chapter 53

Escape

The drums continued to beat, growing in intensity until the very air shuddered.

A vague scrabbling noise close by roused William. Lying blindfolded and bound on the dirt floor of the jail cell, he had no idea how much time had passed. He felt something soft pick at his hands. Snake—or rat! Revolted, he squirmed.

“Stop moving,” Kantuta hissed urgently. “Be quiet.”

She cut through his bindings. William removed the blindfold and the gag. The meager torchlight that slipped through the cracks of the closed door revealed a big dog panting in his face.

“Pax!”

He twisted to look at the priestess. Despite the pain in his head, he’d never been happier to see someone. “How did you get in here?” he asked her.

“A potion for the guards,” she said as she untied Nate, “to calm them. They are nervous and angry. Their king is dead. Quickly now,” she added. “Guards will sleep, but not for long.” She helped William get to his feet. He rose unsteadily.

Nate sat up and removed his blindfold. Somewhere in the back of his throbbing head a drum was beating to quarters. Pax sniffed at the American. “What’s he doing here?”

“The dog digs a hole over there, outside.” Kantuta pointed to a dark corner in the back of the room. “But when I come, he stop and come in with me.”

“Kantuta,” William asked, “where’s your son?”

“We go for him after orchids”—she smiled—“like we plan.”

William picked up his rucksack, which the guards had thrown into the cell to be burned with the captives. “Are you sure you can get us through the city to the orchids?”

She said, “No worry. There is much madness because of the death of the king. No one will notice. And if they try to stop us . . .” Kantuta held out two large daggers. “Take these.”

“You go with Kantuta,” Nate said, “and I’ll meet you at the big canal, like we planned.”

“Where’re you going?”

“I’ll go for her son,” Nate replied, “otherwise we’re going to run out of time.” He neglected to mention that he intended to go directly to the warehouse first. If the emerald was stored anywhere, it should be in the heavily guarded warehouse. Plenty of time to get the boy afterward.

William described where Kantuta’s house was. “It’ll be difficult for you to get there without being noticed.”

“I’ve thought of that, but I have an idea. Let’s get those guards in here.”

Kantuta peered outside. The first faint shreds of dawn streaked the eastern sky. She led them to the guards lying unconscious in the shadows at the side of the jail. They bound and gagged them, then dragged them inside. Nate stripped one guard and put on his gear.

William and Kantuta exchanged glances. “Maybe,” she said. She adjusted Nate’s tunic, then pulled his hair back tight in the fashion of the royal guards.

“It’ll have to do,” William said. “Let’s get going.”

“I’ll go with you as far as the bridge,” Nate said.

The high priestess looked out, then nodded. William said, “Good luck.”

“You too, Gunn.”

Once outside, they replaced the beam that barred the door.

Kantuta led the way to the bridge. William walked behind her, head hanging despondently, his wrists crossed as if bound. Nate marched behind the prisoner, holding a torch aloft in one hand and spear in the other, in the royal fashion. Several groups passed them, some carrying wood, but as soon as they spotted the high priestess, they averted their eyes and bowed.

They reached the bridge over the large canal without incident. In the distant torchlight a large congregation was amassing at the plaza at the foot of the principal pyramid.

“They will make fire to send our king to the other world,” Kantuta said, “with his servants.” She pointed at the British officer and the American.

“Not if we have anything to say about it,” Nate said.

William took a black packet out of the rucksack and left the bag at the bridge. He looked at the American and nodded once. Gunn turned to go, and Nate called, “What’s the kid’s name?”

“Cauã.”

Kantuta led William and Pax over the bridge into the darkness on the other side.

Nate detoured around the crowd forming at the temple and approached the warehouse from the opposite direction.

From a distance, he might look like one of the royal guards, but he thought it best not to test the deception too closely. He avoided a well-lit street, and made his way along a quiet, dark avenue. The warehouse was a short way down a lane to his left. Once there, Nate clung to the shadows of a tall palm grove bordering the square in front of the building; from there he could observe the guards without being seen.

The area was bathed in torchlight, and there were at least three patrols. Even if he managed to take one out, there would be still two to contend with. And he had to first get across the square without being seen.

