“Huh?” Emma blinked away the images that still floated in her mind. “No, yes, I’m okay. What is it?”
“The pilot,” Helen said over the sound of the propeller. “He’s calling for you.”
“Oh, okay.” Emma unstrapped and launched herself toward the cockpit doorway. Inside, Jake turned to nod. He lifted some earphones, held them out to her, and she slipped them on so they could talk to each other without being drowned out by the engine.
“Look outside,” he said.
She did, seeing nothing but the endless green of an impenetrable tree canopy, with the dark highway of the river splitting it in half.
“This is where your instructions and map has put us.” Jake glanced from Emma to the cockpit windscreen. “Are you sure about this?”
The river continued into the distance, narrowing here and there, the occasional small clearings at the water’s edge. But for the main part, it was unbroken, and there was no evidence at all of any side rivers.
“Yes, I am.”
But she knew they were down there. Plus, she had a secret weapon. That was if Camilla proved to truly be of value.
“Bingo.” She pointed.
Camilla had succeeded — about a mile or so in the distance, there was a ribbon of smoke rising lazily into the humid air.
“There; that smoke, put us down there,” Emma said.
“Yes, ma’am.” Jake accelerated in the air, and in no time, they were over the top of a tiny clearing, and looking down, she could see a single canoe pulled up and a fire burning.
“Yeah, that’s it.” Emma felt her confidence soaring.
The pilot half turned. “Taking her down. Make sure everyone is strapped in.”
Emma got to her feet and scurried to the cabin where she yelled instructions, getting everyone to sit down, redo seatbelts, and prepare for a fast disembark. Once done, all heads turned to the small porthole windows.
The DHC3 banked, lining the river up, and then they came in fast as though Jake was in a hurry to get them down. In another few seconds, there was the thump and bounce of the flying boat’s floats meeting the flowing waters. Even though it seemed smooth, the plane rattled and jerked over even the smallest of ripples until they slowed and settled.
The pilot brought the craft around and then eased it in toward the shoreline. Emma saw from the window a single nut-brown man with a bowl-cut hairdo and round belly watching solemnly — she knew who it was, recognizing him even after all the years—Ataca, their original guide and her eventual savior.
Jake guided them into the shoreline, and the nose of the plane bumped up onto the bank. Drake was already up with his men and they threw open the door to leap out, immediately setting to secure the plane with ropes, hammering in spikes to lock it in place.
Jake cut the engine, and after another moment, the sound of the jungle came alive around them, and with it the rush of humid heat, and the smells of decaying vegetation, acidic sap, strange blooms, and brackish water.
Emma leaped down and staggered for a moment on the soft earth. She quickly straightened and waved to the solemn-looking Pemon Indian. As she approached, she saw that he had aged — so had she, but obviously years in the jungle were a lot harsher. The once fierce-looking young man with a smooth face, black bowl-cut hair and daubs of vivid paint on his cheeks, now looked shrunken and less colorful.
She smiled broadly. It was Ataca that had helped her a decade ago when she had staggered from the jungle, more dead than alive, babbling and fevered. Emma went to him and held out her hand, knowing that hugging was not something that the Pemon understood or even wanted.
“Ataca, my friend, thank you for coming.”
He took her hand and held it rather than shook it. His felt like bone and leather, and to him, she was sure hers was silk, and not designed for a life lived here.
“You come back,” he said in soft, halting Spanish.
She smiled. “And you learned Spanish.”
“A little.” He hiked sharp, brown shoulders. His face became serious. “The wettest season comes. And you are here for your friend.”
It wasn’t a question. “Yes.” Emma looked out over the jungle for a moment. “Yes; if he’s alive, I’ll bring him home.”
Ataca looked saddened. “All my life, ah, one person only ever comes back from the bad place.” He looked up into her eyes. “That was you.”
She half-smiled. “And I will again.”
Ataca’s dark eyes slid to her group. “And will they?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, more forcefully than she wanted to.
The Pemon Indian grunted and went to turn back to his canoe but paused. “I will ask my gods to protect you, again.” He looked toward her team once more, who were unpacking the last boxes. “But I don’t think the gods can protect everyone.”
“Wait.” She rushed back to the plane, drew out a plastic bag, and jogged back to the small man who was already sitting in his canoe. She crouched beside him and put the bag in front of him. “This is for you, as a way of thanking you… for everything.”
He looked in the bag and his eyes lit up. It was only a bottle of whiskey, a few hundred American dollars, and two shiny new hunting knives. Ataca smiled, nodded, and reclosed the bag.
He picked up his paddle. “I will come back, after the wettest season has ended. I hope you will be here. With your friends.” He pushed away from the bank.
Emma raised a hand to wave, but the small man never turned. Thank you, she thought. But this time, I hope I don’t need you.
Drake Masterson joined her and stood watching Ataca disappear with his hands on his hips.
“Your guide?”
“He was.” She turned to him. “I wish we could get him to come with us. He knows more than he’s telling us.”
“About the Amazon, sure. But about where we are going; probably not more than you do now,” Drake responded. “I know the Pemon; they’re very superstitious and see the jungle as a living thing which they’re a part of. Your friend might be fine for a while, but also might not be able to hold it together if some of his gods or demons come to life before his eyes.”
She scoffed and looked over her shoulder. “And you think they will?”
Drake grinned. “Time will tell.” He turned about. “This will be base camp; where we’ll launch from and where we all agree to return to — even if we split up.” He checked his watch. “According to your timetable, we now have twenty-one hours, seventeen minutes until this phenomenon begins. So let’s call ‘em all in, so we can begin.”
“Yep; first things first.” Emma went and checked the plane was fully unloaded, and then confirmed her instructions with Jake — he was to be back in four days. If everything went to plan, they should all be back here waiting for him.
The older man nodded and saluted from the edge of his cap, and then started the propeller. Emma backed up, squinting and hugging herself as she watched the seaplane maneuver out toward the center of the river, accelerate, and then take off.
Jake didn’t circle back, salute from the cockpit, or dip his wings like they did in the movies. He just lifted and headed home. Emma felt emptiness in the pit of her stomach as the plane vanished into the distance. It was like watching the modern world leave her behind, and now she belonged to the jungle.
She blew air through her lips, turned, and then clapped her hands once. “Okay, everyone, in here, please.”
The group assembled in front of her. Behind them, stacked in the center of the clearing on the riverbank, was their pile of boxes and bundles. Phase one of their journey was complete.