CHAPTER 36

“So now do you guys call it quits?” asked Chet, aiming his camera at Dad.

“Of course not, Mr. Collier,” said Dad calmly. “We will forge ahead on foot until alternative forms of transportation can be procured.”

“Um, Dad?” said Tommy. “Not for nothing, but I don’t think there are any SUV dealerships in the middle of the Peruvian rain forest.”

“Maybe we could patch the tires,” I suggested.

“They chewed them to pieces with their saws, Bick,” said Beck.

“True. So it would be a ginormous patch job. Maybe we could find a rubber tree—”

“You can’t just take the bark of a rubber tree and retread a tire, Bickford!”

“Well, Rebecca, I don’t hear you coming up with a better idea!”

We were about to break into another Twin Tirade when the leaves started rustling ominously again.

A group of what I figured had to be locals stepped into the clearing. They looked like a family, all of them dressed in a mix of modern and traditional clothing of the indigenous people. Oh, indigenous is one of those words Mom taught us when we were, like, six. It means “the original or native people.” The ones who have been living somewhere even longer than a masked maniac with a chain saw.

None of our new visitors were carrying logging equipment or rifles, although the man who looked like the head of the group was wearing a traditional feathered headdress.