight. That any wild creature would allow them to get this close was something of a novelty. Then the smell hit them—the eye-watering sting of decay—and their amusement soured as quickly as their stomachs. Inching closer, they saw how the brown corpse was at the center of a swirling universe of flies. The incessant drone of the insects obliterated all other sounds; it had an almost soothing quality, a grim lullaby for the dead.

Walking several steps ahead of the group, Ernesto raised his hand and the others stopped obediently. When he was certain he would not be followed, Ernesto continued on until he was almost beneath the dangling creature. Raising his hand, he shaded his eyes against the arrows of light. The monkey's mouth was wide open, its teeth firmly locked around the underside of the bough, its spindly arms and long tail hanging limply. Ernesto frowned; there was something about the monkey's skull that troubled him. After a few seconds, he raised his binoculars for a closer look. At first, all he saw was a knot of flies, but then the monkey's face leapt into view. The eyes were empty sockets, the lips peeled back in a frozen snarl. Adjusting the focus wheel, Ernesto zoomed in closer, this time noticing a jagged line that split the tiny skull from crown to nape, like a zipper. A whitish substance had oozed out of the crack and had hardened around the little primate's head, forming bulbous protrusions that resembled cauliflower.

"Ernesto."

Oscar had gone on ahead and was standing in the middle of a small clearing, his head tilted all the way back toward the canopy. He was muttering softly—something that sounded like a prayer in Spanish. Without thinking, he raised his hand to cross himself, wincing at the grinding pain that shot up and down his forearm. He had momentarily forgotten about the broken bone; a mistake he would not make twice.

As Ernesto approached him, Oscar gestured toward something on the ground, something the others could not quite see; whatever it was, it seemed to be the source of his distress. His voice bubbled up and down in his excitement while Ernesto listened. When Oscar had seemingly exhausted himself, Ernesto began to respond in a subdued voice, but before he could finish, Oscar interrupted him. Shaking his enormous, boxy head from side to side, Oscar's voice rose to a near-shout as he pointed his good arm toward the canopy.

The Americans had arrived and were watching the two men with keen interest. Conscious of their otherness in the presence of the native guides, they had stopped a respectful distance away to let them hash out whatever it was they seemed to be arguing about. Now their collective eyes followed the angle of Oscar's raised arm and they turned their faces to the sky. High above them, scores of monkeys festooned the trees—perhaps fifty in all—their black silhouettes swaying lifelessly in the yellow shafts of light. Similar to the first monkey, they too hung by their jaws, arms dangling by their sides and tails flicking in the breeze. Also similar to the first monkey, they were all undeniably dead.

Brooke's eyes began to fill with tears. Somehow, the sight of the monkey graveyard seemed more profane to her than anything she had witnessed these past few days. Whatever had happened to the monkeys was no accident; it had a ritualistic quality to it that made it all the more horrific. Not wanting to see anymore, she turned away. That's when she noticed the brown lump by Oscar's feet. In death, one of the monkeys had lost its grip and now lay on the ground as though napping. Moving closer, she saw that this was not the case. The monkey had not fallen, for its teeth were still clamped around the branch in a death-grip. Perhaps only an inch or two in diameter, the end of the branch gleamed as white as a fractured bone. So the branch must have broken away from the tree and had fallen to the ground with the monkey still attached to it. The monkey's skull, normally not much bigger than a cat's, had swelled to at least twice its normal size, and its eyes had burst, spilling a viscous black jelly down its misshapen face.

"Poachers?" Brooke wondered aloud. "Some kind of poison trap, maybe?"

Ernesto blinked sadly at the monkey. He shook his head.

Ben stepped up beside him. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"

A breeze rattled the treetops. Overhead, the thin corpses danced in a grotesque semblance of life.

Ernesto sifted through his memories, trying to grasp at anything that could help explain the unusual manner in which the primates had died. But nothing he could remember, nothing he'd been told, nothing he'd been taught, brought him any closer to an answer. "Do not touch this," he said at last, gazing down at the fragile body with a mixture of pity and disgust. When he looked up again, his eyes were glassy and wet. "Do not touch any of these. Stay clear of the monkeys."

"This isn't natural," Auggie muttered. "How did—"

"Let us be going now," Ernesto interrupted. He spared one more glance at the monkey graveyard. "There is nothing here but death."
Forty-four

Pushing on through the night, they drank water from vines to slake their endless thirst and foraged for Sachamani blossoms and fruit to appease their nagging hunger. Sometime later, the sky opened and the rains came. An eerie hush fell over the jungle as creatures big and small retreated to their secret hideaways. Only the six nocturnal humans continued to roam, for even as they flirted with starvation and delirium, they knew their only hope of survival was predicated on movement. Little breezes stirred beneath the canopy, shaking the foliage and flinging gusts of rain in every direction. Water pooled in the low-lying areas, and the soil, naturally spongy even during this, the dry season, soon became a kind of sludge; a jelly-like mud that threatened to suck the boots off their feet. With this newfound hazard, their progress—already impeded by the dense mats of underbrush—slowed to a near-crawl.

Brooke was walking on autopilot, lost in her fantasies, when a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth and pulled her down to the soggy ground. She dropped her spear and flailed wildly, attempting to counteract gravity. Instinct told her to kick and claw and scream, but her assailant had anticipated this response—his other hand snaked around her, thin but strong; pinning hers uselessly against her chest. She could feel his tight cords of muscle flexing as he held her fast, rendering her helpless.

After a moment, the panic dissipated and she allowed her body to go limp. Sensing her complacency, he relaxed his hold on her, but the hand that covered her mouth remained. It was small and wet and smelled vaguely of the earth.

"Don't move."

Ernesto's voice was barely a whisper, his mouth so close she could feel the stir of his breath against her cheek. Breath that smelled acidic and coppery, like blood. The smell of fear, she thought. Ernesto knew the jungle better than any of them, and it unnerved her to think that he of all people was afraid of something—afraid of anything at all, for that matter. She sat without moving, straining her ears to listen but hearing little beyond the rhythmic beating of her own heart.

Wait—

Something was moving through the underbrush. She had not noticed it before, would not have noticed it at all were it not for Ernesto and his extraordinary senses. Whatever was out there moved with such calculated patience that she had at first mistaken it for the sound of raindrops plinking down through the foliage. It was only after the thin arms hastily forced her to crouch on the wet ground that she could differentiate the rhythm of the footsteps from the white noise of the rain.

One by one, the others came to a clumsy halt and hunkered down beside her. One of the boys pressed against her, seeking her warmth. Judging by the weight and slender musculature of the body, she was certain it was Cooper. Yes, Cooper. She remembered how he and Janie had fooled around at the bar

(in a different life)

on their first night at the Amazonia Lodge, and the memory touched her heart with an icy finger. She couldn't really say how she knew it was him. The boys were more or less the same size, each one different in appearance and personality, but their frames were otherwise indistinguishable in the darkness. Even so, she felt fairly certain it was Cooper pressing against her right now, and she would not have minded his warmth were it not for the fact that he was shivering all over—or trembling, she reasoned, he could be trembling—so violently that it occurred to her, in a brief moment of panic, that he might be experiencing some kind of seizure. Thankfully, the tremors soon abated, and she could feel the rise and fall of his chest as his lungs labored against the soupy air.

Where's Ben? Brooke knew it was probably just wishful thinking, but she thought she could just make out his silhouette in the darkness, crouching a few yards away: the well-defined shape of his shaved head, the aristocratic nose, and strong, square jaw. She even imagined she could see the flash of his ocean-blue eyes as they reflected a sliver of moonlight. Eyes that were at once intelligent, wise, and full of compassion. It was impossible to think of anything bad while looking into those eyes.

Thinking about Ben helped her to focus—anything not to think about Janie. It was much too soon to think about Janie. The rain stopped as abruptly as it had arrived, as though someone had closed the valve on a sprinkler system. One moment there was a hissing torrent, the next, nothing but the tapping of residual raindrops passing through the canopy to the jungle floor. All other noises also seemed to stop, if in fact they had ever really been there at all. Maybe it was just the rain all along? Or an animal—a few of those cute little squirrel monkeys, perhaps? A wild pig? Brooke measured the time by the metronomic tapping of the raindrops. Her silent count reached sixty before her mind began to wander again. Sixty raindrops. Sixty seconds. An eternity wrapped inside a minute.

They waited in darkness, seeing nothing, hearing nothing except the dripping water. A strange stillness settled around them, as though the jungle was holding its breath. After a time, the hand that was cupped around Brooke's mouth withdrew itself. The stillness gave her pause to think and, though she at first resisted, it allowed her to wonder what had become of Janie. A collage of images flickered through her mind's eye: Janie at Machu Picchu, laughing as she struck a sexy, defiant pose for the camera, her breasts thrust forward, her hands on her hips. Janie putting back tequila shots at Molly's, the local dive back in Palo Alto. Janie's piercing scream as she was dragged away from camp, the scream reaching a shrill crescendo before it was abruptly cut short and Janie Castellano was no more.

Beside her, Cooper was shivering again. She reached down and found his hand. Like a child, his fingers curled instinctively around hers. Her touch seemed to calm him, and the shivering gradually subsided. Several minutes passed, and no one dared to move or speak. Brooke was beginning to think that Ernesto had been wrong for once, that maybe what they'd heard was nothing more than an animal, some critter foraging in the underbrush. Then, as the clouds shifted and the moonlight trickled down through the treetops, Cooper dug his nails into her hand.

"There," he whispered, pointing.

Brooke followed the direction of his outstretched finger. Just ahead, the underbrush gave way to a small clearing. A furtive movement between the trees caught her attention, and at last she glimpsed what had been stalking them. Were it not for their strange, drunken gait and misshapen heads, she might have mistaken them for humans—one of the lost tribes she had read about on the Internet, perhaps. But no human she had ever seen moved like that... Because they're not human, she realized. Her mind seized these words and repeated them like a chant:

Not human. Not human. Not human.

Somehow, in a forbidden corner of her mind, it seemed she had known this all along.

Now that her unspoken fears were finally confirmed she began to pray.

She prayed for the safety of herself and her friends, that they would somehow find a way back home. She prayed that Janie was safe, wherever she was—but then she remembered how her friend's screams had pierced the night, so instead she prayed that Janie's soul was at peace and that she had not suffered before she died. She prayed that the clouds would cover the moon again to blind her eyes to the horrors before her. She prayed for darkness, sweet darkness.

In the pallid light, Brooke counted at least seven of them, but from this distance, she could not tell for sure. They were picking their way across the clearing, an uneven row of black shadows stamped in sharp relief against the sparkling foliage. They were halfway across the clearing when the leader stopped suddenly, tilting its misshapen head to taste the air, and the others fell in line behind it. Brooke watched in fascinated horror as the creature stood in perfect profile, jaws yawning open to reveal long, jagged teeth that glittered in the moonlight. From deep within its throat came a series of discordant, guttural sounds, and its mouth snapped open and shut, teeth clicking together in rapid succession. Its progeny listened attentively, and soon the sounds were imitated up and down the line. The message, whatever it was, was apparently understood, and their movements became coordinated, heads swaying jerkily from side to side.

My God, Brooke realized, those aren't just random noises. That's some form of primitive language. They can actually communicate with one another.

After what seemed like a very long time, the inhumans began to move, their slow pace determined by the alpha. Moonlight slithered over their emaciated bodies as they crept across the clearing, revealing scars and open wounds that festered with infection. Soon they would reenter the brush and continue in the opposite direction, away from Brooke and the rest of her group.

It could have all worked out for them. The creatures would likely have continued into the jungle, and she and the others would have been safe for the time being—maybe long enough to find their way back to the river, where a fisherman or a river guide might have spotted them. But then a bird or an insect began to chirp in a high, musical tone that stopped the creatures in their tracks. Bulging eyes searched the trees, trying to pinpoint the source of this strange, new sound.

In a heart-stopping moment, Brooke ascertained the chirping noise was coming from somewhere very close to her. Out of nowhere came a memory: she and Ben, chatting on the steps of the research center, looking up at the stars, like a scattering of diamonds in all that emptiness. They were about to kiss when something, some strange sound had interrupted them, and it was then that he had told her about his wristwatch, some funny little story about his wristwatch that made them both laugh out loud, and then he turned to her and said—

"RUN!"

Two powerful hands gripped her shoulders, the fingers digging deep into the flesh. Brooke snapped to attention, suddenly alert, as if awakening from a trance. Someone was pulling her to her feet, and in the darkness she could see the whites of his eyes, eyes that were no longer squinting and calm but wide with terror. "BROOKE! RUN!"

Springing forward, she reached back into the gloom and her hand closed on air. Cooper was gone.

Someone let loose an ear-shattering scream, and then Brooke found herself up and running. Her legs launched her forward without direction, sent her barreling recklessly through the undergrowth. In her terror, she barely noticed the lashings of thorns and branches or the warmth of blood as it oozed from newly opened wounds. She had time enough to register the voice behind the scream, and even with the creatures bearing down on them, this knowledge only served to magnify her fear, for the scream was her own.

And she was still screaming.

Still screaming.

Still screaming.

Crashing through underbrush and leaping over deadfalls with impossible speed, the inhumans were almost upon them. Their unhinged jaws yawned open, bristling with rows of shattered teeth. Teeth that glistened with saliva as they gnashed together, lusting for the kill.
Forty-five

Ben and Brooke were sprinting blindly through the jungle, their hands locked together as one. Behind them they could hear the bloodthirsty shrieking of their pursuers, only yards away and closing fast, and they knew it was only a matter of time before they would be forced to turn and fight.

Ben led the way on instinct, ducking and weaving, cutting sharp angles through the underbrush. He was so decisive in his movements that if Brooke hadn't known better, she would have believed he actually knew where he was going. Hurling themselves through the netlike vines and brambles, they came upon a narrow strip of sand, a rutted trail that arrowed straight into the forest—no, not a trail, exactly. In all likelihood it was probably just a dried-up stream bed or an animal run. Either way, it would have to do.

Pulling free of the brier, they leapt down onto the hard-packed sand. The impact momentarily loosened their grip on one another, and as Ben turned to find her hand again, he saw Brooke reaching out to him, eyes round with fear and fragile hope. Grabbing her hand, he began to lead her down the right-hand trail, which divided the vegetation like a natural corridor. Now that the going was easier, they ran even faster, boots crunching softly against the naked sand. All was going well, it seemed. A minute passed. Then five. It seemed like longer, much longer. Soon the trail petered out, and they were back in the thickness of the jungle, eventually arriving at a dead end, an impenetrable wall of underbrush that skirted the forest like an endless hedgerow.

A mouse couldn't fit through there, thought Brooke.

They didn't even try. But instead of turning back at the wall, they followed it.

For the next twenty minutes, they followed the hedgerow, trying to put as much distance between themselves and their stalkers, desperately searching for a means of egress.

Out of nowhere, Ben stopped suddenly, raising his hand in a bid for silence.

"Listen," he said.

Holding her breath, she did.

WOOOT!-wooooh!

Somewhere off in the distance came the extraordinarily loud voice of the Screaming Piha, the tiny bird whose flirtatious wolf-whistle had been such a source of amusement during the boys' first day at the research center lodge.

"That bird," Ben whispered. "I've never heard it at night, have you?"

WOOOT!-wooooh!

"I—I'm not sure. I don't think so. But the sky—"

He looked at her, puzzled, and saw the outline of her face etched in gray. She was standing with her lips slightly parted and her head tilted back. Not quite understanding, Ben looked up and saw the source of her fear. Behind the clouds, the sky was beginning to blush. Until then he had not noticed how clearly he could see her, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the sun came out and their stalkers would spot them hiding amongst the brambles.

There was a very long silence and then: WOOOT!-wooooh!

But there was something else, too. They seemed to hear it at the same time. Something that sounded like the wind in the leaves, only there was no wind at the moment. The trees were perfectly still, and yet—

"Ben." She squeezed his hand.

"I know. When I say 'run,' we're going to head straight toward the sound of that bird, okay?"

In the ruddy light, Ben saw her head bob up and down in quiet understanding.

There was a soft crunching of leaves behind them on the trail, and then a twig cracked only a few yards away. It was now or never.

"Run," Ben hissed, and they took off at full speed, still following the hedgerow, straining to hear the piercing cry of the Screaming Piha. Now the forest erupted behind them and they could hear the conspicuous sounds of footsteps, the breaking of branches, the guttural vocalizations of the inhumans as they closed in for the kill. There was no more guile in their movements. There was no need. The human invaders were almost completely surrounded, and there was no chance they could escape.

They sensed rather than heard the creatures bearing down on them. Visualizing the inevitable battle before him, Ben hoped that when the time came, he would be brave and that he would be able to fend them off long enough for Brooke to escape unharmed. He was steeling himself for the fight of his life when he noticed a strange ball of light bouncing along the underside of the canopy. The light winked on and off, and again he heard the familiar wolf-whistle of the Piha, only now it sounded much closer, and he was suddenly certain, absolutely certain, that it was not the cry of a Piha at all. It was Ernesto, signaling to them from somewhere up ahead.

Invigorated by this knowledge, Ben pushed onward through the lushness of the forest, still gripping Brooke firmly by the hand. The hedgerow ended abruptly and then the land began to slope upward to form a steep incline. Slipping and sliding on the layers of wet leaves, they began to climb. They were halfway up the hill when Brooke's foot caught a root and she fell forward on her hands, but then Ben was beside her, yanking her to her feet, and she kept on going. They were nearing the summit when a flutter of movement caught her attention. Out of the corner of her eye she saw two dark shadows running low to the ground, matching them stride for stride. Then the shadows separated, one of them streaking ahead, trying to outflank them.

With her last ounce of strength, Brooke dug her boots into the muddy earth and pushed. It seemed to take forever to reach the top of the ridge, but at last they did. There was a moment, a terrible moment, in which they both lost their balance, but then the ground leveled out beneath their feet and their momentum carried them forward onto even ground. Muscles burning, lungs screaming, they threw themselves up and over the crest. Crashing through a thicket of ferns, they saw an empty hollow before them, a place devoid of vegetation, and immediately took this to be the downward slope of the hill. A circle of light appeared ahead of them, perhaps a hundred yards way. It hovered for a moment, bobbed up and down, and then winked out. Ben and Brooke ran faster.

They were still running when the ground dropped away beneath them and they fell, legs treading air as they tumbled down, down into the empty space below.

***

They did not have time to hold their breath.

They did not have time to think.

Even as the water closed over their heads, several seconds passed before they were able to comprehend what had happened. A moment ago they were running, and then they were plunging into a liquid tomb. Instinct kicked in and they clawed their way up, arriving at the surface at approximately the same time. Coughing up mouthfuls of the thick black water, they saw that they were floating in a scum-covered swamp. Overhead, the clouds were beginning to break apart and the first scattered rays of dawn were filtering down into the forest.

