Read Pray for Darkness: Terror in the Green Inferno Online

Authors: James Michael Rice

Tags: #FICTION / Horror, #FICTION / Thrillers / Suspense

Pray for Darkness: Terror in the Green Inferno (2 page)

BOOK: Pray for Darkness: Terror in the Green Inferno
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One

Early explorers called it the Green Hell.

This was Auggie’s salient thought as he gazed in quiet trepidation at the monstrous walls of jungle that surrounded him. Clutching his camera to his flimsy chest, his small eyes studied the landscape with keen interest. Consisting of tangled underbrush and vines that hung like coils of concertina wire from the towering treetops, the forest looked virtually impenetrable; an unbroken rampart of green that went on and on as far as the eye could see. Even from the relative safety of their slow-moving boat, the sight of it made his head swim.

Leaning over the rail, he caught a glimpse of his reflection skimming along beside him on the dark water, so close he could almost touch it—a perfect mirror image of his own face, right down to the narrow stump of a chin and the slightly protruding ears.
What would happen if we sank?
he wondered. Tightening the straps on his lifejacket, he imagined the foul caress of that murky water on his skin, his stomach roiling at the thought of all the unknown creatures that lurked beneath the surface. They were at least three hours from Puerto Malaka, which itself was little more than a collection of shacks and dusty streets—to even think of it as a town was being overly generous. If something were to happen to them out here… Auggie shivered in spite of the heat.
You can do this
, he told himself.
Show them you can do this.
In truth, he had little choice. They had come too far to turn back now.

After all the months of planning, here they were, floating down one of the world’s longest rivers in what amounted to little more than a glorified canoe with a lawnmower engine. If someone had told him this was all just some crazy dream, he would have embraced the news without question.

The motorized canoe, or
peki-peki
as it was called by the locals, was large enough to accommodate twelve people, equipped with two long benches that flanked the interior, one on the starboard side and one on the port, and a canopy for shade. Today there were four passengers in all; two on each cushioned bench, sitting slightly apart from one another to better distribute their weight. This did not include Felix the driver, who did not have the luxury of a cushion or even a proper seat. He sat perched on the stern with one pudgy brown hand resting on the tiller and one leg dangling over the rail, his dusty bare foot hovering just above the water. He was a stocky man with a shock of curly black hair and a face like a pug, and he was exceptionally friendly to the three Americans despite the fact that he didn’t speak a word of English.

Without warning, the high-pitched whine of the outboard motor dropped several octaves, and the bow settled into the water as they drifted forward at a near-crawl. This sudden deceleration, combined with the harsh warble of the motor, sent unexpected waves of panic through Auggie. Why were they slowing down? Was there something wrong with the engine? Auggie looked back and saw their guide, Ernesto, chatting with Felix, who was nodding and pointing a stubby finger at something upstream. Ernesto, looking pleased by whatever the driver had told him, raised his binoculars and began to scan the distant shore.

Auggie followed the guide’s line of sight to a narrow strip of beach where the sand was fringed with evenly spaced palm trees, each one similar in thickness and height. A sudden breeze stirred the jungle and the palm trees danced seductively, their bright green fans skimming the sky. The beach, with its sturdy palms and virgin sand, conjured images of some tropical paradise, and Auggie half-expected a group of scantily clad exotics to come sashaying out of the jungle, carrying trays of frozen piña coladas. Closing his eyes, he could practically smell their sun-kissed skin and taste the coconut and rum of their tropical libations. Amused by this fleeting fantasy, he opened his eyes and stole a glance at Ben, who was sitting sideways with one leg up on the bench, his strong jaw jutting out over the rail as he relaxed on one elbow.

Ben Sawyer’s tattered Red Sox hat was flipped around backwards, and he was smiling at some private thought, eyes squinting hard against the midday sun. Auggie watched him for a moment, trying to guess what he was thinking
. Why is he smiling like that?
wondered Auggie.
I’m tired, hungover, and scared out of my mind, and he looks like he’s having the time of his life.
That was the one thing Auggie hated most about people: they all wore masks. No matter how well you thought you knew someone, there was no earthly way of knowing what really went on inside a person’s head.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Auggie said, raising his voice above the whine of the outboard motor. “All these cool little beaches?”

