Lost in the Jungle

by Bill Nye

  My sister started to reply. “That is so—”

  Pepedro clasped her shoulder and pointed into the brush. “Shh!” he whispered. “They’re coming back.”

  The four of them crouched and crowded behind me. I hurried to the back and pushed Matt to the front. He was the largest, after all. “Should we run?” I asked quietly.

  Something moved ahead of us, to the left.

  A man half-covered in leaves leaned out from behind a tree. His face was smeared with mud. He wore green pants and a camouflage jacket. He should have been smiling. But Hank Witherspoon was staring at us like we were visitors from Mars.

  12

  WHAT HAPPENS IN ASPEN

  Okay, so that wasn’t a great example. Matt and Hank would probably remind me that even if there were life on Mars, it would be tiny. The kind of thing you can only see through a microscope; nothing human-shaped or -sized. Anyway, my point was that he was completely surprised. Which was natural, really. We were supposed to be back in Brooklyn. Instead, we were deep in the Amazon rainforest. “What are you doing here?” he whispered.

  Matt was moving toward him. Looking for a one-armed guy hug, I guessed. But then my brother stopped. “Well,” he said, “we were—”

  “Never mind,” Hank said, cutting him off. Then he pointed at my shoes. “You’re wearing high-tops? In the jungle?”

  “They’re actually not that—”

  “We can talk about it later. We have to move. And don’t look so sad and disappointed, you three. Of course I’m happy to see you. All five of you. But there are dangerous men in the area.”

  “We know,” Ava said.

  “Jack kind of bumped into them,” Pepedro added.

  “What?”

  I pointed back toward the waterfall. “They’re over that way, and any minute now they’re probably going to come looking for us.”

  Hank glared at the two Brazilians. “Why would you bring them here? How did you even find me?”

  “This wasn’t our idea,” Alicia answered. She pointed to Ava. “She found you. Not us.”

  “But how did you—” A tree branch cracked in the distance. Hank stared into the jungle, standing perfectly still. Then he breathed. “This isn’t the time for questions. We need to get somewhere safe. Follow me. I have a campsite nearby.”

  As Hank slipped away into the jungle, I couldn’t stifle my excitement. His hideout probably wouldn’t have couches. Or a gaming console. But an air mattress? That was a possibility. And a nice roof was pretty much guaranteed. Maybe even a way to make coffee. Oh, he had probably come up with a way to dry socks, too. We marched ahead in silence, and my visions of Hank’s secret jungle hideaway blurred and faded. All I could think about was the pain. My feet were swollen and sore. The skin between my toes had been rubbed raw. My arm ached. And even though I brushed my teeth two or even three times a day, it felt like tiny little hairs were growing on my tongue.

  At one point, I reached ahead for something to hold and a thorn pressed into the base of my thumb. Yet I was so tired and busted that I barely noticed. I dropped to the back of our group. My siblings weren’t doing much better. Ava’s neck was covered in reddish welts. Matt couldn’t stop itching his head, and he was convinced some mutant strain of lice had started a new colony in his curls.

  Now that we were deep into the jungle, we didn’t need to hack our way forward. Very little sunlight leaked through the thick canopy, so not many plants and bushes were growing near the muddy ground. A flock of birds started screeching and hollering as we climbed a steep hill. I fell to my knees, too tired to even try to balance. Ahead of me, Ava was grabbing roots to pull herself along. I followed behind her. My hands ached. My fingers were cramping. My toes felt like they were on fire. But I reminded myself that we were going to be at Hank’s hideout soon. We were going to be safe. Maybe even comfortable. I would have dry socks.

  Then the famous inventor stopped at the top of the hill and stood proudly in the center of a clearing no bigger than the kitchen in our apartment back home. “Welcome!”

  At first, the area looked no different than the rest of the jungle. Then Hank began pointing things out. A waterproof bag was stuffed into one bush. A metal cooking stove with a small propane tank was tucked into the leaves beneath it. A few small pans and utensils were hidden away, as well. Hank walked around a tree and retrieved a chair built out of roughly cut branches and limbs. The cushioned seat was made of a tightly packed pile of leaves held in place with some kind of vine. He caught us all eyeing his creation. “Sorry, there’s only one,” he said.

