Primordia_In Search of the Lost World Page 11

  CHAPTER 17

  Edward Barlow held onto his broad-brimmed hat as the helicopter took to the air. The riverbank grasses flattened, and he squinted momentarily as he waited for the whirlwind to abate while the craft lifted away.

  He opened his eyes and grabbed his hat to swipe it down his side to dislodge grass, seeds, and dirt. He quickly jammed it back on his sweating head as the sun stung his pate, yet it was still only just past nine in the morning.

  Janus Bellakov checked their gear, and already had a rifle thrown over one shoulder with his sidearm strapped to his waist. Bellakov’s two men worked tirelessly; Walt Koenig and Arthur Bourke were experienced hunters and trackers, and both had brawny arms hanging from sweat-soaked shirts. Although, truth be known, Bellakov was more mercenary than hunter.

  They had been dropped fifty miles southeast of the Canaima National Park, and well into the uncharted areas of the Amazon. The river here was still free-flowing, but only a few dozen feet in from the bank, the walls of the jungle were like a green cliff face.

  Barlow had invested in the best mapping technology money could buy and had used the 1908 notes made by Benjamin Cartwright, as well as his hand-drawn maps, to check the geography at the turn of last century to find his launch position. He also made use of the observations the young Ben Cartwright had made in his own notes, and these too had proved invaluable.

  The software had pinpointed this area, and the small clearing was as close as he could get. Further inland, the visibility vanished in thick tree canopy cover and low clouds that obscured everything below it. Somewhere in there were rocky slopes, large plains of towering tree ferns, low hills, and also spongy swamps.

  Barlow smiled. Nature hid her secrets well. But he was determined, and unfortunately for nature, now he was here.

  Bellakov and his two men hefted the packs onto the shoulders. Barlow just hefted his own considerable bulk. He guessed by now Cartwright would be on the ground.

  Barlow knew his job was simple: get there first and claim whatever discovery as his own. His guns for hire would ensure there was no protracted negotiations or disagreements. Of that he was sure. The boys weren’t afraid to dish out a bit of violence when it was necessary. He turned to them.

  “Mr. Bellakov, please lead us out.”

  “You got it, boss.” Bellakov drew a long machete and headed in.

  CHAPTER 18

  The boat was about fifty feet long, belched diesel, and probably hadn’t had a coat of paint in too many years to think about. The captain was a round-faced man who smoked like a chimney, causing the teeth on one side of his mouth to be an interesting shade of chocolate brown. He also had a squint that’d make Popeye envious from holding his unrecognizable brand of cigarette clamped between pressed lips.

  Also onboard was their Venezuelan guide, Nino Santiago. The wiry young man was someone recommended to Jenny by the local zoo, and who was reputed to know most parts of the jungle on or off the map. He’d been responsible for assisting the zoo in locating many of the harder to find species they needed to stock exhibits, and the expectation was that he could find what others couldn’t.

  The boat ride down the Rio Caroni was faster than Ben expected as they moved with the flow. Still, the antique engine chugged hard, and he, Emma, and Steve were up on the front deck, while Dan, Andrea, and Jenny were either below or out at the rear. Nino chatted with the captain.

  Hours back, the last of the small fishing boats had vanished, and now only occasionally they saw a canoe or fishing platform, which was little more than a raft of lashed logs. One of the reasons for the growing isolation on the waterway was that as they entered more remote parts of the Amazon, the crocodiles got bigger and fishing became more a high-risk game.

  They also noticed the water also got darker, to the color of coffee, and smelled of decomposition and earth, as it was stained by the tannins from all the rotting vegetation that fell into it.

  In another hour, the boat slowed and turned towards the left bank. Ben marveled at the captain’s navigation skills as to him the river had been nothing but identical green walls for many miles, but sure enough, there was a side river with three long canoes already waiting and just tied off on the bank.

  “Did you call an Amazonian taxi cab?” Emma grinned.

  He chuckled. “Hats off to Jenny for her organizational skills – everything’s going to plan so far.”

