This is a chapter of the novel Earth’s Embrace by Space Cadet Michael. In this novel, the little and the lost becomes the fulfilled and the found - It is a novel of jungle adventure, artificial intelligence, and the answer to what happened to Percy Fawcett. See the full chapter list here.
Previously, we left Greg and his team deep in the Amazonian Jungle wondering about the validity of the myth of the rare black jaguar and the negative superstition surrounding it’s appearance.
The next morning the team sits together with their breakfast of porridge, nuts and sugar.
“You feeling OK? You're not eating.” Kristy asks Andrew.
“I’m fine.” Andrew says, but then a sudden urge hits him and he bolts up and over to the latrine area.
Kristy goes over to Greg and says quietly, “I think Andrew is sick.”
“Keep an eye on him today will you? Let me know if he gets worse. I’m going to push hard today. We can’t afford to go slow.”
Andrew struggles to get the pack on his back that morning. By the time they are at their mid morning break, Kristy is supporting him with an arm under his shoulder.
“Break!” Reeto calls out. The snapping of packs unbuckling fills the air, followed close behind by the wretching of Andrew vomiting up the minimal contents of his empty stomach.
Greg and Reeto are immediately at his side.
“How are you feeling?” Greg asks as he douses a bandana with cold water from his flask, rolls it up and drapes it over the back of Andrew’s neck.
“Everything hurts.”
“He can’t go on like this,” Reeto says.
“And we can’t afford to wait around for him to feel better.” Greg says. “Are you thinking we need what I’m thinking?”
“Ice cream?!” Reeto grins like a child in a candy store.
Greg stares at him. Totally caught off guard, and then remembers that this happens often with Reeto. It’s some sort of coping mechanism. Greg lifts his eyebrows, suggesting Reeto get to the point.
“A stretcher, I know. You’re thinking of a stretcher. I’ll get one together.” Reeto walks off to the porters mumbling loudly to himself, “you’re such a grump in the woods.”
They pull Andrew along on a stretcher for the rest of the day but the fever only gets worse. Andrew skips dinner and goes to bed early. After they break camp the next morning, Kristy, and Greg stand over Andrew, arms folded over their chests, studying him curled up on the stretcher. He is pale as a sheet and drifting in and out of consciousness.
“He needs a doctor,” Kristy says.
Greg turns his back on Andrew and says quietly, “We can’t turn back now, we’re getting so close.”
Kristy turns to face him, “He needs a doctor now. Not tomorrow, not in five days, now.”
“We don’t know that.” Greg says.
“What if he gets worse? What if he dies out here?”
Greg says nothing for a while.
Kristy steps close to Greg, so close he can smell her breath as she shoves her index finger into his sternum. “You know as well as I that this could be malaria. He could die out here.”
“He’s on anti-malarials. It’s not malaria.”
“You - don’t - know - that!” Kristy jabs her index finger hard into his sternum to punctuate each word. She looks to Reeto as she steps back. “I’m taking him back. And I’m taking two of the porters.”
Greg does not answer at first. He looks off in the direction they were heading. The temple is just two days away. Then he looks down at Andrew. “Take all four,” He says.
That next day is rough. Greg, Reeto and the cook’s packs are all heavier with the weight of extra supplies offloaded from the others, and it has rained continuously. Exhausted in their tent that night Greg and Reeto compare the GPS unit to his maps.
“This is not right.” Greg says, running his finger along the map. “We should be here. But we are here.”
“That’s a two day hike!” Reeto says. “What happened?”
Greg presses some buttons on the GPS. “Andrew…”
“What?”
“See here? Our target latitude is ‘-12.030’, Andrew put ‘-12.300.’”
“Uh, huh.”
“And look where that puts us.” Greg points at the map. “There is some very steep terrain in our way.”
A day later they come across a cliff blocking their way. It is hundreds of feet tall, there is no way to climb it.
“We were supposed to be up there by now.” Greg says, pointing to the top.
“Steep? You call that steep?” Reeto says. “I’d call that sheer, vertical. But no, not steep.”
“There should be a way around it. Along to the left.”
They walk along the cliff for most of the day. It is late afternoon when they come across a strange path leading up the cliff, disappearing far above them. It is carved from the stone. Ancient, strewn with fallen rocks, but a path nonetheless.
The path is very wide, wide enough for all three of them to walk shoulder to shoulder, but they prefer single file to keep some buffer to the sheer cliff below. As they climb the path, they are soon above the tallest trees and have a magnificent view over the jungle. The Andes rise up high above them to their right and disappear into the clouds. Away from the cliff and off to the left the forest stretches as far as the eye can see. A river snakes out of the forest and winds around the base of the cliffs.
