The First Bird: Episode 1 tfb-1 Read online

  Carla leaned in closer, examining one of the formidable canes. “Never seen anything like it.”

  “Moema, have you seen this before?” Matt noticed that the guide had dropped back a pace or two.

  Moema turned around slowly, his face pale. “No, I have never seen or heard of this plant anywhere in the jungle.” He shrugged. “But I have never been this deep into the Gran Chaco before.” He turned back to the vine wall. “It is as my grandfather said: the wall of thorns and the tiny fists of blood.”

  “It’s so quiet.” Megan looked around. “There aren’t even any bugs.”

  “Strange.” Jian joined them. “I noticed the same thing. No insects. The Amazon should have hundreds per square foot, but there’s no sound and no movement.”

  “These flowers are beautiful. I’m going to name them …” Megan reached out to grasp the neck of one of the open crimson blooms. “I christen thee …”

  Matt reached out. “Don’t.” In his haste, he bumped her.

  “Ouch!” She jerked her hand back. “Thanks.”

  Megan turned her hand over and looked at her fingertips, where a dot of red welled up. “Those suckers are sharp.”

  “Sorry, I was trying to warn you. These plants look like they’ve developed some pretty powerful defenses.”

  “Well, no need to be so clumsy.” She winced. “Yowch, still stings.” She gripped the base of her fingers and squeezed.

  Matt stepped back. “Maybe Kurt can suck the poison out for you.”

  “What? Oh, fuck you too.” Megan shook her hand as if it was hot.

  “No, looks like he’s fucking you too.”

  Megan slapped his face, and then grimaced, holding her wrist as if her hand was broken — but not the one she had struck him with.

  Jian whipped a magnifying glass from a pouch pocket and held it up to one of the canes. “Interesting, the thorns have become more erect, and directional — toward us — perhaps in response to our presence.” He leaned in a little closer. “Not good — there is fluid being exuded at their tips. Professor Kearns, I think your comment about defenses is very accurate.”

  Megan started to shift from foot to foot. “Jeezus, I’ll say it’s not good.” Megan held out her hand to take another look; her brow creased with concern. The fingertip was purple, and beneath the skin tendrils of red were working their way down to the second joint.

  “What the hell is happening?”

  Jian’s hand hovered over hers, not touching the skin, just trying to keep her still. He looked through the lens, speaking calmly. “It’s in the circulatory system and working its way along the veins. Any numbness?”

  Megan grimaced. “I wish. It’s fucking excruciating.”

  The group crowded around, and John pushed his way toward her and grabbed her wrist. He turned to them. “Give us space … now.”

  Everyone took a step back. Jian kept his eyes on Megan, but spoke loudly. “Everyone stay back from the thorns, they’re carrying some sort of defensive toxin.”

  John lifted her arm, which now looked like it was encased in a purple glove. “Keep this elevated.” He crouched, opened his bag and pulled free a small pellet-like vial of clear fluid with a yellow plastic cap at one end. In his other hand was a pencil-like device, which he loaded the pellet into. He stood, grabbed Megan’s arm again, and in one swift movement jabbed the device into her bicep, above the spreading redness.

  “Antihistamine.” When he pulled the pencil back, the tip of a needle could be seen at one end. He tossed it into his bag, and reached up to her face. She flinched.

  “Keep still.” John grabbed her head and, using one thumb, pushed one eyelid back, and then the other. “Any tightness across the chest?”

  Megan’s lips moved, but nothing came. She staggered. John held her as her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell onto his chest.

  “Megs!” Matt rushed in to support her.

  “Lie her down.” Matt eased her down, pushing Kurt back as he rushed in to help. “I got this.”

  John got down on one knee beside her. “Just give us some air here, Kurt.” He looked at Matt. “She’s in shock. That’s one powerful and fast-acting toxin.”

  He felt her pulse. “Going like a train.” Her arm was now red to the shoulder. “It’s moving too fast. Can’t let this get to her heart, or it …” He frowned as he counted her pulse.

  Megan started to buck, and froth appeared at the corners of her mouth. “Hold her down!” Matt and John leaned on her as she jumped and bucked for several seconds, then stiffened like a plank of wood, then fell quiet. John quickly leaned forward and listened to her chest.

