by Greig Beck
CHAPTER 11
Ben settled down in his cave with one mud-crusted arm behind his head. The theropod meat he’d dined on was tough and needed to be chewed until his jaws ached. But it was tasty, and nourishing.
Loneliness was the mind killer now, and as he drifted off to sleep, he let his memory take him back to the only friend he ever had in this hellish place. He closed his eyes and dreamed.
Ben traveled mostly during the night, heading east. He had crossed the Venezuelan Coastal Range, a line of huge jagged mountains that ran along the northern coast. There were no roads, and the only paths were animal tracks, and following those was a high-risk option, as it invited ambush from wily predators on the lookout for unwary animals.
It had taken him over a month, but finally, at one of the peaks, he had stared down at the vast, blue ocean. It sparkled, calm, inviting, and azure as the sun rose over it. It took him the rest of the day, but by dusk, he had stood at a slope looking down onto long sandy beaches to his left, and to his right, steep cliffs to the water’s edge, with the dark and mysterious mouths of caves, some huge, some small.
Caves meant danger. But then again, empty caves meant safety, and even better if they were ones that were hard to get to. Ben could see that some of these caves were 50 feet up from the ground and were very promising indeed. It was there he headed first.
Ben stood peering down from the cliff that dropped 80 feet to a horseshoe-shaped, sandy beach. It had a fair-sized lagoon that was barricaded off from the ocean by a breakwater ring of jagged rocks.
He then got down on his belly to inch forward and looked down over the edge. One of the largest caves was about eight feet down and with a nice ledge he could navigate—big enough for him, but way too small for serious predators.
Ben rested on his arms. “Well, looks like I just found home for the night.”
He strapped his spear and woven bag to his back and started down. With the fading light, he peered around the edge—he sniffed—fishy shit odor, but that was it.
He clambered in, pulled his spear out, and crouched there for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. There were a few screaming pterodons, but tiny ones no bigger than gulls.
Ben smiled. “Hello, breakfast. Mind if I join you?”
He took off his pack and sat with his back to the rear of the cave, watching the sun set on a shimmering ocean. After a full day trekking, in another moment, his eyes became so heavy he didn’t even remember when he had fallen asleep.
CHAPTER 12
“I got it. HALO drop.” Brocke clapped his hands together. “High Altitude Low Opening. If the tabletop mountain, or tepui thing, is as big as you say, then we can drop from high up, and only open our chutes over the top. Plus, if we’re really high, maybe the magnetic disruption won’t be an issue.”
“Brilliant.” Fergus sat forward. “And if it is an issue, we jump out a couple of miles from our target site and glide to where we need to be.”
“Jesus, and I thought the cliff climbing was going to be tough.” Andy’s mouth dropped open. “I can’t do that.”
“That’s me out too.” Helen just looked wearied.
“None of us can,” Emma said. “Besides, how do we get off, if we were all ever to make it down in one piece?” Emma asked.
“Re-gather and repack our chutes. Base jump off when we’re done.” Ajax sat back, smirking.
“We encountered a massive updraft as the doorway or portal began to close. You jump into that, you’ll end up being blown a hundred feet back into the jungle.” Emma smiled. “But you’re not far off.”
“Come on, darling, the suspense is killing me,” Fergus said, chuckling.
“We use our first ever mode of air travel. And one that doesn’t care about magnetic interference.” Emma smiled. “A hot air balloon.”
There was silence for a few seconds before Ajax slapped his huge thigh and guffawed with his head thrown back. “Seriously?” He rocked forward. “A freaking balloon? We’re all dead, just kill me now,” he said, braying again.
Fergus rubbed his face, and Brocke also wouldn’t meet her eyes. Emma’s jaw jutted out, and she saw Drake Masterson watching her closely, assessing her.
Ajax sat forward, grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, maybe she’s Mary Popp—”
“Excuse me.”
Ajax stopped talking and looked around.
“Excuse me.” Everyone turned to where Cynthia was sitting forward, with the perfect lines of her eyebrows arched. She pointed one thin finger at Emma.