Then it all happens at once. A loud BOOM explodes out below in the forest. Mike, the cook who is in front of Greg, turns to look and loses balance under his overloaded pack. He catches himself but in doing so, his bag rips and he stumbles precariously close to the edge. Mike, still off balance, does what can only be described as a graceful pirouette to try to keep standing but loses his footing and tumbles towards the cliff edge. Greg grabs Mike’s shirt tight before he falls over and pulls him back, but his pack keeps going and tumbles down the cliff.
Mike takes a few big steps away from the cliff’s edge. “Mios Dio. What was that?”
“I don’t know. Thunder? You alright?” Greg asks while taking a step back himself but keeping an eye on the bag as it lands with a splash in the river below.
“Yes, but we aren’t.” Mike is looking down through the ground to the base of the cliff. “There goes a third of our food.”
Greg watches the bag resurface and float, bobbing up and down as it peacefully follows the current.. He could sprint after it, but he does not have the stamina to do more than a gentle jog. He would never make it.
“Didn’t sound like thunder. Anyway, there’s no storm clouds?” Reeto mutters as they watch the bag disappear around the riverbend.
Greg hears Reeto but he isn’t listening. Everything has gone wrong that could go wrong, they’ve lost time, they’ve lost their way, they’ve lost their team. But until this moment, there was still hope. Now he’s lost that too. That bag disappearing into the distance is the final nail in this expedition’s coffin. There is no way they’ll have enough food to reach the site and make it back home.
He feels a rumbling inside him as his blood boils. Pressure builds until it feels as though his insides might blow out the top of his head like some sort of volcanic cataclysm.
But as quickly as it builds, he exhales deeply and lets the pressure defuse outward, through every pore in his body. Anger will not get him what he wants. He drops his pack and starts walking back down the hill.
“Give me a minute.” He shouts behind him.
There is no privacy as the path is straight here, but Greg walks down the path until he feels far enough away to feel apart from the group. He looks out over the jungle, letting reality sink in. Letting his anxiety and disappointment soften down from a boil, to a simmer, and finally, to calm.
He returns a few minutes later.
“Reeto, you’ve got a gun. We can hunt.”
“I can hunt. But not here. You know I’m a ranger. I stop poachers. I’m not going to be a poacher. That would make me a hypocrite.” And with a big grin Reeto says, “I may be many things, but a hypocrite, I am not.”
“Oh, come on. We’re at the edge of the national park. Just a little further and it’s not protected any more.”
“Sorry, I took my hypocritical oath.” He keeps grinning and wiggles his eyebrows. “Nothing I can do about it.”
“I’ll pay you extra.”
“I’ll do a lot for you Greg, and I’ll do even more for money. But I won’t do that.”
Greg notices Mike looking off into the distance just as he says: “Fire”
Reeto and Greg whirl around and see a column of thick smoke rising from a few miles away.
“Huevón” Reeto rolls out the ó as he kicks his head back and furrows his brow in derision.
Greg looks at Reeto, “Who?”
“Stupid, careless people. Poachers, loggers, drug runners. Hell, maybe it’s your Norwegian friends? Whoever it is, I have to go see. Someone could be hurt.” He looks at Greg. Gauging his reaction. “You know we can’t make it now.”
Then he pushes past Greg and goes back down the path. “Come on Mike.” Mike shrugs at Greg and follows.
“You can’t just go!” Reeto keeps walking. “Reeto!”
Greg has half a mind to continue on his own. He can probably make it to the destination fine. But he would soon run out of food, and he doesn’t have any equipment to purify water.
“I won’t pay you.” He yells after them, but they keep walking. Reeto and he both know that is an empty threat.
Greg tilts his head to the sky, holds his arms out wide and yells as loud as he can. His curses echo over the jungle, cursing back at him. He feels stupid. Stupid for trying, stupid for failing. Stupid for… well he’d be really stupid if he gets stuck out here by himself and dies.
He hurries down the path to catch up with the others.
That night, Greg can’t sleep. Rain pounds the outside of their tent and Greg obsesses over the ancient temple or city sitting just a couple of miles away. But as far as he is concerned it may as well be on the moon. There is no way he can get to it. Not if he wants to live to tell the tale.
He imagines the leader of the Norwegian team, Arild Jensen, his slim figure, his suave gray beard and dark hair, standing laughing as he holds a glass of champagne in an enormous room filled with carvings and murals.An archaeological splendor. Will Jensen give Greg early access? Out of camaraderie for a fellow expeditioner?
Greg chortles to himself. No, Greg would get the same access as everyone else, only after Jensen has published. That means there is a window though, even if it is closing fast. Greg might not be there first, but he can be there second and publish first… He’ll have to come back. But he can’t afford another expedition. The institute will never fund another after this spectacular failure.
