Tasker whistled in admiration. Whoever attacked this man had absolutely obliterated him.
Crouching, he studied the mud despite the protests of the startled insects. There wasn't a single discernible human footprint, only a handful of faint impressions that barely compressed the earth. They resembled the imprints of a camel's hooves, only much lighter and with a wider splay. Whoever did this had done an exceptional job of covering their tracks.
"There's another one over here," Telford called from somewhere off to his right.
Tasker rose and fought his way through the snarls of vegetation. Telford hovered over what was left of the body, nervously swinging his rifle from side to side as he watched the forest. The area was similarly littered with bones and ripped clothing.
"This ain't right, man," Telford said. "I can't think of anything that could have possibly done this. Anything."
Beads of sweat drew lines through the mask of mud on Telford's face. The whites of his eyes stood out like beacons. He freed one hand from the weapon and pulled the golden cross out from beneath his shirt so that it dangled over his fatigues.
"Grow some balls, soldier. This is neither the time nor the place for cowardice."
Telford opened his mouth to object, but thought better of it. The expression on his face spoke volumes, though.
"I found a third," Reubens shouted from behind them and across the path.
Tasker quickly appraised the ground. There were more prints like the ones he had discovered at the first site, but still no human, or even feline, tracks.
He burst from the jungle, crossed the path, and shoved deeper into the forest, following a series of broken branches and torn vines until he came upon Reubens and McMasters, who stood near the base of a tree with wild, angled roots, several of which had been broken. The ground behind them was carved with eight parallel marks in sets of four. He guessed the man had been hiding in the cage of roots before whoever attacked him broke through and dragged him out into the open while his fingers carved uselessly at the earth. The rest of the scene was the same as the previous two: a scattering of bones in no decipherable pattern, congealing blood over the entire area upon which nearly every insect in the country had been attracted to feast.
Tasker glanced at his watch. 7:31 a.m.. All of this had happened just over eight hours ago. Even more disturbing was the prospect that whoever had attacked with such speed and savagery could still be nearby even now.
The dour expressions on the faces of his comrades reflected the fact that they were probably considering that notion as well.
There was nothing more for them to do or see here. They needed to keep moving. His preliminary assessment had been wrong. These men hadn't discovered the tracking device in the backpack, nor had they been trying to relocate it to throw off their pursuit. If he had to wager a guess, Tasker would have said these men were fleeing from something, attempting to return to their boats and civilization. But what had they seen that could have startled them so badly that they had felt it necessary to run away in the middle of the night?
Tasker had a flash of memory, of what he thought might have been a man in the forest beside him several hours ago. Perhaps he had dismissed the notion too quickly, but could any number of men have done...this?
He didn't have to order his troops to move out. By the time he turned back toward the path, they had already fallen in behind him. Their breathing grew rapid, and he could almost smell their fear even over the reek of death.
When they reached the overturned backpack, Jones and Telford were waiting. Telford rubbed his golden cross between his thumb and forefinger. He took a deep breath and faced Tasker. He was unable to hold eye contact. His gaze darted from one side of the forest to the other like a cornered mouse.
"With all due respect, First Sergeant Tasker," he blurted, voice quavering, "I will be relinquishing my rank and returning to Pomacochas."
Telford stood there, chest puffed out, shaking in his boots.
"With all due respect, Lance Corporal," Tasker said. "I can't allow you to do that." He paced a circle around the terrified man, who suddenly looked like a scared little boy playing soldier in his backyard. "You do remember that our little sojourn here wasn't exactly sanctioned, don't you?"
Telford swallowed hard. His Adam's apple rose and fell, but he could only muster a meek nod.
"So you see," Tasker continued, "if we were to allow you to tuck tail and run, you could put the rest of us in a rather untenable position, and for what? Hmm?" He paced another slow circle around the man. "Or maybe I'm being too hard on you. You won't talk to anyone, will you?"
"N-no, sir."
"I don't know if I believe you, Lance Corporal."
"You have my word, sir. I won't tell a soul."
"There's only one way to guarantee that," Tasker said. He rounded Telford until he was directly behind him. In one fluid motion, he pulled his knife from its sheath, reached around the front of Telford's neck, and yanked the blade to the side.
Telford sputtered and coughed blood. Grasping at his open throat, he wavered in place for a long moment before collapsing to the ground. Blood gurgled in his lacerated trachea.
Tasker leaned over Telford's prone form, wiped the blade on the already bloody jacket, and returned it to his hip.
"Do the rest of you have any reservations about pressing on?" Tasker asked, looking each man directly in the eyes in turn.
"No, sir," they said in unison.
"Good. Then dump this garbage where no one will find it and let's get a move on."
II
11:13 a.m.
