by Winn, J. K.
“Can I have some water...agua?” Leah asked.
The old woman brought what looked like water straight from the river.
Worried, Leah asked Neauk’s permission before boiling the water over the wood stove for fifteen minutes. When the water was cool, she took a couple of drops and trickled them into the child’s open mouth. The child began to choke, turned his head to the side and released a shocking stream of maroon liquid with black specks. The acrid odor made Leah take a step back. Now she was certain he had Hemorrhagic Fever. “Would you mind stepping into the other hazmat suit and gloves from my pack and helping me with him?”
Dylan grunted. “I’ve seen others sick like this kid. He has the fever. There’s nothing you can do for him without placing your own life in jeopardy. You may be a medical reporter, but you’re not a doctor.”
Of all the guides in the world, she had the luck of employing Dylan Hartless— and of being fooled by his show of kindness earlier in the day. “You decide what you’re willing to do, but I have to do all I can to make him more comfortable. I wouldn’t feel right about it otherwise.”
Dylan flinched at the reproach in her voice. “The fever runs its own course. The only thing you can do is infect yourself.”
“That’s why I brought along the hazmat suits.”
“Where the hell did you find them?”
“On the Internet. Now, are you going to give me a hand, or do I have to do this myself?”
“Okay.” He raised a hand. “I’ll get them while you stay with the kid, but don’t take any unnecessary chances.”
As soon as he left the hut, she felt eyes upon her and turned to see the two soccer players staring up from the soccer field below. They had discovered the intruders and come to gawk at them. With the Epidemiologist and other medical personnel around lately, they would soon tire of watching and go back to their game.
* * *
All evening long, Leah tended to the boy with cool compresses to keep down the fever that raged on despite her ministrations. No other villager came near the hut. An unspoken quarantine must have kept them away.
Dylan wandered back late from a meeting with the remaining village elders and laid out her mat on an abandoned hammock. “You sleep here tonight. I’ll bunk with the chicks and ducks downstairs.”
Since her legs ached and her head throbbed, the mat looked even more inviting than she imagined her California King would. “Thanks. That way I can keep an eye on him.” She glanced over at the boy. With his eyes closed, she couldn’t be certain if he was sleeping or dead. She placed a feather under his nose to check his breathing, careful not to touch him.
Dylan watched her from a bench across the room. “Watch yourself.”
“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.” She tried to move the child to wipe the sweat off his back and prevent bed sores, but he was too heavy to budge. “Whew. He’s heavier than he looks, or maybe I’m just more tired than I thought.”
Dylan strode to her side. The two-day stubble on his chin did nothing to hide the worry lines around his mouth. After slipping on gloves, he turned the kid over with ease. “I want you to know it’s more than our itinerary that concerns me.”
“Sure,” she said, but she believed otherwise. Why should he care about her well-being? She was merely a paycheck to him. As much as she wished to be unmoved by this, the thought still nagged at her.
She busied herself cleaning Neauk’s grandson, aware of the blood that had begun seeping from his pores. The sight filled her with dread. Damn. Wasn’t there anything she could do to stop the progression of this disease?
After covering the young man with a hand-woven blanket, she removed her suit and huddled down in the hammock. The exhaustion she had fought against during the past hours struck her with the force of a rock slide. She sank back into the hammock and closed her eyes.
* * *
A scream shocked Leah awake. She spilled from the hammock and stumbled closer to Neauk. Blood had begun to pour from the kid’s mouth. His nose. His eyes. His ears. It ran in rivulets down his chest and drained onto the floor. A gurgling sound in his throat could be heard between Neauk’s cries. The putrid odor of decay thickened the air.
Leah kept her distance. There was nothing more she could do. The boy had begun to bleed out. Within minutes he would be dead. Horrified, Leah stifled a cry.
Dylan came up behind them. “What’s happening?”
“Neauk’s grandson’s dying. Back away and don’t touch that blood. It’s highly contagious.”
