RACE AMAZON: False Dawn (James Pace novels Book 1) (22 page)

A sorrier bunch it would have been hard to find.

‘Time to get some hot food inside our stomachs.’  Hammond was the only one standing. He looked quite together as he pulled the pack from his wiry shoulders and set it down lightly on the highway.  Strangely, there was no sign that his ankle had been injured.  ‘No time for resting, not just yet.’

It was time for their second sleep session and Pace received a round of applause when he told them.  Having been living off cold rations since the start, the thought of cooking a hot meal made everyone’s mouth water.

Finding a section of unbroken road, Hammond set about inflating their shelter to the ominous rumblings of distant thunder.  Cosmos strode over to help him.   ‘While you start the home fires,’ decided Ruby, ‘it’s time for us to strip off again.’

‘What do you have in mind?’ groaned Pace, wishing to be left alone with his aching body for a few moments longer.

Without being crude,’ she breezed, ‘we’ve been wading in slime for hours and, well….I...er...think I feel things on my skin.  All over, if you get my meaning.’

As she said it, he noticed the strangest sensation of mild itching all over his own body; of areas of light pressure.  All at once it hit him and he sprang to his feet with a new-found lease of life.

That was how, only a few minutes later, five human beings stood communally naked once again, in the middle of the road.  There were no pleasant jungle showers to be had this time, instead they went through the humiliating but necessary process of de-leeching each other. 

They even had a special tool for the job, produced from Attia’s bag.  It resembled a cigarette end, which Pace knew people used to burn away leeches in the past without them taking a chunk of flesh with them, but it was made mainly of plastic and battery powered.  It had a metal tip similar to a standard car cigarette lighter and worked in the same way.

Modesty went out of the window during this process because the leeches were
everywhere
, on all of them
.
  The group took it in turns to scour one person at a time, from head to toe and in every nook and crack, literally.  

Cosmos wandered naked into the jungle and returned a few moments later with a huge armful of wet, spongy green leaves, which they used to wipe themselves down afterwards before each donned a clean running suit from their pack and slipped back on their waterproof ponchos in readiness for the coming downpour.

‘I’ll cook dinner if nobody minds,’ Pace offered.  ‘And if we eat fast, then we can get some real sleep.’  Another round of applause.  ‘Let’s get going.’

Dinner was freeze-dried chicken stew and dumplings, finished with chocolate biscuits and instant coffee; all of which he prepared in an ingeniously-designed aluminium saucepan.  

The pan was ultra-lightweight and had to be assembled first, coming as it did, in flat-packed form from his own backpack.  Once rigged, it held five pints of water.  The clouds spilled rain down just as he finished assembling the gadget and the others retreated inside Lester, leaving him huddled outside alone; dry beneath his poncho.

He didn’t mind the sudden solitude, in fact he would have walked over hot coals for a cooked meal.  He allowed the pan to fill with fresh rainwater so as not to deplete any of their bottled stocks, which didn’t take long because the shower quickly deteriorated into a full-blown thunderstorm with rain lashing down hard.  

The cooking unit was an amazing piece of kit.  It was a sealed, circular unit, which sat on retractable metal legs that raised it just six inches off of the ground.  The saucepan sat firmly on top of the unit, held snugly within guide runners.  A tiny gas flame, shielded from the rain but ventilated via tiny air holes in the unit’s circumference, was provided by a small gas bottle built neatly into the bottom of the unit.  The flame was tiny but the whole thing had been designed for maximum efficiency. 

No heat was wasted, all of it was channelled directly against the base of the saucepan.  The saucepan even came with a handy lid, which kept any more rain out and retained almost all the heat energy inside.  

Pace couldn’t help but think it was a camper’s dream as he placed five plastic ration bags into the soon bubbling water.  He slid on the lid and smugly proclaimed victory.

The rig boiled its five pints in as many minutes and they were all ravenously tucking into their first hot dinner barely fifteen minutes afterwards, eating straight from the bags using the small wooden spoon taped to the outside of each bag.  Although the shelter was up and inviting, the smell of the food drew everyone back out into the storm.  Using their packs as seats, they formed into a tight huddle around the tiny cooker.  

Pace burned his tongue straight away as the glorious taste of chicken and gravy filled his mouth but he couldn’t help himself.  They lost about two pints of water in the cooking process – there was no simmer control so it continually boiled away.  The remaining three pints inside the saucepan was still enough to make fresh coffee for everyone.  Nothing was wasted.  

