Page 32 of Factory Controller

“You’re breaking my hand, babe.”

“Sorry,” I say, loosening my grip as much as I dare. Something splashing in the water nearby makes me tighten up more than ever before a second later, though.

“Easy. It’s just a catfish. River’s full of them.”

“As long as it’s not one of those giant, man eating snakes.”

“Anacondas? They sometimes attack humans but not very often.”

“Piranhas are all over the place too, though.”

Trent lets out a merry laugh, and I feel a bit better. “Piranhas are so overrated. They’re scavengers, for the most part. They tend to home in on dead flesh, and their feeding frenzies are exaggerated to the extreme. It’s unlikely anyone’s going to hold still long enough for fish with tiny little mouths to kill them.”

We make it across the river at last and stand on the opposite bank. Trent won’t allow us to rest yet. He takes my hand and pulls me into the cover of the tree line before we settle in on a thoroughly inspected log.

I huddle next to him in the darkness and shiver, even though the night is far from cold. Something slithers next to me, and I yelp. Trent stiffens up beside me, his voice tight as a drum.

“Don’t move.”

I don’t even dare to breathe as he reaches across me carefully in the dark. His arm moves past my body at a snail’s pace before darting out like a striking snake. Trent flings something into the night, and I hear the crash of underbrush.

“It’s all right, I got rid of it.”

“What was it?”

“Snake of some kind. Couldn’t see what type.”

I whimper a little bit, and he puts an arm around my shoulders.

“Trent, what are we going to do? We’ve lost all our supplies. I know we can survive without food for a while, but what are we going to do for water? How will we boil it without a canteen?”

“We’ve still got a canteen.” Trent pats the pocket of his cargo shorts and winces. “Right here.”

“But—but it was right next to the fire. Didn’t you burn yourself?”

“A little,” he says with a grimace. “I used a thermal wrap to mummify the canteen before I stuffed it in my pocket, but I’ve got a few blisters.”

“Trent…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. They don’t bother me much. Here.”

He hands me the canteen. The water within is still warm, but it’s wet. I carefully don’t give in to my urge to chug the entire contents, handing the half-full canteen back to Trent.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” He drinks about half of what remains and replaces the cap. He’s saving some for us to have in the morning, since we can’t risk a fire to boil more. Smart.

I’ve decided Trent is far from the moronic naked deafmute I originally took him to be. No, he’s not dumb at all, despite his efforts to appear like a walking machismo fountain. Trent’s smart and sexy, and I guess if I have to be lost in a rainforest…at least I’m lucky to be lost with a man like Trent.

TRENT

Heather shivers beside me, despite the evening’s warmth. She’s terrified, and I don’t blame her. Terror is an appropriate response to a paramilitary team stalking you.

A highly equipped paramilitary team, at that. I run through the possible suspects list, and I don’t like any of my choices.

There are a ton of different factions fighting for the rainforest in Brazil right now. This is part of what makes it so dangerous. The men chasing us might belong to any one of them.

The first faction which springs to my mind is the Wazayzar, or ‘keepers of the forest culture.’ They’re an indigenous faction which uses armed resistance, sabotage, and even acts which could be perceived as terrorism in order to stop the encroachment of industrial progress on the region.

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