“Please help us!” he pleaded.
Billy infused his thoughts into the young man’s mind. Meet me at the Tipsy Buffalo Pub tomorrow night at seven. Don’t be late! Then his ghost-like presence dissolved into thin air.
Bribing Mr. Petrola
SEÑOR PETROLA WAS the newly appointed Minister of Culture for the Republic of Peru. His office was located in the administration building in Lima’s old downtown, taking advantage of the low-rent space. The minister fanned his face in the hot, dimly lit room while looking out the window at the desolate city below. Few tourists traveled to the historic district, instead preferring the restaurants, galleries and bars that had recently been constructed by foreign investors closer to the beach.
It was not in the budget to retrofit the obsolescent building with central air conditioning, which meant the minister had to rely on the insufficient window units to battle the afternoon sun. He moved the metal fan on his desk from one side to the other, hoping to counteract the heat rising from the first floor. As the fan oscillated, his paperwork sailed into the air, fluttering to the floor. He got up to gather the papers, perspiring even more.
He stacked the papers into neat piles on his desk away from the fan, smiling as he placed a painted rock on each pile, remembering the day Maria, one of his eight children, gave him the handmade birthday gift set. With paint-stained hands, she had set the rocks on the kitchen table for him to admire.
Two men, who appeared to be Americans by the style of their clothes and sweaty, pale faces, entered his office. Señor Petrola greeted them wondering how they got past the receptionist.
One of the men said in Spanish, “¡Perdón! Sorry to barge in, Señor Petrola, but there was no one at the front desk. Perhaps the receptionist took a break. No?”
The minister forced a smile. “Buenas tardes. What can I do for you?”
“Please excuse our intrusion. My name is Bill Taylor and this is my associate, Larry Reynolds. We’re from the Resourcex Corporation.”
“Please have a seat,” the minister diplomatically offered. The men sat on the worn, wooden chairs. “Would you like something to drink? Bottled water…cola? I can have Isabella bring it in.”
Bill replied, “No, thanks. Let me get to the point. We have a wonderful opportunity for this community and possibly you as well.” The other man silently nodded in agreement. “All we’re asking for is your official endorsement to explore the rainforest. Just to see what’s out there.”
Señor Petrola cleared his throat knowing his answer would not please them. “The rainforest is home to indigenous people who’ve lived there thousands of years, and it’s protected by international law.”
Bill smiled, but his eyes remained cold. “Of course. We don’t mean them any harm. Just a little exploration couldn’t hurt. And we’ll make sure to pay the fees, including those of inconveniencing you, just to hunt and peck for a few weeks. No harm could come of that, now could it?”
“Actually, it could be very dangerous. The tribes will protect their land, even kill for it. It’s not a good idea. People could get hurt.”
“There are lots of ways to get hurt. You could have a tragic accident on the way home. Nobody can predict these things.” The minister’s heart rate increased at the not-so-veiled threat. “But we do know our company can’t succeed playing by the rules, Señor Petrola. Rules are meant to be broken. Now you’re the man who protects the tribes and we’d like your help.”
Señor Petrola despised these corrupt bullies and was about to tell them to leave when Bill said, “Since you’re a family man, I assume you want what’s best for your children. I believe your oldest daughter is fifteen.” His associate got up to close the door. Bill waited for him to sit back down. “We can offer you a substantial amount of money for nothing more than letting us see what’s in that jungle of yours. If nothing’s there, nobody’s the wiser.”
Visibly tense, Señor Petrola answered, “I don’t have the power to allow you to remove natural resources from the rainforest…that involves people with a lot more authority.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll take care of it, should it come to that.” Bill pulled out a notepad from his breast pocket to write on. He tore off the top sheet, then slid it face down on the desk. “Take a look. I think you’ll like what you see.”
Señor Petrola picked up the paper, stunned.