"Swim! Swim!" Cooper's passionate cries came to them from the other side of the mire. A light flashed on and off as someone signaled them with a headlamp.

Several feet away, Brooke was slapping the water with both hands, struggling to stay afloat as her stomach expelled the black soup, forcing it back out of her mouth in a violent flood. Swimming up behind her, Ben reached under her armpits and pulled her against him so that her head was resting against his chest. "I got you, okay?"

He felt her head move up and down as she nodded. Gagging, she turned her head and spit.

"Can you swim?"

"Yeah," she gasped, able to breathe at last.

Pushing her ahead of him, Ben began to paddle for the opposite shore.

Cooper was hopping up and down, motioning to them from the bank. "Faster! Faster!"

Taking wild strokes, Ben turned his head and saw a row of shadows gathered along the steep embankment from which he and Brooke had fallen. Though the inhumans made no move to follow them, he urged Brooke to paddle harder, thoughts now shifting to all the many deadly creatures that liked to lurk in swamps, lying in wait for an easy meal.

***

Standing on the opposite side of the swamp, Auggie used his headlamp like a beacon, guiding them safely to shore. Ernesto and Cooper were waiting for them on the water's edge. Trembling with fear and exhaustion, Brooke and Ben arrived together, slipping and sliding in the deep mud.

"Oh, fuck, man," Cooper cried out. "Your leg."

Looking down, Ben saw the butt-end of a stick protruding from a hole in his pant leg. The branch had impaled his calf like an arrow, and now that his adrenaline was crashing, the muscle began to throb with a sharp pain. Limping forward, he grabbed Brooke around the waist and lifted her out of the mire.

"Got to..." Brooke was panting heavily, not really walking so much as falling forward onto her feet. As they reached dry land, her legs buckled and she slipped out of Ben's wet hands. Tumbling forward, she began to crawl up the embankment. "Keep moving..."

Ben had gotten his arm underneath her and was trying to help her to her feet when a dull light caught his eye. The morning sky had appeared above the canopy, an ashen sky, the first harbinger of daybreak.

"Keep moving..."

Ernesto was standing with his back to them, gazing out across the black mirror of the swamp. "Is okay," he said in a razor-thin voice. "They are gone now."
Forty-six

"This... will not feel good," Ernesto said, dropping down on one knee.

From where he was sitting on the ground, Ben looked at Ernesto's face in the dreamy light and almost laughed. "You have a wonderful way with words," Ben said with a wan smile.

Using his knife, Ernesto had cut away a portion of Ben's pants in order to get a better look at the injury. Roughly five inches long and one inch wide, the dead branch protruded from the side of Ben's calf like a giant splinter, embedded deep into the fleshy ball of muscle; just how deep was anyone's guess. Surprisingly, there was little blood—the branch itself seemed to stave off the bleeding—only a thin scarlet ribbon oozed from the puckered wound around the point of impact. By some miracle, there was little pain, no worse than a charley horse, though Ben had a strong suspicion that was about to change in a moment.

Auggie was on all fours, using both hands to hold down his leg. "Are you sure we should pull it out? I mean, sometimes they say it's better to leave it in. You know, to stop the bleeding?"

Ben's blue eyes took in every movement around him. Now they focused on Auggie, who was looking back at him with a clinical detachment. "I don't have much choice. If I leave it in there, I might do more damage to the muscle. And I can hardly walk, never mind run, with that goddamned thing sticking out of my leg."

"Okay, okay." Auggie knew there was no point in arguing the contrary. Once Ben made up his mind, it was impossible to change it. The stubborn bastard would never flinch, realized Auggie. Not even if you killed him.

"Just make sure you're ready with the bandage."

Ernesto's first-aid kit had been lost along with the peki-peki, so they had been forced to improvise. Digging deep inside his backpack, Auggie had found a pair of antimicrobial socks he had purchased online a week or so before the trip. Supposedly conceived for the military, the socks were lightweight and breathable, and were designed to prevent the growth of bacteria. Better still, they were the only things in his pack—perhaps the only things in his possession—that were not completely filthy.

Right now, Auggie had one of the unrolled socks draped across his shoulder, ready to be used as a tourniquet or bandage as soon as the spike was pulled. "I have it right here," Auggie assured him. Then he turned shyly to Brooke, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground, rubbing Ben's hand. "Maybe you should sort of get behind him," Auggie suggested in a tentative voice. "You know, in case he faints."

"Me, faint?" Ben said from behind his teeth. "I'll bet you a beer that you pass out before I do."

Auggie's wry grin distorted his face almost beyond recognition. "I'll take that bet."

"You're gonna lose."

"Not if you lose first."

"I have a motherfucking branch sticking out of my motherfucking leg. I think I already lost."

"Well, since you put it that way, I guess you owe me a beer then."

Ben smiled at him, grateful for the distraction of some gallows humor.

Meanwhile, Brooke had repositioned herself behind him, putting her arms around his shoulders and cradling his head against her chest. Bending her neck, she placed a loving kiss on his forehead and smiled at him encouragingly. They looked at one another for a very long time. She did not want to be here. She did not want to witness this impromptu surgery, or see him suffer, but in the end she stayed—for him.

Caressing her cheek, Ben's eyes wandered across her face. Lips cracked and bleeding, eyes ringed with dark circles, hair lank with oil and knotted with leaves, Ben thought it was still the loveliest face he had ever seen.

"Hey," he said, smiling up at her.

Her fingertips danced lightly over the thick stubble on his chin. "Hey," she whispered back.

"I was just thinking of how bad it's gonna suck," he said, chuckling, "that I'll have to go back to physical therapy again."

Brooke pressed her lips together in a counterfeit smile. "Don't be such a wimp," she sniffled, trying hard not to cry.

Ben was about to tell her that he would be fine, that the pain was really not so bad at the moment, when he caught of flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Coop."

Cooper had spent the last five minutes pacing back and forth, tossing his hands in the air and muttering to himself, but now he stopped at the sound of his own name. He raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Stop," Ben grunted. "Just stop. You're freaking me the fuck out."

Standing guard down by the water's edge, Oscar looked on in silence. Over the course of the last few days, he had grown quite fond of the Americans. But now, watching the others tend to the injured leader, with his calm humor and stoic attitude, Oscar discovered a newfound respect for them as well. In a strange way, the terrible events that threatened to pull them apart had also brought them closer together. Oscar had never been good at articulating his feelings—or words in general, for that matter—and for the first time he felt a sense of kinship with the turistas. His only brother was dead; these four Americans, along with Ernesto, were the closest thing he now had to a family, and he would do anything to protect them.

Puffing out his cheeks, Ben took several quick breaths, steeling himself against the coming pain. "Okay." He nodded as though answering a question. "Let's do this."

Brooke picked up a stick and held it above Ben's face. "Bite down on this," she said.

Ben opened his mouth and she placed the stick between his teeth like a horse's bit.

Ernesto wrapped his slender brown fingers around the end of the shard. He tilted his head toward Ben. "Mmm. Ready?"

Ben nodded. "Do it!" he growled around the bit.

Ernesto did.

***

Ben winced in anticipation, but there was only a strange sort of tickle as the spike slid up and out of his flesh. Ernesto sat back on his legs, examining the oversized splinter in the dusty light. All told, the branch was close to eight inches long from shaft to tip, the last three inches stained dark with blood. There was a pause, a brief one, in which everything seemed frozen, as though time had come to a sudden, grinding halt. No one seemed to move or breathe. Spitting the bit out of his mouth, Ben began to chuckle. He opened his mouth to say something, some crude joke that would lighten the mood, when a white flash of pain exploded before his eyes and his fingers clawed the earth in agony.

Ben Sawyer's scream echoed through the forest, and the others—even Ernesto—looked away.
Forty-seven

The sunlight felt good upon their faces.

The swamp eventually led them to the mighty river, and now they were gathered on a small peninsula, a thin strip of sand that curled out into the water like a bent finger. Engorged by the recent storm, the water had risen several feet along the shore, and scores of branches and leaves and entire trees sailed past them, overtaken by the brown swell.

"How's your leg?"

Squinting into the light, Ben shaded his eyes with his hand. Brooke was sitting cross-legged on the sand, her face angled toward the sun with a look of extreme serenity. Soiled and torn, her T-shirt and hiking pants were in ruins. She had attempted to wash her face in the river, but only managed to smear the dirt around, leaving streaks like war paint across her forehead and cheeks. Adorned with leaves and twigs, her hair was tied back into a high ponytail, and the loose strands jutted out from the knot like the points of a crown. Surrounded by a halo of golden light, she reminded him of some pagan goddess, some fallen deity cast down from the heavens. Her calm composure only strengthened his resolve to keep her safe, to get her out of this mess, and he wished, more than ever, that he could just snap his fingers and whisk her away from here—whisk them all away from here.

"Oh, I think I'll live," he replied with his usual good-natured grin. He patted the side of his thigh. Farther down his leg, the pants were shredded open, and Auggie's sock was fastened around the wound. A red circle had blossomed on the makeshift bandage, but the bleeding was beginning to slow. "See? Good as new."

There was a hard block of silence as they sat looking at one another, no one wanting to broach the forbidden subject. Until at last, Cooper did.

"Those things... they're not people." He glanced around challengingly, as though daring someone to contradict him. When no one did, he continued. "They aren't human," he said at last, and this otherwise simple statement sent vibrations of fear rippling throughout the group. Had he been up and pacing as he had done before, talking in riddles and half-finished sentences, they could have dismissed his words as so much gibberish. But Cooper was sitting calmly, his eyes clear as the day, and the cold certainty in his voice frightened them. They listened intently. They were not just watching but staring at him now, as though mesmerized. And in a way they were mesmerized, for he was finally able to put to words what they themselves had refused to acknowledge to one another.

"They aren't human," he repeated, nodding. "But I think they were human once..." His stopped to push the hair back from his face. "And I know how completely fucking crazy this sounds, but hey, you saw them. You smelled them. Those things—" Cooper gestured toward the verdant jungle, and they could not help but to look, afraid of what they might see looking back at them from the permanent gloom of the vegetation. But there was nothing there, of course, just endless fathoms of green.

"Those things are not alive," he continued. "Not in the way we think of it, anyway. So I'm just gonna toss all my cards on the table and say it, okay?"

There was a collective silence as they held their breath.

Don't say it! Auggie pleaded silently. Don't you dare say it!

"They're—"

***

But Cooper never delivered the forbidden word.

He felt a strange rattle within the hollow of his chest, a wet rattle, followed by a painful contraction of his abdomen. Then something slimy and thick seemed to leap into the back of his throat, making it difficult to breathe, and he doubled over coughing. From somewhere in the trees, a bird screeched like a banshee, as though trying to complete the appalling revelation.

"Are you okay?" Ben started to get up but Cooper waved him away.

Still gagging, Cooper turned his head and spit a glob of yellow mucus onto the sand. Wiping his mouth, he looked at them dizzily. "I know it sounds crazy," he went on in a raspy voice. "Believe me. I think it's crazy, too..." Now losing his train of thought, he could continue no further. He stopped, suddenly feeling both relieved and exhausted. So Cooper never said the dreaded Z-word; he didn't have to. His omission was just as effective, perhaps even more effective, for it forced them to accept, in a private and personal way, what each of them already knew to be true. He'd said enough, and now it was his turn to listen and for someone else to speak.

Now the that the cold light of truth shone upon them, there was no denying what they already knew, no matter how irrational it might seem. Cooper was right: it did sound crazy. But compared to what? There were Felix and Felipe, who were both dead; and Janie, who was snatched from her tent in the middle of the night; and now they were being chased through the jungle by shadow people. Yes, it sounded crazy, but so did everything else.

"Whatever they are," spat Ben, "whatever you want to call them, I don't care. What I do care about is how to avoid them. And, if it comes down to it, how do we kill them?"

"They're fast," Auggie stated simply. "And they're strong. But we learned something about them—"

Ben gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, for one, we know they don't seem to like water. Maybe they can't swim."

Ernesto was nodding. "We will stay closer to the river, uh-huh. Where is safe."

"What else?" asked Ben.

"They can communicate with each other." Brooke shuddered as she recalled their primitive vocalizations. "Those weren't just random noises they were making; it was a language of some kind."

Auggie nodded grimly. "These things," he said, using the only word he could allow himself to say. "They're not like the ones in the movies. They can run and climb and think—"

"How do we kill them?"

Ernesto gestured toward his spear, which was jutting out of the sand beside him.

"And if that doesn't work," Ben said coldly. "We'll do exactly as they do in the movies. We'll smash their fucking heads in."

In spite of the fact that he did not understand English, Oscar had been following their exchange with interest, trying to translate the tone of their voices, their expressions, their body language. Now he turned to Ernesto for an explanation. In a muted tone, Ernesto relayed the gist of their conversation.

When Ernesto had finished, the boy sat thinking with his head bowed to the sand. When he lifted his head again, there were tears sliding down his cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated a moment, and then uttered a string of words that seemed to end in a question.

Ernesto paused a moment and then answered him with a grave expression.

All at once, Oscar began to sob, his shoulders rolling forward as his large body trembled and shook.

"What is it?" asked Brooke, standing. "Why is he upset?"

Ernesto studied the river for a moment, thinking. Then he turned back to the group. "He does not want his brother to be like them."

Lowering herself onto the sand, Brooke put her arms around Oscar's shoulders. He lifted his boxy head, the one eye focusing on her face, the lazy eye drifting toward the river as though it had a mind of its own. Both eyes had the same look, though, and that look was complete and utter hopelessness. Leaning into her, he wept against her chest, giant paws latching themselves around her in a child's embrace. Words tumbled out of his mouth, and then he fell silent, blubbering softly against her shirt.

Ben watched all this from the other side of the circle, and he was ashamed by the flame of jealousy that seemed to ignite in the pit of his stomach. He turned to Ernesto. "What did he say?"

"He say..." Ernesto bowed his head, unable or unwilling to meet their eyes, "he say he saw Felipe last night..."

"What?" Ben's voice jumped higher in surprise. "Where?"

The diminutive Peruvian scooped up a handful of sand, let the grains slip through his fingers.

"He say he saw Felipe in the dark... walking with the dead people."
Forty-eight

After leaving the peninsula, Ernesto guided them back into the green encroachments of the jungle where they followed the river for several hours in search of a place to bed down for the remainder of the day. Eventually, they discovered a ferny hollow not far from the river, and Ernesto directed them to build a maloka, or hut, beneath the natural arch of a fallen tree. The sun was now directly above them, and the humidity squeezed the sweat from their bodies as they sluggishly scouted the area in search of palm fronds and branches with which to construct their temporary shelter.

Wielding the knife, Ben began the now-familiar process of cutting leafy boughs and fan-like ferns. While he gathered the stock, Cooper carried the cut vegetation and delivered it to Auggie and Brooke, who were busy weaving the walls and roof of their shelter. Though their movements were painfully slow, they worked with an efficiency borne out of necessity, and it was not long before the maloka was completed.

After, Ben divided up the last of the protein bars into even squares and handed out the sorry rations with a look that said You'd better enjoy this while you can. They were running dangerously low on food, and soon they would be forced to rely entirely on whatever they could forage from the jungle—grubs and flowers and unripe bananas and God only knew what else. They had already sampled these items and, save for the bananas, which were stringy and bitter but not entirely inedible, they did not relish the thought of trying them again. So they savored every last crumb and drank water from the vine to wash down their daily sacrament while Ernesto carved a new brace of spears to replace the ones they had lost. High morale did not come easily in the jungle, especially at night, and he wanted them to rest as long as possible before the sun went down and—

***

Darkness came to greet them.

It arrived as it always did in the jungle, with the fleeing of daylight through the trees and the sudden deepening of shadows. The bright, cheery birdsong was replaced with the rising crescendo of insects and frogs. Fast asleep inside the maloka, the Americans did not witness the day's descent, nor did they awaken at the throbbing rhythm of the alien chorus. When at last they did wake up, it was to the sound of Ernesto calling softly for them to gather up their things again.

"How's the leg?" Brooke asked, helping Ben put on his backpack.

"It's good," he replied. She was silent, so he added: "No, really, it's fine."

But before they resumed their nocturnal passage, Ernesto brought them down to the riverbank. The water rippled darkly, shot through with streaks of silver moonlight. As they watched, Ernesto climbed over a small drop and lowered himself through the tall grass to the water's edge. Boots landing with a wet slap, he crouched low to the ground, the spear held out before him in a defensive posture. A cluster of birds was luxuriating in the shallows, and they fluttered away in a storm of beating wings. Eyes surveying the water, he dropped to one knee, scooped something into his hand, and climbed back up the bank to show them.

Now they were slathered in mud from head to toe; this was Ernesto's idea. Ocultación, he'd explained to them, gesturing with his hands and then demonstrating how one can apply the claylike earth as a sort of mask. They had watched him, nodding. The others did not know this Spanish pronunciation, just as Ernesto did not know its English equivalent, but the meaning was clear enough. So they'd done as he'd instructed, helping one another apply the rich brown mud to their faces, arms, and clothing.

After, they regarded one another with a combination of satisfaction and fear. The familiar features were gone, buried beneath the thick layers of clay. Their eyes bulged at the sight of one another. For all their parts they looked nearly as frightening as the creatures that were stalking them.

The night passed slowly, as all nights in the jungle do. The moon had plumped toward fullness, transforming the forest into a world of extreme contrasts, and soon their eyes adapted to its otherworldly glow. Ernesto's idea to follow the course of the river seemed a good one. The trees and bushes that grew along its banks, while not exactly sparse, were spread far enough apart to allow easy passage. At some point they happened upon a cluster of large moss-covered stones that gave the impression of an ancient fort or foundation, and not even Auggie gave these ruins more than a cursory glance, for it was far too easy to imagine the people who once lived there... and to wonder what had become of them. And it seemed likely, only too likely in this world where anything was possible, that the spirits of the ancients still dwelled there, searching for a few more souls to keep them company on the lonely path to eternity.

On occasion, they heard signs of wildlife—a chirp here, a squeak there—and more than once their hearts froze at the sound of movement, only to hear the telltale patter of hooves, the stir of leaves as some small woodland creature bulled through the underbrush ahead of them. Moving swiftly through the black and white landscape, the six humans found their rhythm, moving with the fluidness of shadows.

They continued all through the night, beyond the point of exhaustion, beyond the point where their muscles trembled and their feet burned with blisters, beyond the point where conscious thought became abstraction. In the absence of awareness, their bodies became machines, moving faster and with greater efficiency than they would ever have imagined. They had resigned themselves to the punishing journey, and now it mattered little if they had five miles or fifty miles ahead of them; they were determined to push forward, even if it killed them—and there was little doubt amongst them that it probably would.
Forty-nine

Cooper was in a bad way. After making a perfunctory attempt to scrub away his mud mask with some damp leaves, he plunked himself down against the trunk of a giant Ceiba and did not get up. Arms and legs trembling in the throes of a high fever, his half-painted face sparkled in the early morning light, and his once blond hair was plastered to his head in filthy clumps. As the light gathered strength, Cooper squinted up at them, eyes sunken and watery, hands folded neatly on his lap. "How did I get here?" he asked in a childlike voice and smiled at them dreamily.