To Leah’s surprise, Dylan reached out and drew Neauk away from the boy and into his arms. He held her while she cried, soothing her with tender tones. The sight of Neauk being comforted in his arms disturbed Leah. This Dylan did not match her conception of him. She wanted to dispel the image, to continue seeing him as she had. A caring Dylan might prove irresistible.
Neauk slipped out of Dylan’s embrace and reached toward her dying grandson, but Dylan grasped her arm and held her back.
“Warn her not to get near him or his blood.”
Dylan spoke softly to Neauk, who was obviously beside herself with grief. When the boy’s eyes clouded over and his mouth drifted open in death, the cry like that of a trapped animal escaped the old woman’s lips.
Dylan and Leah removed Neauk from the hut and remained by her side, consoling her as best they could. They took turns sitting with Neauk until dawn touched the eastern sky and they could coax her into an elderly neighbor’s house for a couple hours rest. After escorting Neauk to the hut, Dylan helped Leah place the infected hazmat suits in a thick plastic bag which they would burn later, then moved the sleeping gear outside, where it would be safer to sleep than in the contaminated hut. Tomorrow they would seal the hut and head toward Iquitos to inform the proper authorities of the death
When Leah crawled back into her bag, she heard Dylan pop a can. She rolled over to observe him, surprised at his lack of sleepiness. He sat on a rock sipping his beer with his back to her, but the stoop of his shoulders informed her of the painful burden he bore. Intrigued, she again wondered what haunted this otherwise impervious man. He took a sip from the can and placed it beside him, then drooped his head into his hands.
Chapter Four
In the morning, Leah and Dylan nailed the hut permanently closed, and warned others to avoid it, before going on their way.
Leah had trouble shaking the unfounded sense she should have done more. The devastation she left behind seemed almost unbearable. To see children, whole families, an entire village, wiped out by this viral vulture was too much to bear. Feelings tumbled over each other like the soccer players she passed on the way to the boat. First compassion, then anger, followed by fear. It made her more determined than ever to do her part to stop the slaughter.
* * *
By mid-day on the river, the rain ceased. Sun broke through clouds. Dylan had worriedly watched Leah all morning. She seemed distracted, ill at ease. The death of the child had taken its toll. He was relieved when she sat back in the raft, turning her face toward the rays. He placed oars on board. “You look a little more relaxed.”
“Perhaps.”
“Maybe we can do something to make you feel better.”
When she glanced down at her mud-stained jeans, he instantly knew what would cheer her. The sun was strong enough to take the chill out of the high altitude air. Even Leah could probably withstand a dip in cold water under the circumstances. “I know of a little lake not far from here. You could bathe in it while the sun’s still high.”
She smiled faintly. “I’d like that.”
“So would I,” he said.
She sent him a sheepish grin. “Oh?”
“After you, of course.”
A pink blush tinged her cheeks. “I didn’t mean...you know.”
He did but wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. “What?”
“I...well, I didn’t think you meant to join me.”
He opened his eyes
in mock horror. “I should say not,” he said teasingly.
He directed the craft into a tributary and steered it to a black-water lake. When he pulled it to shore, she jumped out, almost tripping over an oar.
He chuckled. “Whoa. Don’t get too excited. You’re not going to the royal coronation, you know.”
“At this moment, a bath sounds better.” She grabbed a towel, soap and clean clothes from her duffle bag in the back of the raft.
He wanted to keep an eye on her after her near miss with the croc. “Don’t go too far. I want to make sure you stay out of trouble.”
Her cheeks stained a deep burgundy. “I didn’t bring a bathing suit. Didn’t think I’d need it.”
“How about underwear. You probably brought a change along. One wet pair won’t spoil your trip.” Nor would the thought of her stripped down to bra and panties ruin his.
“Good idea.” She reached into her pack and pulled out a pair of white cotton briefs before heading toward the lake.