“This woman not only survived but walked out of the Amazon jungle all by herself. She is one of the bravest, toughest, and smartest people I know.” She turned to Drake Masterson. “My son, Ben, will be there waiting for you. Help her get him and bring him home.”
Drake’s eyes were unwavering. “Yes, ma’am. That’s the plan.”
Ajax cleared his throat. “But seriously, just how long do you think we have? Riding in a balloon will take weeks, and we have to rely on the right winds and weather. Plus, fuel tanks are heavy.”
“Not unless we get real close first,” Drake said. “Good-sized balloon, that will take up to a dozen people, can be broken down quite small—bag, basket, burner, and fuel tanks. I know the commercial bags of about the size we’d need weigh in at 155 pounds.” He thumbed at Ajax. “The big guy here could carry that on his back and not break a sweat.”
“Easy.” The young soldier grinned with confidence.
“He’s right.” Emma paced. “Baskets are wicker or aluminum. We don’t expect to be in the air for that long, so we won’t need many propane tanks—average of fifteen gallons in a high-pressure tank will buy us eight to ten hours air time. More than enough.”
Drake nodded slowly. “Doable.”
“But what happens if the wind is blowing in the wrong direction?” Andy asked. “Emma’s notes said there was near cyclonic winds and low clouds. We could be blown off course.”
“Yeah, balloons are a little like sailing ships,” Drake agreed. “It doesn’t help if the wind is in your face. But, also like sailing ships, you can tack across wind, using flaps and vents in the canopy, and also lower or raise the balloon to chase the best thermals.” He bobbed his head, as he seemed to be thinking out loud.
“I do some sailing; up and down the west coast.” Andy had his hand up. “Catamarans to dinghies, and even acted as a deckhand on a seventy-foot racing sailboat during the last America’s Cup.” He grinned and looked around, but no one seemed to care. “Um, and yeah, you have to chase the wind. But you follow it by watching the water, seeing where the breeze is going, and you have white caps or ripples to indicate its direction and strength. But tip over in a boat, you just swim or hang on. Tip over in a balloon…” He shrugged.
“Without a doubt, it’s going to be a challenge, and the cloud might be an issue,” Drake agreed. “We can bring it in to come down real gentle in a balloon, but if you snag the bag and rip it, it’ll take time to repair. Not great if we’re under time pressure.”
“Very true.” Emma was delighted someone had read her small report, and also seemed to be in her corner. “The cloud was damned thick, but it lifts as the day progresses. Also, I remember it opens at the center, directly over the plateau. A little like the eye of a cyclone. I remember seeing the sky—I know I did—it was calm and clear.”
“Good. Every second we can preserve is one more second we can spend looking for Ben.” Drake picked up his coffee mug. He toasted Cynthia, who nodded her approval.
“You took days to get there,” Fergus said. “I understand you were following the clues, searching for the right pathways and tracks. But now you know the basic ways there, can we not shortcut some of the legs? I don’t see why we need to travel by boat.” He shrugged. “Why can’t we use a seaplane?”
“Works for me.” She paced a little closer. “Some of the hidden streams were very narrow and might present a problem if we have a lot of equipment.”
Emma remembered
the coffee-dark hidden streams, and then finding the sunken idol that led the way to the beautiful Rivers of Paradise. She also remembered how that brief hiatus had then led on to the miasmic swamps. It had all taken them days to traverse.
“So I agree it’d be advantageous if we could leapfrog over some of the thicker jungle. But where we finally emerged from the swamps, we had no GPS, satellite, or even compass, as the magnetic effects of Primordia were kicking in. Plus, when you added in the thick, low-cloud cover, we had line-of-sight navigation only.”
She moved the images along to the tabletop mountain, but it was a picture taken when not in the wettest season. The plateau rose up monolithic, impressive, and imposing from the jungle floor.
“This is what we’ll be looking for. And in the wettest season, its top is hidden by the cloud cover.” She left the image up and turned to the group.
“You said there was a small clearing on the bank of the Rio Caroní River, before you turned inland, correct?” Drake asked.
