TRAPPED (7 page)

Chapter Seven

Elle thought she was the first one awake the next morning. The inside of the plane was dark. She turned on her flashlight. She could see the Hardys. Mr. Hardy had his head on Mrs. Hardy’s shoulder. Elle could hear Pamela and Captain Ramano. They were both snoring. She turned in her seat so that she could see Angus. His eyes were closed but his breathing seemed shallow. He’d thrown off his blanket and it appeared he was sweating.

Brody was likely right. Angus was on the decline.

She flashed her light in the seat where Brody had slept the previous night. Empty.

He’d beaten her up. Even though she’d been asleep before he came back inside the plane the night before.

She guessed it wasn’t her business if he was tired today. It was too bad they didn’t have any coffee for Mrs. Hardy’s pot. It was really too bad that they didn’t have any electricity to plug it in. It was really, really too bad that she couldn’t have her favorite barista at the local coffee shop whip up a nonfat latte with a shot of hazelnut.

“One little cup of coffee,” she whispered, as she pulled on socks. “That’s all I’m asking for.” She slipped her shoes on. “And maybe a cherry-walnut scone. Warm,” she added because if she was going to dream, she might as well dream big.

“That sounds lovely, dear,” Mrs. Hardy whispered back in the dark. “Don’t forget the butter. And I do love a bit of cream in my coffee.”

Elle flashed her light in the older woman’s direction. “I didn’t realize you were awake,” she said.

“Just for a few minutes. I’m worried about you and Dr. Donovan. Don’t you think you can just wait for someone to rescue us? I mean, we have some food and water, thanks to you. Do you really have to go traipsing off in the jungle?”

Elle knew their grip on survival was tenuous at best. And to sit back and wait wasn’t her nature. Plus, she had this crazy feeling that danger was close. Didn’t know where the danger was coming from, but her gut was telling her that time was of the essence.

She’d tried to push away her crazy thoughts that somehow T. K. Jamas was responsible for the crash and that he wouldn’t rest until he knew that he’d succeeded in keeping her from testifying. When Captain Ramano had asked whether Mia attended the school where she taught, it had startled her. She didn’t recall ever telling Captain Ramano that she was a teacher. How did he know? It had been the middle of the night when she explained to Brody about the books and her teaching position. Captain Ramano had been sleeping. She supposed it was possible that he’d simply been pretending to be asleep and had been listening to everything around him, but she didn’t think so.

How had he known about her school? Why had he known that?

Surely, he could not have been in cahoots with T. K. Jamas. No pilot would deliberately crash his own plane? Unless he was desperate.

And T. K. Jamas made people desperate. In a corner, getting poked with a sharp stick kind of desperate.

And evidently he also made them tongue-tied. If Captain Ramano knew why his plane had suddenly developed mechanical trouble, he wasn’t talking.

Going for help was the only answer. And if that meant that she had to endure another couple days of Brody’s snide remarks, so be it. She deserved them. She deserved worse.

“We’ll be fine,” she said. “By tomorrow night, we should be able to make contact with my friend and send help to you.”

“At least if you get injured, Dr. Donovan will be able to take care of you,” Mrs. Hardy said.

She wasn’t so sure. If she tripped and fell, he’d likely be inclined to just leave her in the jungle to die. The Hippocratic oath
might
save her—he was always a stickler for playing by the rules.

There weren’t really any rules in the jungle. While she brushed her hair, she amused herself with thinking about jungle rules. Rule number 1: Run fast when being chased by a lion. Rule number 2: Never sit on anything that moves. Rule number 3: Avoid alligators at all cost.

She could go on and on, but while it was a fun little mind game, these were very real threats. She could only hope that she and Brody had good luck.

She was determined that he wasn’t going to regret her insistence to come along. She opened her backpack and checked the contents. Once she’d decided to walk for help, she’d examined the contents of her small carry-on bag. She had very little with her because she’d been intending to purchase something to wear once she got back to the States. Her wardrobe needs at her small school were pretty basic, just pants and a shirt. Certainly not appropriate for a meeting with government officials.