Ben thought he had never seen anything so heartbreakingly sweet in his whole life. It reminded him of when they were kids, all those long ago Halloweens when they would gather at Ben's house before heading out into the chill October air to go trick-or-treating. In that simple, golden era of their childhood, ages before they would set foot within the cursed jungle, Ben, Auggie, and Cooper would help each other assemble their costumes, dabbing the special effects makeup and fake blood on one another's faces in order to complete the astonishing transformation from boys to monsters. Later they would return to Ben's house to take stock of their plunder, dumping their jack-o'-lanterns on the floor in a flood of color; snack-sized versions of Mallo Cups, Reese's, Kit Kats, and candy corn, their joy instantly elevated by the rare appearance of a full-size Hershey bar. It was all so innocent; it was all so simple. But now they lived in a world where there were no treats, and the only tricks were tricks of the mind. A world where every night was Halloween, and the monsters were all too real.

"Are you okay, Coop?" Brooke asked, crouching down beside him.

"I'm so c-c-cold," he stuttered.

Pulling the torn-up poncho from her ever-shrinking backpack, Brooke gently placed it over Cooper's chest and shoulders. "Th-thanks," he said weakly.

"No problem."

"Coop?" Ben asked. "Do you want anything?"

Still shivering, Cooper looked at him and chuckled. "Yeah. I'll t-take a real bed p-please. N-no, f-f-fuck that, I want a Tempur-Pedic."

"Adjustable or regular?"

"Adju-ju-justable," Cooper said. "And s-some f-food. M-maybe Ch-Ch-Chinese. F-f-fuckin' crab rangoons, m-man."

Ben smiled sadly. "Tempur-Pedic and some Chinese food, got it. Anything else?"

Cooper looked at him for a long time. "I ju-just w-wanna g-go h-home, man."

Ben knelt down beside him and patted his shoulder. "You will, man. We all will. And when we do, the crab rangoons are on me." Ben looked up at Auggie and Brooke. "What do you say, guys? You want to go out for some Chinese when we get back? My treat?"

Auggie nodded so enthusiastically it looked as though his neck might break. "Yeah, that sounds great. We can drink a few of those what-do-ya-call-'ems—scorpion bowls?—and make a night of it."

"That sounds perfect," Brooke said, choking back tears. "We'll all get drunk, pig out, and sing some karaoke."

"I d-didn't know you could s-sing."

"I can't," Brooke replied with a strained laugh. "I totally suck. That's why we should all get drunk first, so I can get some liquid courage and so you guys might actually think I'm pretty good."

"Now that," Ben chimed in, "is something I would pay to see."

Smiling serenely, Cooper closed his eyes, his breathing already falling into the steady rhythm of sleep.

"We'll be back in a minute, Coop," Brooke said softly, but he had already gone to wherever people go when they dream. Giving Auggie and Ben a disquieting look, she gestured for them to follow her to a place just a few yards away. When they were out of hearing distance of Cooper, she turned to them with her arms folded tightly across her chest.

"What is it?" Ben asked in a hushed voice.

Brooke looked away for a long time. When she looked back at them, her face was tight with a grim expression. "Those things," she said, and she did not need to elaborate, for the two boys knew precisely which things she meant. "Those things," she continued, "seem to be infected or something. Do you remember Felix's bite mark?"

Both boys nodded. Though it already seemed like a memory from another age, they could not forget the ghastly oozing pustule that had overtaken the riverboat driver's forearm when he returned from his ill-fated fishing trip.

"I think that's how they become that way, from some kind of infection."

Ben was quiet for a moment as he considered this. "When I was a kid, there was this big old raccoon that wandered into our neighborhood one summer. It looked dirty and confused, and it tried to bite one of my neighbors as she was getting out of her car. The cops showed up a little while later, and they took one look at the thing and put a bullet in its head. They said it probably had rabies, and that there was nothing they could do for it. I remember thinking that same thing about Felipe: that he was acting like a rabid animal. Do you think it could be something like that? Something like rabies?"

Brooke shook her head doubtfully. "I'm not sure. I keep thinking about those monkeys we found, the way they were hanging. It looked as though they just latched onto those branches and hung there until they died. Almost like... like they had done it on purpose. Like they had killed themselves. I know this sounds weird, but there was something about them that seemed vaguely familiar, like maybe I read about something like that once, only I can't remember what or when."

"Let's assume you're right," Auggie said. "Let's assume it is an infection. Felix and Felipe were exposed to it, and then they turned. But we were exposed to Felix and Felipe... and we're all fine, right?"

Again, Brooke shook her head. "It's hard to say. We don't know how it spreads. Maybe Felix and Felipe had direct contact with it."

"What are you saying? That it's some kind of parasite?"

"I don't know." Brooke took a deep breath. "But here's the thing: malaria is caused by a parasite that is transmitted by blood. Now I don't know exactly what this infection is; I know it's not malaria. But what if the Malarone is protecting us from becoming infected, or at least helping to slow it down?"

"Shit," Ben murmured, turning to Auggie with a look of concern. "Do you still have the pills?"

Auggie couldn't bring himself to meet Ben's eyes. "They're gone, man. They turned to mush after we fell into the swamp."

"Fuck."

"The locals don't take Malarone," Brooke said. "They drink the tea."

"Maybe Ernesto's tea will help," Auggie added hopefully.

"A lot of good it did for Felix and Felipe," Ben muttered bitterly.

Brooke looked back at the place where Cooper was still sleeping soundly, his mud-streaked face poking up from the shredded poncho. "Right now," she murmured, "it's all we have."

***

Upon returning from the jungle, Ernesto lit a small fire and set about the task of preparing his tea. Grinding up several strips of bark and what appeared to be a chunk of vine, he poured the resulting brown powder into a tin cup, added some river water, and placed the concoction over the flames. In minutes the water began to boil over and, moving the cup aside, he doused the flames with a handful of dirt. When the water settled down, he used his sleeve to carry the steaming cup to the place where Cooper was sleeping, and the others tagged along to watch him administer his remedy.

Ben was watching him with interest. "Will this help him get better?"

"Yes."

Ben leaned over and peered into Ernesto's cup. Inside was a frothy liquid that looked like rusty water. "What is that?" he asked.

"La Medicina," Ernesto replied, his voice floating out in a reverent whisper. Lifting the cup above his head with both hands, he began to pray. When the prayer was complete, he brought the cup over to the Ceiba tree and crouched beside the sleeping boy. "Coo-per? Coo-per, wake up."

Cooper's eyelids twitched, as though he were struggling to keep from waking. Ernesto held the pungent tea under his nose, and his eyelids fluttered open. "Mmm?" he said.

"Coo-per, I'd like for you to drink this."

Still dozing, Cooper nodded absently and opened his mouth. Holding the back of Cooper's head with one hand, Ernesto raised the cup to his mouth with the other. Cooper's lips groped for the rim, and as the first splash of liquid touched his tongue, he drank greedily, tilting back his head so that the tea poured easily down his throat as his body awoke at the thought of hydration. After several seconds, Cooper stopped drinking, the dark liquid dribbling down his chin onto the poncho, which was now bunched up on his lap. Smacking his lips, Cooper's body went slack, and he retreated back into a deep sleep.

"Is okay," said Ernesto.

"Do you think that it will help?" Auggie asked.

Tilting the cup, Ernesto dumped the remaining sediment on the ground. He turned to look at them. "It is very good that he throws up," he said, nodding. "This will help him to clean, like for to clean his body of the sickness."

With their spears close at hand, the five watchers held vigil over the sleeping boy. Through the trees they could see a wall of white vapor lifting up from the river. The canopy was not as dense here, and the rising sun flooded into the clearing, forcing the shadows deep into the jungle. All at once, the jungle came awake, and the alien chorus of insects soon gave way to the cheerful, squawking cries of birds. Roughly twenty minutes later, Cooper leaned over and vomited a steady stream of rust-red water into the undergrowth. Sitting next to him, Ben had one arm around his shoulder to steady him. After emptying his stomach of all its contents, Cooper fell back against Ben's shoulder, nuzzling his face against the filthy shirt. For the next several minutes his body twitched with the aftershocks of the purge. After, as his muscles slowly relaxed, Cooper slipped back into a deep sleep.

"Oscar will help you watch him," Ernesto said and then turned to the stout young guide to translate.

Oscar nodded in quiet understanding and lowered his squat body to the ground on the other side of Cooper.

"After little while, he will have the visions," Ernesto explained. "Some good, maybe some not so good. This will last for several hours." He turned to Auggie and Brooke. "It is okay for you to sleep for a little while. We will watch Coo-per, and make sure he is okay, uh-huh."

***

Though physically spent, neither Auggie nor Brooke slept for more than a few fitful minutes, for just as they started to nod off, they were awoken by the sound of Cooper's fevered cries.

The visions had begun.

Currently nestled in a natural hollow beneath a mat of vines, Auggie rolled over to look at Brooke. She was lying on her back with her head propped up on her backpack and her eyes closed. From several yards away, Cooper cried out again.

"I'm going to check on him," Auggie said quietly, unsure if she was sleeping.

Now Brooke's eyes opened and she rolled over to look at him. "I'll come with you."

Climbing out of the burrow, Auggie reached back to offer her his hand. Brooke's slender fingers brushed his palm and he paused, relishing the feel of her hand against his. Raising his arm, he pulled her forward and to her feet, dragging her backpack along behind her.

Standing, she looked at him with a warm smile. "Thanks, Auggie."

He smiled back at her, and even after she withdrew her hand, he could still feel the phantom tingle of its presence against his skin. "No problem."

Shrugging on her backpack, she clasped her hands over her head and performed a series of stretches to relieve her aching shoulders and back. As she did so, Auggie could not help but notice that she was not wearing a bra. Nor could he help but notice the small, firm breasts and tiny nipples pushing suggestively against the thin fabric of her cotton shirt. "Okay," she said, finishing. "Ready?"

Auggie nodded.

Ben was sitting with his back against the Ceiba tree, and Cooper was lying between his outstretched legs with his head against Ben's chest. Ben had his hands locked around Cooper's midsection, both to steady him and to keep his arms from flailing. Eyes half-open, Cooper was babbling softly, jerking and twitching as Ernesto's medicine spread through his system.

Oscar was sitting dutifully beside Ben while Ernesto was a few feet away, cutting a strip of bark from a nearby tree. The small Peruvian had gathered a dozen or so palm fronds and arranged them like a fan, using the strip of bark to fashion one end into a primitive handle. When he was finished, Ernesto crouched down in front of Cooper and began to shake the loose palm fronds in front of Cooper's face. The resulting sound was not quite baby rattle, not quite maraca, but somewhere in between. As if on cue, Oscar began chanting softly, and the combination of the two sounds possessed a soothing, almost hypnotic quality. Almost immediately, Cooper relaxed in Ben's arms. He was smiling now and talking happily to himself.

There was a religious quality to the chanting, and so Auggie and Brooke sat down on the ground and looked on in a respectful silence. Watching them closely, Auggie's eyes wandered back and forth between Cooper's sickly face and Ben's wounded leg. It occurred to him that, only a few days ago, he had considered himself to be the weakest of the trio. How ironic, thought Auggie, that out of the three of us, I'm the last man standing. He'd wasted so much time fretting over being the weak link, and now he was the only one who was healthy and strong.

About twenty minutes into the ceremony (and that's precisely what it was, Auggie was fairly sure of it), Cooper opened his eyes and screamed, thrashing and squirming as if to escape some unseen terror. His hair was soaked now, and the sweat ran down his face in steady streams. Hands moving in a blur of motion, Ernesto continued to rattle the palm fronds around the sick boy's face, and Oscar chanted louder and faster until at last Cooper fainted dead away. With a pleased expression, Ernesto set aside his makeshift chungana and nodded at Oscar, who sang a few more bars before he stopped chanting.

"Punku?" Oscar asked softly.

Ernesto nodded wisely.

"What did he say?" Ben asked, feeling strangely exhilarated by the ceremony. He could feel Cooper's breathing as it became rhythmic, and it seemed as though the worst of the fever was behind him.

Ernesto looked at each of their faces, as though deciding whether or not to share an important secret. "Coo-per has passed through the doorway," he said. "And now I think he will be okay, uh-huh."
Fifty

Cooper, as it turned out, was better than okay.

By late morning, he was sleeping soundly. By mid-afternoon, the fever had already begun to break, and the sweating soon abated, along with the shivers. By late afternoon he was wide awake, fully energized and eager to be moving again. They were sitting ducks out here in the daylight, and he knew they had all taken a great risk in waiting for him to recuperate.

Cooper never talked about the visions—in a fragmented way, he recalled trying to wash his face with some wet leaves just as the sun began to rise, as well as a few blurry snippets of conversation with his friends, but he could not remember a thing beyond his first sip of tea. Nevertheless he could not shake the feeling that he had just completed a long and arduous journey, and he felt a renewed sense of purpose as he helped the others paint their faces in preparation for the nighttime crossing.

Retrieving the last of their food, the trail mix, from his backpack, Ben joined the others by the riverbank. "Does anyone else have any food?" he asked, taking a small handful and passing the bag over to Cooper, but the others only shook their heads. Oscar and Auggie had scavenged a few bananas from the jungle, and they divided them up amongst the group. While the two guides savored every last bite, the Americans devoured their share in seconds, too hungry to notice the chalky, bitter taste.

Soon the sun popped like a blister, spilling its bloody light into the forest as the newly painted warriors gathered their meager belongings and began to follow the shadows back into the dense vegetation.

Half an hour later the sky disappeared, devoured by a layer of billowing black clouds. A light drizzle began to drift down through the canopy, and though it did little to preserve their mud-masks, they welcomed the coolness of the mist against their faces. Ben pulled off his shirt and the others followed his lead (even Brooke, who quickly folded her arms across her braless breasts), letting the moisture kiss their skin and wipe away the sweat and grime. Thunder boomed, so close they could feel the percussion inside their chests, and the trees began to tremble. Soon the wind picked up and the trees began to sway, and the empty space between the canopy and the undergrowth began to fill with a whirling vortex of falling leaves. They put on their filthy shirts and had just started to pull on their ripped-up ponchos when the rain began to fall properly; big fat drops of rain that tapped against the foliage like BBs on a tin roof. Then the thunder boomed again, even louder than before, and the rain began to fall from the sky in ropes.

By the time the sky cleared, they had not seen or heard another living creature for well over an hour. In a place known for its rich abundance of wildlife, this particular section of the jungle—the densest, most inhospitable area they had encountered thus far—was a veritable graveyard. In the absence of nature's song, the silence was deafening. Even the trees remained solemnly still as they dripped with the aftermath of the storm. All sense of time slipped away from them, and they shuffled along in a dreamlike silence, their legs moving mechanically across the soggy terrain. Hacking his way through a wall of creepers, Ernesto paused with the machete in mid-swing. Sensing rather than seeing a change in the cadence of their slow march, the others came to a dead halt. Dripping with rain, they stopped and listened.

Somewhere ahead, a high, girlish laughter floated through the stillness. It was not a joyful kind of laughter; it had a secretive, insidious undertone that set them immediately on edge. Ears strained, eyes searched, and muscles tensed, and still the jungle refused to give up its secret.

Then, like a ghost, the sound faded away into oblivion.

A local village, maybe?—No me gusta—That sounded like a little kid—Must be hearing things—Impossible, that's impossible—Next thing you know, I'll be seeing things, too—A bird, just a bird—Yes, that must be it—

Myriad thoughts flitted through their minds, but when the sound returned, it was unmistakable.

A child's playful giggle. Somewhere up ahead.

"What is that?" Cooper whispered, squeezing past Ernesto.

"Coo-per," Ernesto hissed in a warning tone, but curiosity had already overcome the boy.

Moving ahead of them, Cooper began to thread his way through the densely woven thicket. Pushing the final screen of branches out of the way, he gasped.

"My God!" he said excitedly. Swiveling his head around, his eyes were bright with hope. For a second or two, his jaw moved but no sound came out as he looked at the group with an expression of joyful astonishment. At last, the words erupted from his lips: "It's Janie!"

Ben was struggling to catch his friend, but he could not match Cooper's natural agility. Ernesto was the closest to him, and now he reached out to grab Cooper's arm, but Cooper shrugged him off and tore ahead through the forest, shouting Janie's name at top volume.

"Cooper, no!"

"Janie! Janie! Over here!"

Cooper raced through the underbrush with reckless abandon, using his spear to beat aside the tangled vines and fanlike leaves that seemed to leap out in front of him. Ahead of him was open ground between the trees. And then, at last, he could see her...

In a small grove of leafy ferns, Janie stood looking away from him, staring into the jungle as though trying to determine from which direction Cooper's voice was coming. Naked to the waist, her body was covered in filth and—it was hard to tell from this distance—something that looked a lot like dried blood. Oh, my God, Janie! What did they do to you? But she was alive! Janie was alive! For the first time since this ordeal began, Cooper was certain that everything was going to be fine. Everything was going to work out. They were going to get back to the research center and catch the first boat back to Puerto Malaka. Then... home. They were going to get out of this godforsaken place and go home.

"Janie!"

"Cooper!" Her voice echoed around him.

Spurred on by Janie's response, he hurled himself through a string of needlelike thorns and began running at full speed. Later, when he had time to reflect on this moment, he would realize that it was Brooke's voice he had heard, but right now all he could think about was

(Janie, my God, Janie! She's safe! Please God, let her be okay. Let her be okay. It was my fault she was taken, my fault I couldn't stop them. Please, God, please, please, please let us get out of this place...)

wrapping his arms around the leggy brunette and holding her close.

He was still shouting her name as he reached her.

He was about to wrap her up in a joyful embrace—he was actually holding his arms up to do just that—when some fearful inner voice made him reconsider. Perhaps it was her nakedness, or the filthy appearance of her hair, which was tangled with twigs and leaves and something that might have been a dead beetle. Or perhaps it was the strange, stinging smell that suddenly filled his nostrils and made his stomach do somersaults. Or the hundreds of flies that hovered around her in a living cloud. Cooper could only imagine what horrors she had experienced on her own; surely, two nights alone in the jungle would be enough to traumatize anyone, but there was something else, some deep-rooted instinct he did not fully comprehend, that made him hesitate.

"Janie?" he asked, and the odd quality of his voice only deepened his uncertainty.

For a second or two, she remained perfectly still, and there was something about her immobility that filled him with a sudden, overwhelming dread. Her strange reaction, or rather inaction, did not seem natural to him. By now she should have been aware of his presence, and after this improbable reunion in the middle of nowhere, he had anticipated elation, anger, shock, grief—some heightened form of emotional response to fit the situation. Instead, she did not even seem to be aware of his presence.