“Yes, it was where I was found…after.” Emma looked up.
“And you still had electronic capability there?” Drake lifted his chin.
Emma nodded.
Ajax sat forward. “Then we don’t need to tell you, but in the dense jungle, you can spend a day going just a couple of miles. Much better to be above it, if only to lower the risk of running into snakes, spiders, poisonous plants, and all manner of creepy crawlies that a big jungle hides in its belly.”
“Then that coastal clearing will be our base camp and launch point. Should be enough water for the flying boat to land and get us to the bank. Plus enough clearing for us to prepare our balloon and electronically mark our position.” Drake held his hands wide. “Save us a helluva lot of time.”
Helen leaned around her brother. “Mr. Masterson, just how fast can a balloon travel?”
“Call me Drake.” He saluted her with a couple of fingers.
“Helen,” she replied.
“Nice to meet you.” His eyes gave her a quick appraising look as if he just noticed her, and he smiled as he spoke. “Balloons don’t quite travel as fast as the wind, but on a good day can scud along at between five and eight miles per hour. Sure beats hacking or paddling all day for a few miles.”
“Are they safe?” she asked.
“Mostly. Accidents happen when they’re overloaded, or the fuel mix isn’t right, or the heat blaster is set too high.” He kept smiling. “Or if you go up when the winds are too strong.”
Helen frowned and he waved her down.
“But these days, the package is pretty tight. We play by the rules, and the balloon will probably be the least of our worries.”
“I suppose we can wear parachutes,” Andy added hopefully.
Drake nodded. “Sure, you can wear one. But as we won’t be going up that high, by the time you yell rip-cord, you’ll be eating jungle.” He chuckled.
“But Emma’s notes say that the plateau is around 1500 feet high. That’s high,” Andy responded.
“Relatively,” Drake replied. “Skydivers jump from over 10,000 feet. A parachute needs a good 100 to 200 feet to fully deploy, and then takes more time and distance before your velocity is slowed enough for you to land without breaking every bone in your body. Like I said, you can wear one if it makes you feel better.”
Andy sighed theatrically, and Drake held his hands wide.
“Bottom line, Andy, is that more people die from parachuting accidents than they do ballooning. Like I said, we follow the rules, we’ll all walk away smiling.”
Andy didn’t look comforted. He turned to Emma. “And what about protection?” he asked. “You said you’d be better prepared this time. We have Mr. Masterson and his colleagues; is that it?”
Emma smiled and held out an arm. “Drake, the floor is yours.”
The Special Forces soldier got to his feet and stood in front of the group. “Thank you, Emma.” He put large hands on his hips, and he seemed to fill the room. “Everything we bring is designed for self-defense purposes, and I hope we never have to use any of it. But, if we are threatened, then we must respond fast and decisively.”
He nodded to Fergus who lifted a black carry-all bag onto the coffee table and unzipped it. He handed Drake one of the objects—it was a metallic gun that looked like it was made from black plastic. It had what looked like another gun strapped underneath it.
“Cool.” Andy sat straighter, and Helen groaned.
“What I have here is a—”
“M16,” Andy shot out.
Brocke snorted. “Looks like we have an enthusiast.”
“Close,” Drake said. “I’m holding an M4 carbine tactical assault rifle. A shorter and lighter variant of the M16, and now the primary infantry weapon of the United States Marine Corps combat units.” He paused to glance at Andy. “And we will all be getting one.”
The soldier held it forward. “The M4 is a 5.56×45mm, air-cooled, direct impingement gas-operated, magazine-fed carbine. It has a 14.5-inch barrel and a telescoping stock.” He balanced it in one hand. “It weighs 6.5 pounds empty and 7.49 with a 30-round magazine inserted. The M4 is capable of firing in semi-automatic and three-round burst modes and is also capable of mounting a Heckler & Koch M320 grenade launcher.” He indicated the smaller, stubbier-looking gun attached underneath.
“Oh wow.” Andy’s eyes blazed like a school kid.
