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Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. 85
  87. 86
  88. 87
  89. 88
  90. 89
  91. 90
  92. 91
  93. 92
  94. Also by DAVID KLASS
  95. Copyright Page

The same soft lips I used to kiss when we necked in our favorite lookout over the Hudson, when I had nothing more to worry about than an algebra test, now part slightly. The bright eyes that used to dance when they saw me approaching her hall locker in the morning are clouded with shock and worry, but they focus on me.

P.J. hasn’t said much since we escaped from the candirú pit, so I don’t expect a reply. But she whispers back, “That place is living death, Jack. And that man …” She breaks off for a second, and then finishes bravely, “But I dreamed of you, and that gave me hope.”

“I dreamed of you, too,” I reply quickly. “Real vivid dreams, like I could see you and hear you and almost touch you. I knew you were in danger and it drove me crazy that I couldn’t do anything. P.J., it’s my fault that this happened. I’m so very sorry …”

I stop talking, explaining, and apologizing. She’s gone again—disappeared into some safer place deep inside herself. There will be time for conversation later. Now we need to get away.

I resume paddling and try to concentrate on the dangers in the river ahead. From jaguars to candirú, I know how deadly this place can be, but I still feel oddly optimistic.

P.J. said it well—the colonel’s prison was living death. Whatever exotic animal, vegetable, and mineral horrors the Amazon holds seem far less threatening than the human monster we’ve just left behind.

52

52

The Korubo chief paddles in a steady rhythm. The other canoes are strung out in a long chain behind us. Some of them have three or four passengers, others as many as ten. The chief’s concentration is unceasing—his eyes sweep from bank to bank. He keeps us on a fairly straight course, but every now and then he veers to one side. He never offers an explanation for these changes of direction, but his reasoning often becomes alarmingly evident.

We barely avoid a column of black flies so tiny they’re invisible from thirty yards away. I hear them before I see them—they swarm in a funnel cloud, in such a frenzy that they make the air hum. One of them lands on my arm and takes a bite before I flick it away. There must be billions of them in the tornado-shaped cloud that seems to reach from river to sky. As we pass close, the melodic hum sharpens to a shrill, voracious whine.

Later, just as we’re about to pass under an enormous tree, the chief steers us into deeper water. The tree has long branches that overhang the river, with dark vines trailing down. As we paddle past, I notice that the thickest of the vines is yellow with black spots. It seems to sense our approach, and moves a few feet away!