Greg shakes Reeto awake.
“Hey, Reeto. Wakeup.”
“Peanuts?” Reeto mutters and slaps Greg’s hand away.
“Hey, wakeup.”
Reeto props himself up on one elbow and squints at Greg through half open eyes, one slightly more open than the other.
“What up boss?”
“Why peanuts?”
“What? You have some?”
“No. Do you know any ways to... “ Greg struggles for the right word, “...to, subsidize another try?”
“Try of what?” Reeto’s mind apparently catches up with his mouth. “Oh, well…” There is only one thing it could be, only one thing that consumed Greg.
He considers it a good while before saying, “What, like move some goods from here to there?”
“Yeah!”
“No.”
“But you used to…”
Reeto cuts him off. “What I used to do is what I used to do. And besides, even if I would be willing, which I’m not, they don’t walk anything through this part. It’s all flown over by plane.”
Reeto lays back down and curls away from Greg. “Get some sleep man.”
Greg is not satisfied. There has to be a way. He’s not come this far to lose all his gear and have to turn back when he is so close.
Eventually, the pounding rain quiets his thoughts and he laughs at his insanity. Drug running is, indeed, insanity.
“At least I still have my tent.” He thinks as he drifts off to sleep.
The next morning they awake early but wait for the rain to stop before packing up camp and continuing on. It is a few hours trek before they come across the destruction that was brought by the fire.
The night’s rain has put out the fire, but it hasn’t scrubbed the smell of char. It is a strange experience, after having hiked through so many miles of dense, tangled forest; Here they are in a sort of natural cathedral, massive trees hold the roof canopy aloft, and gaps that have been burned in the roof, like stained glass windows, play patterns of light on the floor. Where there should have been shrubs and vines, there is only space. All the smaller trees have collapsed and their trunks litter the floor.
Greg feels an immediate connection to something greater than himself here. If he were religious at this moment he might feel a closeness to his god. But instead, Greg feels a closeness to the jungle all around him. It is as if the lack of jungle here is in someway a statement of worship towards the splendor of the surrounding nature. He feels small and reverent as he looks up at the space. It reminds him of when he visited the pantheon in Rome. Even though he hadn’t worshiped the god it was made to, he had felt a deep respect for the space.
“This doesn’t look like it can carry anything.” Reeto says as he taps his foot into a little charred shape.”
It has an egg shaped body, almost a foot long. It has two arms and two legs and despite all four limbs being about the same length, the way it is seated, propped against a tree with its head above its torso, it is clear that it usually walks on two legs, not four. It is as black as the char that coats the clearing, but it has a clean shininess to it, like a smartphone’s touch-screen without power.
Greg stands above the little thing, studying it. “Maybe not carry anything, but it does look like it can walk, and if it can walk, it can see, and if it can see, it might have some video files in there somewhere.”
Reeto laughs. “I like how you think Mr. Townsend.”
Greg bends down next to the robot and wipes the char off various places, trying to see if it has an access panel on its back. He is surprised at how cold it is. Despite sitting in the heat of the jungle, it feels as cold as a running mountain stream.
He grabs it by the top of the torso and tries to tip it forward to get a better look at the back. It is rigid in its position, and resists Greg’s attempt. Greg wrestles with it for a second before compromising and pushing it over onto its side.
As it falls over next to the tree, a sharp piece of metal on its back catches and tears a large hole in Greg’s sleeve. Greg crouches there, shocked at what he sees. Almost a third of the back of the torso is missing and sharp metal all around the edge suggests that something exploded outwards.
“Well that is strange.” Greg stares at the gaping hole.
“Oh.” Reeto says.
Greg looks up at Reeto and is surprised to see him looking out at the clearing. “Oh, what.”
“Look at the trees.”
Greg walks a few steps over to Reeto and follows his eyes out into the clearing. There is a strange pattern that was not visible before in the chaos. Most of the burnt remains of knocked over trees are pointing away from the exact spot where they are standing.
“What is this thing?”
Reeto raises his eyebrows and lowers them quickly. “Well, we found what exploded.”
Greg pulls out a torch, returns to the robot and peers into the hole in its back. He sees nothing inside except the a cavernous hole. He then looks all around the outside. He can see nothing, no panels or screw holes or buttons or plugs.
He finally sits back. “We need to bring this back with us.”
“I’ll get some ice cream.” Reeto says as if it was a normal thing to say.
Greg looks up at him, again, confused for a moment because he had been deep in thought. Then ignoring Reeto and returning to his inspection of the Robot.
“I could do with some right now. Couldn’t you? It would help me pull that sled we need.” Reeto motions to Mike. They drop their bags and go into the brush to fashion a sled.