Although she suspected what she wore was of considerable less importance to them than what she was going to say.

Human trafficking.

Young girls sold into a dank underworld of sick, twisted souls who used and abused them until they finally put them out of their misery and killed them.

Big business. And she’d trusted the person who was at the top of the pyramid. Had inadvertently helped him find innocent girls to prey upon. That still made her sick.

But he would pay. Her testimony would ensure that. She could still recall the excitement in the agent’s voice when she’d told him why she was calling and what she knew.

Evidently, T. K. Jamas had been on their radar screen for years, but they had no hard evidence to charge and convict him.

Until now.

She just had to find her way out of the jungle first.

Last night, after she’d verified that she hadn’t packed any socks, she immediately went to Pamela and explained what she needed. The woman had opened her suitcase and there were two pairs, besides the pair on her feet. She’d given both to Elle. “Take whatever you need. Just find somebody who can help us,” she’d said.

Elle had assured her that they would and had finished packing her backpack. She kept it light, adding a change of clothing, her flashlight and her cell phone, just in case. She had kept one of the tubes of bug repellant and left the other with Mrs. Hardy to dole out as needed to those they were leaving behind.

Initially, Elle had assumed that she and Brody would take some water with them but leave the food behind. Mrs. Hardy had claimed that she wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that Elle and Brody were doing the difficult work of traipsing through the jungle without food. Finally, Elle had agreed that she and Brody would take one breakfast bar and some nuts along with enough water to get them to their first campsite. She’d added that to her backpack. Then, at Mrs. Hardy’s insistence, she’d added the coffeepot. It made sense. They would need something to boil water in.

Mrs. Hardy had also assured her that she and Pamela would take care of getting more water from the bamboo stalks. Elle knew she couldn’t count on Angus to do much—he had to keep his leg immobilized. And Captain Ramano mostly slept. He did wake up long enough to say that he’d watch over the fire. They left one of the matchbooks with him just in case it was extinguished by rain and needed to be rebuilt.

If her calculations were correct, and if their walk through the jungle went well, they could be in Mantau by tomorrow night, sitting at Leo Arroul’s table. And there was no doubt that Leo would help. She’d first met the man almost five years before, even before coming to Brazil. He was a friend of friends, originally from Canada, but had been living in Brazil for years when they’d ended up at the same dinner party in Peru. He’d told her about Father Taquero and his school for girls and years later, when she’d been looking for someplace to settle down, someplace where she could make a difference, she’d thought of the school.

Leo had made his money in the stock market and after his wife of twenty-two years had left him for her personal trainer, he’d left his job, left his country, and for the last ten years, had dedicated his life to helping purify water systems in the jungle. He was a person who knew how to get things done.

She heard a noise behind her and turned. Brody was coming back inside the plane, dressed in the same jeans as yesterday with a different long-sleeved shirt. He had on his boots again, with his pant legs tucked it. He had his duffel bag over one shoulder.

She waited for him to say good morning. He didn’t.

She pointed to the many red fabric scraps that were tied up and down on the bag’s strap. “Nice decoration.”

He shrugged. “My favorite red shirt. It makes sense to mark a trail.”

Of course it did. But he’d said it as if he was looking for an argument.

It was going to be a long couple of days.

He opened his bag. Inside was his water bottle, some clothing and the remains of the parachute. “What are you bringing that for?” she asked. It had to weigh several pounds, and over many miles, that added up to a whole lot of strain on a shoulder.

“I’m hoping I can find two trees, tie an end up to each one, and make a hammock.”

It was a good idea. Sleeping outside in the jungle was a horrifying thought, and having to sleep on the ground in the jungle took it up a notch. She’d put the remaining newspaper in her backpack along with a blanket, figuring that she’d put the newspaper on the ground, wrap the blanket around her as tight as possible and sleep sitting up. It wasn’t perfect but it was the best she’d been able to come up with.

“You may want to take a blanket, too,” she said.

He shook his head. “That would only leave them with two for five people. I’ll be fine. Let’s go. We’re going to need to find more water along the way.”

“We will,” she said. “Look for ants. Trails of them. They can lead you to a water source.”

