Into the Wild (19 page)

S
PENSER'S HEART STOPPED
beating for the length of time it took him get to River. He cursed himself, cursed fate, and in a moment of bone-deep fury, cursed the ancient Inca legend. “Not this time,” he ground out as he navigated the slick cliff. “Not her.”

His pulse registered when he saw her wedged in a leafy dwarf tree growing out of the cliff. She hadn't fallen a long distance, but fast and far enough to scare the hell out of him. She looked stunned, but she was alive.
Thank you, Jesus.
“River.”

“I'm okay. I'm just…I'm afraid to move. If the branches break…”

“It's okay, baby. Just shift—”

“Can't.”

“No problem.” She'd frozen in fear. He could see that, sense that, even in the driving rain. “I'm coming, angel. Sit tight.”

“No problem.”

He smiled. Even though she was scared stiff, she'd retained a sense of humor. His admiration of River Kane tripled. “Take my hand.”

“Can't.”

“Yes, you can.” She was wedged in the tree with
a death grip on the branches. Digging his heels into the soggy, craggy earth, he reached farther down, his fingertips grazing the sleeve of her sodden jacket. “I have faith in you, River. Let go of fear and grab hold of me.”

Her gaze locked onto his and jolted his soul with a surge of trust. She let go and grabbed on.

“That's it, baby. Hold tight.” He hefted her into his arms and eased into a safe position. “It's okay. You're all right,” he soothed as she lapsed into broken sobs. Christ. Ignoring the pounding of his own heart and the inconvenient downpour, he held River close, allowing her time to recover from the shock. Hell, he felt poleaxed himself. If anything had happened to her… He blocked the notion and repressed past issues. He focused on now. On getting River safely to the
páramo.

Just then the rain ended as abruptly as it had begun. Not surprising, given the unpredictable weather of the Llanganatis.

River's sobbing turned to hiccupping laughter. Concerned she was a heartbeat from hysterics, Spenser cupped her face and studied her gaze. Not glassy or shocky, just teary with relief.

She sleeved rain from her face and instead smeared mud. “I'm sorry,” she rasped. “I didn't mean to lose it. That was just… Wow. Talk about a wild ride!”

Spenser laughed, then indulged in a lingering kiss. It was the second time they'd made out on this cliff. The second time he'd lost reason to passion. He fought through the sensual haze, desperate for a clear, rational
thought. Drugged on relief and River's addictive kisses, the world had taken on an ethereal quality. He blinked to clear his vision but the misty air still swirled. “Fog.”

Spenser said. “Shit.”

 

“F
UCK.” GATOR
had a death grip on the dashboard or whatever the hell it was called. The copter was motion less, grounded, but his head still spun like the dying blades.

“Grab the rest of the gear in the rear cabin and get out,” Con ordered. “We'll have to hoof it from here.”

Gator leered at the man who'd already jumped out and strapped on a massive backpack. How could he look and sound so calm? “We just crashed—”

“Forced landing. Big difference.” Con strapped a machine gun over his shoulder. “Rock and roll, soldier.”

Gator stared as the madman disappeared into a sheet of mist and rain. Even though they'd been forced to land in shitty weather, in the middle of God-knew-where, The Conquistador seemed confident of his surroundings.

Ignoring his own labored breathing and aching body, Gator hurriedly retrieved the remaining gear and followed. He didn't know which was the greatest motivator—the lure of eight billion dollars or fear of falling victim to a cursed mountain.

 

“W
E HAVE TO HURRY
,” River whispered, echoing Spenser's earlier dictate. First rain, now fog. What next? Hail?
Don't tempt fate.
Even though she was still
rattled from the mud slide and Spenser's soul-searing kiss, River gathered her wits. “How's your leg?”

“I can't believe you're worried about me after what you just went through.” He shook his head, squeezed her hand. “Stick close.”