For him, and he heard similar groans of ecstasy between delicious mouthfuls, it was the best meal of his life.  Not just because of the heat and the familiar tastes on his burned tongue, but more the emotional strength it lent him; revitalising his spirit from the feet upwards. 

The taste of black coffee at the end of the meal literally blew his mind.  He revelled in the sensory overload of taste and a welcome fix of energizing caffeine.  

After dinner, while the others gratefully turned in, Pace took a few minutes to dismantle the cooker and saucepan.  The food bags were bio-degradable, as were the wooden spoons, so he buried them in the mud at the roadside.

Setting his watch, he squeezed inside the shelter, awaking it seemed before he even closed his eyes to the sound of the alarm.  Sadly, four hours had passed and they had to start moving again.

They all pitched in to break camp.  As Hammond and Cosmos took the shelter down, he did a little more filming, managing to drop the camera onto the hard road surface in the process.  He was relieved when the sturdy casing stayed intact.  A quick check told him everything still worked but he put it away in his belt for the time being.  All in all, it was a manic scene, played out in a rainstorm that had not yet passed.   It was nearly eleven o’clock by the time they set off.  

The conversation bantered freely around and even the odd joke put in an appearance.  As the morning wore on, clouds finally lifted to reveal a gorgeous strip of blue sky above the man-made valley of the road, with its steep sides of forest giants. 

The sun slid into view, bathing the forest with a golden hue and burning off more surface water than sheer humidity.  The normal wisps of ever-present water vapour quickly thickened around them and rose from the forest on either side like a ghostly sea mist.  With the chatter of hidden wildlife, the Amazon truly echoed a sense of pre-history.  

Frighteningly, as the evening drew near again and they’d just completed a running phase, he was caught by a sudden, vicious stab of pain in his chest; so ferocious that it snatched his breath away and persisted for about fifteen minutes before finally fading.  It was an ominous warning and he was very glad they were slowing down at the time.  He said nothing.

United, they walked, jogged and ran, in the planned pattern, ever deeper into the Amazon and deeper into a terrifying nightmare none could foresee.  Completely oblivious to events conspiring against them, each was geared totally to the schedule and their personal struggle against protesting muscles and sinew.

Yet one of them would soon be dead, and Pace’s life would never be the same.

18

There was no ceremony as they reached the cycling point just as darkness fell; Pace made it a little after six pm.  The road was straight and they spotted the distinct orange marker flag even in the failing light, hanging limply against its small steel pole. 

Two separate sets of bikes were there, one for their team and one for the team following in their wake, all neatly set up in a row in the centre of the road; linked by a chain and padlocked.  Ruby already carried the key to unlock them.  Bolted to the top of the flagpole, keeping it well above any water level, sat the fire-truck red, automated checkpoint.  

The checkpoint consisted of a small, allegedly indestructible transmitter box not too dissimilar from the black box of a commercial airliner in terms of durability.  All the box did was allow each team member to punch in a personal four-digit code, which in turn activated a small touch screen no larger than a watch face.  The competitor pressed both of their thumbs, in turn, against the screen, which then scanned the prints and checked them against a record stored in its memory.  Once satisfied, it would beep quietly and the information went digitally, via satellite link, back to the computer at race headquarters.

Pace’s concern for the past three hours had been the state of the road.  Near constant rain had virtually destroyed any quality in the surface and it was getting worse the deeper they went into the Amazon basin.  It was no longer mainly passable, boggy and with a few dangerous pot-holes, instead being little more than a broken track now.  It wasn’t paved and only the very centre seemed solid and compact. Riding at any speed across such a treacherous surface, with countless puddles littering even the centre to a depth of several inches, was going to be dangerous.  

He took a moment to consider the dense walls of vegetation that imprisoned them and irritably slapped away a huge mosquito trying to make a meal of his left eyelid.  Typically, in that steaming swelter and humidity, his respite was brief and the annoying bug soon returned with a horde of its friends.  Those last thirty hours slogging up the road, nearly all of it in a deluge, had served to drain everyone virtually to breaking point.  They were all in one piece but ready to drop.  

Pace checked his watch as he tapped his code into the checkpoint and pressed his thumbs against the screen.  Ruby followed and then helped him set up the shelter while the others checked in.  He switched the transmitter from internal to external and called back to base. 

The computer had already signalled their arrival at the checkpoint and they were congratulated.  McEntire wasn’t there, apparently off in the city meeting some media executives.  Finally, all able to rest, they sank to the water-pitted ooze that passed for the road surface; each of them sucking hard at the slightly cooling evening air.  Pace felt shattered but exhilarated at the same time.  He had made it through a gruelling section over several days and his chest, though sore and burning constantly, had yet to fail. 

