chapter 41

Jaws of Death

colombia-brazil frontier

Toward evening William and Nate arrived on the last high plain leading to the Amazon. A volcano was visible in the west, its cone surrounded by a pall of smoke, like a fiery halo in the setting sun.

This plateau was higher than the others, and more fissured from strong seismic activity. Off to the south and southwest several more volcanos could be seen, some quite distant on the horizon, the steam rising from their cones plainly visible in the thin, clear air. The land was barren save for a solitary stunted tree.

To speed their journey across the páramo toward the Amazon basin, the dying leper had directed Nate and William to take one of the age-old Inca tracks. A cairn clearly marked the direction of the ancient path.

Unable to find a sheltered place to camp, and reluctant to descend back into the forest, they spent the night upwind of a sulfurous vent. The warm ground would occasionally vibrate, accompanied by a throaty growl from the fumarole. Late in the night, a loud rumble and slight shaking of the ground roused them. They held their breath for a moment, waiting for additional tremors.

“Bidwell, you remember the old Indian back there who gave me the diary?” William started.

“Huh?” the sleepy American grunted.

“He said something about these shakes. That the wife of some dragon god or the other was angry. He said this was only the beginning—sort of hinted it was the end of his people. Could there be anything to it?”

“Maybe,” Nate said, and yawned. “When I rode with the llaneros they told me that a few years back, just about the time your lot was burning our capitol down, a great shake almost leveled Caracas. I found out later that Bolívar’s house was seriously damaged—could have been the end of the revolution right there, but he escaped. I guess a lot of people were killed. On the plains, I rode past a couple of abandoned towns that were mostly rubble, destroyed by that earthquake. Seems these things happen, Gunn, especially around the Andes.”

Neither of them slept a great deal that night.

The next day, their lungs were raw from the dry air mixed with the fumes.

“What do you think he meant by ‘Jaws of Death’?” William asked. “There’s nothing up here except the odd smelly hole or dried-up salt pond.”

Nate said, “I expect we’ll know it as soon we see it. Something like that should stand out.”

The going became difficult. Streams of water from past rainy seasons had eroded deep chasms in the fractured basalt. Accompanied by fissures left by earthquakes and pockmarked with rifts and gullies, at times the terrain was almost impossible to negotiate, causing time-consuming detours. They regularly stopped to scan the area for the “jaws” the old leper was so insistent they follow down into the Amazon, but they could see nothing in the cracked and scarred landscape. By now, they had learned to ignore the almost daily trembling of the ground.

Late in the afternoon of the third day on the high plain, the road gradually deteriorated from the improved Inca path to a faded track, and eventually disappeared altogether. And they were almost out of water.

“I say we keep going as much as possible directly east,” Nate said with a conviction he didn’t feel.

“That doesn’t sound very bright,” the British officer said. “We’ve been going east for over three days and haven’t seen a damn thing. Before we completely run out of food and water, I say we split up and look for something resembling any kind of jaws.”

“That would only get us lost or killed. Look.” He pointed. “I may be mistaken, but that unbroken horizon suggests to me we’re getting close to the escarpment.”

The American was pointing to the straight line ahead that could signal the edge of the high cliff ending the páramo, and the beginning of the Amazon basin.

“From what I remember of his journal, Jussieu was describing a trail hundreds of miles from here,” William said. “How do we know this is the same escarpment?”

“We don’t, but it makes sense.”

William saw he was probably right. The rigidly defined skyline hinted at a rapid drop in the land beyond. But Bidwell had been wrong before. William was starting to have serious doubts about the American’s abilities.

They reached the cliff the next morning. The panorama which extended before them almost made them forget there was no way down.

Far below, beyond an amber fringe of grassland, as far as the eye could see stretched an endless ocean of verdant rain forest, sky and land melding together in the distant mist. All sound disappeared into that hollow emptiness, their small voices swallowed by the void. No sign of man pierced that primitive sky: no cathedral spire, no castle rampart, no factory smokestack. The green continued, unblemished by road, cultivated field, town, or village.

“Well, here we are,” Nate said, awestruck.

Confronted with such an alien world, William was speechless. He could only stare. The curvature of the earth could be sensed in the extreme vastness of the expanse. He could never have imagined anything like this in his wildest dreams.