“That’s more than you’ll make in five years, and it can be yours tomorrow. Think what it’ll mean for you and your family...you could create a kids’ college fund, a new life for yourself, away from this godforsaken heat and corruption.” Bill laughed at his own joke, then stopped, becoming serious again. “The mayor’s already on board and won’t be happy if you undermine this opportunity. All you have to do is publicly support our exploration. We’ve prepared statements for you, just in case the media or environmental nuts harass you.”
Señor Petrola seethed inside, but he couldn’t figure a way out of this predicament. If he said no, his life and family might be in jeopardy and the mayor would make his job hell, probably eliminating any possibility of his appointment being renewed. He felt sorry for the indigenous tribes living in the Amazon rainforest. They’re helpless against the greed and corruption headed their way. But who am I to stop this? he rationalized. As long as mankind exists, it’ll always be this way.
“Do we have an agreement?” Bill asked.
The minister solemnly nodded his head.
Invading the Rainforest
IN A REMOTE part of the Amazon rainforest, indigenous hunters wearing loincloths and necklaces strung with seeds and animal teeth stealthily traversed through the jungle stalking deer, peccaries and monkeys. The men had red and black lines painted across their cheeks and foreheads. The leader, Takwa, wore a colorful feathered headdress. He steadied his blowgun, aiming a lethal dart at a monkey perched in an Aguaje palm tree eating its juicy fruit. The primate felt the hunter’s stare and turned toward him, revealing her suckling baby. An iridescent Blue Morpho butterfly fluttered near her face. Takwa lowered his blowgun. The monkey scampered away clutching her young. The hunters would search for more suitable game to feed the tribe.
Standing quietly, Takwa waited for his heart to guide him, but instead he heard a faint rumbling noise in the distance that sounded like a pride of jaguars manically purring. He beckoned the other men, who gathered around him. “There is an intruder. Let us see who it is.”
The hunters stepped lightly in the direction of the noise, carefully concealing themselves among the foliage. Noxious fumes drifted through the air. The rumbling grew louder.
Takwa gestured with his hand toward the forest’s canopy. He and the men climbed the thick vines hanging from the giant Kapok, Mahogany and Brazil-Nut trees.
High in the towering branches, the hunters saw the intruders—a bulldozer leading three armored SUVs with Resourcex Corporation decals affixed to the sides. The hunters had no reference for what they saw. The vehicles seemed like great beasts clawing and chewing through the dense underbrush, carving out a trail between the ancient trees. The cries of frightened animals and birds echoed through the jungle. A flock of parrots flew away. Screeching monkeys fled. The bulldozer jerked to a stop. Its engine coughed, spewing black exhaust into the air. Behind it, armed guards jumped out of an SUV, ready to protect their precious convoy.
Unarmed indigenous workers exited from another vehicle, grabbing rolls of cable from the cargo area, slinging them over their shoulders. The men walked along the newly created trail, running seismic lines that held small dynamite charges. After the workers finished laying the lines, they retreated to the shade.
A man in one of the SUVs pushed a button, detonating the charges, sending clumps of soil into the air.
Takwa had seen enough. He imitated a Macaw parrot. The birdcall grabbed the attention of the other hunters. Next he mimicked the Yellow-rumped Caique. The hunters readied their blowguns. As soon as the third birdcall rang out, poisoned darts sailed silently at the intruders
.
A dart struck a guard’s neck. He crumpled to the ground.
Two indigenous workers were hit. They collapsed, immobilized by the deadly toxin coursing through their bodies.
A guard fired a warning shot.
The crew rushed toward the vehicles. Once inside, the leader pulled out his satellite phone. As soon as the call connected, he shouted, “The natives are attacking! What should we do!?”
Sitting in a posh office with an incredible view of Houston, Texas, a silver-haired Resourcex executive answered, “Randy, we’ve discussed this before. You know what to do.” He ended the call.
Randy yelled at the guards, “Let’s do it!”
One of the guards grabbed a submachine gun hidden under a tarp in the back of the SUV. He jumped out of the vehicle, shooting at a rate of 10 bullets per second toward the treetops. Leaves fell like confetti. Branches splintered, crashing down.