Galen walked in the center of the pack, thankful for the armed men both leading and trailing the group, though he was increasingly aware of the proximity of the jungle to either side. At best, he could see perhaps ten feet into the foliage, and only half that far the majority of the time. The events of the previous night had unnerved him. Their guides vanishing in the middle of the night would have been traumatic enough without the appearance of the native with Hunter's rock hammer. He didn't care what Sam said: he perceived the appearance of the painted man as a genuine threat.
Reaching into the inner pocket of his khaki vest, he stroked the smooth, slender feather.
There was still a mysterious, unclassified raptor out there in the wilds, he reassured himself, and he was going to be the first one in the world to study it, regardless of the consequences. Of course, he not so secretly hoped there wouldn't be any. His nerves were just getting the best of him. After nearly a decade's absence from field work, he had been anxious from the start. Throw in all of the strange happenings and the presence of guns all around him, and who in his right mind wouldn't be on the verge of tasting his bile? He just needed to find a way to relax a little, take the edge off.
He un-shouldered his pack and rummaged through the contents while he walked. There it was. The small hydro-bladder he'd had the foresight to fill with as much vodka as it would hold before they left civilization. Just a nip would dull the stress nicely. Here was one thing to be thankful for. At least it wasn't his backpack that had been stolen from the campsite.
Merritt hiked directly ahead of him, encumbered only by the clothes on his back. Everything the man had brought with him was gone, and they all knew they would never recover any of it.
Good thing the thief hadn't looked in his pack, Galen thought. He had just dropped a good chunk of cash on a brand new, state-of-the-art---
"No, no," Galen whimpered. He rifled through his backpack. When he still couldn't find it, he dropped to his knees and dumped the contents. He scattered everything across the ground and rummaged through the piles. It wasn't there. "My camera. Has anyone seen my camera?"
"So it wasn't just me," Merritt said. Galen looked up to see an almost smug expression on the man's face. He could have punched him right in the nose. "They got you too, huh?"
"This isn't at all funny," Galen said, stuffing his belongings back into his pack. "I spent three thousand dollars on tha
t camera. I need the best technology money can buy for when we find the raptor."
"Relax, Dr. Russell," Colton said. "We have plenty of technologically advanced equipment to properly document anything we encounter." He inclined his head toward the film crew. Jay held up his camera to illustrate the point.
"That's not the point. It was my camera, and they stole it. My camera."
"You'll be fully reimbursed for your loss, Dr. Russell."
"You'd better believe I'll be reimbursed. I wasn't the one who brought those thieves into our midst. I wasn't the one who was supposed to be guarding---"
"Dr. Russell," Leo snapped.
Galen fell silent.
Leo's face turned red with fury and his eyes narrowed to slits. "I take full responsibility for what happened and will personally reimburse you for the camera." His expression softened. "Now, unless you want to turn back and walk for another week to buy a new one, I suggest we keep moving. We're within a couple days of our destination, and I, for one, am anxious to see what awaits us."
Galen nodded and shouldered his pack again.
Merritt clapped him on the back. "At least you still have a change of clothes." He smiled and fell back in line ahead of Galen.
The pilot looked exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot and set deeply into dark sockets. Galen wondered if Merritt had slept at all over the last few days as he began to walk once more, grumbling under his breath.
They'd been hiking all morning without anything resembling an actual break. The sun hadn't even reached its zenith and it already felt like a sauna under the smothering canopy. He had accidentally ripped the mosquito netting for his hat and was now forced to use Samantha's sticky concoction. The mixture of lemon verbena and pennyroyal made his skin itch, yet still the mosquitoes found a way through his defenses. His legs ached. His back ached. He was tired and thirsty, and since dawn he had only seen five species of birds, all of them flocking so high in the upper branches that he had only caught occasional glimpses and heard their distant calls. Every tree was identical to the last, and he was tired of having to make sure that every vine didn't have eyes and fangs before brushing it aside. Five hours had passed, and they had stumbled upon nothing more exciting than---
Galen barely stopped in time to keep from running into Merritt's back. The entire group stood still. Ahead, he saw Rippeth holding up his fist, the signal to halt.
"Shh!" Morton hissed into his ear from behind.
He held his breath and waited.
No one moved.
What the hell was going on?
III
11:53 a.m.
The moment Rippeth gave the signal, Merritt's old instincts reawakened. Adrenaline surged through his veins and his senses grew hypersensitive. He became one with the jungle, his body attuned to the very heartbeat of the Earth. He could feel even the slightest movement of one leaf rubbing against another, the sudden onset of tension radiating from his companions. Every sound was amplified. He heard their breathing, the nervous shuffle of their feet on the detritus, the patter of condensation dripping to the forest floor, and the soft rustle of movement from beyond the edge of sight.
He leaned forward and whispered into Sam's ear.
"Get ready."
An eternal moment of silence passed, and still no one moved. His muscles tightened like springs, preparing to release their potential.