When he called her name a second time, her head twitched ever so slightly to one side. It was then that Janie, with small, deliberate steps, slowly turned to face him.

Terror was just a word. Like most words, it was nothing more than a label, an abstract way to describe an abstract emotion. What Cooper felt at that moment went far beyond the word to the very root of his sanity.

Janie Castellano's face was no more. In its place was a deformed parody of the carefree, beautiful girl he had lusted after since their first encounter at the Amazonia Lodge. The lovely brown eyes were gone, replaced by watery black orbs that probed the darkness with a kind of dim, insectile awareness. Her bottom jaw had been broken, nearly ripped from the hinges, and her mouth hung open like a trapdoor, spilling out the rotting stub of flesh that was her tongue. She was still grinning dementedly as the childlike giggle spilled out of her, as if from a speaker inside her throat.

Heee-heee-heeeeee—

Cooper wanted to scream. He actually tried, but the only thing that passed his lips was an involuntary rush of air, something close to a whimper. Part of him was convinced that this was all just some nightmare, some feverish dream, and that he'd awaken at the research center or the hostel back in Cusco or home in his own bed—somewhere, anywhere—and everything would be fine, everything would be normal. And even as he embraced this idea, another part of his brain was telling him

(ohmygodsweetjesuspleaseletmewakeupwakeupwakeup!)

to RUN! RUN! RUN! but his legs were slabs of cement, and his feet remained rooted to the earth.

"Cooper!"

His friends were still shouting his name. He heard it from a distance that sounded too great to be real.

"COOPER!"

The Janie-thing sauntered toward him, raising its hands, which were no longer hands at all but claws, ragged, yellow extensions of the bone. Now she was so close that he could feel the searing heat of her breath upon his face, and the smell made him cringe with black revulsion. A series of images flitted through his mind

(rancid meat)

(rotten fish)

(road kill)

until at last he recognized that stomach-turning smell for what it was: the sour stench of decomposing flesh as Janie's body surrendered to the infection.

Heee-heee-heeeeee—

Janie swung her arm, dragging her claws across Cooper's midsection, shredding shirt and flesh into a bloody confetti. With a startled cry, he dropped his spear to the ground. In the white-hot panic of fear, he stumbled backwards, and then the ground rushed up to greet him with a hard slap. One moment he was standing; the next he was sitting in the mud with the wind knocked out of him, with no real sense of how he had gotten there. All around him the trees shook and the branches clicked together like old bones. Someone—he wasn't sure who—was calling out his name. And standing above him, the Janie-thing hovered like a phantom, dripping strings of black saliva onto his boots. Just a dream, thought Cooper. Just a stupid, fucked-up dream. Soon I'll wake up and when I tell the others about this, they'll laugh their asses off, and so will I because this sort of thing just can't happen in the real world... But the cold reality of the mud oozing between his fingers as he crab-crawled backwards insisted otherwise. No, not a dream, but a nightmare nevertheless. One from which he would not awaken. Raising his arms to shield himself, he closed his eyes to the approaching horror, and in the darkness he saw a fleeting glimpse of his mother's face. It was not the face of the middle-aged woman she was, but the face he remembered from his childhood. A youthful face, smooth and beautiful and glowing with love—the first face he had ever seen.

In the darkness behind his closed eyelids, he prayed it would not be the last.
Fifty-one

When the first of the inhumans reveals itself in full view, Ben's first thought is: This is not real. There's no way in hell that thing can be real. There's no way in hell any of this can be real.

Scampering toward them on all fours, the old man is still wearing the grease-splattered shorts and T-shirt in which he had died. With a deep fissure running down the length of his skull, his face has split apart like a broken helmet, the flesh hanging off in a ragged flap. He comes at them without hesitation, eyes bulging, mouth sagging open, revealing a nest of shattered teeth that click together in anticipation of the kill. With a shrill scream, the inhuman leaps ten feet in the air—sailing over Ben's head, just missing him by a few bare inches—and crashes down on Oscar in a fury of bloodlust.

Though impossibly strong, the creature is all but weightless. Raising his good arm above his head, the squat Peruvian somehow catches the old man by the shirt and flings him up and over his shoulder. With a shriek of rage, the old man careens headlong into a tree, and there is an audible snap as he slides to the ground in a heap, head twisted and broken at the neck.

Spreading his legs in a fighting stance, Oscar has barely recovered from the ambush when a second inhuman falls from the trees and attaches itself to his shoulders. In a desperate attempt to pry loose his attacker, Oscar slams himself against a tree, but the inhuman holds fast, digging in with teeth and claws. Stumbling forward, Oscar falls to one knee and is instantly up again, spinning in a mad circle as the claws dig deeper, ripping his flesh into bloody ribbons.

He is reaching over his shoulder to grab the creature with his one good hand when his fingers slip into its open mouth. There is a terrible crunch as the creature bites down, and when Oscar pulls his hand free, he sees—with a sense of disbelief—that the index and middle fingers have been bitten off at the root. He is still staring at his deformed hand when those same teeth sink into the back of his head, and the inhuman pulls him backwards and drags him to the ground. Excited by the smell of blood, another inhuman joins the fray. Then another. They surge over him like shadows, biting and tearing at the vulnerable flesh.

Tossing aside his spear, Ernesto seems to skate across the ground as he sprints to Oscar's aide. There is a flash of silver and a blur of motion as the guide raises his machete and brings down in a whistling arc, embedding the blade in the back of the inhuman's head. But the creature remains unfazed. Wiggling the machete free, Ernesto grabs the old man's hair and yanks his head back with a jerk. Placing the blade against the old man's throat, Ernesto begins to cut. Shrieking, the old man struggles to twist free, but Ernesto tightens his grip, sliding the blade back and forth like a saw. Responding to its kindred's cry for help, one of the other inhumans turns and hisses at him, but Ernesto kicks it square in the face and it rolls away, dazed. Seconds later, the shrieks become a gargle, and finally, silence, as the blade passes clear through to the other side. Ernesto drops the severed head with a look of disgust and raises the machete again, but it's already too late. A small, emaciated inhuman has already found the young guide's jugular, and Oscar is no longer screaming, no longer fighting. Bowing its head to the fountain of blood, the childlike inhuman drinks greedily, excited by its living warmth. Oscar's incomplete hand fumbles weakly at the thing still attached to his throat, but the battle has already been lost. The three-fingered hand falls limply to the ground, his thick legs kicking out in dying spasms, and all at once he is still.

Knuckles turning white as he grips the machete tighter, Ernesto is rushing forward to avenge his friend when the inhuman lifts its head from the torrent and hisses at him from behind a mat of long filthy hair. She could not have been older than twelve, this little scarecrow with the tiny breasts—nor would she live to see one more day past that precious age. A black tongue flicks out, sensually licking the blood from its swollen lips. Reminding himself that this hissing creature is no longer a little girl, no longer human, Ernesto brings the machete down in a gleaming arc.

Pulling the long blade out of the dead child's skull, Ernesto is turning to help the others, the Americans, when he is confronted by a large bipedal inhuman moving toward him from the brush. Moving cautiously closer, he sees how the inhuman's head has been mashed out of shape. A series of cracks run along the length of his skull, sprouting tiny, hornlike stroma. His caved-in face looks as though it has seen the wrong side of a hammer, or—it dawns on Ernesto with a mixture of sadness and fear—a heavy rock. In that terrible moment of recognition, Ernesto is actually thankful that Oscar is dead so that he will never have to see the monstrosity that his brother has become.

Teeth snapping at the empty air, Felipe advances toward him with a terrible grin.

***

Forcing his eyes open, Cooper sees the ruins of Janie's face grinning down at him, and he understands that there will be no waking up from this nightmare. Rolling over onto his stomach, he tries to stand, manages two unsteady steps, but his legs, suddenly boneless, send him crashing to the ground. Clawing his way forward through the muck, his hand falls on something solid, and his heart lifts at the sight of his lost spear. Pulling it toward him, he sits up on his knees. Jabbing the butt of the spear into the ground, he uses it like a walking stick, leaning all his weight on it as he rises shakily to his feet. He has taken but a single step when he feels the putrid heat of Janie's breath on the back of his neck, and that is all the motivation he needs to get moving.

Hobbling forward, his muscles come alive and he starts to run, his long hair flapping behind him in the breeze. Up ahead, his friends are shouting, and though he cannot make out what they are saying, the terror in their voices fills him with dread. Cooper is still thinking about this when a blur of motion snaps him to attention and he sees a shadow falling from the sky. By sheer instinct, he lifts his spear as the inhuman falls on top of him, impaling itself through the middle of its chest. Then Cooper is on his back, wrestling with his attacker. Black-skinned, with elongated earlobes and a bloated belly, the impaled tribesman is naked save for a simple string around his waist, and his exposed genitals are rife with sores and swarming with flies. Its rotten jaws stretch open, breathing the foulness of death upon his face.

"Cooper!"

Ben is charging forward with his weapon raised, only just dodging at the last possible moment another inhuman as it leaps directly into his path. Winding up, he strikes the creature a glancing blow against the side of its face, and his spear disintegrates into a cloud of splinters. The inhuman's head snaps around, and its body drops to the soggy earth with a thud. Before the creature can regain its senses, Ben races forward to where Cooper is on his back, wrestling with the impaled tribesman.

The inhuman is forcing the point deeper into its chest as it struggles in the madness of bloodlust, trying to bring its jaws closer to Cooper's throat. Ben can see the sharpened tip protruding from the center of its back, glistening with black gore. Struggling, Cooper turns his head, and the jagged teeth miss their mark, sinking deep into his shoulder, clamping down on flesh and bone.

Pulling Ernesto's knife free of its sheath, Ben plunges it deep into the center of the tribesman's back, leaning all his weight against it until the blade can go no further. But the ravenous creature continues its assault. Cooper is still howling in pain and fear as the splintered teeth rip his flesh. At last, Ben places the point against the back of the creature's skull. He is readying himself for the final blow when some unseen force tackles him from the side, knocking the knife from his hand and sending him sprawling across the ground. He looks up in time to see the largest of the inhumans, the alpha, as it lunges for his throat. Tall and muscular, the alpha still wears the habiliments of its former life, the tattered remains of a navy blue construction worker's uniform. Ben is strong, but the alpha overtakes him with ease. Long, broken teeth push in closer, and Ben's arms tremble as the glistening jaws bear down on him.

Muscles twitching with his last ounce of strength, it occurs to him that this is it. It's all over. This is for real. He's going to die out here. They will all die out here, in some nondescript speck in the middle of this godforsaken jungle, somewhere indistinguishable on any map. Their parents, friends, and coworkers... none will know about the horrors they faced or the battle they fought here. In a terrible moment of clarity, Ben realizes it is likely he and the others will simple be reported as lost, and their remains will never be found. Then, as if from the edge of a nightmare, he hears the echoes of a scream. The sound of Brooke's cries help him to focus, and the alpha's jaws snap down on empty air as Ben twists away and is up and running in a flash.

Ahead, Ben sees the reason behind Brooke's bloodcurdling scream.

Janie is staggering across the little clearing to join the fray. Dragging one leg behind her, her shattered jaw droops open as though she is amused by all that is going on around her. Smelling of decay, she moves in a swirling cloud of flies. They hover about her, tiny specks reflected in the moonlight. She is naked except for a pair of shredded and soiled cotton panties, breasts swinging like pendulums as she lumbers toward them. Her body is bloated with decay, crisscrossed with scars, and caked with dirt. From somewhere far away Ben hears the sound of his friends as they battle for their lives, but it has a surreal quality, like the echoes of a bad dream. Auggie and Brooke watch, unable to move, unable to breathe.

Janie continues her methodical approach and Auggie raises his spear with trembling hands. Pressing toward him, she bats the spear aside, and Auggie raises it again, feebly jabbing at her. Finally, Janie latches onto the spear and rips it from the boy's hands. Jaws opening wide, her broken teeth flash closer.

Snagging Auggie by the collar, Brooke yanks him away from the bloodthirsty jaws. As Auggie stumbles, arms wheeling to regain his balance, Janie jerks her head around and turns her insectile eyes on Brooke. Lips peeling back from her teeth, Janie growls from somewhere deep within her throat.

With a fierce battle cry, Brooke rushes forward with the spear, but Janie parries the blow with ease, wrapping her clawed hands around the small girl's neck, pushing her back against the trunk of a nearby tree.

"Janie..." Brooke gasps. Her throat feels as though it has shrunk to the size of a pin. "Please..."

In a flurry of thoughts, she tries to convince herself that Janie is still inside there, fighting to break free of the invader. She hasn't fully turned, Brooke tells herself. She's infected, but she hasn't fully turned. Maybe there's still a chance, some kind of cure... If only I could reach her—

"Janie, please," Brooke whimpers softly in despair. "It's me. Br—"

The Janie-thing squeezes tighter, choking the words from her throat. Brooke panics. Forgets about the jungle. Forgets about the inhumans. Forgets about her tortured limbs and starving stomach. She needs air, precious air. Lungs hitching, she thrashes and kicks, and still the cold fingers press deeper, until nothing, not even air, can get past the ever-tightening vise of Janie's hand. The world begins to blur, and she looks at the shattered face for some sign of the friend she once knew.

But the engorged black eyes reveal nothing of Janie. Cold, indifferent, they are the eyes of a fish. Gone is any trace of the quick wit, the cool intelligence, the sassy attitude. Whatever it is that makes a person human—be it spirit, mind, or soul—that vital essence has long since fled.

Janie is gone, replaced by a brutish and insensate substitute, a marionette made of flesh and bone. These thoughts come to Brooke in a mad flurry, and the anger gives her strength. She begins to thrash about, her booted feet kicking wildly at the air. Raising her elbow, she wedges it under Janie's chin, just in time to keep the snapping jaws at bay. The clawed hands squeeze and squeeze. Sparks fly in front of Brooke's eyes—white sparks, yellow sparks, black sparks. Tiny fireworks that explode in front of her face. Briefly, she welcomes the possibility that she might actually faint before Janie can bite her face off.

Auggie has been watching this in horrified shock but now he abandons all thought and swings the butt of his spear at the side of Janie's rotten skull. There is an audible click as Janie's head snaps to the left, lolling at the end of her broken neck, and Auggie shouts in triumph. But the moment is short-lived. Barely registering the blow, there is a grotesque ratcheting sound as Janie straightens her head and returns her attention to Brooke, who is still dangling against the tree. Taking a few steps back, Auggie is working himself up for a second charge when two more inhumans appear to the side of him. As they close in on him, he jabs the spear in wild, swinging strokes, trying to keep them as far from him as possible. Heart racing, he already feels as though this battle has been going on for hours.

In truth, less than a minute has passed since the first inhuman revealed itself.

Thrashing, Brooke reaches out for something, anything, with which to fight. Rough against her fingertips, she feels the base of a small branch. Wrapping her fingers around the branch, she pulls herself up and back against the tree, loosening Janie's grip around her throat. Now partially free, Brooke gasps as she sucks in the precious air. Then the branch breaks in her hand and she falls back into Janie's grasp. Brooke can feel the claws digging in as Janie stretches her face toward her, her jaws seeming to distend, opening wider and wider. Brooke flails, unaware at first that she is still clutching the broken branch in her hand. Suddenly, a memory races through her mind: the fall into the swamp, the stick jutting out of Ben's calf, the deep and penetrating hole. Squeezing the branch, she works her arm loose of Janie's grip and plunges the stick deep into her left eye.

Janie shrieks as Brooke twists the shard in deeper. Pushes it until it stops on bone. Hands flailing at the nub, Janie suddenly releases her death grip, and Brooke falls to the ground, gasping for air. With the stub of the stick still poking out of her eye socket, Janie turns to Brooke with her one black eye, glaring at her in venomous rage. Reaching out her clawed hands, she slowly descends upon the fallen girl.

Ben is running toward Brooke when another inhuman appears, blocking his path. Summoning all his strength, Ben rotates his hips, his elbow snapping forward and into the creature's lower jaw. There is a hollow clack! as the metal plate in Ben's elbow connects with the bone, and he watches in triumph as the mandible, already hanging by strings, is torn loose from the flesh. Kicking the wounded inhuman aside, Ben sprints across the clearing and slips his arm around Janie's neck in a chokehold, pulling her away from Brooke. Janie stumbles and the two fall together in a tangled heap, Ben on his back and holding on tight as Janie's claws tear at his forearm. Then Ernesto appears out of nowhere, dragging the machete's blade across Janie's throat. Her neck splits open in a bloodless smile, spilling a virulent black substance that instantly hardens in the poison air.

Janie squeals, tossing about in violent, dying spasms. Dragging himself out from under the thrashing body, what Ben sees makes his heart stop. Several feet away, Oscar lies in a bloody heap. He looks as though he's been through a wood chipper and this is what came out on the other side.

Cooper is still fighting off the skinny one. Brooke is crawling toward Auggie, who is sitting on the ground with his arms around his knees, rocking back and forth. On the opposite side of the clearing, blocking their path, three more inhumans advance upon them, their jaws clicking together in syncopated rhythm. Then all at once, the bigger one releases a shrill scream that is immediately taken up by the others.

This is it, thinks Ben. That's their war cry. They're going to charge us all at once.

But it doesn't happen.

Amazingly, the creatures back away, retreating into the brush. One of the wounded ones hobbles along after them, but the other three, including Janie, are either dead or dying. As the inhumans back away, Cooper sags to the ground with his hands on his stomach. Seeing this, Auggie runs to his aid. Lifting Cooper's shirt he sees that the lacerations are only superficial, but it's the fear that concerns Auggie, the blind fear that makes Cooper thrash at him hysterically as Auggie tries to quell the bleeding.

Brooke stares on and on at Janie's body, seeing it, not seeing it, retreating somewhere deep within herself. Then someone is shaking her, calling to her. From some unfathomable distance, she hears the sound of her own name.

"Brooke!" Ben's voice rises in its concern. "Brooke, snap out of it! Can you hear me?"

Momentarily, Ben's voice pulls her back to the present, and there he is in front of her. Not a thousand miles away. Right there in front of her. Eyes wide, lips pressed firmly together, his face is tight with concern. She looks at him dazedly, her eyes unfocused, as though she has just awakened from sleep. Then she remembers the attack, her life-and-death struggle against Janie, everything. Flashing back to these things, the strength leaves her body and she collapses into his arms.

"Brooke," he pleads. Holding her close, he can feel her body shaking all over. "Brooke?"

Past his shoulder, she notices something shining down through the trees, something that looks like a laser beam. All at once, the sun breaks through the clouds and morning arrives like a blessing, bringing warmth and precious light across the land.

Praying softly, Ernesto is kneeling on the ground with his hand on Oscar's unmoving chest. Littering the ground around him are the mangled bodies of the inhumans. Their skulls crack open with a soft hiss, releasing rills of black liquid that steam and sizzle in the early morning light.