  The big boat turned off its engine and a deckhand scrambled up on deck, lifting a long, slim barge pole to slow them to a stop and then jamming it into the river bottom to anchor them close enough to the shore so they could all jump free.

  Once again, Dan paid the man in dollars, and Jenny also handed him a few mini bottles of scotch she bought from the hotel.

  “What’s with the firewater?” Steve asked.

  Jenny shrugged. “Universal sign of gratitude down here.”

  “Remember, señor, we wish the captain to be here when we come back.” Nino agreed. “Or it will be an extra five-day trek back to base.”

  Ben leapt to the shore and turned to help Emma down, but she had already landed beside him.

  She grinned. “I do this for a living, buster.”

  He grinned back. “Then you should have helped me down.”

  Dan jumped down and stumbled a little. He righted himself and brushed mud from one of his gaiters.

  “Like armor plating.” He grimaced.

  “Yep, exactly,” Ben responded.

  The snake gaiters were a snake shield worn on the lower leg, from knee to foot, and the ones Ben had chosen for them were constructed from a weave of high-strength ballistic fibers and polyester. They even had a top-of-foot guard.

  Dan grinned. “I’m getting used to them. Slowly.”

  “You’ll be glad of ‘em when we push in.” Ben scanned the dense wall of jungle. “Down here, they’ve got more venomous pit vipers than anywhere else in the world. Plus a big mother called a Bushmaster – 10 feet, long-fanged, and venomous as all hell, and will actually chase you down to bite you.” He turned back to Dan. “Thank me for that armor plating if you ever walk into one of those.”

  “Not complaining.” Dan grinned back.

  Ben sighed. Really, they had no idea what they were in for, he thought. As well as the gaiters, he’d also had Dan order them bush knives, rain ponchos, head nets that fit over their hats and hung down to their necks, plus full nets for sleeping, as well as hammocks so if they needed to stay up off damp or insect-infested ground, they could.

  Last and most importantly they all got Coyote Tactical Gloves. In a jungle, hands were something you used a lot but were extremely vulnerable. The gloves he ordered were rubber backed, canvas front with leather patches over the meaty areas of the palm. They were tough, durable, and light; you could climb, shoot, scale a fish, and then rinse ‘em out afterwards to be good as new.

  Everything they had was impregnated with Permethrin to keep creepy crawlies from sneaking into their packs, or just plain eating them down to nothing.

  He saw Andrea wave at an insect that refused to leave her alone. He sighed. “Andrea, have you put on your repellent?”

  “Um, just on my shirt.” She walked stiff-legged up the bank in her snake gaiters.

  “Put it on, all over you, please, or at least put the netting over your head.” Ben’s mouth set in a line.

  “But I read it’s got DEET in it.” She sniffed. “And that’s poison.”

  “Sure, but more poisonous to the bugs. It’s military-grade insect repellent, and yeah, it’s loaded with DEET. It’s not something you’d want to wear all the time, but even the CDC uses it.” Ben placed his hands on his hips. “Just don’t spray it in your eyes or get it in your mouth, and you’ll be fine.”

  He saw she didn’t look convinced.

  “C’mon, Andy, this isn’t Florida in June, this is the jungle,” Steve implored. “If you get bitten down here, you won’t end up with just a tiny red spot; you’re liable to end up pretty damn sick.”
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  “How about Leishmania parasite?” Ben said evenly. “Spread by sandfly bites. Causes large rotting ulcers on the flesh, and especially likes the nose and mouth.”

  Andrea stopped and turned to stare for a moment. “Okay, okay.” Her eyes rolled and she exhaled in a big sigh. “Steve, can you please help me put some on then?”

  “Sure.” He trotted over to her.

  Ben smiled, watching her work her charm on him. For now, he’d hold back on telling them about everything that could bite, sting, or infest them. But he’d be providing some rapid education as they went.

  The packs were still being unloaded and Ben walked a few hundred feet further along the bank. Both the jungle and the water became darker the further in he went. The smell of the water was like a warm heady brew of compositing, loamy earth, bracken, mosses, and then as a scent layer above it there was the ever-present sweet nectar from exotic-looking flowers, with the chemical tang of plant sap.

