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Back Jungle Up Save as PDF
Chapters (63)
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  33. 33
  34. 34
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  63. Author’s Note

It was Jonathan Roth.

Andy’s mouth went dry.

Roth had been hiding in the back of her tent.

Roth smiled meekly. “I was going over some details of tomorrow’s search with Farah. But I guess I’d better make my way back to my campsite.” He crawled out, gave a quick wave, then took off into the brush.

“You going to be okay?” Holland asked Farah.

Andy didn’t hear what she said in reply.

He was already gone.

34

34

base camp
august 20, 6:18 a.m.
days since abduction: 15

“You all right over there?” Vern asked.

I kicked dirt over what thirty seconds earlier had been the contents of my stomach and wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt. “Yeah, just a little hungover.”

This was the understatement of the century. My head was spinning. It felt like someone had speed-bagged my stomach for fifteen minutes. It throbbed behind my eyes. This made the morning after my twenty-first birthday seem like a warm bath.

“How much did you drink?” Vern asked.

“Just a couple shots.”

“I drank a helluva lot more than that, and I feel fine.”

“Yeah, well, I’m something of a lightweight these days.”

“It appears so,” Vern said with a laugh. “You going to be able to make it to the main camp, or do you need me to carry your sorry ass?”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I said, forcing a smile. “I might have to go another round with the throw-up fairy first.”

He nodded, then disappeared behind a curtain of green.

I shut my eyes against the soft morning glow and swallowed the rising bile in my throat. There was too much to do today for me to be hungover. There was a chance Gina and her abductors were still in the area. They could be at any number of the four archaeological sites the expedition had yet to visit. And I needed to tell Holland about Lieutenant Goytia. And then I needed to have a sit-down with Goytia himself. Even if he wasn’t connected to Gina’s abduction, he might be able to shed some light on who was.

I tried to think back to what Vern had told me the previous night. That he was the one to take the jaguar statue. Or had he? Or did they not find it? Or—

I winced.

It hurt to think.

My stomach flipped, and I lurched forward and fell to my knees. I violently puked up the last dregs of the two freeze-dried meals I’d eaten the previous evening.

I pushed myself up with a loud grunt, then stumbled forward until I found the narrow path that had been cut through the vegetation. I shielded my eyes against the light—Why was it so bright at this hour of the morning?—and trudged the short distance to the main camp.