Ben turned his head slowly, the ghost of a smile still dimpling his cheeks, and regarded Auggie with his intelligent blue eyes. Auggie was leaning toward him eagerly, blinking in the dappled sunlight as he waited for an answer.

“Funny,” Ben said in that strange, slow cadence that made people hang on his every word, “I was just thinking the exact same thing.”

Relief spread across Auggie’s face and he leaned in closer, grateful for the distraction. “I never would have imagined,” he went on, “that out here, in the middle of nowhere, you’d see something like that. It sort of reminds me of the Saco.”

“I hear you.” Ben nodded thoughtfully. “I’d love to bring a few beers, set up a beach chair, and just kick back and chill out for the day, you know?”

Auggie opened his mouth to agree but quickly reconsidered. “Eh, not me. You never know what might come crawling out of that jungle…” He smiled, and his eyes filled with a kind of giddy terror.

“You’re probably right,” needled Ben. “With your luck, you’d probably be swallowed whole by an anaconda.”

Auggie’s upper lip twitched involuntarily. “Dude, come on. Don’t even—”

“Or piranha,” Ben interrupted, fighting hard not to smile. “I hear this river’s full of ’em.”

“That’s just a myth…” Auggie’s jaw was clenched and now he was grinding his teeth. He made another imperceptible adjustment to his lifejacket. “They hardly ever attack people.”

“And let’s not forget the tarantulas.” Eyes brimming with mischievous humor, it was all Ben could do to keep himself from laughing. “They grow as big as… as big as Dobermans out here.”

The joke now apparent, a smile slowly crept across Auggie’s long face. It was the kind of unaffected, childlike smile that seemed to show every tooth, warping his features almost beyond recognition.

“As big as Dobermans, huh?”

“Shit.” Ben looked back at him, grinning. “I should’ve said Chihuahuas.”

Auggie chuckled. “You realize tarantulas can’t kill you, right?”

“Maybe so,” Ben conceded, and his blue eyes danced above his crooked smile. “But I still wouldn’t want one of those nasty, hairy little motherfuckers to bite me.”

The two boys laughed heartily, exhilarated by the spirit of adventure and the potential dangers that awaited them. Now Auggie understood why Ben had looked so pleased. It was the moment itself that pleased him. After so many months of plotting, planning, and anticipating, they were finally
here
, wherever
here
was, somewhere deep in the heart of the Amazon River Basin. Auggie could hardly wrap his head around it.

He was still considering this when Ernesto came over and sat beside them. Small and slender, his mahogany skin and smooth complexion glowed with a youthful exuberance. From a distance, he might even pass for a teenager, though it was likely he was somewhere in the mid-thirties. Only his eyes revealed an older, wiser man; one who understood the world completely and accepted it as it was.

In his shy, careful voice, Ernesto said, “Hey, guys?” He seemed to preface any new conversation this way.
Hey, guys?
Always like that, always in the form of an interrogative. “We are going to look at the beach now. The driver, he thinks he saw a caiman.”

Auggie quickly powered up his camera and began to scan the riverbank with the telephoto lens. He knew from his research that caimans were a species of South American alligator, and the prospect of seeing one up close was much more exciting than he had imagined it would be. Sand and trees bobbed into view as his hands trembled with anticipation.

Cursing under his breath, Ben quickly rummaged through his backpack in search of his video camera. He was hell-bent on documenting their entire trip, an endeavor that had actually begun months ago with their initial visit to the Tropical Disease and Travel Clinic, where he had taken great delight in interviewing the doctor about all the nasty, potentially lethal things the jungle had to offer. Now he looked across at Cooper, who was fiddling with his iPod, oblivious to his friends’ growing excitement.

Sporting dark Armani sunglasses, Cooper’s surfer boy hair whipped back from his forehead in long, sun-streaked tendrils as he bobbed his head to the music. Lost in his own little world, as usual. Ben smiled to himself. Even in the deepest jungle, Cooper somehow managed to look as though he had just stepped off the cover of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue.

Despite his lingering hangover, Cooper could not think of a single place he’d rather be at the moment. There was something about the jungle, something he could not articulate, even in his own mind, which made him feel at one with the world.
Totally Zen
, were the words that came to his mind, and that’s exactly how he felt—as though he existed purely in the moment, with no past and no future.