He recalled how the Brits had successfully marched straight up to the Spanish across the parade ground in Tunja; in desperation he was about to do the same, when a deep muted boom shook the air like thunder, but lower in timbre, accompanied by a rolling tremor that buckled the ground. Branches crashed down from the palm overhead. It was far worse than any tremor he had ever felt. He steadied himself against the trunk of a tree, fully expecting the earthquake to pass. This time, the rolling tremors didn’t stop, but grew rapidly more violent, as if an enormous beast were squirming beneath the ground. A chasm opened directly in front of him, then closed just as quickly.

Kantuta’s son. He deliberated for a moment. If they were to keep Kantuta’s help in getting out of the Sacred Land, he’d better try to get the boy. I must be nuts. This place is falling apart. Abandoning the shuddering warehouse, he hurried as best he could over the surging ground, hoping it wouldn’t be too late.

No one paid any attention to him; everyone was too busy trying to stay alive. He dodged falling tree limbs and stone blocks until he came to the house. Miraculously, it stood almost intact, although the door hung at a crazy angle. He yelled into the dark interior.

“Cauã!”

From the shadows within, a young boy approached. Although his skin glistened in the dancing light, he didn’t appear very frightened. The small blemishes on his skin might have been bright and pink, but they weren’t infected. Gunn was right, this kid wasn’t that sick—in fact, he was looking pretty good.

Kantuta had prepared him well. She had told him they needed to leave that night with the outsiders, and he held a small bag in his hand.

“I sure hope you speak some Spanish, kid,” Nate said, “because we don’t have any time to waste.”

Cauã asked in Spanish, “Where is Mother?”

“She’s waiting for you,” Nate replied. “Come.”

A tremendous convulsion unlike anything they had yet experienced knocked them to their knees. The brick walls split, and pieces of the roof crashed to the ground; dust filled the air, making breathing difficult.

Nate stood and braced unsteadily against a broad piece of timber. Where did that come from? He looked up and saw stars: The roof was almost completely gone. The dust settled, and he could see the entire back part of the building had collapsed.

The booming shakes persisted. He climbed over the debris to where the far wall once stood and found the boy safe under a thick roof support.

“Somebody’s really vexed the dragon’s wife this time,” the American said softly to himself in English. “Let’s go, kid.” Nate helped him stand, and together they staggered out of the rubble through the remains of the shattered door.

Kantuta led William toward the waterfall, the path just visible in the dim light. Behind them, the keening moans of the shaman’s song coming from the city filled the humid night air.

They arrived without incident at the opening in the rock face leading to the black orchids. The priestess gripped the British officer’s arm and whispered, “I will try to have the guards bring torches. They are royal guards and answer only to our rulers; should they resist, we must kill them.”

William nodded. “Let’s send Pax in first.” He had seen how the Indians valued their dogs—Pax would distract them. The big dog slipped through the cleft in the rock.

The British officer concealed in his sleeve the knife Kantuta had given him. She loosely bound his wrists again. A moment later they entered the flagstone clearing. Lit by a single torch, a guard knelt in the semidarkness not thirty feet away and spoke to Pax. Her spear lay on the ground beside her. An archer stood close by, holding a longbow.

William limped in with his head lowered, dragging his left leg. The archer started to notch an arrow but hesitated at the sight of the high priestess.

Kantuta issued several forceful commands to the warriors. Instead of immediately obeying, the guard with the spear stood slowly, one hand on her hip, and calmly replied. William sensed these guards weren’t cowed by the religious order, nor were they going to comply. With their attention focused on Kantuta, the British officer very slowly let the knife slip out of his sleeve until the hilt was in his palms, the blade concealed by his shirt and forearms.

The guards traded words with the high priestess but ignored the lame and bound prisoner. William shambled to within striking distance.

In a flash, he grabbed the archer by the arm; the notched arrow flew wildly. With a powerful upward stroke, he drove the metal blade of the knife under the man’s rib cage and into his heart, killing him instantly.

The other guard whipped about, her spear drawn back for a killing thrust. Instead, her eyes opened wide in surprise. Her weapon clattered to the stones, and she crumpled to the ground. Behind her, Kantuta returned her dagger to her belt.

William rubbed his forehead, and his hand came away covered with blood. Kantuta smeared an ointment on the wound where the arrow had grazed him, while William ripped cloth from his tunic and fashioned a bandage to help stanch the flow. He started toward the majestic cinchona tree.