  “Wait, is this your campsite?”

  Hank stood and held his arms wide. “Luxurious, right? It has all you’d ever need. Obviously I keep all the necessities stashed away in case any unwanted visitors hike through.”

  “Do you have Wi-Fi?” I asked.

  “Well, no, not Wi-Fi . . .”

  “We’re in the jungle, Jack,” Matt reminded me.

  There was no roof. No mattress. He probably didn’t have a way to dry my socks, either. I wanted to cry. But Hank laughed and charged at me with a smile. No one-armed guy hug this time, either. He fully embraced each of us, including Pepedro and Alicia, and although I’m not keeping score, I kind of think my hug was a little longer.

  Exhausted, we swung our backpacks off our shoulders. I started to set mine on the ground when Hank grabbed it. He looped a rope through one of the straps, then fed that end through everyone else’s packs. Quickly, he tied a draw hitch, which is kind of like a bow-tie knot but with only one loop. Pepedro nodded in appreciation. Then Hank handed the boy with the million dollar foot the other end of the rope. He climbed up a nearby tree, swung the rope over a thick limb, and pulled it down. Pepedro passed the end to Matt, who yanked on it, hand over hand, until he lifted the bags from the forest floor. When the bags were ten feet from the ground, Hank told him to stop and tied the loose end off on a low branch.

  “That’s perfect,” he said. “Too high for the ground dwellers, too low for our friends in the trees.”

  The inventor flopped back down into his seat. Then he reached behind him, under his rain jacket, and adjusted his belt. No, not his belt. Matt elbowed me and pointed.

  “Why are you all staring at my fanny pack?” Hank asked. “And please, please explain to me why you tracked me all the way into the depths of the Amazon rainforest when, as you can see, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  And so we talked, and Hank listened. For a while he just sat there with his legs crossed, leaning his chin on his closed right fist. By the time we’d reached the Bobby part of the story, he jumped up and started pacing around the small clearing. “And the lab? Did you have someone take care of things before you left?”

  I glanced at Matt. We were stuck in the middle of the jungle, hiding from a couple of dudes with a gun, and Hank was worried about the lab? Seriously?

  “We drained the tank,” Ava said, “and Min said she’d bring in a crew to finish the cleanup. She said she knew a guy.”

  Hank grunted. “A guy? Okay. Well, now, about this Bobby person. Did he give you a last name?”

  “No,” I answered.

  “Could you describe him again?”

  Alicia stood at the edge of the small clearing and stared out at the jungle. “Are you sure we’re safe here?” she asked.

  “Very,” Hank said. “I purposely situated myself here because a flock of macaws nest nearby at the base of the hill. You heard them on the way up, right? If anyone comes close, they screech.” He squinted at the trees in the distance. “You know, now that I think about it, they tend to squawk at just about anything, so maybe it’s not a perfect alarm. But let’s get back to this Bobby person. I don’t remember meeting him.”

  “Then how would he even know about the battery idea?” Ava asked. “Did you tell anyone else what you were doing?”

  First Hank shook his head. Then he stared up at the canopy and tapped his chin. “Well, there was this one time . .
. I kind of got excited about the eels. Several months ago, I was at a private conference in Aspen. There were only a few hundred people—”

  “A few hundred people?” Ava asked.

  “Yes, well, I assumed it was a safe crowd. Mostly technology leaders, billionaires, a few government representatives, and innovators like myself. They even had a magician.” For some reason he looked at me. “Normally I don’t go in for that sort of thing, Jack, but he did the most fascinating card tricks. There was this one—”

  “Hank,” I said, louder than normal. “The conference. What did you tell them about the eels?”

  “I discussed all the potential applications—the battery, the Taser, energy storage—in great detail.”

