But if she had died before in the pit?
Or was that a false assumption?
Perhaps she had no idea what the pit was, and was simply reacting to it like anyone might. No one wanted to be put into a pit. Outside of the Cleansing Ritual, there could be no good reason for a person to be put into a pit.
That must be it!
That would be why she had let herself get taken. If she had known about the Cleansing Pit, she would have known that it would be necessary for her to endure it if she were to transition back to the world of the humans. So if she knew, and she still went voluntarily, then she wouldn’t be reacting the way she were now.
He sighed in relief.
She just didn’t know!
Which meant that she hadn’t died in the ritual in her previous life, which meant the Mother may very well still find her worthy.
He pointed at her. “Lau-ra.”
She stopped pacing the pit and looked up at him, saying nothing, but her eyes glaring at him in hatred and fear.
He pointed up at the sky. “You must survive the challenge. If you are worthy, the Mother will provide.” His words were lost on her. He frowned, then pointed at the sky again, then made a circle with his fingers to represent the sun. He pointed to where it rose each morning, then traced the route across the sky toward where it would eventually set.
“Day,” he said, making the arc again. “Day. You understand?”
She nodded, saying something.
He removed some of the small rocks from his pouch and dropped the correct number into the pit. He pointed at the rocks, then at the sky, moving his arm in an arc several times before pointing again at the rocks.
“You must survive that many days, you understand?”
She picked up the rocks, and when she counted them her jaw dropped as she cried out again, throwing all seven stones at him.
She understands.
“Seven days? Are you kidding me!” she screamed. How the hell was she supposed to survive in the bottom of a pit for seven days? She looked around and saw nothing, not even a stick to help her. “Why are you doing this?” she cried, slamming her fists against the earth, small round impressions left behind.
Tuk said something, motioning with his hands something that suggested she calm down. He seemed perfectly okay with this situation, there no malevolence whatsoever. If anything he seemed puzzled, disappointed even—as if her reaction were completely unexpected. Perhaps it was the fact she had barely resisted since her capture that had him thinking everything would go smooth.
But if his intention all along had been to put her in here to die, then why be so friendly.
But he had said seven days, at least that’s what she assumed his hand motions and the seven pebbles had meant.
And seven days meant there was an end to this. If his intent was to leave her to die, then there would be no seven day limit.
This is a ritual!
It suddenly made sense. He was intending for her to be his mate, but as in many primitive cultures, there was a ritual before marriage, especially if the person was unknown. This must be his tribe’s ritual. If she were expected to stay here seven days on her own, with no supplies, it must be some sort of test of worthiness.
A test that must result in most dying.
Seven days without water?
She made a drinking motion. “What about water?”
Tuk’s arm waved at their surroundings, as if encompassing more than just the immediate vicinity. He said something, then, “Okay?”
If she didn’t know better, she took his meaning to be, “the jungle will provide.” And maybe it would. This was a rainforest, so it could rain, providing her with water. That was the most important aspect to her survival. If she dug at the soil she might find grubs or other sources of protein to keep her going.
“Okay?” he asked again, giving the thumbs up she now regretted teaching him.
She returned the thumbs up. “Go to hell you bastard,” she said with a smile.
Tuk smiled, oblivious to her words, then disappeared.
She listened but could hear nothing but the sounds of the forest.
“Tuk?” she called, but there was no answer. “Tuk!” She yelled this time, and still nothing.
She sat in the one corner that still had light and assessed her situation.
Horrendous.
She knew she only had a few hours of sunlight left so went to work preparing herself as best she could. In the opposite corner, where the morning sun would first hit, she stamped down a sleeping area, making it as hard and smooth as she could to try and prevent insects from coming up through it. She then used the heel of her boot to create several holes in the dirt, tamping them down, hoping they might hold water long enough for her to scoop some of it out should it rain.
Lastly, in the dark corner away from her sleeping area, she used her heel to dig out as deep a hole as she could for a latrine. It would get nasty quite quickly, but tomorrow morning she would begin looking at means of escape rather than survival.
And with luck, perhaps James would be here with a rescue party, having found her trail.
She double checked that her pants were tucked tightly into her boots, then removed her bra. She buttoned up her shirt tight and tucked it into her pants, then folded the cups of her padded bra together, laying her head down gently, lying on her side with her back toward the wall.
Her lip began to tremble as a wave of self-pity rolled over her.
Seven days. Just survive seven days.
Acton followed the natives, careful to scan the area for any evidence of Laura or anyone having been there before, but his skillset did not include tracking techniques, something he would be addressing with Leather when they got themselves out of this current situation.
And we will get ourselves out!
He knew deep down in his soul that Laura was alive. He was certain he would know if she wasn’t. He knew it sounded foolish, magical, spiritual, but something inside him told him she was still alive and that she would hang on until he found her.