“Wait,” Kantuta called and hurried along a small path behind the boulders that ran along the edge of the pool near the entrance. While waiting, William took advantage of the time to replenish his store of red bark.

He stripped several pieces from the trunk of the cinchona and stowed them in the pouch tied around his waist. The priestess returned with a lit torch. It had a glutinous foul substance covering the top and gave off a stinking black smoke.

“You use this, the flowers are guarded.”

He nodded and took the smoking torch.

The massive cinchona tree sat on the edge of the pool at the base of the waterfall. Climbing with one hand would be challenging under the best of circumstances, but attempting it under the threat of attack by giant wasps was a truly daunting task. A father’s desperate love for his daughter, with time running out, compelled William forward.

He reached for the lowest branch and pulled. He found a footing. He passed the torch from one hand to the other, and continued up, working his way from one branch to another.

When he was about twenty feet off the ground, a low groan rumbled through the cove. He raised his head, expecting to see the night sky filled with black, roiling clouds and flashes of lightning. Or swarms of giant wasps. Only hazy stars appeared overhead.

The deep roar continued; he looked down. Why is Kantuta kneeling? When the tree swung in a great creaking arc, he realized it was because she couldn’t stand.

Earthquake!

Terrifying, undulating shock waves crashed from deep within the earth. The roaring increased in volume and intensity. Wave after wave struck, heaving the ground like a massive serpent coiling and uncoiling beneath the earth.

Climbing was next to impossible. William wrapped his free arm around a stout branch. He wouldn’t let this stop him; he had come too far. Looking at the rocking tree above, the British officer recalled the boatswain’s mate of the Voyager guiding him up the ship’s rigging in an eight-foot swell, lessons William would never forget.

With the back of his hand, he wiped blood from his eyes; the cut had started to bleed again. He adjusted the bandage on his forehead, then reached for the next branch and pulled. His foot found a secure support. He passed the torch from one hand to the other, then carefully repeated the sequence.

William was forty feet off the ground and almost to his goal, when a thrumming from above blended with the deep rumbling of the earth below.

Nate cast the spear aside. He grabbed the boy’s hand and lurched into the night. They stumbled down the path, the earthquake rolling the ground like waves in an ocean. A surreal nightmare of fire and noise confronted them—the wreckage of buildings, shouting, screams of pain, panicked animals, and above all, an overpowering, deep grating boom. Nate felt as if he were in the hell the New England preachers had ranted about every Sunday when he was a boy.

The fierce undulations continued. He steadied himself against the trunk of a swaying palm tree that somehow continued to stand. Branches and leaves rained down around them. A wooden structure across the way fell to pieces; flames and sparks leapt high into the sky. Searchers could be seen trying to enter the debris, outlined against the glow, shouting for their comrades—an extremely risky activity considering the still-undulating ground beneath their feet.

Not far from the main canal, they careened down a side street. Through the swirling smoke, the long outline of the partially damaged storehouse could be seen not far ahead.

“What the hell, kid,” Nate said in English, “there’s time for a quick look. No sense in leaving this place empty-handed.” Cauã seemed confused.

A warrior, either stubbornly or stupidly, remained at the entrance. Her eyes wide and glazed, she glanced about continuously, as if hoping for relief. Nate lurched up to her, yelled some gibberish while pointing up the path, and shook his head with a serious expression. She looked at the boy, then at Nate, nodded once, and ran off.

With his free hand, William clung tightly to a branch. His foot slipped as he tried to gain leverage on the limb below.

Wherever the bark of the tree was damaged, black orchids grew profusely. The plants vibrated with the trembling of the great tree. The lowest orchids, some in full bloom, were almost within William’s range. The buzz from the giant wasps had grown louder.

At this height, he was so close to the nest that the noise of the stinging swarm surpassed the roar of the tremors. The tree swept through an enormous arc, swinging the British officer like a dog shaking a rat. It was as if the tree were trying to dislodge an unwanted parasite. Branches and leaves fell from above as he desperately inched along.

Just a little further. Holding the torch as best he could, he wrapped his arm around the trunk, pushed off with one foot, fully extended his other arm overhead, and managed to grip a branch at the very edge of his reach. Seared from an old lightning strike, the limb just above this contained several flowering black orchids.

