Deep In The Jungle

by Gerry Griffiths

  “You make them sound invincible,” Wanda said.

  “They’d be a formidable opponent, there’s no mistaking that.”

  “What if you shoot them in the head?” Wanda asked.

  “It might do the trick. You could blind them, but don’t forget they have feelers and could still find you. If you want a sure-fire way to kill one that size, I would suggest severing the petiole.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, an ant is made up of a head then a body segment called the thorax, where the legs are attached. Then there’s the tiny waist called the petiole, which connects the gaster containing the stomachs and the stinger. Cut through the petiole, say with a machete—that would definitely kill it.”

  “That’s good to know,” Wanda said.

  “I think we’ve rested enough. We better push on.” Frank stood and slung his pack over his shoulder.

  He led the way and they forged through the jungle.

  50

  When Ben woke up he had no idea how long he had been unconscious. He could see a narrow beam of sunlight shining up above. The back of his head throbbed as he sat up. He reached back and felt dried blood matted in his hair.

  Slowly, he got to his feet. At first he thought he was in a pit, maybe dug by the pigmies and used for trapping wild game. If that had been true, there would have been sharp stakes pointing upward to impale whatever fell in.

  Thankfully that wasn’t the case.

  As he felt around, he realized that he had fallen into an underground crevice most likely caused by a seismic shift or natural erosion.

  He half-expected to see his pursuers standing up on the rim of the hole, ready to throw their spears down at him. Even though he was maybe fifteen feet down, there were exposed tree roots and vines on the dirt walls that he could use to help him climb out.

  Ben grabbed hold of a thick vine and hoisted himself up. He stepped on a gnarly root and then another and climbed hand over hand until he finally reached the rim.

  Before climbing all the way out, he took a moment to glance around to make sure the pigmies weren’t still around. For all he knew, they were biding their time, knowing it would be easier if he unwittingly climbed out rather than having to haul him up.

  He was disoriented and had lost all sense of direction. The last thing he wanted to do was wander aimlessly and end up right back at the headhunters’ village.

  Hi everybody, remember me?

  The way his head continued to throb, he was certain he had suffered a concussion.

  He listened for a moment to the sounds of the jungle, trying to get his bearings.

  That’s when he heard what he believed to be the distant roar of a waterfall.

  51

  Frank heard whispers behind him and turned to Wanda, who was speaking with Ryan in a low voice. “What is it?” he asked. He noticed that Ryan, James, and Jackie were glancing nervously over their shoulders.

  “We’re being followed,” Wanda said.

  Frank stopped and peered through the heavy foliage. He saw something move in the shadows. Then other shapes darted from one tree trunk to another.

  A small, naked man stepped out between the umbrage.

  “My God, that’s a pigmy,” Jackie said.

  The Indian had no weapons and he was smiling.

  “He looks friendly enough,” Ryan said.

  Soon, more naked pigmies appeared and gathered around Frank and the others.

  Some of the men had spears but they didn’t appear to be hostile. There were fifteen or so and they were all grinning and chattering in their native tongue.

  One of the pigmies reached out for Wanda’s pack.

  “Don’t give it to him,” Frank said. “Be firm but don’t offend him.”

  Wanda shook her head and held on tightly to the strap of her rucksack.

  “Give them a big grin and let’s keep moving.”

  But as soon as Frank took a few steps, the pigmies rushed in front of him and blocked his way. He cradled his rifle in the crook of his arm and gave them a stern look.

  “There’re more of them hiding back in the trees,” Jackie said.

  “Yeah, I see them,” Ryan said. “They’ve got bows and arrows.”

  “That’s not all they have,” James said. “Look what they’re wearing around their waists.”

  “What, those pouches?” Ryan said.

  “Oh God, those are shrunken heads!” Jackie cried out.

  Frank gazed through the trees. “Jesus, they’re damn headhunters.”

  The pigmies must have sensed that the jig was up because the smiles quickly left their faces.

  “Run!” Frank leveled his rifle and fired down the middle, striking down two of the warriors. He used the butt stock and struck one across the bridge of the nose.

  Wanda was right behind Frank, aiming the Browning and picking off a couple more of the natives.

  Arrows whished out of the trees like flying daggers.

  Ryan and Jackie ran and swung their machetes to scare them back, one pigmy losing a hand when he tried to grab for Jackie.

  James blasted a pigmy with his shotgun. He killed another man, emptying the chamber. Two headhunters came at him with their spears.

  There was no time to reload.

  Fighting their way through the horde, Frank looked over his shoulder and saw James was separated from the group.

  The natives were yelling triumphantly, shaking their spears.

  James was struck in the back with an arrow. He reached back and was hit in the shoulder and dropped the shotgun. The headhunters were closing in around him.

  Frank wanted to go back for James, but he knew it was useless. The arrows were likely poisoned-tipped which meant James was already dying. He couldn’t risk Wanda, Ryan, and Jackie getting killed.

  So he yelled, “Keep running!” and they bolted through the trees.

