The Amazon Code (19 page)

So it was a surprise to her that she and Ben had ended up together, even though they had their frustrations with each other. After Yellowstone, they’d simply continued being together, neither one of them questioning their relationship. She moved into his cabin out of necessity — it was an extremely long commute — and traded in her job at the CDC in Minnesota for a more laid-back position that still fit her interests.

Julie finished her walk through the kitchen and dining hall and entered the room next door. Four sets of bunk beds were bolted to the walls on both sides of the room, and two hammocks were stretched across at the far end. She was initially shocked to realize that they would all be sleeping in the same room, then remembered where they were. There was a closet taking up some space in the far corner of the room and the door had swung open. She saw a simple toilet and sink inside, and nothing else.

How long are we going to have to live like this?

The door at the far end of the room opened. Captain Garcia walked in. He smiled and lifted a hand.

She did the same. “Who’s driving the boat?”

Garcia smiled again and waved. Julie cocked her head sideways. “Do you speak English?” She realized that she had only heard him introduce himself — all of the man’s discussions with his lone crew member had been in Spanish or Portuguese.

The man waved again. “Small.”

“Right,” Julie said. “Got it.”

She stood in the room, still examining their living quarters for the next few days, and watched as the captain tossed himself up and into the first hammock, and he began to snore almost immediately.

30

THAT NIGHT PAULINHO SLEPT IN fits. He wasn’t sure if it was the bed or the old, starchy sheets, or the huge bruise on his side, or just the simple fact that he was on a boat in the middle of the Amazon River fleeing dangerous mercenaries.

The group moved him to the main quarters, next to the kitchen and dining hall. Archie and Reggie had deemed him safe to move, but no one knew if his wound was going to be more of a problem if they left it alone or if it would heal up well enough. He could mostly walk on his own, aided by a simple crutch made out of a stick someone had found, but he opted to lie prone for most of the afternoon and evening.

He agreed with Juliette that he should see a doctor, but he also understood Reggie’s opinion of the matter. They were a long way from home, on a mission, and time was certainly not on their side. He didn’t argue one way or another — the group could determine what was best for the group, and if he was supposed to die here from a festering wound in his side, so be it.

Dinner had been served in the hall, but Paulinho was as unimpressed as the others. He’d watched Captain Garcia open one of the bins stacked in the kitchen, remove a loaf of bread, and open a can of tuna. The man retrieved a slice of bread and began to prepare his meal. He overturned the tuna onto the bread, allowing half of the juicy fish and its liquid to land on the slice of wheat bread, then held the can up for his sole crew member and watched as he repeated the process. The skipper was done eating by the time his first mate had finished making his one-slice sandwich.

Paulinho was initially disgusted — he wasn’t a fan of tuna, especially the canned variety — but as he neared the bin he was pleased to find other sandwich options available. He pulled out a jar of peanut butter and some grape jelly, and made a quick meal. Some of the group came in to join him, but the talking was reduced to simple one-word statements and answers, proving to Paulinho that everyone else was just as hungry as he was.

When he had finished, Amanda and Rhett helped him back to his bunk. Rhett’s own injury was doing much better, and the kid was walking around with hardly a limp. He was quiet, choosing to sit alone rather than with the rest of the group at dinner, but Paulinho wasn’t bothered by it. He assumed the kid was still getting his legs under him, and intended to give him space.

He had dressed the wound again as soon as they came on board, and Reggie had reported that it seemed to be healing nicely. Paulinho thought back to when they had begun this leg of the journey. It seemed like a year ago when they first boarded, and Paulinho was surprised to admit that they had made great progress during the day, so far unimpeded by the men who had fired on them earlier. He struggled onto the bed, but felt immediately relieved to stretch his legs out and begin to fall asleep.

Even before his eyes were closed he knew he would be dreaming again. There was something inside him, something urging him forward into sleep, that told him. It would be the same dream, the swirls and the gentle dance of the shadows in front of his eyes, part of his mind’s recreation of an event he didn’t remember and yet still happening in front of him, not part of him at all.

