[Atlantean's Quest 01] The Arrival (7 page)

The pack on her back grew heavier, like a leaded weight, so much so she’d become convinced items had been added to the sack while she wasn’t looking. Rachel shrugged it off her knotted shoulders and set it down on the ferns growing about her feet.

The tops of the trees swayed gently, rustling with a breeze, but the light wind didn’t reach the jungle floor. Down here the air was musky, heavy, and damn near stifling. On the occasion that it did stir, Rachel caught the scent of orchids and lilies, although she had yet to see any of the elusive blooms.

Vines and lianas tangled their corded lengths around the tree trunks, in thick black ropes that looked like sprouting hair. Primordial tree ferns grew rampant, adding to the overall denseness of the jungle.

Rachel stretched her weary muscles. Her back hurt and her bones cracked as she moved her hips side to side. Her feet were aching from the blisters that had formed, worse than the time she’d tried to break in a pair of stilettos on Madison Avenue.

Jac and Brigit’s faces danced before her eyes. They shook their heads, their expressions clearly taunting her with
I told you so
. Rachel stuck out her tongue at the imaginary images.

She’d show them. She wasn’t a quitter.

Determination coursed through her tired veins. She swatted a mosquito. The little pests had probably already sucked a pint out of her. She was surprised she didn’t feel faint from blood loss.

The natives pulled out bits of jerky, camu camu, and manioc from their packs and started chomping away. She looked longingly at the dry, salty meat and fresh fruit. Her stomach growled. She was sure somewhere in her pack an emergency stash of chocolate lay hidden. Maybe now was a good time to find the sweets.

Rachel bent over and started to search her pack when a brown hand stopped her. The man bringing up the rear pressed a slice of jerky in her palm, along with a camu camu fruit. She thanked him in his language, and then greedily ate the morsels.

Water canteens were passed around, and then, too soon, they were trekking through the tangled mass of growth once again.

The trail, if you could call it that, narrowed and the going slowed to almost a crawl. Guides with machetes hacked their way through thick lianas. Two hours and less than a mile later the vegetation changed. Plants thinned out a tiny bit and the leaves got larger.

Rachel stopped to examine a particularly distinctive purple leaf, her hands shaking from the effect of the caffeine-rich camu camu on her system. With a piece of that fruit a day, she’d never need another cup of coffee.

Breaking off the beefy purple leaf, she flipped it over and ran her trembling fingers along the veins in the center. Light fuzz covered the entire area. Water droplets lay captured in its tiny follicles.

Chills raced up her spine, as though she was being watched, and she quickly glanced over her shoulder. The jungle was still, eerily so. She searched the treetops for any sign of movement, but caught none. A sloth sat motionless a good fifty feet above her. But other than that creature, she saw nothing.

She rolled her shoulders in an attempt to ward off the unwanted sensation and brought her attention back to the plant in her hands.

Something wasn’t right. This plant wasn’t right. It shouldn’t be here.

At that moment Rachel knew that this whole expedition was a bad idea. She lifted her head, searching for her colleague. “Dr. Donald, come take a look at this.”

He stiffened, hesitating for a second. Anger twisted his face into a macabre mask as he stomped back to where she stood, crushing several fragile ferns in his path. “If you can’t keep up, you’ll be left behind.”

Rachel shot him a heated look.

The Professor’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He looked at the leaf in her hands, then snatched it away for a closer examination. He turned the plant over, staring at it for a few minutes, before declaring, “I’ll be damned.”

“What is it?”

“This plant is supposed to be extinct.”

“I thought so, but as you know my specialty is not botany.”

“This particular plant was declared extinct over two hundred year ago,” Donald remarked.

Rachel smiled. She had her sample to take back to show the board. Her promotion guaranteed.

The Professor looked over his shoulder to the men and motioned for one to join him. “Bag a sample and we’ll bring it along.”

A large native man with black eyes walked forward. He lowered the pack from his brown muscled back and took out a bag.

Rachel stopped the native’s actions by placing her hand over the top of his. “Professor don’t you think I should carry the leaves? After all, I found them.”