Even the ever-present rain seemed less oppressive as they acclimatised to its power and all quickly learned the effect it had on their speed. 

As official timekeeper, he’d already agreed a change in the rest periods once they hit the bikes.  Rest stops would now be broken down into eight fifteen-minute stops, two thirty-minute stops and a sleep period of three hours.  They’d saved enough time at the last sleep period to give them an initial break of one hour at the checkpoint before they would need to mount the bikes and be off.  

Most of the weight of their packs came from the many bottles of water and soft drinks they had to lug with them – there wasn’t any fresh water in the jungle unless you counted the rain and they didn’t have time to worry about collecting it; it was a race after all, not a survival test.  Each plastic bottle compacted down after use and the packs were filled with empties. 

Pace only had one bottle of water left but he wasn’t bothered.  At the start of every section there were fresh supplies.  True enough, three steel chests sat on the ground by the checkpoint, marked for each team.  Their chest was opened and dozens of full bottles were swapped for crushed empties.

Setting up the broadcast camera, he shot some really intimate footage of the team in suffering mode.  Sprawled across the road, athletes stretched and adventurers rubbed aching muscles to dull the pain and stay limber.  Everyone, without exception, was grateful for the extended rest and wished it could be longer.  They’d all pushed hard the last few miles, knowing the bikes lay so close by.  

Hammond decided to hand out some sport drinks and energy biscuits when nobody volunteered to cook a real meal.  Pace quickly became lost in the art of filming, double-checking the white balance, sound level db’s and experimenting with several takes of the same general scene; even trying his hand at a few pulled-focus shots. 

It was a brilliant camera to work with and he begrudged the time it took for him to bolt down his own biscuit and pint of drink.  It was almost accidental that he checked his watch just in time to shout a ten-minute warning to everyone; given there was no sleep involved this time, he had not bothered to set the alarm.  In return, Ruby forced him to cram down another dry biscuit.

Pace crossed over to the waiting machines, ready for a change from footwork.  They stood in a neat row, in the middle of the road, almost expectantly.  There were two tandem bicycles and one single, just as expected.  All were top-of-the-range mountain bikes and each sported large knobbly tyres and a great deal of polished metal. 

Titanium framed, they were very strong yet allegedly lightweight and finely balanced on intricate suspension systems.  Twenty-one gears on each was a daunting thought but he knew they’d get the hang of things.  Shiny cycling helmets hung from the various handlebars, each sporting the name of a member on its front in bold, black lettering.  The head of every racer had been meticulously measured and these same helmets fitted to their heads the week before the race started.

‘Let’s go.  Time’s up,’ Pace said.  

Ruby would take the single bike for the first stretch and act as the team’s eyes.  Pace would double with Cosmos on one of the slower tandems.  Hammond was with Attia on the other one.  

‘No more walking.  I like it,’ beamed Attia, apparently grateful to give his sore feet a rest.

Pace climbed up onto the front seat of his bike and Cosmos mounted the seat behind him.  He reached an arm out to the automated box and lifted a small flap on the top.  Underneath the protective flap sat a small trigger switch.  He pressed it down and heard it click home.  The click sent a confirmation signal that they were starting the second section.  He’d barely drawn his arm back towards the handlebars before a huge surge of power erupted from the big man behind him, sending them rocketing up the muddy road.  His own legs scrabbled for the wildly spinning pedals and pressed into them.  

Pumping his legs strongly, they soon settled into a good rhythm.  The two tandem bikes pitched along, side by side.  Ruby, however, sat up from her seat and pumped her lithe legs furiously on the pedals.  She slowly pulled ahead of the rest of them to assume her trouble-shooting position up at the front.  

A few minutes into the cycling section, with his breathing easier as his body adjusted to the shift in exercise level from being at rest, Pace was able to spend a few minutes filming with the MicroCam, plucking it deftly from his belt and holding it in one hand; needing the other for the handlebars.  The riders bumped their way along the devastated highway for about a mile before it took a slow, easy amble off to the north and rose up a little. 

With the height rise, the road lifted above any floodwater and the surface quality improved.  The brownish roadway became drier and smoothed out, as did his shots, although the rain started to fall heavily again; filling the noticeably fewer number of potholes within seconds.

‘Rain, rain and more rain,’ muttered Hammond, his voice clearly coming into Pace’s headset.

‘No wonder they gave up on this road,’ Pace replied.  ‘It’s no more than a wide track here.’

‘Only the main areas were ever planned to be paved,’ piped up Attia.  ‘What wasn’t built properly was just levelled and compacted.  It’s held up remarkably well considering where we are and how little traffic it gets.’

