The First Bird

PROLOGUE

Esubio slammed into a tree and crouched there, sucking in wet ragged breaths and hugging his prize. His head pounded and his skin itched, but still he grinned. Esubio Salamanca Urey had enlisted with the Bolivian army to fight against Paraguay in the war over their disputed border, but his real goals were vastly different. He needed transport to the most impenetrable and secretive jungle in the world. Legend had it there were riches there … and he had a map.

More missiles flew — the natives had found him, letting loose another flock of their four-foot long poison-tipped arrows. The only thing that blunted their aim was the tangled vines and creepers, so tightly woven in some areas that they formed a single knotted mass.

He clutched the idol to his chest and darted off again, zigzagging along an animal track that was little more than a parting of fern fronds, young trees and fungus. The ground squelched under his feet as he bullocked through the mad green hell. He stumbled again; the golden object was heavy, and slippery, but he would die before he released it.

Esubio sucked in more humid breaths, coughed wetly and spat. His head hammered, and his lips, ears and eyelids tingled strangely. He increased his pace, knowing that if he could make it to the river there was a good chance he could find his squad. Next time he’d come back with his own army of trusted friends … after all, he’d found enough gold to make a hundred men rich for a thousand lifetimes. Together, they’d clear these strange gorilla-people out. He’d bring dynamite to reopen the now-collapsed hole he had found in the mighty cliff walls, and then they could fill boxes with the stuff.

More arrows flew. He tripped as he tried to avoid the deadly projectiles, cursing at the natives’ aim, speed and ugliness. More like apes, he thought. Getting to his feet, Esubio wiped his face. His sleeve came away wet with blood. Had he cut himself? Probably. He staggered on, grimacing as a weird sensation came over him. The constant itch had changed to a mad crawling sensation, as if a million ants had taken up residence beneath his skin. He knew that in the Gran Chaco everything that could crawl, slither or fly wanted to suck your blood or feed on you — or in you — but this felt strange, like his entire skin was … shifting.

Esubio dove into the hollow of a tree and tried to calm his breathing, letting his gaze move over the thick jungle. He rested the golden idol on his leg. It was getting harder to hold as his hand became even more slippery — unnaturally so. He raised his arm to examine it.

“Madre de Dios.” His lips pulled back in horror. The skin seemed to sag like an oversized glove. He touched it with his other hand, and his fingers went through the skin as though it was nothing more than tissue. Esubio’s eyes widened in terror. As he watched, more of the skin sloughed off his arm. He leaned forward in horror and clumps of hair, some still with scalp attached, came away from his head and plopped wetly into the mud.

“Por favor Dios, por favor Dios.” He put a hand to his face and felt looseness. “No, no, no.” He got to his feet, letting the idol fall into the soaking earth, instantly forgotten. He looked again at his hands, praying the horrifying vision had just been a trick of the light, or a touch of jungle madness.

It hadn’t. Both hands were now were red and glistening. The outer layer of skin had entirely slid away, leaving muscle, tendon and bluish veins exposed to the air. Esubio wailed, and spun helplessly, just as a long arrow took him in the chest. He sank to his knees as the natives caught up and surrounded him. As his vision began to fade, he saw them halt suddenly, recoiling as if he was some sort of poisonous reptile.

Infectado, he thought, and could have laughed at fate’s mockery. He had hacked through miles of strength-sapping jungle, found the hidden place and crawled on his belly though a tiny rift in the cliff wall. He had seen things in that strange secret world that shouldn’t have existed and then found the mountains of lost gold. And now he was being brought down, not by the arrow, but by something so tiny as to be near invisible? Some ancient god’s joke, surely?

He wailed. This is not how it should end!

Another arrow pierced Esubio’s neck and he fell forward. The small golden idol sat upright in the mud, its leering face staring back at his disintegrating frame.

As his fading vision swam red and life left him, Esubio felt the gentle touch of the soft earth as the natives threw its dark dampness over his corrupted body.

Padre Celestial, por favor perdóname. With wet earth in his eyes and mouth, darkness and silence took him.