Dylan busied himself making beef jerky sandwiches and coca tea. He looked up just in time to see Leah peel off her tee and jeans, revealing white lace bra above bikini briefs. For a man who had traveled the world, through forest and desert and tundra, who had been with women, small and tall, pretty and plain, he had rarely experienced anything like how he now felt. His pulse raced. His knees had gone weak.
He forced himself to look away, to quit intruding on the privacy she deserved, but he had to wait a full minute before he could breathe in anything other than short gasps.
He busied himself with the meal to keep his mind off of her...as much as possible. The crackle of twigs announced Leah had come up behind him. He didn’t look up. The flush on his cheeks, hunger in his eyes, might give him away. “Did you have a nice bath?”
Her teeth chattered. “It was much colder than I expected, but fabulous. I can’t believe how good freezing water feels when you’re desperate to be clean.”
Dylan raised his eyes in time to see her towel-dry her hair. With a toss of her head, it settled in place. “Want some coca tea to thaw you out?”
She took the cup he held out to her. “Is this stuff safe? It’s a stimulant, isn’t it?”
“In this form, it’s just a jolt of caffeine.”
“I thought cocaine came from the coca plant.”
He pulled a small plastic bag of leaves from the food box. “See this?” He held the bag dangling before her. “You’re now officially transporting drugs through the jungle.”
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s actually a long process from coca leaf to cocaine. The plant has to be refined and intensified. I’m just brewing up the leaves as tea. The mountain people all chew coca leaves or drink the tea to combat altitude sickness and improve energy. Try it.”
She raised the cup to her lips, but the leaves floating on the liquid’s surface slipped into her mouth every time she tried to taste the tea. She finally sipped the brew and wrinkled her nose. “Where’s the lemon grass when you need it? This stuff is bitter.”
He handed her a sandwich. “Eat this while I take my dip.”
At the lake, Dylan stripped down and dove into the water, which was every bit as cold as Leah had described, but equally refreshing. He splashed around in it like a kid in a tub, glad to take a cold bath after his recent bout with desire.
Quickly drying off, he slipped into clean clothes and rejoined Leah by the raft. Much to his surprise, she had stored all the cooking items in their places. “I didn’t know a big city girl like you could do domestic chores. I’m impressed.”
“You really see me as a total nincompoop, don’t you?” When he didn’t answer, she placed the back of her hand against her forehead and feigned faintness.
He wagged a finger at her, recalling her verve in dealing with crocodile and sick child. “All right. You made your point. I’ll admit that you’re actually turning out to be more of an asset than I first imagined.”
“Lucky for you. When you took so long at the lake, I thought I might have to save you from being a shark’s snack.”
“Barracuda,” he corrected her. “No sharks in these waters, just dolphin and barracuda.”
She stared wide-eyed at him. “Really? Barracuda here?”
“You should see the teeth on them.”
She grimaced. “If I had known they were in the lake, I wouldn’t have been, bath or no bath.”
She was so adorable with her stricken look, he had to suppress a grin. “I wouldn’t have let you go in if there was any real danger. They’re deep-water fish and the lake’s too shallow for them. You look like you came out in one piece.” And what a piece.
“How about the dolphin?”
“Fresh water dolphin live in the Napa north of Iquitos. You might see them before you return to Cuzco.”
She offered him a sideways glance. “Maybe you could take me there?”
He wished he could, but he’d be leading a tour through Puerto Maldonado by then.
She climbed into the vessel. “That’s right, you can’t. I’m sure I’ll find another guide.”
An ache of regret prickled at him, but he tried to act as nonchalant as she had. “There are plenty of tours from Iquitos.” Try as he did, he couldn’t quite convince himself her dismissive attitude didn’t bother him. He pushed the raft off shore and jumped in.
“I’ll definitely go see the dolphins, if I have the time.”
“They’re pink, you know.”
“Pink dolphins?” She laughed. “What will my friends think if I tell them I’m seeing pink dolphins?”