Nate said, “You sure about this, Gunn?”

“Although I’ve seen orchids everywhere in this country,” William replied, “I’ve come to believe the black orchid is only found somewhere down there.”

They continued to look downward. The sheer face of the cliff extended for a long, long way below them.

“God Almighty,” Nate said, “it’s so far down it’s difficult to see the ground right below us.”

William was unperturbed. “Back in England I learned the Amazon is one of the least explored regions on earth. Maps of it are mainly blank.” He turned to the American. “But if we can just get down there, I know I can get us to the Sacred Land. I memorized Jussieu’s directions. All you have to do is keep us alive.”

Nate looked around. He said, “It’s impossible to descend here. We’re running out of time to find these Jaws of Doom.”

“Death, Yank—the Jaws of Death,” the British officer corrected.

“Right, those.”

William observed, “The Frenchman’s original path to the south of us went through high cliffs also, but he had the advantage of a pass. And if that Spanish bastard who waylaid us went that way, he’s probably already floating down the Amazon.”

“We’d lose weeks just trying to get there,” Nate observed, “and then we still couldn’t be sure of where we were.”

“We’re out of water,” William said, upending the calabash.

Nate hefted his water skin. It was light—too light.

“Well, guide, where’s the water around here?” William asked.

Nate ignored him. He got up. “Perhaps to the old leper, ‘jaws’ simply meant a ravine.”

William said, “That makes a lot more sense than actual ‘Jaws of Death.’”

Nate exhaled. “Maybe all this time we should’ve been looking for some fissure sloping down toward the Amazon. Some of the deeper gullies we passed early on looked like they drained to the east.”

“Are you serious?” William replied. “Backtracking would take days.”

“Not exactly backtrack, but head north. Maybe we can quickly come across the correct gully. And if it’s deep enough, that’s where we’ll find water as well.”

Leaving the faded remnant of a path, they struck northward. The uneven ground, difficult to walk on, absorbed their attention. They were forced to walk around a large salt lake, adding several hours to their journey.

Their shadows were long in the late-afternoon sun when Nate finally signaled a halt. “Hell, Gunn,” he croaked through parched lips, “those channels I saw must have disappeared.”

He sat down, dizzy from thirst, when something odd caught his eye. “What is that?”

“Where? What’re you talking about?” William gasped.

“Out there.” Nate pointed.

A lonely dead tree brooded over the blasted, barren landscape like a gray watchman. Slightly beyond this solitary sentinel, a rock face projected a short way above the ground. The only reason it was visible at all was due to the sunlight changing the color of the stone from the dull gray of its surroundings to a bright red. Seen from another angle, the scarlet streak would have been invisible.

“You’re raving.” William was too tired to stand.

“I’m going to look.”

“This is it, Bidwell,” the British officer said, and struggled to his feet. “I’m not going to die of thirst out here. This is the last time I follow you.”

Pax trailed the men. He panted deeply, his dry tongue dangling from his mouth.

Carefully making their way over the uneven terrain, they passed the dead tree. The land dipped down before rising slightly toward what appeared to be a split in the earth.

Coming closer, they could see that the cleft steadily opened and deepened into a narrow chasm. What had first attracted their attention a few minutes ago—the opposite wall of the rift glowing fiery crimson in the full lowering sun—had now darkened to a dull burnt orange in the last dying rays of the sunset.

“Look at this bloody thing. It must be a hundred feet deep.” Bending slightly, William peered into the fissure. The bottom appeared to slope smoothly down to the east. “I can’t see the end; it’s too dark.”

“We’ll rest here tonight and locate the entrance in the light of day.”

At dawn they found the beginnings of the crevice. Located in a shallow bowl, two immense carved stone figures straddled the entrance.

“I recognize this one,” Nate said, peering at a solemn stone form sculpted with thunderbolts in his hands, a shining sun crowning his head, and tears flowing from his eyes. “He’s the chief god of the Incas. If you’re heading into a place like the Amazon and want someone covering your back, he’s a good choice.”

On the other side of the opening, a grinning, horned demon holding a human skull in one hand stared down at them, the outline of a partially consumed body suspended from its mouth. The American’s tone changed. “On the other hand,” he said grimly, “this gentleman is Supay, the Inca god of death.”