Donald looked down at her hand and then into her face. His eyes flashed fire. “We’re all in this together, my dear.” He sneered and patted her gun in his pocket. A quick nod told the man to continue.

The native pulled his hand from Rachel’s and carefully snipped another leaf from the plant. Rachel’s face burned as the native slipped the sample into a plastic bag, along with the one the Professor had been holding. He dropped both into his pack and then hefted the pack onto his shoulders and they headed off again.

Rachel bit the inside of her cheek so hard she drew blood. Donald planned to take credit for her discovery. She’d been so naïve to think he’d actually let her get an ounce of credit on this expedition. Once again, she hadn’t anticipated this level of devious behavior from him.

Every time she thought he’d sunk as low as he could possibly go, the bar would drop again. That’s fine. He could keep this sample for himself. She didn’t need it. There’d be other discoveries. She decided that the next item she came across she’d keep for herself. It would be her little secret.

Rachel studied the variety of flora and fauna as she hiked through the jungle. It was amazing what grew under the thick canopy, considering how little sunlight reached the floor. Cat’s Claw plants were all over the jungle floor, along with lemon grass and gray fungus. Ginger flowers as tall as a shrub bloomed with beautiful red petals.

Monkeys played amongst the trees, swinging from vine to vine, using their tails and hands. She caught glimpses of red and gray fur with each flurry of movement. Parrots with brightly colored blue, yellow, and purple feathers flittered overhead, their squawks so loud at times she couldn’t hear herself think. The area was magnificent in its primal splendor.

She wondered what else could be in this jungle that should have been extinct years ago. She shuddered as she recalled the massive print in the mud. Bigfoot flashed in her mind, before she rolled her eyes at her own foolishness. It wasn’t that mythical creature, but something far more dangerous to her senses.

Long blond hair, a massive chest, shadowy features and heated caresses flashed through her mind. She flushed as she recalled his tongue buried deep within her body, devouring her.

Could it have been a dream? But it seemed so real.

Rachel stopped for a second, closed her eyes and bit down on her lip to keep from groaning. She tried in vain to shut off the rush of sensation washing over her. She blinked, willing herself to face reality, not fantasy.

He forced you, remember?

She snorted. It hadn’t taken much persuasion on his part. She’d opened for him quicker than the doors at a New York Barneys’ sale. Rachel felt her panties dampen as she imagined what the rest of the god’s body looked like. Exactly like the man in the erotic dreams she’d been having back at home. She shook her head to clear the carnal thoughts.

It has to be jungle fever.

He couldn’t have been real.

It was afternoon by the time they reached the mouth of a large muddy river. The water looked deceptively calm on the surface, but mini whirlpools breaking the top told otherwise. The shore held bits of gold and rock that had washed up from the running water.

Not enough to get rich
, Rachel thought,
just enough to fire greed.

The men shuffled their feet in unease. Heated words were exchanged as the native guides pointed at the black waterway and shook their heads. Their whispers carried tales of a deadly undercurrent, gigantic snakes and fanged monsters. Several of the men stepped away from the water, shaking their shaven heads, refusing to go in.

Dr. Donald bellowed at the lead guide in charge of the men, making it perfectly clear what he expected to get for his money.

She couldn’t hear everything being said from her position toward the back of the line, but saw the men glance in her direction a couple of times.

The Professor’s face glowed red as he pushed his way to where Rachel stood. “It seems, my dear, these superstitious bastards are refusing to cross.”

Rachel looked over Donald’s shoulder to the group of men. “What has them so spooked?”

Donald arched a brow. “Apparently they believe a fierce tribe lives on the other side of the river and that if we cross we’ll all die.” He shrugged as if that were no big deal.

She couldn’t quite hide the curiosity in her voice. “What kind of tribe?” Rachel took a step forward, not wanting to miss a word.

“I haven’t been able to get much out of the men. They keep jabbering about ghosts and a sacrifice. They seem to think by talking about the mythical tribe, it will actually bring them to us, or some rubbish like that,” he blustered.

“A sacrifice?”

