Burial Ground

III

11:15 a.m.

"What do you make of it?" Leo asked.

They had left the light gap and the terrible stench behind them in favor of pushing deeper into the jungle. Morton now took his turn chopping through the overgrowth while the massive Swede Sorenson and the tattooed Rippeth carried the delicate sensing equipment between them. Webber hung back with Colton and him as they discussed the implications of the video in whispers. Dahlia had gathered them all around and shown them the recording mere feet from the remains of the jaguar. While the appearance of what they assumed to be a native hadn't caused panic to descend upon the group, they weren't far from it. Everything about the man had been unnaturally dark, save the sharp teeth. The fact that he had been able to encroach to within ten yards of their position without betraying his presence was unnerving. How many more of them were out there at this very moment, stalking them unseen from the shadows without so much as the sound of crinkling leaves? Had the man been responsible for the carnage in the clearing? It seemed impossible that even a group of men could have been capable of doing such a thing to so ferocious a creature, and if they had, what did that mean for Leo and his party?

"I'm not exactly sure," Colton said. "If there's more than one of them out there, as I suspect, they could have already attacked us ten times over. My guess is they're just curious for now, however, I can't rule out an ambush down the road. As far as whether or not they're responsible for what happened to that jaguar, I tend to think not. I can't see even an experienced hunting party being able to bring down the animal in that fashion. The way the carcass was spread out across the field suggests it was overcome while running at a high rate of speed and torn apart even before its momentum died, which is beyond the physical capabilities of any number of men without a pair of Gatling guns."

"So you think it was shot?" Leo asked. "If the natives have the kind of firepower to---"

"I didn't say that. A barrage of large-caliber rounds would have shredded the whole area."

"What about the hole in the skull?"

"It was too large to have been inflicted by a bullet. Besides, there would have been carbon scoring around the wound, and I doubt the bone would have been fractured in such a manner. My guess is those fissures were the result of an inordinate amount of pressure on the skull by whatever punctured it."

"Punctured?" Leo asked. He and Colton shared a knowing glance. In his mind he saw the twin wounds on the bare back of his son's body on the autopsy table. "You don't think---?"

"I don't think anything at this point. As far as I'm concerned, we have no choice but to reserve judgment until we have enough information."

"But if we're in agreement that the jaguar wasn't shot, and that no amount of men could have killed it like that, then what could have?"

Colton was silent for a long moment, during which the only sounds were the whine of mosquitoes and the crackle of their footsteps.

"Honestly," he finally said, "I can't figure out exactly how the animal was killed. I'm sure we could dream up a thousand plausible scenarios, but operating under a faulty assumption can be deadly. Let's keep an open mind. For now, we need to continue moving, cautiously, and keep an eye out for these men---"

"Supay," Santos interrupted. The diminutive man had obviously been eavesdropping. He stopped in front of them, face ashen, eyes wide. The darkness under the canopy had necessitated he don an alpaca-wool sweater, yet he still walked barefoot across the mat of dead sticks and leaves. "Is legendario supay in selva. Necesitamos dar vuelta detrás."

"There are no demons in this jungle, and we are not turning back," Leo said. This needed to be nipped in the bud right now before the guide spooked the entire party. He looked to Colton, who gave a hesitant nod to Morton. The freckled man parted his khaki vest to reveal the SIG556 automatic pistol under his left arm. Santos's stare darted to it, then back to Leo. He returned to the path and scurried ahead to join his fellow guides, for the time dissuaded from spouting his superstitious nonsense.

"That's going to cost us," Colton said. "First chance they get, they're going to bolt."

"Let them. They served their purpose and got us up the river. They don't know this area of the jungle any better than we do. Why should we hang on to guides who can't guide anymore?"

"That's not the point. If we end up confronting these natives, having darker-skinned men fluent in Quechua would be helpful. Even if the natives don't speak Quechua, the sound of the language ought to be much closer to theirs than English."

"Sam speaks Quechua."

"She's a white woman. Most native cultures still see women as inferior. The mere idea of her speaking directly to them could be seen as provocation."

"Would you rather I let talk of demons undermine the entire expedition?"

"No," Colton said. "You did what you had to do. I'm just sorry it had to be done in the first place."

The conversation lagged for several minutes before Sam dropped back to join them. She wore an expression of extreme concentration.

"I've been thinking about the man in the jungle," she said. "I would guess he's a member of some offshoot of the Chachapoya tribe. The shape of his eyes was almost Caucasian, and he was significantly taller than most indigenous Peruvians. Those were the trademarks of the Chachapoya people. Some historical accounts even referred to them as 'white.' Or I could totally be off-base. Without being able to see his clothes or the structure of his facial bones---or anything for that matter---I can only speculate. But here's what I know. We can't be very far from the rest of his tribe. They must have a village within walking distance, and I'd be surprised if it's more than a day or two out."

"It could be in any number of directions," Colton said. "We could be heading in the complete opposite direction."

"Which would make the village somewhere near the mouth of the river where we camped last night. That's always a possibility, but I'm not inclined to think so. Granted, very few people travel that river. I just don't see any indigenous tribe staying so close to civilization. To remain autonomous, they would need a less accessible region, and one not visible from the air. That means they're ensconced in either a heavily-forested section of the jungle, or like their ancestors, they've built their village on the steep face of a tree-covered mountain. I favor the latter."

"Then it could be anywhere," Leo said. "Hell, with as thick as this jungle is, we could be walking past it right now for all we know."

"True," Sam said. "All I'm saying is that we need to be prepared for the possibility that we might stumble right into it, or come close enough that we could invite aggression."

"Or we could be walking away from it, and soon enough our company will grow weary of watching us do nothing and return to report back to their elders or whatever," Colton said.

"You could be absolutely right. I still think we should have a plan in place should we encounter the village, though. They may not ordinarily be hostile, but a bunch of strangers---especially white strangers---wandering into their midst could startle them to action."

"Who's to say they wouldn't welcome us with open arms?"

"Is that a chance you're willing to take?" Sam asked, looking first at Leo, then at Colton, emphasizing the question with her raised eyebrows.

"We're prepared for anything that comes our way," Colton said.

"We'd better be," Sam said. She glanced back over her shoulder into the dark jungle. "Can't you feel it? Something's wrong. The rainforest is too still, too quiet. There's something out there. Something's going to happen and all of the animals know better than to be around when it does."