Page 9 of Factory Controller

The current takes me along, I’m not sure how far. When the sun peeks above the horizon, I finally dare to peer out of the canoe.

Ipixuna is nowhere in sight. Neither is Aberto’s village. The only structure of any kind I see is a shack built on stilts right at the lip of the river.

I need help, but…can whoever lives in that run-down shack really be trusted? Hungry, thirsty, and hunted, I decide I can’t risk continuing on my own.

I’m going to have to take a chance on the shed, and the whims of whoever’s inside it.

TRENT

“Would you knock it off?” I groan at the white bellbird somewhere in the tree canopy high above. It’s mating season, and the males are louder than a damn jackhammer.

I swish through calf-deep water, toes squishing through gritty mud as I make my way through the forest. Normally I ignore the bellbird, but today my head throbs with a killer hangover. I’ve over-imbibed in thecauimhomebrew last evening, and now I’m paying the price.

And there’s no store out in the jungle. I can’t exactly go grab a bottle of painkiller at the corner place. Green problems require Green solutions. Apaca, one of my native friends, says the Green causes problems but also gives you all you need to solve them.

Apaca scoffs at my brewingcauim. Among his people, it’s strictly a woman’s task. He won’t even drink the fruits of my labor. It may have to do with the fact that part of the process is chewing up manioc roots and spitting the resulting morass into a clay pit so it can ferment.

All I know is, I can’t tell any difference between mycauimand that which his tribeswomen brew. Except, perhaps, mine is stronger.

At the moment, I’m hunting out acupuacutree, whose starchy fruit is an amazing natural painkiller. I need it now. Something has to be done about the knives stabbing into the backs of my eyes. I swish through the water, head swiveling as I search for my quarry, and any lurking caiman or anacondas. They don’t normally come up this muddy stream, but you can’t be too careful. The forest always keeps its hosts on the edge of readiness.

“Oh, there you are,” I mutter as thecupuacutree comes into view.

I pull myself up into the branches, careful not to scrape my naked skin on the rough bark. Unless I’m working hauling cargo, I don’t wear clothing a lot. Just a coat of unguent to protect me from the insects. What’s the point of sweating up clothes you can only wash in the muddy river?

My knife carves into the hard shell of the fruit, and I pack my cheeks with the chewy insides. I groan in relief as the lining of my mouth absorbs the juices.

My headache’s already fading away when I hear the snap of branches behind me.

Someone’s coming, and not a forest native. The stumbling I hear is loud. Way too loud. Whomever this is, he’s new to this world. When you’ve lived here a while you know it’s not a good thing to make a ton of noise. Here, no one wants to announce their presence to everyone and everything in the area. The good news is that if they’re making that much noise, there’s no cause for alarm. Anyone who might be a threat would never make that kind of ruckus.

I turn about and find myself staring at a tall white—really, really white—woman in mud-splattered pants and a tank top. The pants are torn and her legs are nice—really, really nice. Mile long, shapely and all…

So I’m hallucinating.

I stare at my vision, she stares at me, and I take another bite of my fruit.

Blue eyes run down my form, widening when she notes my lack of any sort of attire. A red flush comes to her cheeks as she studiously lifts her gaze and locks it on my face.

“Hello?” she says in English. “Can you understand me?”

Haven’t heard anyone speaking English in the rainforest in a long time. I decide not to acknowledge her. After all, she’s can’t be anything but a hallucination brought on by excessive cauim consumption.

The woman’s brow furrows as she considers the lack of effect her words have. Her eyes narrow and she next speaks in Portuguese.

“Hello, can you understand me? I’m lost, and I need to get back to Ipixuna. Can you help me?”

I continue to chew my fruit, regarding her bedraggled form. Clearly, she’s been living rough. Maybe a tourist who got lost on a safari expedition? Or a tree hugger who went too far off the beaten path? Or again, more likely, just a djinn conjured by hallucinogenic drugs?

“Oh, for God’s sake,” the woman sighs in exasperation, returning to English. “Just my luck that the one person I come across in this misbegotten rainforest is a not all there.”

I haven’t been stateside in a while, but I’d place her accent as being New York, possibly from Brooklyn. What’s a woman like this doing in the middle of the Amazon rainforest?

The bit of fruit in my mouth reaches a pulped consistency, and I swallow it. Relief spreads through my system almost by magic. My hangover retreats to a mere dull roar, and I’m more cognizant of my surroundings.

For the time being she doesn’t need to know I speak English. If I let her ramble on, she might tell me more about where she comes from and what she’s doing here.

“Yeah, keep on chewing, that’s helping.” She glances around the forest, possibly hoping to see someone else. Anyone else but the weird, naked, mute man she stumbled upon. “There’s got to be a village or something nearby. Look at you. You must have a keeper helping you survive.”

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