  “Goddammit, her heart’s stopped!”

  “It what … it what?” Matt felt himself begin to panic.

  The doctor ignored him and spun to his bag. He rummaged furiously for a few seconds and emerged with a long hypodermic needle. He held it between his teeth as he ripped open her shirt, then grabbed the syringe and banged it into her sternum with a thump.

  He dropped it immediately, placed both hands on her chest, and started to pump.

  Matt held Megan’s hand, talking softly but urgently to her, coaxing her, pleading with her. He felt how dry the small hand had become.

  John counted to three, pumping as he went. He counted again.

  Matt squeezed her hand. “Come on Megs, don’t do this. Come on.”

  Steinberg leaned in over them. “Is she dead?”

  “Oh, fuck off.” Carla shoved him away.

  John cupped her mouth, leaned forward, and blew air into her lungs. Megan coughed. He pulled her up.

  “Water.” He held out his hand and someone put a bottle into it.

  Megan gasped, then sipped at the bottle being held to her lips. She lifted one hand to her chest.

  “I hurt … all over.”

  “Sorry, my dear, CPR bruises … but it saves lives.” John lifted her hand — the angry purple was still under her skin, but the red tendrils had stopped growing up her arm.

  “Hmm, interesting toxins. Could be like the Spanish Mala Mujar, or even the cholla cactus. That monster literally throws its spines at you.”

  Carla kneeled down and examined the fading stain on Megan’s arm. “What do you think — some sort of cytotoxin?”

  John shrugged. “Volatile oils, resins, alkaloids, glycosides — take your pick, any or all — can’t tell out here.”

  Matt cradled Megan’s head and helped her sip some more water. She turned slowly toward the doctor, still groggy. “Thank you.”

  John nodded, almost bowing. “My pleasure.”

  Megan started to get to her feet, Matt under one arm, Kurt suddenly under the other.

  Jian tilted his head toward the wall of thorns. “I think climbing the wall is not such a good idea.”

  * * *

  Steinberg and Kurt wandered farther along the base of the thorn wall. Steinberg clasped his hands behind his back and looked up at the colossal barrier.

  “Thought it was too easy.” He turned to his bodyguard. “Could we burn it?”

  Kurt’s mouth turned down and he shook his head. “Too wet. Also, fire might not destroy the spikes, but just harden them.”

  Steinberg grunted and looked skyward to the tree canopy hundreds of feet overhead. “Couldn’t get a chopper in here even if we wanted to.”

  “They wouldn’t even see us,” Kurt said.

  “Kurt, bring me all the spare batteries. I’m going to try something.” Steinberg spun on his heel.

  * * *

  The heat was oppressive, and it was only late morning. By the afternoon, it would be like a steam bath, and there were no showers to wash away the grime and grit. Already Matt could feel pimples coming up along his jawline. He pushed his long hair back off his forehead — for the first time in years, he wished he had a crew cut.

  He sat with the group around the edges of a small clearing they had made by flattening out the soft grasses and fronds. Their clothing was dripping wet, but they had mo
stly stripped down to the minimum; the lack of insects meant they could safely remove clothing without applying an odious coat of tropical-strength insect repellent. Even Megan sat in just her bra and shorts, her arm still discolored from her encounter with the stinging vine.

  The odor of the blooms was ever-present, filling their nostrils and invading their consciousness. They simply sat and absorbed it, rested, and waited.

  Steinberg entered the clearing and waited at its edge until Kurt joined him. They spoke briefly, then the big bodyguard came to the edge of the group and planted his legs.

  “Well, it’s pretty obvious that we can’t climb the wall.” He paused, looking at each of them. “We can’t cut it away, burn it, or pull it free. We can’t get a chopper to drop us over the edge — we think the thorn wall might extend up into the canopy over the crater, meaning we’d be dropped right friggin’ into it.”

  Matt stood, interrupting the theatrical delivery. “So, the bleeding obvious — we’re back to where we started. We need to find the water.”