  “And you’re surprised your secret got out?” Alicia asked.

  “Yes! Typically, it’s all very confidential at the Aspen conference. One of the billionaires walks around the whole time wearing a mask and headpiece that makes him look like a minotaur, and nobody says a word. Nothing leaves Aspen.”

  “Or so you thought,” Ava pointed out.

  “Right. The moment I returned to the lab, I had this feeling I was being watched. Then I actually did notice people watching me.” Hank thought quietly. “This Bobby fellow. I wonder. What if he was at the conference? Someone did call me several times and offer to buy the designs to the battery. Many times. He was quite a nuisance.”

  “You said no?” I asked.

  “Adamantly.”

  “How much did he offer?” I asked.

  “So he decided to steal the designs instead, right?” Alicia said.

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Hank,” Ava started. “We’ve been wondering—”

  “Do you have this drive he’s looking for?” Alicia asked, cutting her off.

  With a smile, Hank tapped his fanny pack. “Of course,” he said. “Safe and sound.” He turned to Ava and Matt. “You know, I sometimes wonder if the drive itself is more innovative than the ideas it stores. It’s impossible to copy. Very secure. And when I’m not carrying it around in the middle of the jungle, I can track its location to a fraction of a meter.”

  My sister was still trying to squeeze in her question, but Pepedro jumped in. “Why do you need to track it? In case someone steals it?”

  “Yes, that’s definitely an application,” Hank answered. “But I actually designed that feature in case I lost the drive in the lab. I’m always misplacing things. Which reminds me, Matt, Ava, Jack, did any of you see my favorite earphones lying around the lab? The red ones? I thought I’d packed them for this trip but—”

  “Stop,” Ava said, her voice forceful. “Please,” she added. “We can talk about your earphones later. I’m trying to ask you a question. We told you why we came looking for you. But you still haven’t explained what you’re doing here.”

  “Yes, of course. I came for the eels, as I’m sure they told you, and we have so, so much to talk about on that front, but I returned to the Amazon for very different reasons. I assume, since you’re here, that you found the map online?”

  I elbowed Ava. “She did.”

  “By the way, how are you connecting with the satellite?” Matt asked.

  Hank reached around the back of a small tree and retrieved a bow. Then he struck the pose of an archer and fired an imaginary arrow into the canopy. “An ancient idea, updated,” he said. “Arrows with radio transmitters wired into the shaft. You fire them up into the canopy, and they can communicate with the satellite.”

  He tossed the bow to Matt. My brother dropped it.

  “Min said you had taken up archery,” I recalled.

  Hank stood up straighter. “You spoke to Min? Does she know you’re here? I imagine she’s annoyed with me for—”

  “To be honest, we’re all kind of annoyed,” Matt said.

  I hadn’t expected him to be the one to say it.

  Hank turned quiet. My sister steered the conversation back to technology. “So at every one of those red dots on the map, an arrow is up in the canopy somewhere, sending a signal?” she asked.

  “Exactly,” Hank said. “What do you think is special about those locations?”

  I raised my hand. What? It’s a habit. And Hank pointed to me. “Eels?”

  “Yes!” Hank said. “But no. Or that’s not the reason I highlighted the area, anyway.”

  “Are those the spots where the loggers are planning to chop down trees?” Pepedro asked.

  “Precisely!” Hank said. He addressed my siblings. “After my first trip with Alicia and Pepedro here, I discovered what these wood poachers were planning, but the authorities, the government, even the environmental groups—they all told me they were powerless. No trees had been cut down. I still don’t know who these loggers are working for. And even if I did know, the authorities couldn’t accuse someone of a crime they hadn’t committed yet.”

  “Why not?” Alicia asked.

  “That wouldn’t be fair. Jack, it would be the equivalent of me withholding your allowance to punish you for the next prank e-mail you send from my account.”

  “I haven’t sent one since—”

  “Yet we both know you will.”

  That was true. “Okay . . .”

  “Still, I can’t punish you, right?”

  “Right,” Alicia answered. “Go on.”