  52

  James plucked the arrow out of his shoulder as one of the pigmies came at him with a spear. He sidestepped his attacker and drove the tip of the arrow into the Indian’s face. The man screamed and dropped his spear, grasping the shaft embedded in his eye socket.

  Unable to reach the arrow in his back, James leaned over and picked the spear off the ground. He wielded the lance at his assailants, jabbing at the closest ones.

  Looking over their heads, James saw the other pigmies armed with bows, aiming their arrows at him. He knew it was impossible to get through the throng and try and catch up with Jackie and the others.

  So he chose the path of less resistance and charged into the trees. He could hear them chasing after him. He was in good shape, jogging most days, so he was able to distance himself quickly from the smaller men, though he knew they were better conditioned for endurance being hunters and stalking their prey for long durations.

  He’d been running for more than fifteen minutes when he heard a cry behind him that sounded like one of his pursuers had injured themselves. He kept pushing himself, and a minute later, heard another scream.

  He came to a halt for a quick breather. He listened for footfalls, but didn’t hear anyone coming. Had he lost them? He glanced at his shoulder and saw the blood leaking out of the wound and dripping down his side.

  James managed to get his fingers around the shaft of the arrow in his back and slowly pulled it out. He could feel hot blood seeping down the small of his back. He was certain that neither of the arrows had been tipped with poison as he would have already have felt the affects. But he did need to stop the bleeding.

  Walking further on, he finally came across a tree that would suit his purpose. He took out his knife and carved into the bark. A thick, red sap oozed out, what was commonly called dragon’s blood. He applied the latex, which acted as liquid bandages and would dry quickly and seal the wounds.

  He kept listening for the headhunters, but they seemed to have given up looking for him, which struck him as odd. Why hadn’t they followed him? Certainly they could have easily tracked him down.
Rather than dwell on it, he decided to continue on and hopefully meet up with Jackie and the others.

  But after another hour of combing through the jungle, he realized he had no idea if he was even going the right way.

  One thing he had noticed was the plant life seemed to be getting increasingly larger.

  Especially when he saw humongous soursop fruit hanging from some of the tree branches. He spotted woody vine cat’s claws growing in abundance. These plants could also be found in other parts of the Amazon and were used extensively for treating an assortment of aliments. He recognized other plant types, many of which were also used medicinally.

  James stopped at the edge of a floral glen. He could smell wonderful fragrances.

  The meadow was lush with thousands of brightly colored flowers. He had never seen anything like it before, not even in the Royal Botanic Gardens he once had an opportunity to visit, and doubted if there was such a sight anywhere in the entire world.

  It was like he might imagine the Garden of Eden.

  Many of the long-stemmed flowers were taller than James and seemed to be looking down at him with their blank pollen faces haloed with brilliant petals.

  Awestruck, James entered the splendorous garden. Each plant was marvelous to behold—the many colored orchids, birds-of-paradise, the lilies, and tulips.

  But as he trekked through the tropical wonderland, the sweetness of the air diminished.

  He began to notice pitcher plants, just a few at first then more as he went.

  And then he saw it.

  The most magnificent flower he had ever seen. Each petal was a different hue and blended into the next petal in a pinwheel of rainbow colors.

  He remembered Frank telling them about Raymond Trodderman’s journal and its mention of a spectacular flower that could be the cure for cancer. A flower that, once you saw it, you would know to be the one.

  James knew he had found such a flower.

  He had to get a specimen. Then try and catch up with the others. Once they were back home he’d lay claim to his discovery. Write a scientific article. Get a patent so as not to get ripped off by the pharmaceutical company that would mass-produce the remedy at an affordable cost—and still make him a billionaire a hundred times over.

  James stepped onto a massive red frond at the base of the flower’s stem that stood over his head about half the height of a streetlamp. He took his knife and was about to saw through the thick stem to cut down the flower when the giant leaf he was standing on suddenly rose up on both sides and snapped closed, trapping him inside.

  He looked up and saw interlocking thorns clasped together. Trigger hairs.

  That’s when he suddenly realized he had walked into a colossal Venus flytrap—or, more accurately, mantrap.

  James drove his blade into the thick skin of the giant plant. He tried slicing downward but the wall of the plant was too thick and it was like trying to cut through a leather hide with a plastic knife.

  He pushed against one wall hoping to open up the carnivorous plant, but the sides were locked in place. He pulled his hands away when a sticky secretion began to seep out of the plant’s pores and trickle down the walls.

  James looked down and saw he was standing in a pool of the stuff and it was actually eating through the leather of his boots.

  An orifice gradually opened up under him and he began to inch down.

  He screamed, knowing his fate, and the torturous pain he would suffer while still alive before being completely dissolved into plant food.

  53

  Frank knew there was no point in trying to outrun the headhunters. The pigmies were acclimated to the extreme heat and the harsh conditions of the brutal jungle and could no doubt run marathons around them and still not break a sweat.

  Sooner or later, they would have to make a stand and fight. He knew he had to decide, and quickly, before they were too exhausted to defend themselves against the murderous barbarians.

  “How much farther?” Wanda yelled in between raspy breaths.