"I was wrong," Brooke whispers. She begins to wail, her nails pressing deeper and deeper into his back. "I was wrong! Ben, I was wrong! I was so, so wrong!"

He strokes her hair, trying to calm her, but she is shaking so badly he can hardly hold her still. "Shhh," he says. "It's going to be okay..."

"You don't understand..."

"Shhhh..."

The comfort of his arms around her, this sudden kindness amidst the horrors of death, causes the dam to break at last, and Brooke is overwhelmed by a torrent of emotion.

From an abyss of despair, she raises her head toward the golden sky and weeps.
Fifty-two

"I was wrong," Brooke repeated with a look of frightened culpability. More than half an hour had passed since the attack, and her voice was still shaky. It was late morning, and they had just stopped to rest in a sunlit clearing not far from the ambush spot. After tending to their wounds, they sat down by the river to collect themselves. Their backpacks, mostly empty now, lay scattered around them, along with several spears they had salvaged. Four pairs of eyes watched her, four pairs of bloodshot eyes with little hope left in them. "I should have recognized it before," she continued. "Their eyes; the way the move their heads. They're practically blind, I think. They find their way by smell. Did you see the way they reacted as soon as they saw the sun coming up? The way their blood burned up in the light? They were afraid, or as close to being afraid as they can get." She stopped to gaze into the jungle, her hands planted firmly around the shaft of a newly sharpened spear, and though she knew an attack by daylight was improbable, she refused to let her guard down, not even for a moment.

There was a heavy silence as the others processed this new information.

When no one spoke up, she continued: "I've been thinking—about what these things might be." She paused, rubbing her throat, which bore a dark bruise in the shape of Janie's fingers and hand. "There is a fungus that grows in different rainforests around the world. I read about it online. It infects certain types of bugs, like ants and spiders. It gets into their brains and—and—it uses them. Like puppets."

"They used her," Cooper said with disgust, unable to utter Janie's name. "They used her as... as a decoy, in order to trap us. They knew that we'd see her and come running."

Ben turned to Ernesto, who was eyeing the jungle as though trying to translate a difficult text. "Have you ever heard of anything like that?"

Ernesto had not said more than a few terse words since Oscar's death. Now he turned to look at them wearily, shaking his head. "I have not heard of this ant. There are places in the jungle where no man has been, animals in the jungle no man has ever seen. If Brooke say it is possible, I believe her."

"I have," interrupted Auggie. "They're called 'zombie ants'—"

"Zombie ants!" barked Cooper. "You're joking, right?"

Auggie ignored him. "That's probably not the scientific term, of course, but that's the gist of it. There's a kind of fungus that infects them. I don't remember what it's called. Anyway, this type of fungus, it works like a parasite. It uses insects and sometimes spiders as hosts in order to spread to different parts of the rainforest. It uses the ant as a carrier to help it spread. The ant wanders around, confused, as the infection fills its head. Then it clamps down on a leaf where it stays till it dies. Afterwards, the infection bursts out of its skull, spreading the spore at just the right time."

Ben snapped his head up suddenly. "Just like the monkeys," he said. "That explains why they were hanging from the trees like that."

"Wait, wait, wait..." Cooper put his hands on top of his head and moaned. "I saw something like that, like what Auggie was talking about, when we first arrived at the camp trail. I dropped my sunglasses and when I looked down, there they were. Bullet ants, I think they were. They were just sort of sitting there, bumping into one another like they were drunk."

"I remember that," Auggie said, his voice rising higher. "I was coming up behind you when you said it, but I thought you were joking..."

"But these are insects we're talking about, right? Not people."

Brooke looked at her hands, which were trembling, and then raised her head. "According to the article, the fungus uses the ants to spread its spore, so it can move to places it can't normally reach. That's how it survives. When you think about it, the function of any living organism is survival. Maybe the fungus, or the infection, or whatever it is, maybe it needed to spread farther than the ants could take it. That's why it spread to the monkeys...and now people. Maybe it had to evolve to survive."

"Maybe it's still evolving," Auggie said, staring off at the jungle in a visionary way.

"But why now?" Ben wanted to know. "How come no one's ever seen these things before?"

"I think we have," Auggie said, and his eyes glittered darkly.

The others fell silent. They looked at him questioningly and waited for him to continue.

"This jungle," Auggie went on, "has a long history of unexplained disappearances. Some people believe there was once a massive, thriving civilization here, but no one knows who they were or what happened to them. Some of the world's greatest explorers came here, never to be seen again."

"What are you saying? That these things were responsible?"

Auggie licked his lips. "What I'm saying is that this thing, this infection, could have been around for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. All around the world we have these different cultures, right? Every culture has its own mythology of monsters or demons or the dead coming back to life, but they're all variations of the same theme, and the message is always the same: you go out at night, and the bad things will get you—"

Cooper was shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Auggie. I just don't see what—"

Auggie raised his hand to silence him. "Just bear with me, Coop. Imagine that there's even a tiny kernel of truth in all these legends and myths. How is it that all these different cultures, who lived thousands of miles apart, all end up believing in the same thing? Not just that, but why bother building pyramids and temples that take decades to finish? The reason? To be closer to their God..."

"The sun," Brooke whispered.

Auggie smiled at her. "Exactly. I think this thing has been around for a long time. Mankind just forgot about it, somehow. And it's been watching us throughout the ages, waiting to return."

"The Interoceanic Highway," Brooke said breathlessly. "They've been cutting down hundreds of miles of forest. Maybe they disturbed something they shouldn't have."

"Maybe they just pissed it off," Ben said firmly.

"Well, that would explain what happened to Felipe," Auggie said in a reasoning voice. "He probably turned first, which means he was the first one exposed. But in Felix the infection took longer... you remember how his arm looked when he came back?"

"But why didn't they turn at the same time?" Cooper wanted to know.

Brooke shrugged. "Let's imagine that it's just like any other type of infection. Meningitis, for instance, or Triple E. Just like a cold or the flu, it affects everyone differently. Depending on how strong your immune system is, some people die from it right away while others become carriers, spreading the infection before they even realize that they're sick."

Carriers, Ben thought grimly. What was it that Brooke had said that afternoon at the research center? The jungle contains the disease and the cure? But what was the cure for this particular disease? And just like that, it hit him. He, and Brooke and all the others... they were the cure. Deforestation. Mining. Poaching. Pollution. Humans came to the jungle and destroyed it, and now the jungle was using the humans to destroy each other. Because humans were more than just the disease—they were also the cure. If he and the others survived their ordeal in the jungle, they would bring the infection back to civilization where it would spread like a plague. The inhumans were using them as carriers in order to cure the planet of its greatest affliction: mankind. On the tail of that came another, even more horrific thought: Later on, when people talk about how the apocalypse started, they won't be talking about North Korea or the Middle East. They'll be talking about right here. They'll be talking about us...

But then another voice cut in, one that was equally rational but far more selfish: Maybe you're infected, maybe not. But one thing's for sure... if you don't go back, you'll die, and that means everyone, including Brooke, will die right along with you... Yes, it's risky, but you've got to go back...

In the end, he decided it was a risk he was willing to take. For them. For her.

"We have to get back to the research center," Cooper said. "We have to warn people about this."

Auggie picked up a pebble and hurled it across the clearing. "How?"

"I don't know," Cooper said, irritated. "But we have to, right?"

Auggie shrugged. Scooping up another pebble, he hurled it across the clearing where it landed against a tree with a hollow tick.

Ben looked at the tree for a few seconds, thinking. Then his eyes lit up, and he turned to Ernesto, hardly able to conceal his excitement. "You told us before that you used to build rafts with your father. You said you used balsa wood from the jungle."

Ernesto's eyes began to brighten. "Yes..."

"So what if we make a raft? It doesn't have to be anything fancy, just something big enough for us to lie down flat and hold onto. Then we can float our way back to the research center, or who knows, maybe someone will even spot us sooner."

Ernesto nodded. "Is very dangerous, but we have no choice now. We must hurry before the sun goes down again."

Clutching her spear, Brooke rose to her feet. Towering over them like a warrior, her face hardened into a look of raw determination. "Let's get to it, then. We've already wasted too much time."
Fifty-three

Following the elevated riverbank, nearly two hours passed before they were able to locate the elusive balsa, and even then they were able to find only two mature trees of a sufficient height and width to support their weight in the water. Taking turns with the machete, Ben and Ernesto chopped the trees into four six-foot sections while the others carted them down to the water's edge to lay out the shape of their raft.

"We need more trees," Ben said.

Ernesto placed a confident hand on Ben's shoulder. "We will find."

Showing Brooke how to use his knife to cut vines into thin strips, Ernesto explained how the logs should be lashed together. Leaving Brooke, Auggie, and Cooper to their work, Ben and Ernesto headed back into the jungle on a quest to find more wood. The work was painstakingly slow. By late afternoon the temperature had topped out just over 100 degrees in the shade, and their lungs labored in the humid air; it was like trying to breathe through a wet towel.

They returned more than an hour later, carrying a single log on their shoulders. Brooke, Auggie, and Cooper heard them coming and jumped to their feet with their spears held ready.

"It's okay," Ben called out. "It's just us."

The three by the water exhaled a collective sigh of relief, though the tension returned when they saw the lone tree that was unceremoniously dropped at their feet.

"All we could find..." Ben said, panting in the heat.

Brooke walked over to him and hugged him. "The leg still holding up?"

"Yeah..." He lifted her small hands, turning them over to inspect both sides. Her knuckles were bleeding, her palms callused. He remembered how she had painted her nails on their last night at the research center; the pretty red lacquer had long since worn away, and the tips of her nails were chipped and broken to the quick. "What happened to your hands?" he asked, rubbing them.

"Oh, just the usual," she said. "You have to spend at least four days in the jungle to get them to look like this. Then you have to spend a whole day cutting vines and strips of bark to build a raft. Not to mention digging the occasional latrine. I call it the Amazon Manicure. Do you think it will catch on?"

Ben gave her a playful smile. "Let's hope so. Maybe you'll get rich, and then we can go on a real vacation. Somewhere tropical."

"I would love that," she said, her smile faltering a little. "You don't know how much I would love that."

Ben kissed her on the forehead. It felt so natural that he did it without thinking. Nuzzling up against him, Brooke's lips pressed together in a slantwise smile. Standing on her toes, she kissed him softly on the lips. Like two souls cut from the same cloth, he thought.

"Come on," she said, leading him back to where the others were gathered around the raft. She and Auggie had found several large water vines growing nearby, and with a prodigious effort, they were able to use Ernesto's knife to cut the vines in half. They did this several times until they were able to fill each of their Nalgene bottles with the precious liquid. Now she held one of the bottles up to his lips. "Here, drink."

Over the course of the last few days, the water vines had become increasingly more difficult to find, especially during their nighttime crossings, and Ben's eyes widened comically at the bounty now presented to him. "Thanks!" He did not stop drinking until the bottle was almost empty. After, he grinned almost drunkenly, feeling more alive and content than he had in days.

"You must be super dehydrated," Brooke followed with a look of concern. "Seriously, you look a little pale."

"We will rest for little while," Ernesto called out softly from the water's edge.

"Okay," Ben replied, and when he glanced down, he saw that Brooke was watching him uneasily.

She put her palm against his chest. "I can feel your heart racing," she murmured. "Seriously, are you feeling okay?"

Ben laughed a little. "I'm fine. I was just dehydrated—that's all."

"Sit down. I'm going to check your bandage before you go." The tone of her voice made it perfectly clear that this was not a request.

"Okay," Ben said, "but first let me see if I can find one of my hydration tabs."

Kneeling down beside the group of backpacks, he began to rummage through his bag for the container of hydration tablets. "Hey, Auggie-dog, have you seen the hydration tablets?"

Sitting at the water's edge, Auggie jerked his head up. "No!" he shouted. "I'm all out!"

Muttering to himself, Ben turned his backpack upside down and dumped its contents on the ground. There was the rain poncho—ripped-up, balled-up mess that it was; about six feet of paracord, which he immediately set aside in case they needed it for the raft; the yellow waterproof bag that contained his video camera, which he'd completely forgotten about these past few days; Auggie's other hiking sock, which he'd kept as an emergency bandage; the tube of DEET (he gave this a hopeful squeeze, but nothing came out); his headlamp (the batteries all but dead); his wristwatch; not much else. Wait a minute, Ben thought, what's that doing in here?

Picking up the wristwatch, he looked at the face and saw that it still seemed to be keeping time. It was 3:45 according to the watch. He remembered how its erratic alarm had been a source of amusement those first few days. He also remembered how the damned thing had almost gotten them all killed the other night when it gave away their hiding place to the inhumans. "Hey," he called over his shoulder. He tossed the watch into the woods. "I thought you got rid of this fucking thing."

Auggie looked up from the log where he was sitting, honing the tip of a spear with Ernesto's knife. "Did you say something?"

Stuffing the length of paracord into his front pocket, Ben tossed the other items into the backpack where he'd found them. He'd given up on the hydration tablets and was about to return to the others when he decided to check Auggie's backpack, just on the off chance that he'd misplaced them.

"Come on," Brooke said. "I need to take a look at that."

"Just a sec." As an afterthought, Ben took the sock back out of his pack and stuffed it into the same pocket as the paracord.

Unzipping Auggie's backpack, he reached his hand past the balled-up poncho, which was still damp with the previous night's rain, past a few stinky articles of clothing, all the way down to the bottom of the pack. He had about given up hope when his fingers brushed the hard plastic tube for which he had been searching. Pulling the tube out from the bottom of the pack, he stared at it and frowned. Looking up, he saw Auggie approaching him with long strides from the other side of the clearing. In seconds, he had made it from one end of the camp to the other.

"What the fuck is this?" Ben asked in a near-shout, and the angry tone of his voice made everyone look.

"Why are you snooping through my bag?" Auggie asked, snatching up his backpack and holding it against his scrawny chest.

"I asked you a question!" Ben roared.

Now the others were running toward them, looking at one another in their confusion.

"What's going on?"

"Is everything okay?"

"No," Ben said, shaking the container of pills he was holding in his hand. "Everything is not okay." He tossed the plastic container to Brooke, who snatched it from the air, turning it round and round in her callused hands.

"Malarone?" she said, reading the label aloud. She looked at them through a cloud of confusion. "But I thought this was lost in the swamp."

"Yeah," Ben muttered. "So did I."

Ben retrieved the container of pills from Brooke and waved it in front of Auggie's face. "What the fuck is this?" he demanded. "You told me they were ruined in the swamp."

Auggie looked at him but said nothing; there was something cold and furtive lurking behind those small, dark eyes. Before, Auggie had always had trouble maintaining eye contact, even when he was speaking on a topic that truly interested him and in which he was particularly knowledgeable. Now his gaze was cool and unwavering as he looked at Ben with a newfound confidence.

Ben wanted to punch him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Auggie flinched as Ben stepped toward him, ripping the backpack out of his filthy, mosquito-bitten arms. Saying nothing, Auggie watched in impotent rage as Ben turned the backpack upside down, spilling all its secrets onto the soggy ground for everyone to see. The poncho, several articles of clothing, an unopened package of AAA batteries, a headlamp, a small bottle of Excedrin, a little bottle of iodine tablets, a Bic lighter, and three protein bars littered the ground.

The truth blindsided Ben like a sucker punch, and there was nothing he could do to parry the blow. Now he saw how a rift had formed between him and Auggie, a black and terrible chasm almost too deep to comprehend. Auggie had changed the moment he first stepped foot in the jungle. Ben recalled how, at the research center, the once-timid boy would often venture off to be alone in the forest, spending more and more time in a self-imposed isolation. There were little things too, like the fact that he would dare to go to the bathrooms by himself at night and how he always managed to pop up when you least expected it. This led Ben to another thought: had Auggie been spying on him and Brooke? Had he, like the inhumans, been stalking them all along from the green encroachments of the jungle? Ben thought it was possible. There was that time when he and Brooke had been alone on the steps of the research center, just about to share their first kiss, when Auggie interrupted, acting as though he had just happened along by chance. Now the terrible truth came to Ben; he tried to close his mind to it, but it was already too late. The pills. The wristwatch. The batteries. The missing food. It was all deliberate, all coldly calculated, all part of some twisted plan. "Tell me why," Ben said, eyeing him coldly.

"Auggie?" Brooke asked in a frightened voice.

"Cooper could have died!" Ben screamed into his face. "You could've gotten us all killed!"

Auggie glowered at them defiantly. "You think you're prepared. You think you've done everything you're supposed to, study hard, work hard, keep yourself out of trouble, and then—whoosh! Something arrives out of the blue that you never saw coming. Something you never even imagined. Something that'll knock your little world off its axis. Something that'll either change your life for the better or end it forever. Chaos—that's what life is. Just total fucking chaos."

Cooper began to buckle under the tension. "What are you assholes talking about?" he asked, laughing a little. "This is crazy."

"Crazy is right," Ben snarled between his teeth. He angled his chin toward Auggie. "Go ahead. Tell him. I want to hear you say it."

Control, control! thought Auggie. Don't cry. Don't you dare fucking cry right now. He cleared his throat, knowing that doing so caused a contraction of muscles that could help a person stop himself from crying. Swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, he pressed his lips firmly together and cleared his throat again. But it was too late. His emotional dam had broken, and now the tears spilled down his face. "Fuck you," he snarled. "Some fucking friend you are, you know that?"

"Me?" Ben asked, voice rising in indignation. "What the hell did I do?"

"What did you do?" Auggie barked a bitter laugh that seemed to lodge somewhere inside his throat. He threw his arms up in the air in frustration. "What did you do? What do you always do, Ben? Everyone loves you! You just set your mind to anything or anyone you want, and you always get it, don't you? Like that night at the lodge. You knew I liked her, but you went after her anyway. Then you guys all paired off—oh, what cute little fucking couples you all made. Of course, no one stopped to think where that left me: the third wheel, as always. Glad to see it all worked out so fucking perfect."

"Stop it!" Brooke screamed. "Just stop it! We can't waste time arguing. Those things will come back for us. We need to finish the raft so we can all go home."

Though the two boys were within striking distance of one another, they could not have been farther apart. Ben looked at Auggie—his gaunt face, his beady eyes, his slightly protruding ears—but nothing he saw looked familiar anymore. Auggie continued to glower at him with a look that bordered on hatred, and the boy Ben saw behind those dark button-eyes was an absolute stranger. Though he'd known Auggie for the better part of his life, the terrible thought crept in, the thought that he did not know his friend.

Ben was pretty sure he did not know his friend at all.

***

As the day wore on, it became hauntingly clear that the raft would not be ready in time. Little more than a collection of six logs joined together to form something the size of a kitchen table, it would not support the weight of two people, never mind five.