  “Wait,” I interrupted. “So am I in trouble or not?”

  “No, not yet,” Hank continued. “Neither are these loggers—not yet. Not until they commit a crime. I’ve been following these men for weeks, tracking them and their activities. When my satellite flies overhead, it picks up the transmissions from my arrows, then takes pictures of those specific locations every time it returns. Then, once we see proof of illegal logging, we can send the photos to the government, the rainforest protection groups—anyone who’ll listen, really.”

  Ava circled the small camp. “That way, once they start cutting down the trees, all those groups will find out immediately.”

  “And then the authorities can stop them before they do too much damage,” Matt added.

  “Exactly,” Hank said.

  “Cool,” Ava said. “But wait . . . you have the arrows, but how do the loggers keep track of these spots they want to cut down?”

  “For a while they tried to use transmitters, too, but their system had a weakness no one would have considered.”

  “What was wrong with it?” Matt asked.

  “Electrophorus electricus magnus!” Hank declared.

  Pepedro responded in Portuguese. It sounded like the Brazilian version of “Huh?”

  “The giant electric eel,” Matt explained. “But how . . .”

  Birds started squawking in the distance. I tensed. “Hank, is that your security—”

  “No, that’s just chatter,” he said, then focused on my brother. “The loggers would place the transmitters high up on the trees, but not high enough. When these eels strike their prey, they generate an electric field so strong that it confuses their transmitters, scrambling their signals.”

  Pepedro and Alicia were staring out at the jungle. The birds were quiet again. Pepedro turned back to me and shrugged. Hank was right; the creatures yelled at everything, anyway. Maybe they’d just gotten annoyed with some howler monkeys. I refocused on the geniuses, and Hank was still talking about electric fields. I knew this was a science concept. One that Matt had mastered at age ten, probably. But I couldn’t help imagining a field full of people playing soccer, getting jolted by little blasts of electricity every so often. That would be an amazing sport. You could just picture some guy juking a bunch of players, finding an open lane to the goal, lining up his shot . . . and then getting shocked three feet off the turf. The only way to improve it would be to add river otters.

  Maybe they could be the goalies.

  “Jack, why are you smiling?”

  “What? Oh, nothing. Go on.”

  “So I was saying, the eels effectively kept their system from working,” Hank said
.

  “It’s almost like the creatures were protecting the jungle,” Alicia added.

  “Yes, well, it didn’t stop the loggers. They just resorted to old-fashioned maps to track the locations.”

  Matt backhanded me in the shoulder. I’d completely forgotten about the map. I pulled it out and handed it to Hank. “Like this one?” I asked.

  Hank pointed to the logo in the upper right corner. Then he showed it to Alicia and Pepedro. “Do you know this company?”

  “It’s called ‘Super Floor,’” I said.

  Hank clapped. “Finally! Now we actually know who’s behind all this. Great work, all of you.”

  “Do you know when they plan to start cutting down the trees?”

  Before Hank could answer, Pepedro spun around and stared over my shoulder. His expression frightened me. My heart started pounding. Three heavy steps followed, and then a hand covered with wiry black hairs gripped my shoulder. I turned.

  Roger’s steaming breath smelled like cigars. Alex ripped the map from Hank’s hands. Roger grabbed the bow from Matt, leaned one end into the mud, and stepped hard on the center, snapping it in half.

  “Now that we know how to stop your friend,” Alex said, “we can begin clearing this area very soon.”

  13

  AN UNEXPECTED RETURN

  Sure, there were six of us and two of them. But three geniuses, a miniature soccer star, his teenaged sister, and a handsome but skinny thirteen-year-old with a fondness for bow ties weren’t about to fight a pair of Brazilian loggers. In case any one of us was considering that option, though, Roger pulled his jacket aside to reveal the gun holstered at his hip. Hank tried to reason with them, and Alicia argued with the pair in Portuguese, but they told us to be quiet. Actually, ordered would be more accurate. They made us leave our gear and then marched us back the way we’d come.