“Last few hours. Fresh kill.” Drake eased upright. “Stay here.”
He walked slowly forward, crouching, his eyes never stopping as they moved over the jungle. Emma took her M4 off her shoulder and covered him.
She knew that the hunters had camouflage and an ability to remain motionless that rendered them nearly invisible. Plus, they were fast, and deadly. If one attacked, she might have time for one shot, so she needed to be ready.
She watched as Drake stood in amongst the remains of whatever had taken place there, and then he craned forward as he spotted something in the ground. He darted forward to retrieve it, and then took a few more seconds to examine the area, looking in along the jungle line.
Emma couldn’t make out what he had found, but after another moment, he rose, quickly looked about again, and then backed away, returning to crouch beside her.
His expression was grave as he grabbed her arm. He then held the thing out to her. “I’m sorry, Emma.”
She stared — it was an old rusted knife, lashed to a broken stick. She continued to stare, her brain at first not understanding what the implication was.
Drake continued to hold her arm. “Something was killed there within the last few hours. There are no remains, but plenty of blood, and this.” He turned the knife over. “That’s a military-issue jungle knife… or used to be.” He sighed heavily. “Like the type Ben Cartwright would have been using.”
She got it then. “No way.” She shook her head, violently. “No way. You think that Ben would survive ten years in this hellhole place, and get himself killed the damn day we arrive? No. Fucking. Way.” She glared, and was too forceful, she knew.
Drake just looked away for a moment and sighed again. “We can talk to the group. But I think you have to face the fact that our mission might be over.” He let her arm go. “Come on.”
The hell it is, she thought.
They pulled back from the site of the massacre and rejoined the group. Drake told them what they had found and showed them the broken spear tip.
Fergus picked it up. “Was a Ka-bar — high-carbon, non-reflective black blade, with epoxy powder-coat; it’s why it survived with only a little rusting.” He looked at Drake. “Yeah, it’d be his.”
“He got attacked, put up a fight, but… ” Ajax shrugged. “… it went bad.”
“But you said there were no bodies.” Fergus’ forehead creased. “Come on, we know Ben Cartwright; that guy could take down an elephant with his bare hands. He would have gutted at least one of them. Where were they?”
“Two things,” Drake said with resignation. “Maybe the Ben we knew could have. But maybe not the Ben Cartwright that’s been trapped here for ten years. It’d wear any man down.”
“Bullshit,” Emma spat. “Half a Ben would have been enough to fend them off.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Drake responded. “But there is one other answer to why there’s no bodies. These things eat their own; all meat is good meat here; nothing is wasted.”
“Then we’re done here,” Ajax said.
Fergus grimaced. “Gotta agree. I think the evidence points to the fact he put up a fight but didn’t win this one.”
“Bullshit,” Emma spat. “Until I see the body, I’ll never believe it.” Emma folded her arms.
Helen stepped in front of her. “There’ll never be a body, Emma. Even if it wasn’t a big predator, these creatures even consume bones; you know that.”
“Sorry, Emma, but she’s right,” Andy said, but wouldn’t meet her eyes for a moment. He finally looked up. “For what it’s worth, I vote we stay a little longer. Just to be sure.”
Thank you, she mouthed.
“I see what you’re doin’,” Ajax sneered. “He’s only saying that ‘cause he wants to do more looking around to satisfy his egghead curiosity.”
“Egghead?” Andy’s brows shot up.
Ajax grinned back at him. “Well, the vote is in and the ayes have it. We go home.”
“Fuck you, fuck all of you. I’m not leaving here until I find some proof he’s dead. Until then, he’s still alive.” Emma bared her teeth.
“That’s your decis… hey, wait a minute.” Ajax scowled. “If you don’t come back, we don’t get paid.”
She rounded on the big soldier and couldn’t help tears of frustration welling in her eyes. “The money is already in your account, you chicken shit. I transferred it the day we left.”
Ajax’s anger flared, and he went to step forward, but Drake reached out one big arm across the man’s chest. Ajax gripped his wrist, hard. The younger man glared at Drake, and the older soldier returned the gaze with unflinching confidence.
“Listen up. We’re all tired, all on edge, and all a little beat up. We take a few minutes to rest our feet, have something to eat and drink, and then plan our next move.” Drake pushed Ajax in the chest, making him back up a step. “Agreed?” He looked at each of them, and then faced Ajax dead on. He raised his voice a few decibels. “Agreed?”
“I guess,” Ajax grumbled.
The others nodded, or simply sighed, shrugged, and waited for the next move. Drake found them a patch of ground that was hidden and less sodden than the rest. They sat, chewed hard protein bars, and sipped water that was as warm as blood, while they all became lost in their own thoughts.
Emma tried to think through what she would do if the group decided to leave. She was resolute, and it only took her a few seconds to choose a course of action; she would stay and continue to search. She hadn’t waited all this time, and come all this way, to give up so quickly.
She turned to look at the team. Fergus, Ajax, and Drake were in a huddle and talking quietly. Andy and Helen had finished eating and now examined something they had found interesting in the soil. Camilla seemed withdrawn, pale, and stared at the ground between her feet, while Juan lay back, shivering slightly. He was fevered, and she knew that if anyone needed to bug out, it was him.
The Venezuelan cameraman lay flat on the ground, eyes screwed shut, and looked to have passed out. Needs his rest more than any other, she thought. His arm was wrapped in new bandages, but already she could see the seep and swelling; it looked damned bad. The last time Helen had rebandaged him, they all got a whiff of the sweet smell of corruption. Without a doubt, either the pterodon had a bacteria-laden bite, or there had to have been some sort of venom at work.
Emma had read about the bite of the Komodo dragon that was so laden with bacteria, wounds festered quickly, and could result in blood poisoning and toxic shock in hours.
She rubbed her eyes. Maybe Ben was dead. And maybe it was time to get the hell out. She sighed deeply.
They’d already lost one good man when Brocke was taken. Juan was getting sicker, and she knew what everyone was thinking; now was the time to cut and run. It’d be so easy to do.
Her problem was, she just didn’t feel that Ben was gone. For some insane reason, or some sixth sense, something was telling her he was still alive. She knew he was one of the most resourceful and tough men she knew. She smiled dreamily; they say love is blind. But she knew it was also deaf, dumb, and sometimes, just plain stupid.
That’s me. She sat straighter. And I’m not ready to go yet, she thought determinedly. Her only decision was whether she, in good conscience, should try and keep the team with her or send them home.
She’d been here before, and lived through it, just. But how long would she survive by herself? she wondered. And how long would the group survive without her, the only person here with any experience in this place?