He reached out.

The deafening crescendo of the giant wasps abruptly ceased. A furious dark cloud descended. William released the tree trunk to bring the smoky torch closer. Only his grip on the branch overhead kept him from falling to certain death.

The ground rumbled with the violence of a sudden tremor that shook the tree to its roots, the tremendous energy again sweeping the trunk in a great arc. With a crack like a gunshot, the branch beneath William split and fell away; he dropped the torch just in time to grab the bough overhead with both hands. When the tree swung back, the partially severed branch he was holding pivoted on a strip of bark that held it to the trunk. William was flung outward toward the waterfall, still desperately clinging to the damaged tree limb.

The weight on the broken strip of bark was too much. The limb holding William pulled away from the trunk in a clean break.

William fell.

The American was deflated. What had he expected? To see the emerald displayed at the entrance, lit by a dozen candles?

No, that was ridiculous. At first glance there didn’t seem to be much of value in the storehouse. Peering through the smoke, he could make out some wooden spears, blowguns, darts, and vials of colored liquid on wooden shelves.

This was the first time Nate admitted to himself that he wasn’t going to leave with the gemstone. It wasn’t in a storehouse or any other place: an incomparable treasure of this magnitude the king would keep with him at all times. The realization hit him like a cold slap—the Spaniard had killed the king and had taken the emerald.

I’ll track that bastard until I find him.

A burning timber crashed to the ground only feet away. He was glad the boy was outside. A gust of wind briefly parted the smoke in the undamaged portion of the storehouse. He quickly snatched what he could see. A few gems, several small gold and silver objects, including the gold medal the queen had worn to the banquet, and what appeared to be red cinchona powder. Near the exit he seized a blowgun and a few poisonous darts and dashed out.

He stopped in the plaza outside the warehouse to load the weapon just as the structure collapsed behind him. He instinctively ducked, sparks shooting skyward and pieces of smoldering thatch swirling in the air. Burning embers began to fall around them. They skirted the falling debris and only stopped to cough and clear their lungs of smoke. Nate brushed a glowing ember off Cauã’s shoulder. To keep him distracted, Nate gave the boy the darts and blowgun to carry. Then he grabbed Cauã’s hand, and together they ran for their lives.

Debris was strewn along the path, the air full of stone dust, smoke, and floating leaves. Making their way by the light of the fires, they approached the canal. Miraculously, both the canal and the span over the water were still intact, but the steps down to the landing were now rent with large fissures. The bridge was partially ruined with one abutment cracked.

When he spotted the guard from the storehouse standing by the dugouts, Nate stopped at the top of the steps. He signed for the boy to hand him the blowgun.

Whether she was guarding the dugouts or simply trying to decide whether to take one and flee did not concern him. Without hesitation, Nate let fly with a dart. The poisonous needle found its mark; the guard wavered slightly, then fell forward.

Nate staggered down the steps to one of the larger canoes and signed for Cauã to join him. The boy stood frozen by the sudden violence.

Oh hell. Nate picked his way up the steps. He lifted the boy, carried him down, and placed him in the dugout.

“Where Mother?” Cauã shouted.

“Soon,” Nate lied. There was no time to explain. It would have to wait.

He looked up at the partially ruined bridge and tried to peer into the murk on the other side. Ash fell from the sky like a gray snowstorm.

Where in damnation’s that Brit?

Then it came to him with a start—he didn’t have to wait for William; he already had enough trinkets to keep him going while he tracked down Marquez and the emerald. The odds were certainly in his favor to survive the journey out of the Amazon. And the kid would be an asset should he run into any more locals.

He swiftly stowed the pack.

Approaching the ruined palisade of the city, Kantuta half dragged, half carried the unconscious British officer. Pax pulled at his pant leg.

When William had fallen from the tree into the pool at the foot of the waterfall, he had smacked his head on a floating tree limb and been knocked out. Pax and Kantuta had fished him out of the water. In the wavering light of the burning city, his forehead was visibly swollen.

By time they reached the bridge, the priestess was exhausted. She didn’t even notice the heavy damage the quake had inflicted on the structure, now on the verge of collapse. They struggled over, barely managing to reach the center of the span, when Kantuta had to stop to rest. Pax barked encouragement. William managed to struggle to awareness. Consciousness brought back the realization of his failure to obtain the orchid, and of a lightning bolt ripping through his skull. He surrendered to the vortex of oblivion.

