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Back Whirlwind Save as PDF
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

Come on. I admit there are a few caimans below and God knows what other critters, but at least we’re going to have some time to figure out our next move.

Yes, maybe you’re right. A forest is just a forest, after all. As long as we remain calm and logical, we’ll be just fine. What’s that?

What?

That sound.

What sound?

That buzzing. Gisco glances uneasily at the tangle of vines and branches all around us.

I myself do not hear a buzzing, possibly because of the trilling birdcalls and outraged monkey chatter and a thousand other strange barks, whistles, and shrieks that I can’t even begin to separate and identify. They ebb and flow around us, beneath us, and above us, an ever-present yet constantly changing cacophony.

A two-inch black bird hovers near Gisco. The dog backs up quickly. Swat it. Club it. Kill it!

Calm down. It’s just an Amazon hummingbird.

It’s not a small bird. It’s a giant wasp!

No way. Wasps don’t grow that big.

They do here, the entomologically expert dog tells me, visibly trembling. There are more than seven hundred species of wasps in the Amazon. Their stings are supposed to be the most painful imaginable.

I’ve been stung by a bee. It’s not so bad.

Wasps in the Amazon hunt tarantulas! When they attack in a swarm of thousands, nothing can stand before them!

Well, the good news is the one that saw us flew away.

Then why is the buzzing getting louder?

I hear it, too. The boy with the braid lifts a large leaf and points to what looks like a five-foot-long inverted ice cream cone, made of thin whitish bark.

That’s the mother of all wasp nests! Gisco announces with a telepathic shriek, backing away to the far corner of the gondola. The boy has also retreated as far as possible from the droning, vibrating hive. Each of us is trying to get behind the other, but somehow Gisco always seems to be the one with his back to the gondola’s far wall.

Maybe they won’t hurt us, I suggest hopefully. I remember reading that many wasps are vegetarians.

When their nest is threatened, they’ll kill anything. The one that saw us must have been a scout. He’s letting the swarm know we’re in the neighborhood. We’ll be stung to death in seconds.

I glance at the swampy river below and spot the three caimans lying motionless on the island. Something tells me they won’t remain quite so still if we splash down into the water near them. Okay, Gisco, what can we do?

That boy brought a machete. Hack their nest off the tree! It’s our only chance.