High in the trees, Takwa and the other hunters did not understand how a man could shoot fire. The trees seemed to fall apart before their eyes. A bullet struck one of the hunters. Two more men were shot. All of them fell to the forest floor.
The gunman spat at the ground. “Sons of bitches. I know there’s more of ’em!” He renewed his efforts, firing another round. A fourth man dropped, hitting a branch before landing with a thud.
“Good one!” another guard jeered. “That’ll teach them!”
The armed guards listened for sounds that might indicate there were more men hiding in the treetops, but all of the animals, birds and hunters had fled. It was silent. The Resourcex contractors waited until they felt it was safe, then investigated their kill.
“Smaller than I expected,” a guard mentioned, poking a dead hunter with his gun.
“Yeah, tough little suckers,” another one commented.
“Look! Here’s a dead monkey. Wonder if the hide’s worth anything?”
“Don’t know if I’d be caught with that…”
“Yeah. I’d probably get in more trouble for this here monkey skin than these dead Indians.” He laughed.
“Stop screwing around,” Randy said sternly. “Let’s take our men back and return tomorrow. Doubt the natives will give us any more trouble.”
During the commotion, Takwa and the other surviving hunter had snuck away, traveling deep into the jungle where their people had lived for thousands of years undisturbed by the outside world.
Survival in the rainforest depended on the tribe’s knowledge of dangers lurking in every crevice. Jaguars hid in the trees ready to pounce on passing prey. Anacondas, crocodiles, piranhas, stinging ants, poisonous snakes, frogs and spiders inflicted bodily harm and death in all the corners of the tropical jungle. Occasionally the Nawatia tribe lost a baby or pet to a predator, but, for the most part, they lived harmoniously with the creatures of the rainforest. However, the new danger—the convoy of hollow beasts carrying men who used magic sticks to shoot fire—scared the hunters more than all the others. The indigenous men raced through the forest’s dense foliage, skillfully navigating its slippery ground, finally reaching the village where they hurried past the thatch huts, women cooking and children playing, heading toward their spiritual leader, Pahtia, who lived on the outskirts. He would know what to do.
Pahtia sat in his hut receiving a message from the spirits, “Danger is coming! Beware the new beast!” He raised his gray-haired head as the two hunters ran to his doorway, stopping outside, gasping for breath. The shaman opened his eyes. “Come in. What is wrong?”
Takwa entered still breathing heavily, “There are men in the forest...men carrying magic sticks. Sticks that shoot fire! They killed four of us! These men…will come kill us all!”
“Do they have magic eyes as well?” Pahtia asked, irritated by their fumbled hunting expedition. “How did they see you?”
“No eyes are needed…to blindly shoot fire.”
“How did they know you were there?” Pahtia inquired further.
“We shot darts…killing three men.”
The shaman stared blankly while a vision came to him, showing him what had happened. “We need to talk with the elders. This is a tribal matter,” he snapped, “Hurry to tell them. I will follow.”
Takwa rushed out of the hut as Pahtia’s daughter, Conchita, a young woman with a flower tucked in her flowing black hair, came through the doorway holding a basket filled with fresh herbs. The hunter looked at her with adoring eyes wishing he could stay. She watched him race away, then asked her father, “What is wrong?”
“There is a grave threat coming. I must ask the spirits for guidance. Please join me.”
She sat next to her father, placing the basket in front of him. Pahtia gently sifted through the contents. He selected a few leaves, sniffing to confirm their identity, then dropped them into the fire. He closed his eyes, breathing in the smoke, waiting for the visions to come.
A fog rolled across the ground. A black jaguar strolled out of the forest through the haze, prowling toward Pahtia’s hut, sneaking through the doorway. The panther silently approached the shaman, coming up behind him, listening to the blood pulsating through his veins. The big cat opened her mouth over his frail neck, then licked him.
“Ooh, Taslia! You sneaky cat!” Pahtia laughed, wiping the saliva from his neck. The jaguar purred, rubbing her head against his. Taslia was Pahtia’s totem animal—his protector and guide through the spirit realm. Conchita smiled as she watched the loving interaction between her father and the totem animal.