But so far they had found nothing, and the daylight was fading. They had been searching for almost eight hours, a group of at least thirty tribesmen having split off into groups of three, fanning out in every direction from the village. It had warmed his heart that these people would not only welcome them into their village, but would help search for someone they had never met, who they knew nothing about, out of the goodness of their own hearts.
For it was just that. They had asked for nothing in return. Fabricio had offered food, blankets, trinkets, chocolate, but was refused. They only wanted to help. Something wrong had been done, and they felt it was their responsibility to correct it.
It gave him hope for Laura. She had been kidnapped, but he didn’t know why. Perhaps the motive was not one of malevolence, but merely a misunderstanding. Perhaps she was perfectly okay, merely being held against her will, but her life not in danger.
He sighed.
He was grasping at straws of hope, he knew, but he had to otherwise he’d be going mad. He knew the search was about to end for the day, which would frustrate him, but he could ask no more of his hosts. And they were the experts. They could keep moving forward in the night, but if they did, they might miss something.
One of the natives whose name sounded like Skip to Acton said something, the others gathering around.
“What is it?” asked Acton. Skip spoke Portuguese, and said something to Sandro who then pointed at a mark in the ground.
“He say that made by person. It not a track from animal.”
Acton took out his flashlight, the shadows already long, and knelt down by the indentation, shining the beam over the area.
And almost cried out in joy.
The mark was a distinct heel mark with an obvious tread.
A modern boot had made this.
Which meant they were finally on the right track.
“This is a heel mark, from a boot,” he sai
d, pointing at the same spot on his boot.
Skip nodded then waved his hand, as if disagreeing. He walked forward a step then as he stepped forward on his right foot, he put more pressure on the back, leaving a deeper indentation. He explained to Sandro.
“He said that if it is her, she is leaving the mark deliberately, or she is injured and can’t walk properly.”
Skip shouted, pointing at the ground about ten feet away. They all rushed over to see what he had found.
“Another footprint!” exclaimed Sandro. “We have found her trail, senhor!”
“We have to tell the others. We have to follow this now!”
Sandro translated but Skip shook his head, pointing at the rapidly darkening sky. And Acton knew he was right. They would have to wait until the morning, but at least now there was real hope, and rapid progress should be made.
He dialed the satphone to give Milton and Reading an update, but was surprised to find it not answered. He left a message then tucked it back in his pocket and began to set up his sleeping area, wondering what might be happening that they would miss his call.
Barasana Village on the Rio Negro, Northern Amazon, Brazil
“The rope is too low!” yelled Reading from the shore. “They’ll never see it!”
“If it’s too high, they’ll never be able to grab it!” came the reply from Milton, still on the boat that was now about thirty feet from shore, a rope dangling between it and a nearby tree. Leather’s men were arriving any minute, and they were arriving late. The sun had almost set, and by the time they got here, it will have.
And they had no way of making the rope visible.
Several of the tribesmen had set up a large fire on the bank of the river and the boat had all its lights on, so Reading hoped that the team would be able to at least see the two ends of the rope, but that would be little comfort to them if they missed the grab and continued down the fairly swift Rio Negro. Reading had little doubt these men would survive, but they could be many miles downriver by the time they made it ashore and could face hours or days of travel on foot along the dense shoreline before they reached the village.
Reading and Kinti had spent an unbelievable day together, one that would go down in his own record books as being the most intense and most pleasurable he had ever had. They had barely left his cabin, she bringing him all three meals, he only leaving to use the bathroom and to check on Milton who said little, merely grinning at him like he knew exactly what was going on.
Reading had blushed the first couple of times, then accepted it, resisting the urge to bump Milton’s raised fist. But when Fabricio had knocked on the door, the pleasure was over and the recovery operation begun. Leather’s plan was crazy in civilian terms, probably fairly routine in the Special Ops world. And there was very little choice, there not exactly a landing strip nearby, and the clearing for the village not so large when you went up to tree top level where the branches still extended over much of the clearing.
The only clear area easily targeted was the river.
“We need to make this rope visible somehow!” Reading looked around. “Do we have any lanterns or something that we could hang on it?”
“Nothing electric according to Fabricio,” replied Milton. “They’re all gas. They’d just be doused.”
Shit!
Reading looked about and noticed Kinti had left his side, instead conferring with one of the natives who spoke Portuguese. He pointed at the rope, saying something, then Kinti disappeared into the forest. Reading had no time to wonder where she was going as he heard the roar of a plane engine overhead. He looked up and saw the lights above, the pilot having turned on his landing lights to make himself visible, and to highlight the river below.
He’s way too low!
As if in answer to his question he heard the engine power up and the plane begin to climb. He felt a tap on his shoulder. Kinti was there, looking up at him, smiling. She pointed at a bowl she had, some sort of paste inside, the firelight seeming to give it a dull glow.
“I’m not hungry right now,” said Reading, smiling at the poor girl who had no concept of what was going on. He felt a twinge of regret once again as he felt he had taken advantage of her.