‘Everyone’s either back in the cities or using the rivers to travel around again.  It’s quicker and more reliable,’ reminded Hammond.

‘Will they keep it open?’ Pace asked.

‘Should they bother?’ replied Hammond.  ‘It would take a lot of money to make this road actually work.  It would need to be raised in level, given strong foundations and proper drainage.  That amount of in-fill, concrete and steel would cost billions.’

‘I don’t see this road doing anything but slipping back into jungle,’ said Attia.

‘That would be a shame.  After so much work to cut the road, it seems a hell of a waste.’

‘Mother Earth is just claiming back what’s rightfully hers.’  Pace couldn’t see Ruby because she was too far ahead and the light was almost completely gone, but her voice came across as strongly as anyone else’s.

  Pace took a moment to wipe his lens and quickly filmed the forbidding walls of jungle on either side of him, panning around to show his fellow riders cycling doggedly through a veiled curtain of rain.  He squinted through the gloom and was just able to make out Ruby’s position by the small orange dot on her backpack.  ‘Ruby,’ he called into his tiny, wire mouthpiece.  ‘How are things up ahead?’

‘Just the same as back there, I imagine,’ she replied cheerily.  ‘The road is supposed to be navigable for the next hundred miles, even in the wet season.’

‘The basin doesn’t have a wet season,’ corrected Attia officiously.  ‘The fringes do, as does the rest of the country, but the rain forest proper is a self-contained weather system, just continually recycling the same old water vapour.’

‘Although,’ Ruby’s tone hardened, ‘I was
about
to say that there isn’t strictly a wet season here.’

‘Sorry,’ said Attia reproachfully. ‘I must stop finishing other people’s sentences for them. Bad habit.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘About the road?’  Pace coaxed Ruby back on the subject.

‘It was checked out by satellite but there’s no saying the rain won’t have changed things on the ground.  These bikes are the best around.  We should be fine.’

‘It’s getting very dark,’ said Hammond.  ‘Time to break out the toys yet?’

Each bike had its own set of powerful lights, at the front and the back.  Both were powered by sealed batteries and topped up via a dynamo as they pedalled.  The front beam especially cut an impressive swathe in the thickening darkness but they’d never planned to use them during the night.  It was just too risky to use them for anything other than late afternoon and early morning illumination.  

Keeping up speed and remaining safe at night required something a little special.  This was why each team member had been given an experimental set of night glasses.  Developed as the next generation in military night vision they looked nothing like the bulky goggles currently used in the field.  Slim line, in the form of an ultra-lightweight strip-visor no thicker than your average pair of fashion shades, they nestled in a specially designed pouch on the side of everyone’s backpack. 

The rules stated they could only use them on speed sections, which was why nobody had used them on the first section.  They had all itched to use them, especially during the evil march to and from the challenge, but it would have been cheating and meant disqualification.

Ruby agreed with Hammond and they slowed to a halt, braking slowly in the soft mud.  Ruby was completely lost from view as the rain grew heavier and colder.  The Velcro flap on the side of his pack opened easily and Pace pulled the visor out.  The camcorder was safely returned to his belt as he slipped them on just like a pair of spectacles, hooking the moulded arms over his ears underneath the hood of his yellow poncho.  Nobody wasted any time getting going again and he was glad to have both hands firmly gripping the bars as the weather closed in.

The visor cast everything in a bright green hue, as clear as daylight, with every detail of his surroundings suddenly plucked from the pit of darkness and displayed for his viewing pleasure.  It took a bit of getting used to, seeing everything in green, but the fact they’d been cocooned in a dark, green rainforest all day helped him adjust.  The transformation was nothing short of magical.

‘Thank God for technology,’ said Attia.  His tandem was bringing up the rear, with him on the rear seat.  ‘How are you feeling, James?  Any pains or breathing trouble?’  Did he look ill?  He hoped not.

‘Not one, but don’t jinx me,’ Pace lied.  ‘With Cosmos on my bike, I already feel like a freeloader. His legs are doing more work than mine.’  Sharper than before, the underlying pain around the site of his healed gunshot wound was becoming his secret travelling companion.

‘That’s okay,’ interrupted the giant’s voice on the radio, even though he could have leaned forward and spoken in Pace’s ear.  ‘If I get tired, you can take over.  Make the most of the rest.’  Then his familiar laughter boomed before suddenly quieting.  Pace could still faintly hear him laughing but only because he was so close to him.  His earpiece had died.  He called out to the other riders but his headset remained stubbornly silent.