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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

I see the river up ahead. The trees around me are crashing and popping and hissing in a deafening cacophony. I overtake the old Indian man who I saw gazing out of the Cessna. He can’t run anymore. As I pass him, he sits down on the road, facing away from the fire. He opens his mouth … Perhaps singing a prayer or calling to a God. I glance back and see the flames consume him.

Ten of us were chosen from the prison. Seven make it back to the river. We splash and run and swim to the plane. The Cessna’s engine is already on. They weren’t planning to wait for us.

Seconds later we’re airborne, flying over the burning forest. From the air the cloud of smoke looks like a hungry monster as the fire chews its way through pristine jungle with sudden, savage bites. I watch it for a few more seconds and then turn away.

Ernesto is sitting near me, also watching, his face black with cinders and soot. He meets my eyes and says softly, “Colonel Aranha knows exactly what he’s doing. To break a man’s spirit, force him to kill what he loves most.”

43

43

Gisco was right about the mosquitoes. They come out before sundown, and drone around us all night long.

I hear their hungry whine, slap at them when they bite, and try to forget everything I ever learned in school about malaria and other tropical diseases. We have other unwelcome night visitors, too. Tiny black flies seem to seep right through the prison walls in soupy clouds, landing on our faces and nipping at us. Centipedes slither their way up drains. Spiders like hairy helicopters spin down from the ceiling and tiny reddish brown worms tunnel in sideways through cracks in the walls.

I lie awake night after night, wondering what will be the next loathsome variety of exotic jungle vermin to take a bite from the Jack Danielson buffet. As the long hours drag by, I can’t stop myself from reliving the burning rain forest in a vivid waking nightmare.

I smell the stench of the gasoline. Hear the roar of the explosion. Feel the blast-furnace heat. And then trees are popping and crashing around me, and on the walls of the cell I see the desperate face of the young monkey as he slips off his mother’s back, and of the Indian man praying on the logging road as the flames consume him.

I ask Ernesto why they burned the forest. “In four months, it will be seeded with rice or soy,” he explains. “The grains will go to feed cattle who will end up as hamburger meat in Western fast-food restaurant chains. So, acre by acre, our beautiful rain forest becomes millions of double cheeseburgers.”