Not long after, a strong shock caused the bridge to completely disintegrate, and fall into the canal below.

The American paused before launching the dugout, knowing for certain that without his help, the British officer had no chance in heaven or hell of making it home to save his daughter.

These thoughts evaporated when three familiar figures emerged from the smoky mist, slowly making their way over the bridge, stopping every few feet.

“Stay here!” Nate ordered Cauã. He made it to the top of the bridge just in time to catch William from Kantuta’s exhausted arms. She wasn’t much help as he tried to pull the British officer off the fragile bridge, but Pax seized William’s leg, and together they managed to move the paralyzed officer to the other side. Nate scarcely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before the entire span fell into the canal.

At the dugout, Kantuta hugged her son tightly and held his hand. “Thank you,” she said to the American. He lifted Gunn into the dugout, and Pax lay down beside him. A quick look at the Brit’s badly swollen forehead told Nate all he needed to know. Kantuta said, “I go for medicine.”

“There’s no time,” Nate warned, seeing the warriors hastily approaching through the smoking ruins.

She saw them at the same time. “The royal guards,” she said anxiously. The high priestess’s face assumed a look of grave resolve; she gave Cauã’s hand a squeeze. “Take care of my son,” she said to Nate. Letting go of the boy’s hand, she left the canoe and strode up the steps.

Knowing there was no way he could change her mind, Nate shoved off, propelling the dugout into the middle of the canal.

“Where Mother?” The boy’s eyes probed the smoke. Nate yelled at Cauã, “Look at me!” He handed him an oar. “Paddle! Quickly.”

Over and over, the American dug his paddle into the brown water and ignored the boy’s pleading cries. Only when he had gained some momentum did Nate venture to look back. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the unfolding drama.

At the top of the steps, in the light of a nearby blazing storehouse, the high priestess held an icon aloft. Uncertain, the guards hesitated. An intense tremor brought down the flaming building, and a huge ball of smoke and flames enveloped the scene, sending a cascade of cinders soaring into the night sky to mingle among the stars overhead.

“Keep your eyes on me!” Nate shouted to Cauã. He stole another glance over his shoulder. The warriors appeared at the top of the steps to the landing. Through the dissipating smoke, the priestess could be seen behind them, standing alone, arms flung wide, unmoving for what seemed an eternity. Slowly, she knelt as if in prayer, head raised to the heavens, seemingly intent on the sparks spiraling upward until she was shrouded in haze.

Nate looked at the British officer; William’s complexion was extremely pale. An arrow whizzed past. A wicked thump sounded on the gunwale as a long shaft embedded itself in the heavy wood. There was no time to fuss. Nate and Cauã paddled furiously.

The warriors were at the edge of the water. Nate wished he’d had time to sink the other canoes. Too late now. The warriors had several paddlers for each of the dugouts and would soon be on the fugitives.

We really could use another paddle in the water. “Gunn, can you hear me?” he yelled, and scooped water onto William’s face, hoping the Brit would come around. Too bad Pax couldn’t paddle. A more immediate danger then caught his attention. A shadow, darker than the night, sped along the earthen top of the channel toward them.

“Suasuarana,” the boy said, his eyes wide.

“Right, kid.” The queen’s pet jaguar, coming to say hello. What next? “Here.” Nate leaned forward and handed the blowgun to Cauã. “Load a dart.” As ineffective against the black panther as it might be, the weapon was their only option. He pulled on the paddle for all he was worth.

The black shadow was nearly on them. But then he saw something odd. The Indians had not entered their canoes to pursue them but had retreated to the top steps of the landing. They held the ropes of their pirogues and gazed upstream.

Then he saw why the pursuers had delayed. Behind them, the water in the canal was rising fast. Very fast. A great brown swell came racing down the canal toward them, outpacing even the dark shadow. An upstream weir must have given way under the earthquake and released the main river into the narrow channel.

“Hang on!” was all Nate could yell before the swell picked up the stern of their dugout; he leaned as far back as possible to keep them from being flipped over. Perfectly balanced just below the crest, they rode the wave, rocketing down the waterway. Nate steered as best he could, the jungle on either side a dark blur.