Only the past would not let go so easily.

Last night’s cocktails oozed from his pores, and behind his eyes the echoes of their revelry beat like a drum. Too many Pisco Sours, too little sleep, and now he was paying the price with a skull-crushing headache. He was adjusting the iPod’s volume to drown out the gargle of the outboard motor when Ben caught his attention.

Cooper pulled out his earbuds. “Huh?”

“They think they spotted a caiman over there.” Ben nodded his chin in the direction of interest.

Cooper’s eyebrows shot up. “A caveman?” He smiled skeptically, trying to comprehend the meaning of the joke. “You’re shitting me, right?”

The
peki-peki
glided smoothly toward the riverbank. Here the river had eroded a section of the high bank, and a row of edge-bound palms bowed at various angles toward the water. Several young palms had already taken the inevitable plunge, pulling a confusion of roots from the unstable soil. As the canoe floated closer, a small caiman, roughly four feet long from nose to tail, appeared on a strip of beach between the fallen trunks. Its hindquarters wiggled as it skittered across the sand and slid effortlessly into the brown water. One last swish of its tail and it was gone, swallowed up by the murky river.

Cooper removed his sunglasses to better see the reptile, and the sudden brightness made his eyes water and his head throb even more. After several seconds of blinking and squinting, his gray eyes shot open, wild with amazement. “Wow! Did you see that? What was that—an alligator?”

“Uh-huh.” Ernesto nodded. “Is white caiman. Just a baby. They are very shy.”

Cooper was ecstatic. He slid closer to Auggie. “Did you get it?”

Auggie was scrolling through the images when suddenly he smiled. He angled the camera so that Cooper could see the display screen. The image showed the caiman in a dramatic pose, one clawed foot frozen in mid-air, hovering just above water. Its mouth was slightly open as though smiling for the photograph, revealing two long rows of pointed teeth.

“Great shot, man!” Cooper gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “You’re going to give me copies of these when we get home, right?”

“Sure,” Auggie said, looking very pleased. “But I still don’t understand why you didn’t just bring your own camera.”

Cooper grinned. “What the hell do I need a camera for when I’ve got you? Besides,” he tapped two fingers against his temple, “It’s all up here.”

Auggie shook his head and sighed in resignation. He looked to Ben for support, but Ben was busy gathering information from their guide.

“—the lodge?” Ben was asking.

Ernesto made a so-so gesture with his hand. “Mmm… is about four more hours.”

“What about the research center? How far is that from the lodge?”

Frowning, Ernesto’s small mouth grew smaller as he thought. He shouted something to the driver, whose words bubbled back in a rapid staccato.

Ben leaned across to Auggie. “What’s he saying?”

Auggie cocked his head and listened. “Something about the time, I think.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s way too fast for me, man.”

After a few seconds, Ernesto turned back to them. “Mmm. Is about same distance… four, five more hours.”

The three Americans looked at one another and nodded, settling in for the duration.

The view along the river was a feast for the eyes. As they cruised along, Ernesto identified the various birds by name: the colorful macaws, the ominous turkey vultures, the gangly herons. The fragility and the beauty of the jungle astounded them. Every living thing, from the smallest insect to the tallest tree, was engaged in its own private struggle for survival, each one reliant upon the other; the ultimate circle of life.

Occasionally they stumbled upon other people—brown-skinned fishermen in dugout canoes overflowing with strange fish and unripe fruit, and naked children splashing at the river’s edge—all of them cheerful and friendly in spite of their indigence. Their broad, smiling faces and waving hands were without guile, and the three Americans happily returned their greetings.

“Hey, what’s that guy doing over there?” asked Cooper.

On the river’s edge, a scrawny, shirtless man was working on a noisy contraption that leaned precariously toward the water from atop two rusted pontoons. A confusion of hoses, belts, and smoke-belching pipes, the floating machine reminded Cooper of something from a Dr. Seuss story. The man glanced up, the nub of a cigarette dangling from his thin lips, and waved a grease-covered hand at them.

Ernesto frowned. “Uh-huh. He is looking for the gold. Is okay, this method. Not good, but okay, you understand? Other people use the chemicals to find the gold. Is no good for the river.”
Reever
, he pronounced it.

BOOK: Pray for Darkness: Terror in the Green Inferno
2.2Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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