He was correct, and as soon as his eyes closed the dream began. It was stronger this time, somehow more vivid than all of the other dreams he had. The subject matter was the same — the same imagery, the same scene, but it was different. It was no longer in front of him — he was a part of it. The shapes moved around him as if he, too, was also moving. He played with the shadows, reaching out with his arms and hands and swirling their bodies around him. It was a jovial dream, one both captivating and positive as well as nostalgic. There was nothing more than colors and shapes, so it was impossible to tell where, in fact, this particular scene was taking place, but Paulinho’s mind seemed to think it had been there before.
 

The dream lasted a mere five minutes, but to Paulinho the dream itself was an hours-long recreation of an event that he had attended before, only in his mind. The conscious part of his brain tried to make sense of the images; it tried to place the shapes and colors and events in chronological order, in some way that made sense. It was in vain, of course, as Paulinho’s mind had no concept of its other half, he was merely a gracious captive of his own imagination.

The dream ended, and Paulinho entered a different phase of sleep, this one restless. His side ached, and he awoke in a cold sweat. The discomfort of the sleeping position began to cause him more pain and he sat up in bed. He swung his legs slowly over the edge and placed them on the cold surface of the boat’s wooden deck. Feeling around in the dark for his staff, he collected himself and walked up to the top deck.

The clean jungle air was a welcome change from the stuffiness of the cabin, and he inhaled deeply as he leaned over the edge of the riverboat. The captain and crewman had alternating shifts during the night, and Paulinho wasn’t sure which of them was currently at the helm, but the boat continued steadily upriver. Compared to the gentle hum of their engine and the water it displaced, he couldn’t hear much of the jungle noise around them. He strained to listen, trying to hear anything reminiscent of what he knew the jungle should sound like at night. It seemed apprehensive, like all of them. The giant boat plowed into its home, and it retreated in silence as they passed through.

“Need some fresh air?”

Paulinho whirled around, only to wince at the severe pain the movement caused. Amanda was smiling at him from the top of the stairs.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not you, it’s this…” he pointed to his side.

“At least you’re up and walking around,” she responded. “I’d be on my butt for a week if I even got a cut on my finger.”

He smiled as she joined him on the top deck. In the darkness, they watched the deep shadows of the trees and their hidden life float by them.

“What do you think is out there?” He asked.

“Everything,” she said. “Everything, and it’s watching us.”

He laughed. “Well, that’s dramatic.”

“Unfortunately I have never been in the jungle, so I get to maintain the illusion that this place is one of the most dangerous on earth, full of monsters and creepy crawlies no one’s ever heard of.”

Paulinho turned to her and grinned. “You have an active imagination, but that’s not too far from the truth. This place
is
full of monsters and creepy crawlies, but most of them are documented and we’ve heard of them.” Paulinho sighed.
 
“Hey, while I have you here, I’ve been meaning to ask you —“
 

“Been having nightmares?”

Paulinho stood silent for a moment. “How’d you know?”
 

Amanda laughed. “Sorry, just a guess. In my line of work, friends and acquaintances usually always come to me when they’re having weird dreams. You’re out here on the deck, at night, and you need to ask me something. Just trying to connect the dots.”

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t exactly call them nightmares. It’s… it’s more like a really nice, pleasant recurring dream. One I’ve had a few times all my life.”

“I can’t really interpret dreams. No one can, truth be told. At least not with any reliability.”

“No, it’s not that,” Paulinho said. “I’m not sure this one can be interpreted. I just want to know why it’s getting more and more vivid.”

“Are you sure it’s not just because you were asleep only moments ago? You remember it in greater detail?”

“Pretty sure,” he said. “It’s not exactly a
vivid
dream. It’s like swirls, and colors, and dancing shadows. I don’t know what it is exactly, and I never will. But everything — the colors, the swirls, all of it — it’s like it’s happening all around me, it’s more…
 
in my face. Does that make any sense?”