He joined her in the joke. After the previous twenty-four hours of hideous death from the unknown virus, they both needed the release of a good laugh. Between them, pink dolphins did a fanciful dance that momentarily dimmed the memory.
With a shove, the raft lurched away from the bank and pressed on to the south.
* * *
By late afternoon, they pulled the craft up to a makeshift dock along the Maranon. After helping Dylan to make camp, Leah joined him while he cleared away mud from the raft’s side to locate a tear. “May I help?”
He handed her a scraper. “Start here.”
She playfully batted her eyes at him. “You trust me with a weapon?”
“As long as it’s only for scraping rafts, I think we’ll both be safe.”
Leah began to hack away unceremoniously at the dried mud with little effect. “This doesn’t dislodge too easily, does it?”
“It adheres really well.” He swiped at the sweat forming on his brow with the back of his hand. “I could sure use a beer. Want one?”
“Water would work.”
“You’re on.” He returned within minutes with the drinks, placed a glass on a rock by her feet, stood back and watched her progress. She sensed his nearness with a mixture of excitement and comfort. What was getting into her. When he wandered back to where he was working, she didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
He chipped away at the mud. “What did you mean when you said you don’t have any living relatives besides your grandfather? What happened to the rest of your family?”
“It’s a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
He nodded. “What else do I have to do at the moment? I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”
“Okay, you asked for it.” She cleaned her scraper against a rock, then went back to work. “From what I’ve been told, my mother was born in Germany just before the war. My Jewish grandmother was smart enough to place my mom with Christian co-workers days before she was sent to a Nazi concentration camp and never heard from again.” Her scraper caught on a slab of dried mud and she had to force it through. “After the war, the family left Germany with my mom and moved to the United States. All they ever told her about my grandfather was that he was a doctor who had emigrated to South America. But I did pick up one bit of information on my own...”
“What’s that?”
“I
must have overheard my adopted grandparents mention that he had impregnated my grandmother and then abandoned her to her fate.”
He watched her face closely. “That obviously bothers you.”
“It certainly took him down a peg or two in my estimation.”
She wiped dust from her hands. “What’s next?”
“This patch over here.” He pointed at a large mud-covered spot near the front of the raft. “Could you work on that while I repair the broken box?”
She went back to work hacking at the caked mud. During one swipe, the scraper slipped and tore off a bit of her skin. Blood trickled from the wound. She held it out for him to see. “If I don’t watch it, my story will end up being a sob story.” She dabbed gently at the cut with the wet cloth he handed her to remove blood and grime.
“We better clean that so it doesn’t become infected. Even a small infection can flare out of control in the jungle.” He doused another cloth with disinfectant and cleaned the wound before bandaging it.
His attention pleased her. “Thanks.”
“Da nada. So, tell me more about the time you and your mother came looking for your grandfather.”
“It was a difficult trip, but we managed to go as far as Iquitos before our money ran out and we had to return to the States. The day before we flew back, my mother heard a rumor from one of the river people about a German doctor living up the river. He fit her father’s description, but we never had a chance to follow the lead.”
She thought about her grandfather. “Sometimes, when I was a kid, before I knew better, I would fantasize about my grandfather. I liked to imagine him like Albert Einstein or Jonas Salk, brewing up magic potions in the service of mankind. The reality is, he’s probably just a senile old man if he’s not already dead.” Back at work, mud plates calved from the raft’s side.
“Where’s your mother now?”
She hesitated, didn’t like to think about what happened next. “Right after we returned from Peru, she came down with a pneumonia-like illness. None of the antibiotics the doctors gave her worked. They couldn’t even say for certain what was ailing her. She died three weeks later.” Leah swallowed down tears that burnt at the back of her throat whenever she remembered the last, painful, frightening days of her mother’s life. She resumed her work repairing the holes in the boat, sensing that she also wanted to repair the holes in her heart left behind from that time.