He stared at her. “You’re certainly full of jungle folklore.”

Was he trying to pick a fight? “I’ve lived in Brazil for several years. I do know a couple things. If you can stand the idea of taking advice from me, you might actually learn a couple things.”

He stared at her and she could hear him suck in a deep breath. “I’ve learned, Elle. Trust me on this one. You taught me several important life lessons.”

And he would never forgive her. “This is a mistake,” she said. “I’m going by myself.” She turned on her heel.

“No,” he said. He moved fast and got in front of her. “Look, I’m sorry. Let’s just get going. We can do this. I can do this.”

Above the ringing in her ears, she could hear the squawk of birds and the squeal of nearby monkeys. “Fine,” she said, her teeth jammed together so tight she was surprised she didn’t crack one.

Brody nodded, looking relieved. “I’ve got Mrs. Hardy’s knife and a few basic medical supplies. And I have one of the small plastic bags for the matches. Above all else, we need to try to keep them dry.”

He zipped his duffel and slung the strap over his head so that the strap crossed his torso and the bag rested at his hip. It left both of his hands free.

“Here’s the bug stuff,” she said. “We’ll take one tube with us and leave the other one for the rest of the group.” She walked toward the plane and picked up the two walking sticks that she’d hunted for earlier. She handed the taller one to him.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. He pointed at the cut on her forehead. She’d taken off the bandage before she went to sleep. “Did you put more antibiotic ointment on that?”

“No. It’s healing.”

“Yeah. But you need to be careful.” He opened his bag and pulled out a tube of the ointment. Then he put a dab on the end of his finger and smeared it over the cut. Then he got out a fresh bandage and put it on.

Damn him. It was hard to be mad at somebody who was hell-bent on taking care of you. Even if he didn’t like you.

* * *

T
HEY
SAID
THEIR
goodbyes to those remaining behind. Mrs. Hardy hugged her hard and Mr. Hardy patted her shoulder. Pamela voiced the collective concern. “Don’t get lost.”

“We won’t,” she promised, praying it was true. Following the sun was rudimentary at best, especially in a jungle where walking in a straight line was virtually impossible.

“Which direction are you going?” Captain Ramano asked.

“Toward...Brasília,” she said.

Brody looked at her oddly, but thankfully he didn’t say anything until they were safely away from the plane. “Change of plans?” he asked.

“No.”

They walked another hundred yards before he spoke again. “So why lie to Captain Ramano?”

She couldn’t tell him the truth. The whole truth. “His attitude since the crash has been bothering me.”

Brody nodded. “I thought maybe it was just me.”

“No. Not you. Let’s get walking.”

They walked steadily for an hour, him in the lead, her following three steps behind. His legs were longer and she knew that he was moderating his stride so that she could keep up. Every hundred yards or so, he stopped to tie a rag onto a bush or a small tree. As she’d suspected, there was no such thing as following the trail in a straight line. There was no trail and the random nature of the plant life had them weaving back and forth. That was really the only choice. While they had Mrs. Hardy’s knife, and that was certainly better than nothing, it was no match against the dense growth. That called for a machete. Every time they angled their path, she watched him lift his face and judge the direction by the morning sun that at times, was barely visible through the thick canopy of trees. She’d told him to head due east and he was doing his very best.

It was warm and getting warmer. Sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts, making her camisole damp and the cotton shirt that covered it stick to her skin. Her loafers were damp from the wet ground. Her socks were still mostly dry, but she knew that was only temporary. It was a foregone conclusion that they would get caught in one of the many rain showers that occurred on a daily basis or that they’d have to cross a body of water at some point.

That scared her the most. The idea of moving through water that might be filled with snakes and all kinds of other dangerous things was so frightening that it was all she could think about.

There were birds everywhere, squawking and swooping, their colors brilliant against the deep green foliage. She could name a few. There were the scarlet macaws, so easily recognized with their red bodies and stripes of yellow and blue on their tail feathers. The black oropendola with its bright yellow beak and tail feathers. She’d heard its raspy call before she’d seen it.