“Oh Jesus Christ, this is overkill.” Helen bared her teeth. “And I, for one, will not be going to war down there.”
“Begging your pardon.” Drake’s gaze was direct, and though he hadn’t raised his voice, the authority in the tone was like a fist slamming down on a desk. “If only one-tenth of what Ms. Wilson’s report says is there, happens to really be there, then you’ll be glad you have something more than a university degree to defend yourself.”
Helen’s eyes narrowed and she folded her arms and sat back. “Nope. I won’t be taking one, end of story. That’s your job, if I’m not mistaken.”
Drake remained calm. “Yes, we are to be your shield and the sword, ma’am. But survival is everyone’s job.”
Emma held up her hand. “We’ll all need to do training, regardless of whether we decide to take a weapon. Last time, we had a few guns, but many of us had no real idea how to use them. I won’t make that mistake again. That’s why I’ve personally undertaken extensive weapon training, taken a first-aid course, and some basic zoology, paleontology, and biology studies. But I’ll still go to Mr. Masterson’s training sessions, because he’s a survival expert, and I have this peculiar desire to survive.” She turned. “Go on, Drake, please continue.”
“Thank you.” He held up the rifle. “The M320 grenade launchers will only be attached to ex-military personal M4 rifles; however, as the unit can be detached and used independently, we will be practicing with these as well.” He stared hard at Helen until she looked away, still looking like she smelled something bad.
Drake pointed at the bag and Fergus removed what looked like some weird striped clothing, shoes, plus other smaller items.
Drake held up a shirt that had numerous pockets and flaps. “There’ll be knives and other items for survival and defense, but this will be your best buddy night and day. The digital tiger stripe jungle uniform—lightweight, cool, odor free, and damn tough as all hell. There’ll also be tactical all-terrain and water boots, with built-in snakebite protection and rapid drying. But no padding, as it absorbs water, so take these home today and start wearing them in.”
He held up some goggles. “Last but not least, old, but reliable—the Generation-3 Auto Military Spec U.S. Night Vision Goggles. They’re a little dated now, but they work, are easy to use, and they’re low-tech, meaning a lot less can go wrong. They’ll do for us.”
“May I?” Andy held out his hands.
Drake tossed the goggles to him and Andy put them on, flicked a switch, and his mouth broke into a grin underneath the plastic and rubber seals.
“Weapons training be
gins tomorrow morning, 9am, at the Bristolville, Grand River target range.”
“Can you make it?” Emma asked the pair of paleontologists.
Andy nodded and Helen shrugged.
“There’ll be other sessions before we depart. There’s a lot to learn and not a lot of time—call it cramming for the most important test of your life.” Drake smiled grimly.
The rest of the afternoon was spent on a few questions, getting to know each other a little more, and some trip and logistics planning. Drake headed out onto the back porch for a smoke, and Emma joined Cynthia on the couch. She looked a little wearied.
“Do you think you’re ready?” Cynthia asked.
“No.” Emma turned to her and half-smiled. “But just as ready as we can be.”
“It will have to do. Ben is waiting for you, I know it.” She reached across to take Emma’s hand and squeezed it. “I know you’ll find him.”
Emma held her small, thin hand, but kept her lips tight. She hoped Ben was there, and if he were, she would do everything in this world to bring him home. But one thing she wouldn’t do is make promises she might not be able to keep.
She patted the old woman’s hand and then stood. “And now, I’ve got to order a hot air balloon.”
*****
Drake sat on the back step, slowly rubbing the hunting knife against the whetstone. The slow, circular rotation, over and over, made a soft hissing noise as he filed the large blade’s edge to razor sharpness.
Special Forces soldiers knew to keep their weapons in top condition, but there was something about the repetitive nature of the task that allowed Drake to think, and sometimes that wasn’t a good thing. Memories came back, not all of them welcome.
Drake hadn’t thought about big Ben Cartwright in years. The captain was a tough guy, and one of the best that he’d ever served with. If it wasn’t for Cartwright, Drake knew he’d be a pile of bleached bones somewhere out in the Syrian Desert right now.