Passing between the two large figures, they entered the rift. The walls of the narrow opening were covered with bizarre pictographs: palm prints, animals, and various stick figures, many missing heads and limbs.

Nate hesitated. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

William looked around. “This is our only choice. Or you can stay up here and die of thirst.”

“You’re right,” Nate said decidedly. “Tallyho, old chum.” He shouldered his pack and started into the gully.

The gray dog lay down and whined.

William whispered encouragingly, “C’mon, Pax. Can’t stay up here forever.”

The big dog stood and, with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, followed his master into the chasm.

The way descended sharply, straight and true to the east. Huge basalt blocks were strewn everywhere—debris from the walls of the tight canyon.

“If this gully were any narrower, we’d have to climb over these boulders,” the Brit observed. “I don’t think I could do it,” he said quietly.

As if speaking to himself, Nate added, “The question is, How did they get here?”

Weak and giddy with thirst, they reached out to steady themselves as they picked their way down. Pax trailed close behind, head low, his tongue almost dragging on the ground.

After a few hours, William said, “It’s getting warmer in here.” He was so dehydrated he couldn’t even sweat.

“Damp, as well.”

When Pax stopped to frantically lap at the wall, Nate looked more closely. “Some seepage. Not enough. If we don’t find a spring soon, I’ll be licking these walls next.” The dog’s tongue still hung out the side of his mouth.

The sky overhead began to brighten, illuminating the mysterious gorge and allowing a view of the path that plunged before them. Like a deep, roofless tunnel, the chasm appeared to be carved from the charcoal-gray basalt columns forming the walls, standing like so many silent watchmen. Every so often a gap in a column indicated where a block had dislodged and fallen, the space like a missing tooth in a smile.

Late in the afternoon, the walls had become very high, just a narrow strip of sky showing far overhead. Additional tiny seeps had appeared, so small as to dry up before reaching the ground, each one enviously eyed by the desperate men. Frail and dizzy, they could barely drag themselves along. They were dying of thirst.

The minuscule green opening at the end of the chasm didn’t seem any larger than when they had begun their descent that morning. Light-headed, their tongues swollen, they no longer spoke unless absolutely necessary. At one point Nate tripped and lay on the ground.

William bent over him. “I knew you’d give out first, Yank,” the British officer gasped raggedly. “Do I have to save your butt again?”

Raising himself slowly on all fours and then grasping the wall, the American pulled himself upright. He waved the Brit closer. William bent down and turned an ear to the American. “Kiss my ass, lobsterback.”

Pax hurried past them, almost knocking Nate over again. They both stared at the big dog. Several yards down the path, Pax stopped with his nose near the wall. It sounded like he was drinking.

Nate staggered to the dog and dropped to his knees. A clear rivulet ran from a split in the rock to the bottom of the now steamy confines of the ravine. They soaked up the water with cloth and sucked what they could from the material, repeating the process until their immediate thirst was quenched.

Then they dammed the water and waited until the pool was deep enough to enable them to fill their flasks. They rested afterward, backs against the wall, savoring the cool moisture trickling down their throats. The still water of the deepening pool reflected the canyon walls and narrow sliver of sky overhead.

After a while it was not so much the beauty of the reflection which caught Nate’s eye, but the ripples which began vibrating across the quiet surface of the pool. Pax whined—a strange sound, one they had never heard from him before.

“What’s the matter, boy?” William interrupted filling his flask for the second time to look searchingly at the anxious animal.

It was unnecessary. Both men recognized the low thrumming that came from deep within the earth accompanied by a faltering vibration.

Suddenly realizing what had dislodged so many large blocks, they jumped to their feet. “We’ve got to get out of here—now!” Pax was already racing down the ravine.

The first tremor hit with a deep rumble, rolling through with enough force to knock one of the basalt columns over. Had they not been in the protective shadow of a huge boulder, the collapsing pillar would have flattened them.

“Bloody hell, Bidwell! We’ll be crushed in here!”

Another wave of energy shook the canyon, dislodging even more basalt blocks.

“The opening!” Nate shouted. “We’ve got to get out—this is a death trap!”

William didn’t need any encouragement. Propelled by the fear of sudden, crushing death, both men dodged the rocks crashing from above in a sprint for their very lives.