It did not help that Auggie had abandoned his duties. Isolating himself by the water's edge, he spent the remainder of the day sulking, tossing pebbles into the current and watching them disappear. As the sun began its slow descent, Ernesto and Ben returned from the forest with one last log, which they left on the ground beside the unfinished raft. There was no time left to even trim it down to size.

"Mmm, I have an idea," Ernesto announced. "It is a dangerous idea, but it is an idea that will help us through the night, I think."

Ben, Cooper, and Brooke listened with interest as he laid out his plan.

***

Using Auggie's secret stash, they replaced the dying batteries in Ben's headlamp. Gathering their belongings, they waded out to a nearby sandbar that protruded from the water like a capsized boat.

And that was where they spent the night, spears in hand with the newly sharpened points directed toward the tree line. The moon was full and bright, but still their eyes could see a distance of perhaps only twenty feet. Several times they heard splashes in the gloom, and Ben flashed his light back and forth across the river, seeing nothing. Immediately their thoughts turned to Big Boy and the many other fearsome creatures that haunted the water, but Ernesto dismissed these things knowledgeably as the sound of fish breaking the surface. Several yards apart from the group, Auggie sat in utter silence with his knees drawn to his chest and his spear at his feet. Though Brooke and Ernesto had tried to engage him in small talk, he had not spoken a word since his blowout with Ben.

At some point in the night, they heard rustling by the raft. Holding the headlamp in his hand, Ben leveled it at the bank and was about to press the ON button when Ernesto grabbed his hand. Ben turned to him in the moonlight, and Ernesto shook his head, holding a finger to his lips to show that they did not want to reveal their hiding place.

On the sandbar, the humans readied their spears, all except Auggie, who continued to stare into the jungle as though he welcomed the end. The rustling continued for a few more minutes and then went away. But before it did, Ben thought he saw the shapes of several shadows—one of them the alpha—lingering just inside the canopy, though at this distance it was impossible to tell for sure.

Even after the rustling stopped, they remained on high alert for the next hour or more, afraid that the apparent abandonment of the shoreline was nothing but a well-planned ruse. But when the inhumans did not make an appearance after all that time, they began to relax. Setting his spear down in the sand, Ben reached over and held Brooke's hand. Eyes glittering in the moonlight, he could see the curve of her smile, the high cheekbones, the slight dimple in her chin.

We'll finish the raft in the morning, Ben told himself. A few more trees and we'll be done.

As the moon and stars slid across the sky, they watched and waited...
Fifty-four

It was Brooke who made the grim discovery.

Auggie was gone.

Sometime during the night, after the others had succumbed to the day's hard labor, Auggie had sneaked away under cover of darkness, taking his backpack and his spear with him. Waking the others, Brooke showed them the trail of his footprints, just visible in the moonlight. Footprints that ended at the water, leading off in the direction of the unfinished raft.

Now Ben was standing at the river's edge, trying to decide his next move. His internal clock told him it was sometime after midnight though he had no idea if this was actually true. The moon was still full in the sky, and the darkness showed no sign of the approaching day. "We have to go find him," he concluded aloud.

"Where would he go?" asked Brooke.

"Who knows?" Cooper said mournfully. "He's lost it. He could be up there in the woods, tearing apart our raft, for all we know."

"Ben?" Ernesto said, shining his light. "Your backpack..."

Running across the sand, Ben saw that his backpack was unzipped, the pouch left wide open. Rummaging through it, he began to take inventory of its contents.

"Is anything missing?"

"I don't think so," Ben said, and when he lifted his hand, he was holding the three protein bars he had discovered in Auggie's pack the day before.

"See?" Cooper shouted. "Auggie must've put those in there. I told you he was crazy."

Dropping the protein bars back inside his pack, Ben raced down to the water's edge.

"We have to wait until the sun comes up," Brooke said, following him.

Ben looked from the dark shore to the purple sky and back again. "I can't wait," he said, his jaw flexing with a look of determination. He turned and saw his friends gathered behind them, eyes full of concern. Taking his headlamp out of his pocket, he slipped the band onto his head. Pressing the button, the bright LEDs cut through the darkness like a sword. Reaching down, he grabbed his spear from the sand. Before anyone could stop him, he took three long strides and dove into the moonlit river.

"Ben!" Brooke screamed, but he was already gone.

Dog-paddling through the water with the spear grasped in his hand, Ben kicked hard against the current. Soon he arrived at the clutch of reeds, and he stood, shivering and dripping, with his weapon held before him. Wading through the grassy shallows, he started up the muddy acclivity and into the clearing.

Brooke grabbed her spear. "I'm going after him," she said.

Cooper was looking at her with an odd expression, mouth clamped shut, chin working back and forth as he ground his teeth back and forth against each other. He nodded his head.

"Brooke," Ernesto pleaded quietly. "Don't go."

She looked at the two men and smiled sadly. "I have to."

With that, she waded into the murky water and began to swim.

***

As Ben raced up the embankment, his headlamp found the impression of Auggie's hiking boots in the mud. There was a vertical scrape where the boy must have slipped, a handprint where he had steadied himself, and then the prints continued up and over the rise. Rushing into the clearing, Ben wondered if he would find Auggie there, dismantling the raft as Cooper had predicted. But the raft was as they had left it, and Auggie was nowhere to be seen. Flicking the light back and forth across the jungle, Ben felt the fear of a lifetime welling up inside his chest. His friend was gone.

Shivering from the cold water, Brooke arrived a moment later, soon followed by Ernesto and Cooper.

"We have to go find him!" Ben urged.

"We don't even know where to look," Brooke said in a gentle, reasoning tone.

"He left us," Cooper spat indignantly, and tossed his spear to the ground. "He abandoned us."

Ben looked at him with disgust. "This is Auggie we're talking about here. We've known him since we were kids. He's our friend, remember? The three of us... like brothers. Now tell me you'll go with me, Coop."

Cooper bowed his head and said nothing, overwhelmed by a sorrow too deep for words.

"Coop?"

Ben took several determined steps toward Cooper, and for a moment Brooke was sure that Ben was going to strike him. Ben stopped suddenly, as if he too realized what he was about to do. Breathing heavily, he whispered, "Say something, Coop." There was an obvious edge to Ben's voice, as though he were posing a dare—one that carried dire consequences.

"We should return to the sandbar," Ernesto advised them, but no one seemed to hear him.

Cooper's teeth clicked together as he shivered. Behind the tendrils of wet hair, his red-rimmed eyes stared off at a point somewhere beyond the clearing, unable to meet Ben's gaze.

"Say something, Coop." Ben clamped a hand down on Cooper's shoulder and squeezed. Now when he spoke, his voice was much louder, practically a roar. "Say something, Cooper!"

Brooke made as if to step between them. "Ben, don't do this..."

Cooper brought his head around slowly. There was something missing in his eyes, some vital thing that Ben could not articulate. "I—" He stopped, wetting lips that were cracked and bleeding. "I—"

In a flurry of movement, Ben lashed out at him, flinging him to the ground with a cry of rage. Cooper grunted in surprise, arms pinwheeling as he sailed through the air. He landed on his back in a palmetto bush, and the wind rushed out of him with a sigh. Ben advanced toward him. He had almost reached his intended target when Brooke stepped in front of him, holding her hands out in a calming gesture

"Ben, please. I know you're upset. We all are. But Auggie's gone. He left us here to fend for ourselves. But we're still here, and we need you right now."

Ben was breathing heavily through his nostrils, his expression sliding back and forth, alternating between anger and despair. For a fleeting moment, Brooke wondered if he intended to lash out at her as well. But then the cloud of anger seemed to evaporate all at once, his features slowly softening. Slowly, painfully, Cooper climbed out of the prickly bush. He felt tired and sick and still a bit dazed, and he could not shake the feeling that none of this was really happening.

"I'm sorry," Ben said, and Cooper could tell by the strain in his voice that his friend was crying. "I'm sorry I hit you, man."

Cooper smiled sadly, a dim reflection of that carefree expression of a few days hence. He had never seen Ben cry before, and the thought of it frightened him. "It's okay," he said softly. "Once we reach the research center, we'll get a search party together and come back for him. Let's just finish this goddamned raft, okay?"
Fifty-five

After walking for untold hours in the darkness, Auggie awoke in the middle of the jungle, frightened and alone. Shaking loose the chains of sleep, he heard the echoes of a distant cry—unrecognizable as human or animal. Sitting up, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. For some reason, he thought perhaps he had heard a voice, but he quickly discounted this as fantasy, simply a remnant of his dream. The jungle throbbed around him, and now he thought he saw a dim light nearby. He started at the sight. Had Ben and the others come looking for him? No. He thought it unlikely that they would have noticed his absence so quickly. Anyway, would it really be so bad to rejoin the group, to at least regain some sense of safety? Auggie bristled at the thought. He'd made his decision, and now he was alone by choice. For better or worse, he was on his own.

As his eyes adjusted, he moved cautiously, though the leaves still crinkled beneath his hands and knees as he crawled toward the vague light that hovered just outside the burrow. Perhaps a minute passed before his eyes could make out the origin of the light. There were things there, just outside the entrance to the burrow, things that clung to the wide trunk of the towering Brazil nut tree. He inched closer to the trunk. At last he saw that these were some kind of mushrooms, which gave off an unearthly light of their own. Auggie smiled in quiet wonder. He had read about such things. Bioluminescence, it was called. Certain plants and algae around the world radiated their own cool light. In his pleasure, he reached out toward one of the mushrooms. Perhaps if he touched one of them, the light would rub off on his fingers, lending him the ghostly glow. Self-preservation made him pause with his fingers in midair. What if these magical fungi were poisonous? Was it possible that the poison could seep into his bloodstream, causing illness or death? His mind flicking back to his studies of poison-dart frogs, he thought it possible. One touch, and the frogs' poison could permeate the flesh, causing convulsions, paralysis, even death.

At length Auggie withdrew his hand. He smiled to himself. The jungle had tried to trick him, and he had outsmarted it once again.

Dragging his backpack behind him, he crawled out of the burrow, careful not to disturb the glowing spores. Sitting on the ground, he pressed the button on the side of Ben's wristwatch (my wristwatch now, he thought, with a twisted sense of pride), which he had recovered from the bushes the previous day. The little blue light came on, illuminating the numbers: it was 3:17 in the morning. The sun wouldn't be up for another hour or so, but he was eager to get moving. Shrugging on his backpack, he stood and stretched and waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

Small breezes stirred the leaves, and the jungle whispered, its myriad voices rising among the peepers and frogs, a susurration that soon took the rhythm of a chant. Then, just seconds before dawn, the whispers faded suddenly, replaced by an uneasy silence. The jungle became deathly still. Something was happening, some impending event that Auggie could not perceive. The jungle held its breath, as though keeping a secret. The animals and even the insects seemed to sense this momentous occasion, and they too became hushed. The stillness was unsettling. Auggie turned in a slow circle, and the only sound was the crunching of leaves beneath his feet. Suddenly feeling lightheaded and tired, he stopped.

He wasn't sure if this was simply a figment of his imagination, but it felt as though he was being watched. He imagined that each bud, each leaf, each sprout would unfurl, and at its core would be an eyeball that observed him intently—millions, perhaps billions of eyes, watching him, studying him. Walls of eyes that peered at him as if to say, We can see you! We know you! We've been expecting you!

When you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.

Auggie shivered at this aptly remembered quote, learned from some English class or another, which floated forward from the depths of his mind as though tucked away for just this one occasion.

Who wrote that? Was it Dante? Conrad? Wait, that's not right. It was Nietzsche. Yeah, good old Friedrich. And now Auggie was pretty sure it wasn't when, but if. IF you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. What does it mean?

The jungle shimmered, whispering in a tongue he did not understand. The chorus of animals and insects returned in force, seeming to rejoice in this pre-dawn drama. All at once, the jungle came alive

Auggie felt as though he were standing in the cradle of creation.

And at that precise moment, Auggie did understand. He understood everything. At last his mind was able to articulate the thought that had, for so long, eluded him:

The jungle had a soul.
Fifty-six

Hobbling toward them, Cooper stopped as suddenly as if he had walked into an invisible wall. A look of total serenity passed over his mud-streaked face and his mouth popped open, a dark circle of surprise. A startled moan drifted out between his parted lips—Hhaaaah!—and his eyes rolled back in his head as if in ecstasy. But what started as a pleasant tingle soon became a scorching heat that set every nerve ablaze, making his entire body tremble with a sudden palsy. Then something that felt like a hot needle pierced his brain, and that's when Cooper threw his head back to the sky and screamed.

"Ben!" Brooke cried shrilly.

Ben was already moving to help his friend when Ernesto grabbed him firmly by the arm. Startled, Ben jerked his head around in anger. Though his headlamp was almost dead, emitting only a dull, grayish glow, it was more than enough to see the mask of misery that was Ernesto's face.

Ernesto shook his head sadly. "There is nothing you can do for to help him."

Ben looked at him for a moment, mind grasping at the macabre implication of these words, and then turned back to his friend. Cooper's head was bowed toward the ground as if in prayer, his long hair falling across his face in sweaty tendrils as he explored his abdomen with his fingers. "Oh—" he said in a curious whisper, and a dark stain blossomed between his legs as his bladder let go. Bile erupted from his open mouth, and, clutching his stomach, he crumpled to his knees in pain. The blood had already begun to cool inside his veins, stiffening his muscles beyond the point of function—rigor mortis for the living.

Pulling free of Ernesto's grip, Ben raced across the clearing to help his friend. "Cooper?" he said, reaching out to touch his head. "You alright, man?" Looking down, he saw splashes of blood across the underbrush—so vivid in the dying light—and he realized at once that Cooper was definitely not alright. Some terrible voice in the back of his mind told him that Cooper would never be alright again.

Cooper's head snapped up at the sound of Ben's voice, and Ben snatched his hand back as though he'd been burned. "GET AWAY FROM ME!" he growled in a rusty voice that was not entirely his own. His face glistened with the scarlet horror, and his eyes were two white marbles behind the mat of filthy hair.

Ben took an unconscious step back, and then Brooke was grabbing at his shirt with both hands, trying to pull him away. "We can't help him, Ben. There's nothing we can do."

Unable to meet her eyes, Ben shook his head in denial, not wanting to believe that he was powerless to save the last of his childhood friends.

Cooper tried to stand, but his muscles would not obey, and he sank back onto his knees, as though under the weight of some invisible force. With trembling hands, he lifted the front of his shirt. Things writhed beneath the surface between the muscle and the flesh, things that twisted and squirmed like eels trapped inside a net. Cooper lifted his head and looked at Ben, eyes full of pleading and a sort of dim acceptance of his fate. "It's in me," he hissed between bloodstained teeth. "I can feel it... it's... it's pushing me away!" Then he opened his mouth and howled as he felt the cold sentience of the intruder twisting deeper into his brain.

A wave of convulsions swept over him, forcing his hands into claws and the cords of his neck to stand out with a sudden paralysis. There was an excruciating stab inside his head, like a probing needle, as the invader wormed its way through his brain and into the bundle of nerves behind his eyes.

Cooper blinked in dismay as a shadow crept into his field of vision. When the pain subsided, he looked up through the shadow and saw two pale blobs hovering over him. They were leaning closer, two horrifying alien visages, muttering in some primitive tongue. The presence saw the two humans (!!Ben and Brooke!!), and Cooper could sense its revulsion, a sort of sick feeling somewhere in his brain.

Some part of Cooper that was still intact recognized the shapeless images as Brooke and Ben, and there was someone else in the background too, someone whose name he could no longer recall. In the throes of terror, he realized that this was how the presence must see them: grotesque, fleshy shells used for a singular purpose, and then discarded. But Cooper could comprehend this: they were the enemy. Something swam forward from the cloudy depths of his mind. Reached out and touched him, and it felt distant and horrifying. A thought that wasn't really his own, but an implanted instinct to strike out, to tear flesh, to spread to another being's body and make it kindred.

Cringing, Ben watched as a hideous bump appeared on the center of Cooper's forehead, pushing outward from beneath the flesh, like an animal trying to claw its way out of a bag. Tiny black spots were blooming on his eyes, spreading rapidly across the whites as the parasite took full possession.

"Ben?"

"I'm here," said the now-anonymous figure to Cooper's right. The presence inside Cooper's head did not recognize the human words, and Ben's voice was simply a sound, a vocalization no different than that of an animal or insect. Only the small part of Cooper that remained could grasp the voice through the pain, could hold it, could focus on it and understand it. Thoughts formed, were scattered, rendered incoherent by the presence. Words and images swam through what was left of his mind, shattered by the presence, dashed apart into unrecognizable and unintelligible fragments. In the maelstrom, one word flashed briefly through Cooper's mind and was gone, corrupted by the living darkness: insane. This must be what insane people feel like, but then even the word itself seemed alien to him, and its meaning escaped him. He tried to speak the word out loud but lost the thought as quickly as it had come.

Then Cooper saw a glimpse of something—or rather, the presence saw a glimpse of something, and Cooper's mind was dragged along for the ride. Within the group-think of the inhumans, Cooper could see some other part of the jungle where they lurked, could feel their cold, collective thoughts and the unified purpose of their existence. Then a noise snapped Cooper back to the here and now.

The two humans were arguing.

Who are they? Cooper tried but could not remember; he only knew that he had to tell them this vital new information. "I know," cried Cooper. He wasn't sure if what he was saying made an iota of sense, but he pressed on. "What it wants. It wants to use us." He winced as the presence shifted, encroaching on some other region of his brain to steal another part of him. "It wants to use us. To spread. It can't think, not like we do. It just is. Like those trees that walk to move closer to that thing in the sky..." Closing his eyes, he could see the image in his mind—a glowing circle in the heavens, a circle that gave off warmth and light—and though he searched and searched, he could not find the proper word to match the image. "That thing in the sky," he repeated. "But it doesn't want the thing in the sky. It wants darkness. It needs darkness, cold."

Brooke had positioned herself beside Ben, both to protect him as well as console him. Now she was the one who needed steadying. Head swimming, she put an arm around Ben's waist and he held her close. "Cooper..." she sobbed.

Cooper paused at the sound of the feminine voice. There was something about the tone of it, some strange, soothing quality that attracted him. Cooper? Cooper? Coo? Per? The word meant nothing, something, nothing; he could not remember what it meant, nor could he recognize the designation of his own given name. All he knew was that there was something about the tone of the girl's voice that drew him (It), something about the female species that gave him (It) pause. Cooper's eyelids flung open and what Brooke saw made her cry out in fear. His eyes were gone, replaced by two black orbs that ballooned from their sockets as if ready to burst. Strangely, the shrillness of her cry brought on a moment of clarity, and all at once Cooper could remember the name of the thing in the sky. Suddenly, for better or worse, he remembered almost everything—and he understood all too well what was happening to him.

