Page 49 of Fall
“Dammit,” I mutter with a sigh, casting the flashlight over the area and following him in the same direction, hoping to herd him back to the original track.
Batting away overhanging vines and mammoth draping leaves, I chase the little jaguar through the understory. After what feels like a half hour intensive assault course, the vegetation breaks. Moonshine highlights towering stone. I’ve wandered far from the trail winding to the river, and now I’m staring up at a gaping hole in the side of a cliff. Laoch disappears into the shadowy mouth of a prehistoric cave. My knees lock. The pulse thrumming in my neck skyrockets in apprehension.
It’s both terrifying and remarkable. The type of ecological find that makes my heart sing and every hair stand on end. Intrigue draws me closer, and fear makes me hesitant. A wide entrance allows a pale white blaze to illuminate the rocky underground wonder.
Laoch’s bold yellow eyes appear in the obscurity and then vanish. I swallow hard, afraid to call out for him in fear of waking something far more dangerous. Then I remember the electric boundary erected to keep out bigger animals. I’m certain we’re still in Dante’s territory because his land stretches for miles and I haven’t encountered the protective fencing.
I shine the light on a cluster of mossy boulders and stumble a little closer. Running the flashlight around the edges, I drop the beam into the darkness, catching Laoch sip water from a shimmery pool. With a quick dart of the flashlight, I suspect the entrance would be safe enough to examine. After all, I’ve only ever read about the caves beneath the Amazon. To finally step inside one, if for only a few minutes, would be even more of a dream come true.
There’s a spooky stillness when I leave the gentle hum of forest life and enter a completely different world. Unique rock formations take the shape of giant mushrooms with uneven columns propping up the structure like stilts.
Solidified drips of calcium hang over my head, and slimy stones underfoot make it slippery and perilous. Water trickles and drips, the sound intensified in the cavernous height.
Roosting bats squeak, disguised in unlit crevasses. Tropical grottos have the least known ecosystems and harbor a diverse array of organisms, so being here, a young ecologist from Scotland, is truly unbelievable.
It’s magical. Uninterrupted by the human race. A safe haven for plants and creatures.
The bolt of awe wanes when I think about Bruce. How excited he would be to see this diversity for himself. In the past, we talked about ancient caves, and even though they weren’t on our research schedule for this trip, they were next on the list for future expeditions.
I perch on a flat rock not too far in, and stream the light into the distance, exposing stony walls. The far-reaching beam stretches into the void and loses intensity in the vastness.
Peacefulness breathes with me as I sit there deliberating my future and what it should look like in the aftermath of this expedition. Seconds drift to minutes, and I accept my little cub has scampered away.
Dante has a world of wonder on his doorstep. With rare life forms growing around him. Exotic flora and sunless labyrinths. But he’s too overwhelmed with vengeance to appreciate it. He’s completely shut off from everything––even me.
Solitude offers me the space to reflect. Destiny mapped out our paths so they would intertwine. We were enemies and lovers, connected by a thread of happenstance. It wasn’t an easy journey to travel, but ultimately, putting everything aside, he saved me.
I’m alive because of him, yet I stumbled into his fractured reality and failed to save the man from himself.
A haze of mist floats around my feet. I glance over my shoulder to discover dawn ascending.
Sunrise.
Salvador!
17
A few hours ago, I watched the dead blaze in their final resting place. It didn’t take long for soaring flames to engulf the steel structure and bring in the roof. The intense heat and rip-roaring ruin haunted me with the pain of self-inflicted burns. Melted flesh, scorching agony and the unforgettable sickly smell.
I said a prayer for the warriors who served and for those who retaliated, jumped into my chopper and ordered the pilot to closely follow the entourage, escorting Miguel to the Oasis.
My days of hiding behind lenses and leather gloves are gone. I knew this day would arrive eventually, except I’m still clinging to the mental security of covered hands. My men heard my real name as it spat past Miguel’s lips. It doesn’t change a thing. Gloves or no gloves, Dante Valez is dead, and I fully embrace my demons.
I’d chosen to remain unknown, to keep the sniffer dogs off my trail and my enemies unaware of my new existence. And it worked.
Now Miguel knows I’m alive, and there’s no chance Maria will see me coming. She’s a nobody with debt and a dull life. Without fingerprints to incriminate me, I’m the same––a nobody of consequence. Except I’m a billionaire taking refuge in the rainforest.
The journey home was an endurance test of its own. As much as I tried to stamp out thoughts of Iris, I couldn’t. Beneath the putrid musk of stale smoke, I swore her intoxicating scent lingered on my skin. Visions of her smile plagued me. Imaginary sensations of her body rocketed volts through me. She surrounds me everywhere I go. Consumes me. Fucking lives within me.
When the Oasis finally came into view, I brushed off the blurred lines and buried them under the truth. She doesn’t deserve to live in my world of violence.
I know I’ll kill the semi-conscious guy before me. I’m just not sure how. Bullets are too clean. Too quick. Too forgiving. I’d rather face him man to man without weapons to hide behind. An old-fashioned war of physical strength. He’s not a match for me, nor was he ever. What man shoots the mother of his unborn child and walks away with his head held high? A scumbag with a daily substance habit whose pretty boy looks have faded and designer clothes now hang on a breakable, willowy physique. This fucking guy slumped before me is that evil.
To my left in the once occupied dim poacher’s hut, redundant rifles hang from sharp hooks and rusty fleshing knives no longer used to skin the hide of jaguars gather dust on a shelf. I made it clear to the locals that anyone found rustling on my land and beyond would meet the same ill fate as the animals they slaughter. The threat rippled into the villages with a stark warning of funds being slashed. Innocent creatures are under my protection.
Traitors, however, they’re dead men walking.
Miguel groans, stretching his jaw from side to side. The purplish bruise almost disguised under a five o’clock shadow looks worse than it presumably is, but that busted cheekbone, swollen and split, must sting like a bitch.