  Almost disagreeably, Kurt nodded. “Yeah. If that’s how the Ndege went in, then that’s how we have to follow.”

  Just behind him, Steinberg fiddled with a small silver box with extra power cells bound to it. He looked up. “About two hours.”

  Kurt turned and nodded his acknowledgment. “If the natives used the water to pass through the vines, and maybe under or through the barrier wall, then it has to be close — this is where the trail led us. So we have two options — left or right. We break into two scouting teams — myself, Joop, and Jian on one, Matt, Carla, and Moema on the other.’

  Megan got to her feet, but Kurt shook his head. “Sorry Megan, you rest. Dr. Mordell’s orders.”

  John nodded gravely. “And I get to keep you company.”

  Kurt looked at his watch. “We’ll travel an hour out, and then turn back. If we don’t find anything the first time, we’ll take a late lunch, then set out in the afternoon for a longer search.”

  John cleared his throat. “Obviously, you need to stay well back from the thorn barrier. It might also be a good idea to keep a keen eye as you travel, in the event that it extends into the jungle. It nearly killed Ms. Hannaford with a single spike. Multiple punctures with more of the toxin introduced into the system would undoubtedly be fatal.”

  No one spoke; no response was needed.

  They packed in silence — just some water, and a single-dose shot of both adrenalin and antihistamine in the event of a spiking. Not much of an armory, thought Matt.

  Kurt took the left path; Matt and his team went right. They hacked a new trail at least ten feet farther back from the wall. Matt started out with the blade, but knew that in a few minutes he’d have to hand it over to Carla, who quickly surrendered the blade to the wiry little native. Though Moema was of smaller stature than even Carla, his strength and stamina surpassed the combined efforts of the other two.

  They worked together like a machine. Matt would hack a central hole through the growth of about six feet. Carla would step through it, chopping away the vines and fronds at ground level, and then Moema would take over to blister through about twenty more feet.

  Progress was slow — about a foot every one to two minutes — and it wasn’t long before Matt held up his hand, breathing like bellows, face burning from exertion, and shook his head. “I’m beat. I need a break.”

  They sat together on the trail they’d made, leaning back against the thick greenery. It was like being in a green cave; silent, except for their breathing or the occasional drip of sap from some severed plant stalk. Matt sipped water, and spoke with his eyes closed.

  “How long have we been going?”

  Carla looked at her watch. “Forty-five minutes, give or take. We’ve got to head back in fifteen.”

  Matt sat forward, his head down, just in time to watch a huge drop of perspiration fall from the tip of his nose.

  “How far did we get — a mile?”

  Carla snorted. “Maybe a hundred feet. I’m thinking unless Kurt found something, we’ll be back out again this afternoon.”

  Matt groaned, feeling the ache across his chopping arm and shoulder.

  Moema got to his feet. “It’s not a problem for me; I will take over.”

  Matt shook his head. “No, no, I’ll be okay. Just give me another minute.” He looked up and grinned. “And Carla is just getting her second wind.”

  Carla held up her arm, flexing her muscles, then lay down on the slashed grasses and fronds.

  Matt laughed softly. “Maybe another couple of minutes.” Carla gave him the thumbs up. He sat watching her for a second or two, thinking it had been a while since he saw her try to make contact back home.

  “Any luck getting through to the office?”

  It was Carla’s turn to groan as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. She lifted her canteen and sipped.

  “No, still getting a lot of static. I’ve been thinking about that. When I started out doing fieldwork with the CDC we did a job assisting with a cholera outbreak in a small place called Vredefort, in South Africa. The whole town was inside a massive two-billion-year-old impact crater. Even after that amount of time, the rocks were still magnetic — the asteroid had a huge iron content. It even caused our watches to run slow.” She turned to him. “So, if this is a crater, then maybe it’s the same deal.”

  Matt nodded. “Makes sense. We need a stronger signal then. I saw Steinberg has a Zubion940 — a bit more grunt there.”

  “Yeah, right. I reckon he’d rather see me inside another giant snake than help. Things will be fine back home. My colleague, Francis Hewson, is one of my best — he’ll keep things under control.” She looked down at the ground for a moment. “But I reckon he’ll be hoping we come back with some answers.” Her face became serious. “Or we may not come back to the same place we left.”