If she could've superglued herself to him, she would have. Though shaken and sore, River was determined to get off this damned incline, onto flat ground. Her thoughts blurred as they ascended quickly, trying to beat the encroaching fog. She blocked memories of her adrenaline-charged plummet by focusing on the loss of not one, but two GPS units in less than a week. It's as if the powers that be didn't want her to have direction. Although Spenser had mentioned being able to navigate by nature. Probably by the sun and stars, she thought hazily. Isn't that how sailors used to do it?

Lost in thought, she lost track of time. She was vaguely aware of the cooling temperature, even though she was sweating due to exertion. She still heard the occasional crack of thunder, though it sounded more distant. At least the storm was passing.

Fog, however, swirled all around her. It wasn't thick enough to totally obscure her vision, but the effect was haunting. In the back of her mind it occurred to her that she was climbing out of the Amazon into the Andes. Braving an array of threatening circumstances. River Kane, the woman who normally feared leaving her small midwestern town without a map. The woman who feared infection and disease. The woman who famously encountered disaster.

The mud slide was a fluke,
she told herself.

I'm not cursed. I'm not compromised. I can do this. I'm not cursed. I'm not compromised. I can do this.

River crawled, grappled, clutched and clawed, grabbing onto anything to anchor herself as the sodden vegetation squished and the fog thickened. She ignored the smelly, slimy muck and the occasional lash and poke of branches, the prickles that scratched and stung. She blocked out the pain when her muscles twinged and her lungs screamed for air.
Seed juice,
she thought, but she didn't want to hinder their progress by stopping to “medicate.”

I'm not cursed. I'm not compromised. I can do this. I'm not cursed. I'm not compromised. I can do this.

She repeated that mantra for an hour, maybe two. Then suddenly Spenser disappeared over a ridge. Her heart stopped, but then she felt his hands around her wrists. Felt him haul her up—again. Only this time he set her to her feet. On flat ground. Soggy, but flat.

Hallelujah!

She would've dropped to the ground and kissed the earth, but she'd pretty much been doing that for the last several hours!

Spenser gently cupped her face. “You scared the hell out of me back there.”

Worried he might insist on sending her back as soon as they found Cy, she shrugged off the mud slide with a smile. “What doesn't kill you makes you stronger,” she rasped, trying to catch her breath. “I'll be Superwoman by the time we find Henry.”

“Don't tempt the curse, River.”

Her attempt to make light backfired. Touched by the concern in his eyes, she squeezed his hand. “I'm fine. Wet, muddy and sore, but fine.” She looked around his shoulder, squinted at the misty landscape. “Where are we?”

“The
páramo.
” Spenser shrugged off his pack and stretched. “I admit, I'm surprised and impressed you made it this far, angel.”

“Me, too,” she gritted out. Her muscles trembled with fatigue. Her body ached to wilt into a puddle, but she was so thrilled to be on level ground, she forced herself to stand and stretch. Through the silvery mist she saw twisted and gnarled trees, thorny shrubs and what looked like fields of prairie grass. The thick jungle canopy had given way to open skies, but because of the fog, visibility was limited.

“I thought I'd be able to see Cerro Hermoso,” she said in between gasps for air.

“You would,” Spenser said. “On a clear day.”

“I have to pee.” She blushed as soon as the words came out. It was just that suddenly, after hours of climbing and drinking water to stay hydrated, her bladder was near to bursting. She looked for the nearest bush big enough to squat behind.

“Don't go far,” Spenser said. “And talk to me so I know where you are.”

She felt ridiculous but at least he was distracted, rooting through his humongous backpack. After grabbing a
supply of tissues, River ducked behind a flowery bush just a couple of feet away.

“Talk to me!” he yelled.

What about?
The GPS sprang to mind. She felt bad about losing it, especially since he'd refused to allow her to reimburse him. “So that quirk I have about needing to know where I am?” she called out. “It's because I got lost once!”

“I figured!”

“It was after my mom died. I wanted to spend time with Henry. To apologize for some ugly things I'd said. He didn't want me to visit. He was in Mexico, an expedition having to do with Mayan ruins. But I talked him into it and, long story short, I got lost in the jungle. Alone for twelve hours. I freaked out, lost control, ran all over looking for the way back, making it harder for them to find me and…” She trailed off as she flashed on the overwhelming panic. “Let's just say, I confirmed Henry's belief that I'm not cut out for the wild.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

“I don't blame you for freaking out.”