  Clouds of insects swarmed around him but kept their distance thanks to a lathering of repellent he wore. Dan appeared beside him.

  “So we turn off the main highway, and head down this side-road, huh?”

  Ben nodded. “In Benjamin’s notebook, he mentioned finding a concealed river; I’m not sure this is it, but it gives us a good idea of what we’re looking for.” He pointed overhead. The branches were interlocking, and only filtered light streamed through from above. It actually looked like a green tunnel with water at the bottom and even close by the smaller river would have been near invisible. But then again, most of them were.

  “This can’t be it,” Dan said. “Hardly a secret, hidden river if even the captain there knows about it.”

  “You’re probably right,” Ben replied. “Their expedition followed a side river for half a day, and then found a smaller tributary they called a river of paradise, in a secret opening. That took them many more miles into the interior, well, as far as they could go anyway. Apparently, they had to take to wading when it shallowed out.”

  “Wading…” Dan grinned. “… in an Amazon river? Oh yeah, good plan.”

  “Think of it as a dip in a tropical pool.” Ben nudged him with an elbow. “Might be no choice if we’re to find the landmarks he depicted – a large rock on the shoreline that looked to have been carved. And at the very edge, there was the huge trunk of some sort of tree. He called it an Assai palm and it should be hanging out over the water.”

  Jenny had joined them, overhearing. “He probably meant Acai palm, but close enough. Problem is, after over a century, don’t expect anything much to be left of a tree trunk. Things vanish in this humidity after a few years.”

  Ben sighed. “Then we better keep our eyes peeled.” He pointed. “Looks like our rides are ready to go.”

  “Oh boy,” Dan said, chuckling softly.

  The canoes were long, narrow, and looked hewn from a single tree. Crossbeams had been added, and there were several inches of muddy-looking water in each of them.

  Ben and Emma took the lead canoe, Dan, Nino, and Jenny next, followed by a grumpy-looking Andrea and Steve at the rear. Their boatmen, local Pemon, were all no more than five feet tall, but well-muscled. Their nut-brown limbs were matched by even darker hair that was cut in a bowl-cut and shaved up at the neck.

  In the canoe behind, Ben heard Jenny and Nino chatting to their boatman, but he had no idea how to converse. After a moment, he leaned around Emma and nodded, smiled, and his rower returned the gesture.

  “English, Español?’ Ben raised his eyebrows.

  The man just stared. He had a vivid red stripe running from under his fringe, down his forehead and to the tip of his nose. After a moment, he curled his lip and shook his head. Ben refused to at least find out his name. He touched his chest. “Ben.” Then reached forward to touch Emma’s shoulder. “Emma.”

  The small man continued to stare as he paddled but then nodded. He took one hand off his oar to touch the center of his own chest. “Ataca.” He nodded and tapped again. “Ataca.”

  Ben and Emma repeated the name, nodding theatrically and repeating the name. Ataca then pointed to the two other paddlers in the canoes behind them. The first paddler had what looked like long sticks poked right through his earlobes.

  Ataca pointed. “Ipetu.” He turned, making sure that Emma and Ben understood.

  “Ipetu,” they repeated.

  Ataca grunted, and then pointed to the last canoe paddler, who seemed the oldest of the three, and by the way his jaw sat, possibly had few teeth remaining. “Mukmet.”

  “Mukmet,” Ben and Emma repeated again.

  And then that was it for conversation. From time to time, Ataca would lift his arm to point at something or other off in the brush, but after a while, the canopy closed in even tighter overhead, and the jungle got gloomy with only occasional bars of light penetrating through to the steaming, coffee-colored water.

  Though the sunlight was heavily filtered, the humidity was not, and there seemed to be a mist threading its way along the jungle floor that was strangely devoid of vegetation. Large tree trunks acted as columns to a canopy a hundred feet above their heads, and giant fingered epiphyte plants clung to forks in trees and knots in the bark to give the appearance of broken, green umbrellas hung up after a heavy storm.

  Above them, things moved about, shaking limbs, occasionally screaming their fear or anger at the intrusion. Discarded berries, leaves, and possibly dung rained down, but whether it was a band of monkeys, birds, or some other climbing species, they remained invisible to them.