She shook her head. “No eat.” She stuck her finger in the paste then wiped a streak across her face, turning away from the firelight. It glowed. Brightly.
Reading’s eyebrows narrowed as he attempted to piece together what the young girl was trying to communicate to him when she simply took action herself. And when she started, he immediately began to question who was the primitive. She took a handful of the paste and grabbed the rope, rubbing the paste over the surface. As she continued out into the water, hanging onto the rope with one armpit, the bowl in that hand, the other free hand rubbing the paste on the rope, everything began to glow.
Reading stood, mouth agape, as he realized the genius of it, then suddenly noticed the danger. “Kinti!” he shouted, waving for her to come back, but she waved him off, continuing to cross the rope, coating it with the paste. Reading simply grabbed the rope, trying to hold it steady, knowing if he tried to follow her he’d just rock the rope and possibly knock her loose.
“Keep it steady!” he shouted to Fabricio, who was watching what was happening too, the entire boat in shock.
It only took minutes, but it seemed an eternity, Reading’s heart pounding in his chest the entire time, and it wasn’t until she scrambled aboard the boat at the other side that he dropped to the ground, grabbing his head, suddenly realizing just how much he cared for this woman he had just met.
You’ve got it bad.
He sighed.
And that’s not good.
She waved at him and he waved back, the glowing rope now obvious to him even with the firelight. To the men above, he hoped it was a crystal clear beacon they could home in on.
He saw Milton raise the phone to his ear then cup his hand around his mouth. “They’re coming!”
Reading looked up and saw the plane, far higher than before, just north of their position. He had no idea how high they were, he had never been Air Force, instead enlisting as a grunt. But right now he didn’t think it mattered too much.
What goes up, must come down.
You just usually don’t want that to happen in a raging river in the middle of the jungle at night.
Retired Lt. Colonel Cameron Leather stood at the open door of their plane, all seven men, including him, crammed in the back, the pilot and copilot up front. He could just make out the river below and the fire on shore with the boat lights marking their target. To his surprise, they had watched the rope slowly begin to glow, from one end to the other, and it now was clearly visible. However they had done it, it could prove to be a tremendous help.
He just had no idea how long it would last.
“Remember, you’re the most important thing, then your gear. If you have to cut it loose, cut it loose. Use your hooks to grab the rope, then slide to shore. If you miss, try to get to the left bank, that’s the East bank, then walk north along the shore until you reach the village. Understood?”
A chorus of “Yes, sirs” responded.
“After me on three’s!” He tossed the waterproof duffle bag containing his gear through the door then stepped out of the plane, arching his back, his arms and legs to his sides. He tossed the pilot chute he was gripping to his side, the small chute yanking his larger one out, he preferring to have two backup options in this case rather than one. He felt the tug of the chute opening above him then the pull of his gear dangling below him as he quickly gained his bearings, grabbing the toggles overhead, guiding himself toward the river and the lights below.
He looked behind him and could see the chutes of his men opening, all six with good canopies overhead. Now they just needed to hit their target upriver of the recovery point. The water was coming up fast, their jump at well under a thousand feet, their chutes specially packed so they opened very quickly. He pulled his telescoping “wand” as h
e like to call it from a long side pouch on his leg. He hooked one end around his wrist, tightening it so he wouldn’t lose it upon impact with the water, then extended it to its full six foot length.
The water was close now and he was in the pipe near the left bank. He just hoped the current would carry him straight toward the recovery point rather than take some twist and send him on the wrong side of the boat.
No time like the present!
He yanked the cord, cutting him free of his parachute and he dropped. His equipment hit the water first as he yanked another cord, inflating a life vest instantly. He took a deep breath as he smacked hard against the water, momentarily disorienting him. Kicking his legs and pushing with his arms, he bounced back above the surface, his goggles keeping his vision clear. He quickly took a breath and stabilized himself, his head now comfortably above water as the river carried him along the shore, more swiftly than he had anticipated, the water appearing so calm from above.
Fortunately that meant there was less chance of rocks being near the surface that they might slam into. He grasped for his wand, and found it, gripping it tightly in his right hand. He could see the fire ahead, the boat to his right, the rope glowing in the dark as he raced forward. There was no time to look behind him to see how his men were, this was do or die time.
He shoved the wand out of the water, high above him, the other end containing a special hook that would allow the rope to pass through it, but not back out.
But it only worked if you were able to get the rope to slide up the wand. If you hit the wand against the rope too hard, you were liable to simply bounce off the rope, the wand hitting the water behind you and missing the rope entirely.
I love my job!
The rope was less than fifty feet away. Forty. He gripped the wand high with both hands. Thirty. He began to gauge how high the rope was from the surface. Twenty. He angled the wand back slightly, lowering the hook to about four feet above the water, his head tilting back to get a bead on it, then forward to see the rope. Ten. Time to commit, no further calculated adjustments were possible.
Amazon Burning (A James Acton Thriller, #10) Page 10