  Frank saw a break in the trees up ahead and the rock face of a granite hillock. If they were able to get up that, they’d have the advantage of high ground and might be able to fend off their pursuers and possibly end the chase.

  “If we can get up there, maybe we’ll have a chance.”

  But then he came to a crashing halt when a giant bullet ant stepped in his path. It was the same size as the one that had killed Kathy—hell, for all he knew it was the same creature—and it wasn’t alone. Six more stepped out of the bushes.

  Frank prayed they were only scouts and not the prelude of an army from the colony.

  He looked over his shoulder and saw Wanda, Ryan, and Jackie stop behind him with questioning expressions on their faces. He could also see the mob of pigmies running straight for them and guessed they hadn’t yet seen the monstrous ants only twenty yards away.

  Wanda, Ryan, and Jackie saw the giant ants.

  “What do we do?” Wanda said.

  “Everyone turn and stand shoulder to shoulder. So they can’t see the ants.”

  The four of them turned and faced the charging pigmies, fifty feet away and closing.

  “Wait for it,” Frank told the others.

  The pigmies yelled a war cry and shook their spears as they ran.

  Frank heard movement behind them, which meant the ants were advancing, most likely drawn to the sound of the trampling Indians.

  “Now?” Ryan asked anxiously.

  “Wait.”

  The headhunters were only fifteen feet away and were coming fast.

  “Now!” Frank and Wanda dove into the bushes to their left while Ryan and Jackie catapulted into the shrubs on the right.

  The pigmy horde dashed right down the middle, straight into the jaws of the giant bullet ants. The Indians jabbed frantically with their spears, but the ants were relentless, snapping their hacksaw mandibles and severing limbs. Every time a pigmy tried to flee, an ant would pounce and impale him with its stinger, injecting its deadly venom.

  Battle cries soon became screams of agony.

  The blood splatter on the surrounding greenery and the ground looked like a Jackson Pollock drip painting with all the body parts and viscous gore.

  The ants began to busily collect food scraps for the return trip to the colony.

  Frank and Wanda crept through the brush. Once they were far enough away, Frank stood up and glanced around for Ryan and Jackie. He didn’t have to look for long; Ryan and Jackie had doubled back and had been following them.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Frank said. “Before those damn things come looking for us.”

  54

  Ben continued to follow the sound of the waterfalls and finally broke through the trees onto a ledge. He looked down at the white water cascading down off a sheer cliff wall. It reminded him of the time he and Kathy had taken a trip to Niagara Falls where the powerful water crashing to the rocks below created a billowing mist.

  He looked across the gorge and saw another river discharging over the break into a lagoon. The overflow poured down the rocks into the rapids that snaked around a bend and disappeared in the endless rainforest.

  Ben glanced to his right.

  Five figures were standing only fifty feet away. The pigmy warriors were captivated by the tremendous display of power—the waterfalls a symbol of a great spirit.

  One of the pigmies turned. Once he saw Ben he immediately yelled and pointed his spear. The man standing next to him, strung an arrow in his bow, pulled back and released the arrow.

  Ben ducked as the arrow zipped over his right shoulder.

  The headhunters charged down the boulders, jumping over the rocks.

  A pigmy threw his spear, which would have hit its mark if Ben hadn’t stepped out of the way in the nick of time.

  Ben picked up a rock and threw it but it sailed over their heads.

  The savages stopped running and slowly advanced on Ben. Twenty feet away, they formed a half circle
and assumed menacing poses to intimidate him.

  Ben looked back and realized they were backing him onto a ledge, leaving him nowhere to run. His heels were almost to the edge. He was no match against the fierce warriors.

  One more step and he would no longer have to fear the diabolical things they had in store for him.

  Suddenly, he was aware of the sound of an approaching turbo engine as he was buffeted by a strong wind, which almost blew him off the edge.

  A military army-green gunship appeared over the treetops. Ben could see a gunner wearing a helmet and camouflage fatigues, crouched in the opened side door. The soldier fired a short burst from his fifty-caliber machinegun.

  A steady barrage of bullets pocked the rocks, spitting up tiny chunks in a straight line, and strafed the ground in front of the headhunters. The pigmies screamed, turned tail, and ran for the jungle.

  Ben waved his arms.

  The helicopter hovered and a cable was lowered.

  Ben grabbed the swaying line, careful not to over-extend his reach and fall off the ledge. He slipped the adjustable harness strap over his head, and around his chest, cinching it tight. He signaled he was ready.

  His feet left the ground and he was hoisted up.

  The gunner grabbed his hand and pulled him inside the helicopter.

  “Thank God you guys showed up when you did,” Ben said appreciatively.

  “Are you the pilot?” the soldier yelled so he could be heard over the din of the whirlybird’s engine.

  “Pilot? No,” Ben shouted.

  “You’re not Miles Gifford?”

  “No, I was one of the passengers,” Ben said. He sat on a rigid seat next to the sliding door and buckled the seatbelt. “They’re all dead. How did you find me?”

  The gunner stuck his gloved fist out the opening and pointed his thumb down.

  They were flying just above the falls.

  Ben could see the outline of the mangled floatplane just beneath the surface of the lagoon.