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

He hobbled backward toward the edge of the swollen river.

“Don’t go in there,” Holland shouted. “Just use some drinking water.”

Roth ignored him, wading several feet into the river. He leaned down, cupped at the murky brown water, and began splashing it on his face.

“Um, Jonathan . . .” Libby said.

“What?” Roth glared at her, his face dripping with river water. “What’s so important that I can’t wash that disgusting animal’s spit off my face?”

“There’s, um . . .”

Andy followed Libby’s fingers to the floating eyes just above the water’s surface.

“John!” Holland shouted.

“For the last time—” Roth turned and glared at Holland. “—it’s Jonathan!”

The black caiman’s huge armored head leapt from the water and snapped its deadly jaws around Jonathan Roth’s left arm. Roth screamed as he was pulled under the water by the enormous fifteen-foot alligator.

Holland raced to the edge of the river, his gun up and pointing at the circling whirlpool.

Roth emerged above water. “Help!” he pleaded, before being quickly pulled back under.

Andy’s mouth went slack as he watched the swirling water turn from angry to calm.

Jonathan Roth was gone.

Andy turned and looked at Sean, who still had his camera trained on the river.

If nothing else, Roth was correct: it was a killer scene.

38

38

base camp
august 21, 4:34 p.m.
day since abduction: 16

I blinked my eyes open. They were still sore, but it no longer felt like two small gnomes were using them for batting practice. All I saw was a blanket of white. It took me another moment to realize I was lying on the ground under one of the canopy tents.

“Am I dead?” I heard myself croak dryly.

“Afraid not, my friend,” a voice responded. “Not to say that it wasn’t close.”

I pushed myself up and breathed out, “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow.”

“You still in pain?”

I squinted. Vern’s tanned and bearded face zoomed in and out of focus. I licked my lips and said, “It feels like I got into a head-on collision with a Ford F-150.” I quickly added, “And I was on a bicycle.”

“Yeah, Holland said you’d probably be hurting for another day or two.”

“How long have I been out?” The last thing I remembered was someone telling me I had dengue fever.

“You were in and out of consciousness for thirty-six hours. Your fever finally broke two hours ago.” Vern handed me a bottle of water. “Here, drink.”

After I drank a few ounces, I asked, “Why didn’t you guys carry me to my tent?” I glanced down at my legs. They were covered in hundreds of small red welts. They’d left me to be feasted on.