He turned his head to the taller of the two blurred figures and recognized this as Ben, his best friend since grade school, the boy he'd always thought of as his older brother even though they were the same age. "The sun! Ben, listen! You can't let it spread," Cooper cried out. "You can't let it get out! You can't let it—"

Ben felt something bump his fingers. Glancing down, he saw that Ernesto had placed the machete in his hand. "No," Ben protested weakly. "We can..." but his voice trailed off as he groped for words. "We can get him away from here. We can get him help," he blurted. Yes, the idea was crazy, but there had to be some other way, some other solution. Ben wasn't sure for whose benefit, Cooper's or his own, but he felt a compulsion to repeat himself. He only hoped the words sounded far more convincing the second time around: "We can get help."

There was another jolt of pain, and Cooper saw the living world begin to fade before his very eyes. He was drowning. He could visualize it: a raggedy, mop-haired boy slipping beneath the dark waves. Even worse, he could feel it, that overwhelming sense of helplessness, resignation, the inevitability of the end. His body was now little more than a marionette, a hollow shell devoid of memory, devoid of personality, devoid of the very soul that once resided there. As his conscious mind slipped away, Cooper cried out against the all-consuming darkness. "Ben?"

"I'm right here."

"Ben?"

Ben dropped the machete and took his friend's filthy face in his hands. "I'm right here, Coop."

But Cooper was no longer there to answer him. There was a muffled crunch as the long-haired boy's skull broke apart. A crack appeared just below his hairline, carving a bloody seam down his forehead, over the bridge of his nose, all the way to the tip of his chin. Rivulets of wine-red blood began to trickle from the rift, dribbling over his nose and across his mouth, forming tiny bubbles along his lips. Ben pulled back just as Cooper's head broke open and a whitish liquid oozed out, instantly calcifying in the air to form a kind of hardened shell, like an exoskeleton. Cooper's body gave one final shudder as the last bit of his mind was swallowed up by the invader. Then, lifting its head with a deranged grin, it began to speak.

"Ben. Ben. Ben. Ben. Bennnn..." Cooper's final word became a mindless incantation as the presence adjusted to the strange mechanics of its host, manipulating the vocal cords by rote.

Snatching up his weapon, Ben staggered away from the body. Gripping the handle with both hands, he raised the machete above his head. Arms trembling, he hesitated, envisioning in his mind the downward swing, the far-reaching echo of the blade after it fell upon his dead friend's head. Sensing someone beside him, Ben glanced to his side, certain it must be Brooke come to console him, but when he turned it was Ernesto's compassionate face he saw.

Ernesto stepped up beside him, lips slightly parted, his face etched in shadow. He nodded encouragingly. "You must do this," he whispered.

Drifting out of Cooper's throat, the vocal manipulation continued with the sound of a record caught in a groove: "Ben. Ben. Ben. Bennnnnn. Bennnnn. Nnnnnnn."

Now the words were no longer words at all but a strangled, guttural sound that came from deep within the throat of the thing that was no longer Cooper. The insectile eyes rippled with movement. Sagging at the chin, the mouth yawned wider and wider until the lower jaw exploded into jagged white splinters that pierced the fleshy curtains of his cheeks.

"You must do this," repeated Ernesto. "It is your final gift for to set him free."

The inhuman looked up at Ben with its mangled face—a face that still held some of Cooper's features, now twisted and distorted into a haunting parody of the attractive young man whose body it had stolen—and its fractured jaw sagged to the side in a demented grin. The filmy eyes studied him, as though detecting his hesitation. A new sound bubbled out of the twisted maw, a deep vibrato that bordered on laughter. From inside the occupied regions of the brain, something looked out through the bulbous eyes with a detached appraisal that bordered on hatred.

Ben bit back a scream as chunks of Cooper's scalp began to break away, falling to the forest floor in a snarl of bloody hair. Two hornlike stroma punched up through the gore, glistening with the whitish goo of brain matter. Things were spilling out of the opening, tiny squirming things that looked like maggots. They spread across his face and then stopped, seeming to die in the air. As they died, they hardened into something that resembled bone. When all was done, the thing that used to be Cooper looked to be a thousand years old, encased in a calcified shell, withered as a mummy.

"Cooper, if you can hear me, I'm sorry." Ben trembled, choking back tears. "I'm so... sorry."

The inhuman stumbled and fell as it tried to learn the mechanics of its new host.

Ben gripped the machete in both hands, raising it high above his head. Now the inhuman was rising slowly on muscles that creaked and bones that popped. Mind racing, heart pumping wildly, Ben searched the upturned face for something recognizable, some sign of the familiar boy of his childhood. But the hostile takeover of Cooper's body had rendered the boy an empty shell—the obsidian eyes and the fragmented skull with its twisted horns and leering smile held no trace of the handsome, good-natured friend he once knew.

Ben was still considering these things when he caught a sudden flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye. Something streaked past him, nearly bowling him over. As he regained his balance, Ben turned and saw Brooke racing forward with her spear.

Ernesto reached for her, but he was too late.

The sharpened point punched through the creature's mouth and emerged, glistening, on the other side of its skull. Pushing forward with all her weight, Brooke forced the body backwards and staked it to the ground. The obsidian eyes glared up at them with a cold, alien hatred as the impaled body twitched and writhed like an insect on a pin. The bulbous eyes popped with a hiss, leaking black vitreous fluid across the bonelike crust of its face. The creature's feet continued to dance for a few more seconds. Then, at last, it was still.

Standing over the body, Brooke's shoulders began to hitch as she gave in to her sorrow. "I had to..." she said in a trembling voice. Tears sprang into her eyes and she began to cry. "It wasn't him anymore..."

The sound of her anguish brought Ben to his senses and he pulled her into his arms. "Shhh..."

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, her voice muffled against his shirt.

"Shhhh," he whispered, stroking her hair. "You did what you had to. I wanted to, but I couldn't do it."

Wilting beneath his touch, Brooke buried her face against his chest and wept until the well was dry. When she looked up again, she saw Ernesto watching them from a respectful distance.

"Come," he said. "We must prepare the raft."

Brooke sniffled, quickly composing herself. "But it's not finished..."

"They'll be coming," Ben said gravely. "Whether the raft is done or not."

Brooke raised her heart-shaped face toward him. Blinked the tears back from her eyes. "Okay," she said, nodding. "We have to try."

An animal barreled past them in the darkness, too fast for Ben to get his light on it. A few seconds later, a flotilla of leaves fluttered down into the clearing, and Ben raised his headlamp in time to see a troop of squirrel monkeys scurrying through the treetops in the same direction as the mystery animal.

"What's happening?" Brooke asked.

"I don't know," Ben murmured, and the answer came before he even realized he was going to say it. "It's like they're running away from something."

And now they looked at one another in fearful understanding.

From deep within the jungle came the deafening shriek of the inhumans.

"Come!" Ernesto shouted, grabbing their arms and pulling them toward the raft. "There is no time! We must go!"
Fifty-seven

Yes, the jungle had a soul. But it was a soul without direction, without purpose, save for its own self-preservation. Auggie was glad of this revelation, for it suggested that the jungle was indifferent to him, which meant that he had a better chance of overcoming it, of making it back to safety.

He continued through the forest, muttering to himself in a voice that seemed not to be his own. The backpack kept getting caught in the brambles and was hindering his progress. Several times he considered leaving it behind, but no. That damn Boy Scout had thought well ahead, and there were too many items he, Auggie, might find useful. There was the headlamp, for one thing. The lighter. Poncho. Excedrin. One full Nalgene bottle. A little bottle of iodine tablets. Finally, the Malarone. No, he could not carry these things without the backpack, and so he kept it out of necessity, hindrance though it was.

As he threaded his way through the undergrowth, it occurred to him that he had never felt more alone in his life. Yes, he was still frightened, but now the fear exhilarated him and he felt alive. More alive than he had ever felt before. Cooper was not there, with his randomness and childlike wonder. Nor was Ben there to guide him or protect him. So he would have to look after himself. This thought filled Auggie with something akin to pride. In spite of his loneliness, he felt strong. He didn't need those others. From the beginning they had all paired off. Did they think he was blind? As much as he wanted to, he could not fault Cooper for this. It was hard to fault Cooper for anything, even now. Did they really think he was stupid, that he couldn't see the way Ben and Brooke had eye-fucked one another from the instant they met? How they were always sneaking glances at each other and stealing off into the jungle to take their little "walks"? Did any of them really believe that he, Auggie, was oblivious to the conspiracy and how they laughed at him behind his back?

Auggie's eyes began to sting. He stopped for a moment, using the front of his shirt to wipe his face. The shirt came away dark and moist, and he felt better. Only sweat, that's all, he assured himself. This damned humidity...

Auggie shrugged off the backpack and took three big gulps from the Nalgene bottle. It tasted like shit with the iodine tablets, but that was a fine trade-off for untainted water, he supposed. Suddenly, his watch started chirping, and he tapped the OFF button. It was a little past four o'clock. He untwisted the cap from the Excedrin container and shook a few pills into his hand. Perhaps a dozen tablets clicked together in his open palm. Though most of the pills were white, five or six of them were red. Fortunately for him, Ben had not thought to check the Excedrin, otherwise he would have discovered Auggie's emergency stash of Malarone. More than enough, he estimated, to carry him through the next three or four days. He didn't think it would take that long to reach the research center, but it was a consolation that he had them just in case. Plucking up a Malarone pill, he dumped the others back inside the container. Popping the pill into his mouth, he chased it down with a swig of the purified water. Even with the water, the pill was difficult to force down. He had always had trouble swallowing pills, and this one was particularly bitter and jagged. It nearly lodged in his throat, forcing him to take another gulp of the nasty water, leaving an awful taste in his mouth and a sort of scratchiness on the walls of his throat. He set the alarm forward twelve hours for the next dose, shrugged the backpack back on, and started walking, thinking he was the clever one, and he had proved it by outsmarting them all.

***

There was a light up ahead.

It was a dull light, but Auggie's heart jigged at the sight of it. He was strong, yes, and had managed just fine on his own, but the light and all it represented lured him like a beacon. He picked up his pace, ignoring the wrath of the brambles that pulled at his clothes, slashing through to the skin and drawing little rivulets of blood. He had now grown accustomed to the ritual of untangling his backpack and himself from the vines, and he did so now almost mechanically, no longer frustrated, no longer noticing the pain. So was his interest in the light.

It was becoming increasingly brighter up ahead. Still dull, but giving off more ambience. At length his feet discovered a new kind of soil, and, shedding one last copse of trees, he stumbled forward and fell to his knees. When he looked up, he saw that he had arrived at a blackwater creek. Leading up to the oily, scum-covered pool of water, the low bank was fringed with a confusion of brush, vines, and fallen trees. To his left, the pool of water seemed to taper off as it continued beyond view. Auggie instantly recognized this as part of a floodplain forest, which meant that he must be close to the river. The river! The blessed river, his path to safety! Crawling forward to splash some water on his dirt-caked face, he flinched in terror.

A skull grinned up at him from beneath the water—denuded of flesh, it gleamed, a pale death's head that floated just beneath the rippled surface. Auggie withdrew in revulsion, shrinking back against the muddy bank. For a moment, he could not move, not even to blink his eyes, but then he saw the simple truth behind the illusion. He had learned about it in a college psych class, and the term now swam forward from the depths of his mind.

Pareidolia. It was called Pareidolia, Auggie remembered. The psychological need to find familiar shapes, like faces, in random things like clouds or stars.

Tossing his head back, Auggie laughed at the sky. Even to his own ears, the sound bordered on lunacy. Hands and knees sinking into the mud, he crept forward to get another glimpse of the water, to see if he could train his mind to not see a skull there. He leaned his head over the water. Yes, the illusion was now obvious. Not a skull at all, but the moon. He poked the reflection with his finger and watched the ripples spread, transforming it into something that would have given Picasso nightmares. Suddenly, a memory flashed through Auggie's mind. He was sitting in the peki-peki on the first day. Cooper was listening to his iPod and Ben was grinning mysteriously as he gazed out at the shore. Auggie had looked to the side and caught his reflection skimming along the river, and it had sent waves of fear to his very core. But Auggie was no longer afraid. He and his reflection were different. Confident. Courageous. He was going to make it back to civilization on his own, with no help from Ben or the others. He was a man now, a true explorer. Gone was the frightened little rabbit (I'm late! I'm late! For a very important date!); the tagalong who trembled at the sight of his own shadow. He was strong now, and when he returned to the lodge, he would send a rescue party to retrieve his friends.

I'll be a hero. I'll show them. People will brag of my heroism for years to come. How Augustino Fernandes braved the wilds of the Amazon and saved the lives of three people. Every newspaper in the world will pick up the story. Maybe I'll even write a book, do the talk-show circuit. Then everyone will know who I really am...

Yes, no longer the frightened rabbit but a man now, a man of the highest order, and his friends' fate now rested in his capable hands.

Auggie laughed at that thought. Then the laughter spun itself into something darker, something wicked. Alone on the muddy bank, Auggie was the master of his own universe. Still, the thought returned to him, that inner voice that rippled as delicately as the surface of the moonlit creek. Run along, now. Run along. But Auggie was through with running. Even as his reflection trembled and the great beast lifted its dripping, cavernous maw out of the water, he did not run.
Fifty-eight

The forest echoed with their screams.

No! thought Ben. We're not ready!

But they would have to be ready because the inhumans were crashing toward them through the jungle and he could hear them moving closer.

"Hurry!" Ernesto shouted, and Ben realized with a sort of dim fascination that it was the first time he had heard fear in his guide's voice. Lifting the jumbled collection of logs that was their life raft, they fast-walked to the edge of the embankment with Brooke trotting along beside them, keeping watch on the tree line.

When they had reached the edge of the embankment, they dropped the raft into the tall grass and pushed from behind. Heaving, they tipped the raft up and over the edge, where it grinded along the earthen slope to the shallow water below.

"My backpack," Ben said, darting back to the clearing. Mind wiped clean by terror, he could not remember what was so important about his backpack, only that it was important.

"No!" Brooke screamed. Then, seeing that it was too late to reason with him: "Ben, hurry!"

Crouching down to grab his backpack, Ben could hear them getting closer. Any moment now they would burst out of the jungle to finish what they had started. Tossing one strap around his shoulder, he stood up and ran as fast as his wounded leg would take him.

Ernesto was standing on the edge of the drop like a third-base coach, telling him to Go! Go! Go! for home. Ben slid over the embankment, skidding down on his backside to the place where Brooke was waiting at the bottom.

"I can't lift it!" she cried.

The raft was stuck on an outcrop of grass. Reaching into the shallow water, Ben grabbed hold of the slippery logs and pushed. Ernesto appeared behind them, still holding his spear.

"Get on!" he ordered. "I will push."

The raft dipped into the water as Brooke shimmied onto it. "It's too shallow!"

Ernesto forced the sheathed knife into Ben's hand. "Take this," he said. "Is okay. Go on."

Taking the knife, Ben pulled his upper body onto the raft, struggling to find purchase on the slippery logs. It's not big enough, Ben realized as the raft tilted in the shallow water. It won't hold us.

Lips pressed firmly together, Ernesto leaned his weight against the back of the raft and pushed. There was a scraping sound as the raft touched bottom, and then it was floating freely in the deep water.

"Get on!" Ben cried, reaching out his hand.

Ernesto looked at him calmly. "Is okay," he said. "I will stay here for to slow them down."

"No!" Brooke screamed, but it was too late. With a final push, Ernesto sent the raft out into the middle of the river where the current took possession of it.

Drawing his machete from its sheath, Ernesto turned around just as the remaining inhumans appeared on top of the embankment.

"Ernesto!" Ben screamed. "You can still make it! Come on! Swim!"

Head tilted toward the top of the embankment, there was no sign that Ernesto heard Ben's final pleas. The inhumans lingered for a moment, a row of shadows in the gloom. Their jaws clicked together inquisitively as they passed a message up and down the cordon. Then, all at once, they raced down the embankment toward the small Peruvian.

Swinging the machete in a wide arc, Ernesto screamed as the inhumans surged over him.

Unable to watch, Ben and Brooke pressed their faces against the top of the raft and closed their eyes. He reached across to the other side and took her hand. Although he could not see her, he could hear her crying softly in the darkness.

There was one final shriek—whether man or beast, they could not tell—and then the mighty river pulled them around the bend and out of sight of the slaughter.

A few minutes later, a sliver of pink appeared on the horizon as dawn broke the sky.
Fifty-nine

The sun lifted its golden crown above the horizon, its honeyed rays filtering down through the trees and along the river. The clouds were gone, and the sky was the kind of clear, optimistic blue that made it seem as if anything were possible.

At some point during the waning hours of darkness, Ben looked at the far shore and thought he spied two or three inhumans crouched beneath the trees, watching them as they floated by on the makeshift raft. An hour or so later, just as the darkness began to fade, he could have sworn he'd seen them again, though he never mentioned either of these sightings to Brooke.

But now it did not matter, anyway, because the sun was shining down, and they were going to be safe. Safe...

High above them, a scarlet macaw looked down at the unfamiliar shape that floated down the middle of the river. Wings beating the air, the macaw squawked a warning cry and flapped away from this unknown danger, seeking shelter in the trees.

Ben heard the scream and lifted his head, cold and wet and utterly confused. Then he remembered Brooke and jerked his head around in a panic. But Brooke was still there, apparently asleep but still clinging to the makeshift raft. His sudden movements caused her to stir, and she lifted her head slowly, as though the effort was more than she could bear.

"Hey," Ben said.

"Hey." Her tongue slid out, moistening her cracked lips. "Did you say something?"

"Just a bird," he answered.

They floated on without speaking. Eventually they came to a fork in the river.

Paddling over to the sandy peninsula between the two branches, they briefly discussed which way they should go. They had all but decided on the wider branch, the right branch, when they were interrupted by the sound of screaming. Ben raised his head from the raft. "Did you hear that?"

Brooke had said little since the previous evening, and she did not answer now. Her wet bangs fell across her face like a curtain. Behind it, two dull green eyes blinked questioningly.

They listened, and soon they heard the scream again. Then another. And another.

Bright flashes overhead, like a moving rainbow.

"Ben!" Brooke shouted with the brightness of hope. "It's the macaws!"

For a moment, Ben looked at her blankly, not comprehending the significance of this at all.

"Don't you see?" Brooke said, pushing the hair back from her face, and now Ben saw that the passionate fire was slowly coming back into her eyes. "They're heading to the clay lick. We can follow them there!"

"The clay lick?"

"We're almost there! The lodge must be just around that bend in the river, somewhere up ahead."

Ben smiled boyishly. He dunked his head and squirted a stream of water at her and Brooke laughed, splashing him with her hand. "Relax. Remember, no sudden movements." But she could hardly contain her own joy.

A few minutes later, they passed the clay lick, its red walls alive with parrots and macaws.

They were coming up on the bend in the river when they heard a familiar singsong.

"Is that—" Brooke asked, unable to finish.