“Good thing they built this canal fairly straight,” he muttered to himself, “or we’d wind up in the jungle.” He yelled, “Got out of there in the nick of time, didn’t we, kid?”

By the time the wave blew out, the dark shadow was gone and no dugouts could be seen behind them. He began paddling again in earnest. Nate knew they would be coming.

The current remained fast. In the early-morning light, the jungle around them began to take shape. William stirred but was still unresponsive. Pax nuzzled the officer and licked his face.

The American glanced behind. “They’re coming again!” He could just make out the pursuers in the distance. There were at least a dozen canoes with several warriors in each, and they were gaining rapidly.

The boy turned and looked at him. Nate would wait until he had the time to properly tell him that his mother had given up her life to save them. Maybe embellish it a bit. That is, if they got out of there alive.

He took the medal he had found in the storehouse and placed it around the boy’s neck. Two Saint Christopher medals in the dugout—there’s got to be some magic there.

Up ahead, the light began to grow.

“Captain Gunn,” he shouted, “I am ordering you to get that paddle in the water.”

William heard his name and an order issued to him. He struggled to sit up, his head swimming. He felt terrible, but was stirred by the insistent voice calling him, commanding him. Opening his eyes, the jungle slid by on either side. The big dog licked his face. He felt light-headed and nauseated. He puked.

“Grab that paddle, Gunn, or we’re going to be in that snake pit before noon!” The American kept looking back as he paddled.

Through the fog of pain, William grasped their predicament—he didn’t need any encouragement. Weak and pale, the British officer plunged his paddle into the water and began to pull as hard as he could. Moving his arms at first was difficult, like trying to drag them through molasses. His skull felt twice as large as normal.

Nate called, “How’s your head?”

“Nothing a few weeks in the English countryside won’t cure.” He saw the young boy in front of him. “I’m glad you brought along another good man,” William said in Spanish, loud enough for Cauã to hear. “Where’s his mother?” he asked in English.

“She sacrificed herself to give us a chance to get away,” Nate replied.

William was silent.

The light in the distance continued to grow. Without warning, they shot out the end of the sluice into a vast river, their momentum carrying them well into the current.

The river was immeasurably larger than any they had ever seen, and it flowed directly east into the rising sun, where bright gold clouds illuminated the surrounding jungle.

The sound of drums reached them from the near shore. On the bank, dark human shapes flashed indistinctly against the dim border of the forest.

“Good God, they must have run all night,” Nate said. “They must think we’re partially to blame for the king’s death.”

Unsure whether the knock on his head might be causing delusions, William shaded his eyes and stared.

On the bank, almost a hundred yards away, two striking forms stood in a patch of glowing sunlight. Their bows were slung over their well-toned shoulders, and they balanced their long lances languidly in their graceful hands. The queen and Ismerai—and they were gazing steadily at them. In the distance, thick plumes of smoke rose, evidence of the destruction of the city.

A flurry of arrows from the warriors in the forest splashed close by.

Nate said, “I suggest we move further into the middle, where the current’s most rapid, and get out of range as soon as possible.”

They dug as hard as they could. William could feel his head about to burst.

“Oh, great,” Nate exclaimed, “we’ve got company.”

William endured the pain to look around. A flotilla of canoes in the middle of the river was quickly gaining on them.

William said, “Pull, Bidwell, pull!”

“What do you think I’ve been doing, Gunn, while you’ve been sleeping?”

The current picked up. Nate searched for the fastest part of the river, trying to eke out every bit of speed they could muster to outrun their pursuers. They expected to be boarded at any moment and didn’t dare stop paddling to look behind.

After several minutes, Nate took a quick glance over his shoulder. Their pursuers were no longer in the middle of the stream. Inexplicably, they were hugging the bank and no longer gaining.

“Gunn.”

Painful as it was, William turned around. Even as he watched, the canoes seemed to lose ground and fade back. Meanwhile, the current in the middle continued to increase and propel them even further ahead.

A few arrows dropped harmlessly short. The current picked up still more dramatically. The warriors receded into the distant mist.

“Seems we’re in the clear,” Nate said when there had been no sign of their pursuers for at least a few minutes.

His arm numb, William said, “Perhaps we can rest for a while. Doesn’t seem much point paddling in this current anyway, does it?”