When Rippeth lowered his fist and lunged away from the path, Merritt was already in motion. He grabbed Sam around the waist and dove into the underbrush. She landed on top of him with a startled squeak. He rolled her over so that their faces were mere inches apart, her wide eyes staring directly into his. She opened her mouth to speak, but he pressed his forefinger to her lips to silence her. He leaned forward until their cheeks touched, removed his finger, and whispered directly into her ear.
"Stay down."
Her breath tickled the fine hairs on his ear and raised the goosebumps along his arms when she spoke.
"Did you see anything?"
He drew his face away just far enough that she could see him shake his head in response. Her eyes held his for several rapid breaths.
"We need to sit up a little so we can see," he whispered, their lips nearly brushing. "Be prepared to run as fast as you can."
She nodded and he helped position her so that she crouched directly in front of him. He could see the path over her shoulder through the branches. She shifted to the right for a better view. He took her hand, ready to haul her to her feet at the first hint of trouble. Her fingers trembled as she tightened her grip. He leaned forward against her to provide a measure of physical reassurance.
Together they studied the end of the path twenty yards away where it appeared to open into a clearing.
Something was definitely out there. All he could see were the shifting shadows of the ceiba trees, but he could sense it, moving invisibly through the darkness.
IV
11:56 a.m.
"What do you see?" Dahlia whispered. Her breath on the fine hairs of his ear gave him goosebumps.
"Nothing yet." Jay zoomed the camera down the path and into the small light gap beyond. It reminded him of the last one, only he couldn't see the fallen tree that had created it. There were other subtle differences. There were no clusters of saplings, and the wild grasses and ferns were much shorter, almost as though they'd been trimmed.
Still, none of the others had emerged from hiding. He could see their backs and occasional profiles through the foliage. Most of them appeared to be every bit as confused as he was.
And then he saw it. A large, dark shape lumbered into view. Its head swiveled nervously on top of a long, slender neck that stood perfectly erect from its impossibly wooly body. Four spindle-thin legs hardly appeared capable of bearing its weight.
"You've got to be kidding me," Jay said. Shaking his head, he rose from behind the flowering orchid bush and lowered the camera. "It's just one of those freaking llama-looking things."
Colton leaned out across the path and waved for him to get back down.
Forget that. The bush was crawling with brown ants with pincers so big they could hardly lift their heads. He wasn't about to willingly climb back in there and provide them with lunch at his expense. No way. If none of the others were brave enough to approach this terrifying alpaca, then he was just going to have to---
"Get down!" Dahlia whispered. She jerked on his pant leg. It was only then that he noticed the black form standing perfectly still past the animal.
"Aw, crap."
He dropped and scooted into the ant-covered leaves. Before he was even situated, he had the camera up and rolling. He zoomed past the fuzzy gray and black creature and onto the shadowed apparition. The camera focused on a man at the edge of the forest, just shy of the point where the sunlight forced back the shade. He was painted black from head to toe. No wonder Jay hadn't initially seen him. Of course, if he could see the man, then surely he had already seen them as well. If that was the case, then why was he still just standing there?
The man hovered at the fringe of the jungle for several long minutes while they all waited silently. Why didn't they just keep going? Jay wondered. They outnumbered and outgunned the man. Surely they were just being overly cautious, but still, it was always possible that the native was friendly and posed no threat. What in the world were they waiting for?
Finally, the painted man stepped out into the sunlight and approached the alpaca. He grabbed the braided rope hanging from the animal's neck, gave a sharp tug, and guided it toward the wall of foliage.
Raindrops pattered on the leaves above him as a gentle rain began to fall.
The man paused and looked up into the sky. He acknowledged the sudden onset of rain with a nod, and then continued into the dark forest. A moment later, he was gone.
"Did you get that?" Dahlia whispered.
"You mean that guy standing there doing nothing? Oh yeah, I got it. Fat lot of good it will do us though."
Slowly, Rip
peth rose in the lead and eased out into the clearing. He scoured the light gap down the sight of his pistol, then finally gave a wave to indicate they were safe to leave their hiding spots.
Leo and Colton hesitantly eased to their feet ahead. Jay did the same. He still didn't understand the need for such overt prudence, but he followed the others at a snail's pace out into the open.
"He brought the alpaca down here to graze," Sam said.
Jay looked down. His initial assessment had been mostly correct. The weeds hadn't been trimmed, but grazed down to nubs in sections.
"Why did we all have to hide?" he asked. "I mean, there was only one of him and there are ten of us. What could he possibly have done?"
"We could easily have frightened him," Colton said impatiently. "Then the next thing you know, we have natives crawling all over us. They know we're here. When they're ready, they'll either come to us on their own terms, or just continue to hide and follow us from a distance until we've passed out of their territory."
Jay nodded. It made sense, but it didn't exactly make for a good documentary. He wasn't rooting for an attack by a tribe of bow-and-arrow-wielding savages by any means, but they needed some element of drama and danger to make the film really sing.
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