"Oh, my God!" Ben whispered.

Where the river snaked around the bend, a tree had fallen into the water, creating a kind of natural strainer. There, amongst the driftwood and other detritus, was the shape of a man tangled in the branches.

"It's Auggie!" Ben shouted. "Auggie! Hey, Auggie!"

Overwhelmed by emotion, Ben forgot all about remaining still. He kicked wildly, steering them toward his friend.

"Ben," Brooke said sadly. "Ben, no."

But Ben did not hear her. He only continued to shout his friend's name as he splashed wildly to reach him.

The black caiman had not left much behind.

Floating face down, the headless torso bobbed in the water, the stump of one leg poking up from the surface, severed at the knee. Caught in the branch of a low-hanging tree was a single scrawny arm, still attached to the body by strings of flesh. Still strapped to the wrist was the familiar black band—a timepiece for a young man with no more time to spare, for Augustino Fernandes was no longer among the world of the living.

"Auggie..." Ben cried out, choking back tears.

Brooke choked back a sob as she remembered the sad-looking introvert, so intelligent and polite, whose memory did not mesh with this lump of tattered flesh and bone that floated before her.

"Ben, we shouldn't go near him. It... it might still be around."

Ben lowered his head to the raft, his broad shoulders heaving as he convulsed in misery. Then, without warning, he lifted his head and roared at the sky, a long and agonizing cry that echoed through the jungle and sent the birds fluttering skyward. He slammed his fist against the raft again and again until it was bloody. He had broken two knuckles in his rage but could hardly feel anything but the pain within.

"Oh, Ben, I—I'm so sorry," Brooke whispered sadly.

Ben opened his mouth to respond, but the words did not come. There was nothing he could say to convey his anguish, for words could not conjure the memories of his lost friends, all the times they had shared together, both good and bad—and so he said nothing at all.

She reached a trembling hand across the raft and laid it on top of Ben's. Her touch seemed to calm him. He gave several violent shudders before the tension left his body and he relaxed against the raft with his head turned to the side.

They floated that way until they had rounded the bend and Auggie's body disappeared behind them. Disappeared forever, never to be seen again. Then, like a mirage, Brooke spotted two peki-pekis bobbing on the water. They were anchored to the shore beside the long stairway that led to the research center lodge, a place that now seemed like a decades-old memory.

"Ben," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "Ben, we made it."

Ben ducked his head beneath the surface and then popped up again. When his face reappeared, he had a wide, uncomprehending look in his eyes, as though he wanted to but did not quite believe her. Brooke smiled gently, trying to soothe him. "Ben, everything's going to be okay. We made it. The lodge is right over—"

Brooke stopped in mid-sentence when she noticed how his squinty blue eyes had widened into circles, his features frozen with a look of unblinking and unadulterated terror.

The black caiman had been following them since they trespassed near its kill, drawn by the scent of blood seeping from Ben's leg. It had already taken an exploratory bite of Ben's right foot, and now it was coming back for the rest of him.

Ben's backpack was sitting on top of the raft. Unzipping it quickly, he snatched his waterproof bag and shoved it across the logs toward Brooke. "Take this!" he cried, forcing it into her hands. He spoke quickly, grimacing at the pain, his words rushing out in a torrent of agony. "Listen to me carefully. When I say 'go,' I want you to swim as fast as you can."

"Ben, no—" Brooke shook her head in denial. This could not be happening. It could not end this way, not when they had already suffered so much, not when they were so close to safety.

"Someone needs to make it. Someone needs to let the world know what happened." Caressing her hand, he managed a tragic smile. "It's okay. I need to do this."

Ben turned his head toward the water behind him. Brooke did not see anything back there, but he must have seen something, some kind of disturbance of the water because his head spun around, fast as a top. "GO!" he screamed.

Not waiting for a response, Ben shoved away from the raft, turning to face his fate. Treading water with his one remaining leg, he pulled the knife out of its sheath and gripped the handle with the blade facing down. Behind him, he heard Brooke splash away from the raft as she swam for the shore.

"Come on!" Ben whispered, leaning forward so that his eyes were almost even with the surface. Several yards away, the river swirled as something moved below. He lowered his head too far, accidentally swallowed some water, and spat it out in a jet between his teeth. Sensing death was near, he gripped the knife tighter. Then the water erupted just a few feet away, and he saw the bloodstained gullet of the massive reptile as it surged toward him, jaws creaking open, eclipsing the sun. There was a low rumble, a kind of watery growl, and still the massive reptile's mouth opened wider and wider.

Twisting its neck, the caiman slammed against him, latching onto his midsection. Several ribs shattered instantly as the crushing jaws clamped down with unimaginable force, tossing him about from side to side. The air rushed out of Ben's lungs and he gasped, struggling to draw it back in. With a powerful tug, the caiman began to drag him down into the murk, where it would likely drown him or rip him to pieces in a death roll. As the water rose above his shoulders, neck, and face, Ben raised the knife and plunged it deep into the monster's snout. The caiman released him with a hiss, and all at once, he could breathe again.

The violent struggle, which had lasted but a few short seconds, was over, and now Ben found himself floating alone in the water. He couldn't feel his leg anymore, and he was pretty sure one of his ribs had punctured a lung because, even though his head was above the water, he suddenly felt like he was drowning.

Gripping the knife, he leveled his eyes at the water's surface. Turning his head, he saw that Brooke had almost reached the shore. There was no sign of the massive reptile. Where the hell are you hiding, you bastard? Shakily, Ben turned and turned and at last he spotted it. The caiman had reappeared some twenty yards away, floating motionless on the surface, watching him with cold patience. Water twinkled along its dark scales, from the tip of its snout to the end of its tail. All sixteen feet of it.

Ben beat the water with his hand, trying to get the beast's attention. "Come on, you motherfucker! What are you waiting for?" There was a sudden, blinding stab of pain in his side, and then his mouth filled with something warm and coppery. Turning his head to spit, Ben saw a vivid splash of red appear on top of the water, and he knew his time was short.

The caiman remained perfectly still for several seconds, perhaps trying to decide whether or not the prize was worth the fight. Its yellow eyes blinked slowly as it regarded him with hungry interest. To Ben it seemed that the creature possessed a cruel intelligence, capable of formulating thoughts that far surpassed its killer instinct.

As if in response to this false line of thinking, the caiman launched itself toward him, surfing across the water like a torpedo. As it drew near, its jaws cracked open, wider, wider, until it seemed it would swallow him whole.

The early sun winked off the wet steel as the Boy Scout leaped forward with a scream, his knife raised high above his head as he prepared to meet his glory.

***

Brooke swam furiously through the brown water, lungs burning as she held her breath, heading in the direction where she hoped she would find the dock, the tiny beach, the lodge, and most of all, safety. She looked back only once and saw the flip of a long tail, a yellowish underbelly crisscrossed with scars, and a bloody froth on the river's surface, and then she could look no more.

At last, she pulled herself up onto the muddy shore. The current had taken her a little ways past the dock, but that was of little concern to her now. Finally free of the river, she collapsed on her stomach, winded and in shock. The long hours in the water had taken its toll; her legs were useless, and every muscle in her body ached like a bruise. Desperate for warmth, she slowly curled herself into a ball, her entire body heaving with violent, shuddering sobs. But this did little to alleviate the icy chill within her. And in spite of the sun, she seemed to be getting colder with each passing second. It seemed to take possession of her until even her blood felt cold. Soon the shudders turned to violent convulsions, and her eyes rolled back into her head. Then, mercifully, she was still.
Sixty

As the shadows filled the space between the trees, Brooke Harlow stumbled down the well-worn footpath that would return her to the safety of the research center. Squishing along in her wet boots, she tried to pick up her pace, but her legs were leaden, hopelessly cramped from the long hours in the river, and the best she could manage was this awkward, bumbling gait. At some point she realized that she had dropped Ben's waterproof bag, and was forced to turn around. She discovered it a few hundred yards back, dangling from a lattice of vines on the side of the path, and even though she could not remember what was in the bag, or why it was so important, she all but wept at the sight of it.

Now clutching the bag against her chest, she continued toward the research center as the night pressed in and the jungle noises reverberated inside her head like the beating of a heart. The path seemed longer than she remembered—and more treacherous. Branches seemed to reach just a little bit farther onto the path as she walked by, and the roots seemed to grow a little higher as she stepped over them, as if the forest wanted to do her harm. She told herself this was all in her head, and yet...

From nowhere and everywhere came Auggie's seething voice: You think you're prepared. You think you've done everything you're supposed to, study hard, work hard, keep yourself out of trouble, and then—whoosh! Something arrives out of the blue that you never saw coming. Something you never even imagined. Something that'll knock your little world off its axis. Something that'll either change your life for the better, or end it forever. Chaos.

Brooke stopped, straining to see inside the tunnel of darkness, but there was no one there. After three or four seconds, she started shuffling forward again.

Someone needs to make it. Someone needs to let the world know what happened. Ben's voice now, floating through the corridors of her memory, but no less real than if he had been standing right beside her. It seemed a lifetime had passed since that night they sat on the steps of the research center, looking at the stars, ready to share their very first kiss. A hundred other memories of him flickered through her mind, but the one that finally lingered, the one she wanted so desperately to forget was: Ben pushing his waterproof bag into her hands as he prepared to do battle with a monstrous caiman. She remembered the look in his eyes; he knew he was going to die. Then why did he do that? Why did the stupid fool do that? And the answer came to her in the sound of her own voice: he did it for you. It was his final sacrifice, his final act of love. And with this thought, she began to cry like a little girl. As the tears trickled from her eyes, she ordered her legs to go faster, faster.

We have to get back to the lodge, Cooper said. We have to warn people about this.

I will, thought Brooke. I will, I will, I will.

But what if we're the carriers? What happens if we bring this back into the world? What if it wants us to?

Who had said that? Was it Cooper? Auggie? No—that was also Ben, speaking to her in private the night they slept on the sandbar. But Ben was dead. They were all dead. And she was the only one left to warn the world.

Let us be going now, Ernesto spoke calmly. There is nothing here but death.

Up ahead there was a gap in the canopy, and the moonlight shone down onto the path like a spotlight. Beyond that, she could see the yellow glow of kerosene lamps, and she knew the research center was close. Then a shadow peeled away from the forest, blocking the light. Someone was standing in the middle of the path, facing the direction of the lodge.

"Help..." Brooke croaked. "Help me!" But the figure did not hear her. Using her last reserves of strength, Brooke sucked in the humid jungle air and released it with a piercing scream. "HELP ME!"

Jerking around in surprise, the figure started toward her, loping along at first, and then breaking into an all-out run. In her last few seconds of consciousness, Brooke Harlow recalled the strange behavior of the inhumans, not so much trying to catch them as to chase them, to drive them forward through the jungle... Toward what? she wondered, though the answer was right in front of her eyes. Why, toward civilization, of course...

She managed one more step before her legs betrayed her. As her foot caught a root, she toppled forward, arms spinning as she fell through space.

And when the darkness rushed forward to embrace her, she was glad.
Sixty-one

There was nothing extraordinary about the petite, unassuming brunette who boarded the Delta Airbus 330 in Lima for the red-eye flight to New York. She did not speak to anyone in line and was patient as she waited for an American couple who blocked the entire aisle for nearly five minutes as they bickered over their carry-on bags and hemmed and hawed when they were directed to stow their belongings in the overhead compartment. Quietly slipping into her seat near the back of the aircraft, she leaned her head against the shuttered window and closed her eyes. A moment later, a potbellied man in a New York Jets cap squeezed himself into the row of seats and plopped down beside her with a disconcerted grunt.

"Like a goddamned sardine..." he muttered.

The girl could sense him watching her, his eyes moving greedily up and down her body. He seemed to expect a response from her, but she kept her eyes shut tight, hoping he'd leave her alone. She had just begun to doze off when a swirly-haired stewardess, conducting her preflight inspection of the aisles, stopped and asked her to buckle up for takeoff. Opening her eyes, the girl looked at her wearily. The stewardess' blond hair was pulled back into a tight bun that sat on top of her head like a pom-pom, and her face was etched with the fine lines of middle age. A gold, rectangular tag was pinned to her lapel, but the girl could not read the name. The stewardess smiled at her, her teeth a dazzling white. Nodding slightly, she buckled her seatbelt and leaned her head back against the window. Before the plane was even in the air, she had already fallen into a deep sleep.

An hour later, the same swirly-haired stewardess returned to make a perfunctory attempt to awaken the girl for dinner—tonight the choices were Salisbury steak with mashed potatoes, veggies, and a brownie, or vegetarian lasagna with apple cobbler—but when the girl did not respond to either choice, the stewardess served the Jets fan (he chose the steak and mashed potatoes with mushroom gravy) and continued on to the next row of passengers. Much to the dismay of the nearest passengers, the Jets fan smacked his lips when he ate and slurped his Coke through a straw—and still she did not stir, not even when he knocked his drink over, transforming her tan hiking pants into a Rorschach test. Once she cried out in her sleep, shuffling her feet back and forth as though trying to run. Four and a half hours passed, and they were somewhere high above the Caribbean when the memories came crashing back to her.

There were faces, faces that should have been familiar to her but they weren't. They seemed alien, repulsive, grotesque. She was in the jungle again, running through the trees. She was hungry. There were other people there too. For some reason she could not see them clearly; they looked like shadows, faceless shadows. And suddenly she was falling, falling from the steep embankment, splashing down into the liquid darkness. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she was on the river, floating with the current. A boy reaching across to her, holding her hand. She heard birds, saw the blinding sun rising up above the trees. There was something else, too, something that floated across the surface of the water like a log. A log with teeth. The sun winking off a steel blade, the flick of a tail, and then the water churned red... but the boy, what had happened to the boy?

She awoke with a start. The Jets fan was in the middle of a movie when he felt the girl stir beside him. Taking one look at her sallow complexion, he was up and out of his seat with almost comical speed, the girl rushing past him with one hand clamped over her mouth, dragging a small backpack behind her as she raced toward the bathroom in the rear of the plane.

She almost didn't make it. She banged on the door, but it refused to open. At the last second, a steward appeared from the kitchen area and yanked the door aside for her, folding it against the wall like an accordion. Slamming the door shut behind her, the girl flipped up the toilet lid and vomited until her stomach was empty and her throat was raw. At some point, her legs began to wobble and she slid down to the floor, still retching.

Panting and shaking, she rose slowly, leaning her weight on the edge of the sink.

When she had composed herself, she sat on the toilet, removing the waterproof bag from her backpack. Reaching into the bag, she removed Ben's video camera and held it between her trembling hands. Reluctantly, she opened the small viewing screen. She hesitated, her finger hovering over the row of buttons. Then, with a sense of reckless abandon, she pressed PLAY.

The screen was broken—or so it appeared at first. A pale speck of light appeared in the corner of the image, and she recognized this as the moon. The moon bounced around the dark screen as the camera shifted to a new angle, and then Auggie's hushed voice wafted out of the tiny speakers.

"Hey, Ben," he whispered in a contrite tone. "If you are listening to this message, it means that I'm off in the jungle somewhere. I know—" His voice cracked a little, and there was a long pause as he struggled to compose himself. "I know you're probably pretty pissed off at me right now, so I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry. I... I don't know what else to say on that. I'm going to try and find help for you guys. I can move faster on my own, I think, so you just tell everyone to hang in there. Help is coming soon."

There was an audible click as Auggie pressed the STOP button and the video clip froze on the screen, waiting to be replayed.

She put the camera back inside the bag, folded down the top, and dropped it into her backpack. As she prepared to exit the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, but was unable to recognize the glistening complexion and bloodshot eyes of her reflection. Pausing with her hand on the lock, she found herself staring into the cold and emotionless eyes of a stranger. One of her eyes began to twitch, and she leaned closer to the mirror, probing the area with her fingers until eventually the twitching stopped.

She remained that way for a few seconds, her hand on the door, staring into the reflection of her own eyes. But there was something else, something she had not noticed before. She leaned closer to the mirror, until her nose was practically touching it. Pulling her eyelid down, she saw something moving back there, swimming through the bloodshot sclera.

Something black, like a shadow.

Pulling her fingers away, the skin snapped back into place, concealing all evidence of the hellish miracle that was happening behind that lovely green eye.

Stepping back from the mirror, she put on her sunglasses and returned to her seat.
Epilogue

JFK International Airport was congested with travelers from all over the world, more so than usual on that Monday morning in August. Overnight, severe thunderstorms had caused several delays to both inbound and outbound flights, and now hundreds of would-be passengers rushed from one terminal to another, hurrying to get to work, or home, or vacation. They were frustrated, and eager to get on with their lives. They slurped their lattes, gobbled their brunch, yapped on their cell phones, complained about the economy, and argued with the TSA officials about the absurdity of liquid restrictions.

They were busy, far too busy to pay much attention to the breaking news regarding the four young Americans who had gone missing (and were presumed dead) in a remote section of the Peruvian Amazon. The few who did take notice seemed to dismiss the story with an air of self-righteousness: Glad it wasn't me, was the most prevalent thought. Coming in a close second: Bunch of idiots... why the hell would anyone want to take a vacation in such a Godforsaken place?

But most people neglected to follow what the reporters were calling "A Tragic Story," just as they neglected to notice the petite brunette who assimilated herself among the throngs of bustling travelers.

She followed the flow of passengers off the plane, through the Jetway, and into the concourse, where she allowed herself to be swept up in the stampede to Immigration. From there, it was easy. She waited patiently in the queue, passing the time by studying the people around her—their bizarre facial expressions and mysterious mannerisms. When it was her turn, she handed her passport and declaration form to the uniformed officer, and placed first her thumb and then her fingers on the fingerprint scanner, just as she had watched the others do ahead of her. After flipping through her passport for perhaps ten seconds, the officer handed it back to her and she continued on to the baggage claim area. From there, she circumvented the swarm of people around the luggage carousel, nodded her way through customs, and moved swiftly toward the exit.

As she drifted toward the waiting area, she saw a man and woman waving their arms at her, shouting for her attention. Several others were there too, holding up homemade signs and jumping up and down, apparently very happy to see her.

Walking slowly toward them, she felt a nervous shudder in the pit of her stomach and stopped.

Pausing just before the security gate, she removed the waterproof bag from her backpack—through the thin layer of plastic she could see the rectangular bulge of Ben's video camera—and tossed it into the gaping hole of a nearby trash bin. Shrugging on her backpack, it seemed as though an enormous weight had been lifted, and she felt a most peculiar tingle as the muscles around her face contracted all at once. Though she did not understand what this odd sensation meant, the cluster of Brooke Harlow's friends and family interpreted her upward slanting expression as a smile, and several of them—her mother and father included—began to cry with joy at the incredible resilience of their beloved little girl.

Making a subtle adjustment to her dark sunglasses, she veered back toward the waiting area. Toward the waving people. Toward the strange new world beyond.