As they walk off into the shrubbery, Reeto speaks to Mike in Spanish. “Strawberry ice cream, with sprinkles. Always have to have sprinkles.”
“Coffee and chocolate ice cream for me. No sprinkles.” Mike responds in Spanish, and then is quiet for a moment. “Gracias pendejo,” he sighs, “quiero ahora,” which means something like: thank you jerk, I want some now. But given their location, they won’t be having any for quite a while.
They take turns hauling the sled. Despite the robot’s small size, it is surprisingly heavy, and the trip back to the boat is slow. They are short on food and the last two days trekking have been at half rations. By the time they reach the shore everyone in the party is exhausted.
They recognize the confluence of the two rivers, the animal trail. But there are no boats.
“I’m sure this is the place” Greg pulls out his GPS and checks the marker. They are, indeed, in the right place.
They spread around the shrubs looking for any sign of the boat. Maybe it has been moved?
Reeto walks down to the water’s edge. He counts the deep lines made by the boat’s keels as they were dragged up the shore and back down. “One, two, three, four. Two boats came in, two boats left.” He follows one of the drag marks up onto the shore to where the boat had been hidden. The trail ends just a few feet from the water as the mud dries up, but he continues in that direction.
He disappeared behind some shrubs. “Come here! I found something.”
Greg joins him back where the boats had been hidden. Reeto is crouched down, crumbling some dark red stuff between his fingers.
“This is blood. See how it drips along there? Then it stops right here.” Reeto follows the trail of blood to the start of the deep gouges in the soil from the boat being pushed back to the water. The blood pools a bit by the water then the trail ends. “I think whoever was dripping took our boat. And by the feel of this blood. It's been here for a day or two.”
“So not our crew?” Greg says, dearly hoping he hasn’t killed a post doc on his first expedition for the Institute.
“Probably not. Unless they got very delayed, but still, they’d only take one boat.”
“Who else would take our boat? There’s no locals for miles.”
“No there aren’t.” Reeto says. He disappears into the shrubs back the way they had come, tracking the blood trail. Reeto returns a while later. “It seems whoever stole our boat came from the direction we came from. I doubt they were just some passerby on a boat. Speaking of which, we need a boat.”
“Not ice cream?” Greg is in a foul mood.
“That too, clearly.” Reeto says with a smile. “We should call Salvatore, he can pick us up. It will cost you though.”
“Right now, I don’t have a choice.”
Greg pulls out his satellite phone, turns it on, and dials the numbers Reeto dictates. A gruff man answers the other end in English.
“Hello, Reeto gave me your number, said you could help us out.”
“Reeto! How is he?”
“He’s well, well, with me. We are stranded up the Madre de Dios, someone took our boat. Could you pick us up?”
“Where?”
Greg gives his latitude and longitude.
“I can manage that, $500 USD.”
Greg wants to curse but catches himself. This is his only option. It’s not like they can swim back. But he can’t help but haggle. “$300. Half now and half on delivery. Do you take credit card?”
“Deal”
Greg reads his credit card number over the phone and the man promises to leave right away. Greg puts away his phone.
“I hope he’s quick.” Greg says to Reeto.
“I hope he’s not slow because you haggled.” Reeto responds, watching Greg for a response.
Greg stiffens up slightly, unable to come up with an appropriate response.
Reeto hastily adds, “Salvatore's a good guy, he’ll be here soon.”
They all sit down for a rest next to the robot. Mike pulls out the last of their food and they share a simple meal of crackers and salami. It does little to quell their hunger, but it takes the edge off the light-headedness.
Mike pumps water out through a filter into his single remaining pot while Reeto collects sticks and starts a fire. They all sit a bit away, keeping a good distance from the fire’s heat in the sweltering air. The three sit silent in their thoughts for what feels like hours, the robot lying at their feet.
Then Reeto speaks up, pointing at the robot. “Did you see how El Aparato was sitting there against that tree? Like it had sat down to take its dying breath and looked up at the sky longingly before it closed its eyes.”
“I think you are reading too much into it.” Greg says. “Robots don’t look longingly, maybe its head just rolled back when it lost power.”
“Then why was it sitting like that against the tree? Things don’t fall down like that.” Reeto says.
“Yeah, I see what you mean.” Greg is silent for a while. Maybe it is the dehydration, the exhaustion, or the heat making him mad, but he entertains Reeto’s notion and wonders, “Could a robot look longingly up at the sky?”
For the price of a coffee, please consider getting a yearly paid subscription. In return, you will get access to leave comments, and discuss and shape the final draft of the story.
Share your opinions / thoughts / comments / impressions:
Which characters do you want to learn more about?
Will Greg return to find the ancient ruins?