“Henry did,” she mumbled to herself. She zipped up her muddy cargo pants and squirted her hands with sanitizer, marveling at her timing. She wasn't sure why she'd chosen this awkward moment to reveal one of her worst memories. An experience that had saddled her with one of her biggest phobias. “Losing control was the worst part,” she said, more to herself than Spenser, as
she stepped out from behind the bush. “The emotional chaos. Can't go there again. Ever.”

She stopped talking, stopped moving and simply stared. The fog had thickened and it was moving in all directions. Swirling. Dancing. Hypnotic. Eerie. Various shades of silver and gray. The twisted trees. The howling wind. She half expected the ghosts of General Rumiñahui and his army to emerge from the rolling fog. Haunting. Captivating. She reached for her camera and remembered.

River spun in a circle, searching for the man who'd taken her backpack. “Where's Cy?”

“Brunner's camp or close to it. Once he hit level ground, I'm sure he booked.”

“How much farther to that camp?”

“Another hour.”

She stared into the fog, her heart still pounding from the strenuous climb and now from the realization that she'd compromised Henry's trust a second time. First the journal. Now this. Physically, she was so wiped out she couldn't imagine walking for another hour. But she
had
to get her camera back. What if Cy snooped?

Temples throbbing, she turned and saw Spenser pitching some sort of tent. He'd already anchored down a floor—rubber? nylon?—and erected an aluminum frame that he was hurriedly covering with heavy-duty fabric. Her first thought was, how did that all fit in his pack? Second thought: “What you are doing? We have to catch up to Cy!”

“Within twenty minutes tops, visibility will be zero. We can't navigate the quaking bogs in dense fog.”

“Maybe it won't last that long.”

“Or maybe it will last all night. Besides, we're in for another soaking.”

“But the storm's blowing over, isn't it?” River looked up and in answer…

Splat!

Splat, splat, splat!

Her heart sank. They couldn't walk safely in heavy fog
and
pouring rain. Plus, it was growing dark. Plus, there were those quaking bogs. What had Spenser likened them to? Marshy mud? Andean quicksand?

Dammit.

She moved swiftly to Spenser's side. She didn't mind the rain. At least it would wash the mud and guck from her clothes. She even swiped off her hat so her hair and face benefited. But she was concerned about the dropping temperature. What if one or both of them caught a chill? “What can I do?”

“Get inside.”

“But—”

“I need to secure some cables. Other than that, we're good to go.” He tossed his backpack and the remaining gear inside. He waited for her to follow but she refused.

“I want to help,” she shouted over the pounding rain.

Glaring, he relayed instructions and ten minutes later the overall tent was secured and they took shelter.

River hugged herself as he attended to details. An extreme-weather tent, he'd called it. Waterproof and durable. Effective in high winds and pelting snow. As exposed as they were, on an open stretch of land, high in the mountains, an electrical storm raging—she worried the tent, no matter how sturdy, wouldn't offer ample protection.

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered. “You need to get dry,” he said before she could argue.

By the time she'd stripped down to her panties and bra, Spenser had produced an ultra-padded sleeping bag. “Get inside,” he ordered as he stripped down to nothing. Buck naked, he slipped in beside her. “Go to sleep.”

“But—”

“We're socked in. We're exhausted. You suffered a fall and we've yet to adjust to the altitude. Sleep, angel.”

Outside the storm raged and the temperature dropped.

Disoriented and nervous, River closed her eyes and tried to relax.

Right.

“I can't do it. I can't sleep. I'm beyond exhausted. I'm wired. And…”
Scared.
Suddenly, sliding down a cliff and landing in a tree seemed like child's play. What if lightning struck the pole of the tent? What if they got electrocuted? What if the tent caught fire and they burned to a crisp? What if the wind battered the canvas so badly a portion tore away? Exposed to the elements,
how would they fair in the drenching rain, wind and cold? What if they…