  She looked up at him, and seemed to think about what she had just said. “Yep, he’ll keep it under control.”

  She brightened. “So, speaking of being under control … are you?”

  “Huh, under control, me?” He turned to her, confused.

  “I mean, everything okay … with you, and, you know?”

  “Megan? Oh, sure.” After a minute, he shrugged. “We’re not married, you know.”

  “Of course not — modern woman, huh?”

  “Maybe. Look, Carla, she’s free to do what she wants. We’re good friends, and …”

  “Well, when she was hurt, you looked like you were about to have a breakdown. You might be doing your best to fool yourself, but it won’t work on me. Just good friends? Pah.” She smiled knowingly. “Give her time, and just relax a bit, okay?”

  “She’s not really my girl, she’s …” He let his words trail off, then simply nodded.

  Moema, who had been sitting to one side, patiently waiting for them to recover their energy, got to his feet and rolled his shoulders. “Bit more cutting now?”

  “Yep, good to go.” Matt got slowly to his feet and held out a hand to Carla. She got up just as slowly, and he stretched, feeling the tightness across his back and neck. If they came out again this afternoon, he reckoned he’d be bedridden tomorrow. Bedridden, he thought, and almost laughed. What bed?

  Moema started to slash away at the green wall at the end of the tunnel they had carved out of the green tangle. Sap flew into the air, causing Carla and Matt to stand well back. Matt sucked in a deep breath; he’d take over again in another minute. He turned briefly to look back along the way they’d come, and sighed with relief; at least it’d be a quick trip back.

  * * *

  The return trip was as easy as they expected, and in just a few minutes they were back at their entry point. Megan sat cross-legged with John, but got to her feet when she saw Matt. She smiled, and seemed about to go to him, when the look on his face stopped her. She turned to Carla instead.

  “Anything interesting?”

  “Nothing but sore muscles.” Carla rubbed he
r arm.

  John stood and took her hand, guiding her to a mound of vegetation he had fashioned into a soft seat. She smiled her thanks and sat down, exhaling long and slow. He bowed in return.

  Moema and Matt stood, dripping perspiration, in silence. Matt could feel Megan’s eyes on him. He nodded at her.

  “How’s the arm?”

  “Arm? My arm’s okay.” She waited, still watching him.

  “Good … good.” He could feel Carla watching him, and felt like a jerk, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. Ego is a dirty word, as the Skyhooks once sang. The awkward silence stretched on.

  Suddenly they heard something crashing through the jungle toward them. Matt spun around.

  “Someone is coming — fast.” Moema pointed to the other green tunnel, which Kurt and his team had opened.

  The big bodyguard slowed as he came down the path he had created. When he got to the clearing he stopped and bent over, hands on knees and blowing hard. He looked up, grinning.

  “We found it.”

  * * *

  Following Kurt’s broad back, they stepped out into a clearing roughly fifty feet across. At its center was a black pool of water, still as glass. It was an almost perfect circle, tree roots snaking into its depths, shaded above by the impenetrable green canopy.

  “Looks deep.” Megan flipped a small white stone into its center. The stone shimmered for a few seconds as it dropped, becoming indistinct and then disappearing from view.

  Kurt knelt and flipped open his backpack. He fished around for a second or two and retrieved a glow stick. He bent it in the middle until it made a cracking sound and began to glow a brilliant yellow-green. He threw it in after Megan’s stone. It sank — five, ten, twenty feet, then became a glowing dot, which also faded away.

  Kurt grunted. “Looks deep because it is deep. I think it’s a sinkhole — got to be a cave somewhere down there.”

  “Great, a cave, and full of water, too.” Matt felt his stomach lurch. He’d had experiences with caves he’d rather forget. Things lived in caves — big things. He was several feet back from the edge, but he leaned forward carefully, as if his toes were on the rim, and stared down into the blackness. In the heat and humidity of the jungle, the cool water should have been tempting, but black water, silent and deathly still, conjured up images of something lurking below. Unseen, but watching — waiting for them to step in.