“Taslia, old friend! Today, I need your help more than ever. Can you take me to my spirit guide?” She nodded.
Pahtia stood and straddled the jaguar’s strong back. Conchita sat behind her father, wrapping her arms around him. The totem animal strolled out of the hut, journeying through the mist into a realm resembling a mystical rainforest, leading them to a waterfall that flowed into a sparkling lake lined with lush ferns. Pahtia had been here many times before. It was the home of his spirit guide. He called out, “Maka! Please come! We need your help!”
The spirit guide appeared in the shape of a beautiful woman floating over the water. She wore white, fringed animal skins decorated with colorful feathers and beads. Her black hair hung to her knees. She gave him a warm smile. “Greetings!”
Pahtia bowed his head out of respect, then pleaded, “Please help us! Strangers are invading our home. Strangers who possess power greater than ours.”
Maka softly replied, “I will help your tribe, but you and the elders must stay with me for three moons.”
Pahtia was quiet.
“What is the matter?”
“We do not have time for that! The men and beasts will find us and kill us!”
“Do you doubt me?” she asked.
“I believe you, but the tribe might not.”
“You are a very persuasive man, Pahtia. Find a way to convince them.”
In the main area near the fire pit, the chief and elders shook their heads in confusion as they listened to the two hunters describe the intruders. The shaman approached with Conchita by his side. Everyone hushed. Pahtia broke the silence, “The hunters speak the truth. I saw it in a vision.”
Chief Jebero said, “Tell us your vision.”
“There were great beasts with no heads and hollow bodies that carried men through the jungle. The men held sticks that shot fire. Their power is strong, but not as strong as the spirit guide, Maka. She agreed to help us if we stay with her for three moons.”
“Three moons!? With intruders coming!?”
“It is much to ask, but if we fight, we will be killed. Who will protect our women and children if the men are dead?” Pahtia asked.
“Is the enemy that strong?”
“These men fight alongside dead, yet moving creatures. How do you fight something that has no soul? If we fight face to face, we will lose. But there is hope. Maka will use her power…a power greater than any here on Earth. We can either trust her, fight or run away. The choice is yours.”
The chief contemplated the shaman’s words. It would be dangerous to flee with so many people traveling through the territories of rival tribes. If the other tribes learned they had run from their enemy, it wouldn’t be long before they hunted in their territory and attacked them. Only the strong survived in the jungle.
“If the power of Maka fails us, we will lose our home and our lives,” Chief Jebero stated. The elders nodded in agreement.
Pahtia gazed at his beloved child and said, “We must do this to survive.”
The chief stomped his staff on the ground three times, proclaiming, “So it is.” He turned toward Pahtia. “Lead us to the spirit realm. May the spirits bless us!” Then the chief instructed the hunters to gather more men to bring back the bodies of the dead tribesmen.
Takwa and the other men slowed their pace as they neared the area where their fellow hunters had been killed. Here it was oddly quiet, except for the squawking vultures that were fighting over the corpses. The men grabbed sticks, which they waved menacingly while shouting to scare away the scavengers. The carnivorous birds took to flight, flapping their broad wings, leaving behind a gruesome sight. The dead men’s entrails had been eaten, and their broken arms and legs were twisted in odd positions. Flies swarmed.
The men knelt to pray, then got to work cutting bark from trees. The inside of the bark contained fibers, which they wove into rope. Bamboo was cut down to be used as poles. They tied the bark to the poles, creating impromptu slings for carrying the dead men through the jungle’s dense foliage.
As Takwa set the last dead man in a sling, a drop of fresh blood dripped onto the corpse’s face. Takwa looked up and saw an unconscious Capuchin monkey slumped in the crotch of a tree—his small, black arms and legs dangling from the branches. A bullet had grazed his white-furred shoulder, and there was a jagged wound across his milky face. A baby monkey cowered under his body, shaking with fear.
Earth Sentinels Collection Page 2