Amanda thought for a moment, focusing on small rippling waves far down below as the boat cut through the water. She looked up into Paulinho’s eyes. “Not at all.”

They both laughed, then Amanda continued. “Seriously, though. In my profession, dreams aren’t ever artistic. They are scientific exploits. Results of a strange assortment of chemicals and reactions in the brain, all melted together into one picture or video that seems to make sense to the person experiencing it. But the thing is, when you start studying it closer, you realize it doesn’t make sense. None at all — the science starts to break down, and you can’t re-create chemical reactions in the lab. Heck, the only way we’ve been able to actually study
real
dreams has been to figure out a way to
record
real dreams.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing at NARATech,” Paulinho said.

“Exactly,” Amanda said. “No pun intended, but it’s always been my dream to figure out a way to better study dreams. I want to understand why people dream, what they dream about, and what it all means.”

“It’s not enough to ask people about their dreams?”

“As I’m sure you know, people often don’t remember their dreams the morning after. They have a hard time piecing things back together because the human brain seeks patterns. The pattern recognition module that we are all equipped with in our heads is extremely strong and well-developed. What makes sense to our subconscious mind when we are sleeping is almost inconceivably ridiculous when we wake up.”

Paulinho thought about this for a moment. He had to agree — trying to remember his own dreams was usually a fruitless endeavor. Most of the time he could recall the major events, people, and places, but the details were a mess.

“That’s why in a dream you can have three mothers and a father with seven legs, and it all makes perfect sense while you’re dreaming. Then, when you wake up, your conscious mind, trained over years of life and countless millennia of evolution, tries to piece things together in a streamlined way. It removes the minor details — more than one mother and more than two legs — and makes you think that you dreamt about your mom and your dad. Of course, that’s not very interesting at all, so in a few hours, or a few days, we will forget about that dream entirely.

“I tell my patients to write down their dreams, as soon as they can remember them. Some of them are pretty diligent about this, and they will even keep a small notebook and pencil in bed with them and write down their dreams as soon as they wake up.”

“What does that help with?” Paulinho asked.

Amanda shrugged. “You know, we’re not entirely sure if there is any benefit at all to being able to more clearly remember our dreams and to be able to dictate them. Some of our patients tell us that by writing down their dreams they are more apt to fall into what is called a ‘lucid dream,’ a situation where the dreamer feels as if they are in complete control over the plotline of their dream.”

“I’ve had one of those before, I think,” Paulinho said.

“Most people have,” Amanda said, “and most people swear it allows them to solve problems they are struggling with in their waking life, or have better relationships, or be more successful in general.”

“That sounds like a stretch.”

“It does, but you would be amazed at what the human brain is hiding from us.” Amanda paused again, looking out over the water. “Take for instance this ‘golden man’ we’re chasing. Our computers were not hacked, our software was not glitching, and there was no one playing a prank on us. The scientist in me keeps saying that there is no possible way an anomaly like that can happen, especially in people of a related ancestry. It’s more than coincidence.”

“It is a little weird.”

“It’s more than a little weird,” Amanda said. “It’s downright
creepy
. We don’t even have the technology to record dreams in minute detail. The best we can do is squishy images that blend together over the course of a single dream state. But this little man that keeps showing up in all of these dreams is in perfect focus, every time. It’s beyond me how that can happen, except when I remember that the human brain is a puzzle that hasn’t been solved.”

“And it doesn’t help that someone else out there seems to want to know what the answer is as well.”

Amanda visibly shook. “Our technology is patented, but it’s not hard to request usage of our facilities. In fact, they weren’t mine to begin with; my investors allowed me the exclusive use of the space after a few months.” She sniffed, but Paulinho couldn’t tell if she was crying or not. “There’s no reason for people to die over this, whatever it is. This journey that we’re on will hopefully give us answers, but I can’t imagine it leading to something worth killing people over.”