Nate looked around. The banks were a solid green wall of jungle on either side. And although the banks were quite far away, the dugout moved swiftly past. The current was quite strong.

“Probably saved our lives. But I agree, perhaps it’s time we rested.”

They laid the paddles across the gunwales and leaned on them. Only then did Nate realize how tired he was. “Did you get the orchids?” he asked.

William hesitated. “What the hell, Bidwell. There’s no way to sugarcoat it. I failed, Yank. I failed. No orchids.” He choked out, “I left my young child to the care of others, came all this way through countless dangers. What for?” He shook his head. “I had them within my grasp—almost in my hand. Goddamn it anyway.”

Nate hadn’t seen this despondent side of the British officer before. “We found the plants once, Gunn, we’ll do it again.” They floated for a few minutes in silence. “The boy needs us.”

William thought of the young Indian boy whose mother had sacrificed herself for them and his sense of responsibility answered. “At the moment, Bidwell, the question is why did those blokes break off the chase just when it seemed they had us?”

Nate was glad that the Brit was back with him, but he felt uneasy. Something was not right. He scanned their surroundings. The current was incredibly fast.

“Cauã, do you know this river?”

“No, never leave village,” he said, frightened.

Thinking aloud, Nate said, “This isn’t natural.”

A strange hissing sound. “Do you hear that?” William asked.

They looked at each other.

Nate swore under his breath then picked up his paddle. “Gunn, switch places with the kid and pull hard for the shore—our lives depend on it! Rapids!”

A low rumbling roar rent the air.

Nate felt his skin prickle. He bellowed, “waterfall!”

Too late he realized the plumes of mist rising ahead were coming from a high waterfall. They had to do something fast or they’d be dashed to bits on the rocks below. Nate used every stroke he knew to get to the shore and away from the raging rapids. “The left side, Gunn—deeper, dammit, and draw toward you with everything you’ve got!”

No matter how deep they dug or how hard they pulled, they were caught. They bounced like corks, barely in control.

The stream was riddled with rocks, the swirling waters breaking over many of them. But there were enough big boulders to give them a chance—their only chance.

“We can’t make it straight to the side,” Nate yelled. “Head for the water behind the bigger rocks. Go!” With any luck they could swing from rock to rock and out of the current to the shore.

William missed with his paddle when he tried to grab the first boulder. Nate slowed them at the next rock, and William was able to grab on. But the back of the canoe swung out, causing them to slip down the rapids sideways.

“I’ll stop us,” Nate shouted, “then you latch onto the closest rock.”

Looking ahead for the next large rock, Nate noticed the sharp edge of the horizon drawing close, the gray plumes rising beyond. They were approaching the brink fast. This might be their last chance.

William saw the same thing. “This has to be it!” he yelled.

Nate swung the prow around to the upstream side of a huge boulder. The canoe hit perfectly. They clawed at the rock with their bare hands, trying with all their might to swing the heavy canoe around to the quieter water. They just managed to get a grip on a chipped ledge.

Their fingers clung desperately to the narrow fissure, their forearms straining to the utmost. It took every ounce of their remaining strength and determination to hold on. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the heavy dugout canoe began to swing out of the current.

Cauã shouted and pointed. Rushing toward them, barely visible, was the submerged brown trunk of a waterlogged tree.

“Hold, dammit,” Nate yelled. “hold!” His eyes were glued to the enormous projectile hurtling along on the current. “Hold fast for your life!”

But it was too late. A wicked jolt rocked them and ripped away their tenuous grip. The boulder was gone.

Paddling was futile. The most they could do was swing the canoe’s prow around to face downstream and pray.

His voice edged with fear, Nate shouted to Gunn and Cauã, “Lay back, stretch out, and whatever you do, stay in the dugout!”

William thought of the young boy behind him, just having lost his mother, facing this new terror. “Cauã, stay with Pax!” the Brit hollered.

The noise surrounding them swallowed Pax’s yelp. The big dog instinctively hunkered down beside the boy. They lay back, thoughts frozen, every muscle tense, nerves ready to snap. The gray sky passed by overhead. They could feel droplets of mist settling on their cheeks.

The water beneath them suddenly disappeared.

They were over the edge and plunging weightless into space, the only sound the thunderous cascade crashing, far, far below.