“You know—probably the usual virgin sacrifice. Care to volunteer, Dr. Evans?” He smirked and raised an eyebrow as if he seriously considered giving her to the guides.

“Sorry, Professor. I don’t qualify,” Rachel bit out, meeting his gaze evenly.

His face flushed, making it almost purple against his ruddy complexion. “The men believe we’re being followed as we speak. You may want to watch your back.”

It was Rachel’s turn to feel ill. She looked over her shoulder at the peaceful jungle and went from hot to cold in seconds.
Was her dream man here?
She’d had a feeling that something had changed when they came upon that plant.

Call it woman’s intuition, or just plain city girl mugger smarts. She should have insisted they turn back then. She just didn’t want her overactive imagination costing her the promotion she’d worked so hard to get.

Donald cleared his throat and placed an awkward hand on her shoulder, the touch light and fleeting, far from comforting. Just as quickly, he snatched it back as if afraid he’d catch something from the miniscule contact. “I want you to speak with them. You know their dialect. Reason with them.”

The Professor’s words brought her out of her haze. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” She glanced to where the men were gathered. They were eyeing her strangely. She shook off the sudden premonition and turned to the Professor. “If they’re trying to warn us, maybe we should listen.”

“Your specialty is ancient languages and cultures, yes?”

“It is but—”

“But nothing. You listen to me. If you want to have a chance in hell of getting your promotion, Dr. Evans, you’ll get over there and convince them everything is fine.” His face twisted into a ghoulish expression of disgust. “Remember, I’m the one who will fill out the report when we return to New York.”

Rachel’s shoulders slumped. She had no choice but to do what Dr. Donald demanded.

She walked to Jaro, the native guide who was in charge. In a calm voice she told him that if they did not cross the river, the fat man with the red hair was not only going to punish them by not paying, but planned on hurting her, too.

Black eyes shot in the direction of the Professor. The native guide’s gaze narrowed to daggers before releasing a slew of words to the other workers. Rachel cringed at the rapid fire of his angry dialect. He’d demanded that the packs be picked up and hauled to the other side of the river.

He looked down one last time into Rachel’s face. For a second she thought she saw lust in the black depths, but it dissolved so quickly she figured she must have been mistaken.

The group walked further down the muddy shoreline. The river narrowed and appeared to be passable. The first three guides went into the murky water, carrying the packs on their heads. The swirling torrents hit them about chest high, causing a rough wake to fan out behind them.

The men kept a watchful eye on the water, looking for anything out of the ordinary. All three made it safely to the other side and signaled for everyone to follow.

Rachel squinted against the sunlight on her face, enjoying the fluffy clouds floating blissfully on the breeze. This was the first time she’d gotten an unobstructed view of the sky. She’d missed the sun.

She was second to last in line when she stepped into the river, holding her pack over her head. The water was up to her chin by the time she reached the halfway mark. If it got any deeper, she’d have to swim for it.

Her arms trembled beneath the weight of the pack. The stones on the riverbed were slick with moss, making her footing less than sure. Rachel stepped carefully, knowing that if she slipped she’d probably drown.

Finally, she reached the far shore and turned to see the last guide crossing with his pack above his head. He was halfway across when his face drained of color. No one seemed to notice but Rachel, because everyone was too busy checking their packs and equipment. She scanned the water, but couldn’t make out anything unusual.

He screamed, “Anaconda!” in his native language.

All chatter stopped.

The horror filled sound reverberated off the distant cliffs, bouncing against the trees, finally muting against the swirling water. The pack flew out of his hands and rapidly floated down stream as he started to run the rest of the distance to shore.

His eyes were wide and his nostrils flared as he tried to suck in enough air to fuel his flight. He made it ten more feet before something unseen and stealth-like grabbed him from beneath the water and pulled him down.

His last cry was cut short as his head was sucked under. For a few moments water churned where he’d been standing, before returning to its deceptively calm exterior.

Rachel heard a distant scream that seemed to grow louder with each passing moment. The cry sounded wounded and animalistic. She strained to focus on the direction, but was unable.