  Emma trailed a hand in the water for a moment and lifted it out to rub her thumb and fingers together. “Like a warm, gritty bath,” she said and went to dip her hand back in.

  “Uh-uh.” Ataca waved a hand at her, one finger up. He shook his head. Emma had already pulled her hand back and watched as the native put his hand towards his mouth and made a show of his teeth biting at it.

  Ben nodded. “I’m guessing there’s more than just a few goldfish beneath the surface of that soup.”

  “Got it.” Emma gave him a thumbs-up and kept her hands in the canoe from then on.

  Ataca slowed his paddling, his eyes shining white and round as the darkness closed in even tighter around them. Ben could see he was becoming fearful and remembered what Jenny had told him about the superstitious nature of the locals. But he also knew that the jungle was home to plenty of physical horrors that could take a life in an instant.

  At a narrowing bend in the river, they needed to come in closer to the shoreline. The jungle was at its darkest here and below them the water was the shade of ink. Ben looked over the side, and in some of the shallower places, he saw submerged logs trailing slimy, green beards. Tiny things zigzagged below the surface, and he wasn’t sure if they were small fish or some sort of water insect.

  Ben squinted into the darkening jungle – some of the tree trunks here were huge, massive columns reaching up to merge with the roof canopy. Others were covered in strangler figs that grew their own lattice up and around the living tree trunks and used their bodies to climb to the sunlight. They eventually choked their host of nutrients and light, and the result was a hollow shell of fig-lattice where the fig survived, but the host tree died and rotted away.

  Ben pulled his flashlight from his pack and the others did the same. Shining it over the jungle floor, he saw something the size of a football lump the soil as it burrowed along, never breaking the surface as it searched for food, or hid from the light.

  There were also insects and spiders living, hunting, and feeding amongst the matted carpet of debris. Bugs as big as his hand were preyed upon by spiders of even greater size, and he shuddered at the thought of having to break camp at a place like this.

  Ben had slept rough in jungles before, and the key thing was to be aware of your environment, check trees overhead and even their trunks, and make damn well sure you were up off the ground. It was surprising how many creatures could burrow up beneath a warm, sleeping body and
tap into it for a quick feed.

  They paddled for more hours, slowly now, Ataca and the other oarsmen carefully dipping their paddles in, pulling back, and lifting without a sound. Several times, they spotted creatures prospecting on the jungle floor – an anteater, easily seven feet long from pointed snout to the end of its wire-brush stiff tail, probed the leaf detritus. And once, they caused a family of wild boar to pause and stare back with eyes that were way too human.

  Ben was tempted to bring one or more down, as he knew that they didn’t have the supplies to last the entire journey and living off the land would soon be a priority. But something made him stay his hand, as the thought of letting loose a rifle shot might alert man or beast to their presence – and it wasn’t the beasts he was worried about.

  More hours passed as they sought out the entrance to the smaller tributary his ancestor had called a river of paradise. But the secret opening remained invisible to them.

  While they searched, Ben continued to refuse requests to take a break on the bank, hoping that they’d soon come to a more open area or at least a rocky outcrop they could perch upon. Only Jenny agreed with him, as she also knew that the Amazon was a haven for parasites that loved to hitch a ride on their food source.

  Burrowing up from out of the soil, from the water, and zooming in from the air, revolting things like the botfly injected the skin with their eggs that hatch into carnivorous grubs that feed on the flesh until they burst free as a fully grown fly, ready to mate, bite, and implant their young into a host, beginning the cycle all over again. But there were worse things that caused permanent damage, such as elephantiasis, where the filarial parasites are transmitted to humans through mosquito bites, causing the limbs or features to swell hideously to gigantic proportions.

  There were also flesh-hungry nematodes in the soil that infested internal organs, eyes, and even the brain. All sought out the human body and its flesh and blood as food, as an incubator for their young, or simply as a mobile house.

  The canoes bunched up, forming a raft and allowing them all to talk quietly to each other. Nino grimaced. “I have never been this far, and I have never heard of any hidden rivers.”