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  Patrick bolted from the tent. He grabbed the first guard’s Kalashnikov and twisted it up and slammed the butt into the man’s chin, knocking him cold.

  The other guard tried to swing his rifle around but Patrick lashed out with a kick to his groin and it caught the man unprepared. He hesitated a split second but that was all Patrick needed and he twisted away the Kalashnikov and fired into the man’s chest. The guard collapsed onto his back screaming and Patrick turned toward Jane.

  It had happened so quickly the other men weren’t prepared. The two men holding Jane let her go and went for their guns but Patrick rushed them and fired several shots as they dashed for the safety of the jungle. One of them collapsed from a wound and the other disappeared into the trees.

  Patrick turned around and fired quick bursts at the men running around him. There was enough confusion that they weren’t exactly sure where they were shooting at in the dark. He ran to grab Jane and she began to scream and fight.

  “It’s me! It’s Patrick. Hey! It’s Patrick.”

  Their eyes locked and he lifted her to her feet. Voices from all over the camp were coming near them and he sprinted for the jungle, not letting go of her arm.

  The vegetation was thick and the canopy so dense that the moonlight couldn’t come through. It was absolute blackness for long stretches and then the canopy would thin and a soft blue glow would illuminate the trees and shrubs and bushes.

  Patrick ran until his legs burned and his lungs felt as if they were about to explode. The air was warm and humid and it made it difficult to breathe. His face and arms were raw from the harsh shrubbery scraping his bare skin and he noticed for the first time that he was up to his ankles in mud.

  They made it to a clearing with waist-high grass. The moon shone fiercely in the night sky and without any light pollution the sky was blanketed in stars.

  “I can’t go anymore,” Jane said.

  Patrick stopped, his hands over his heads and his breathing heavy. “We shouldn’t rest out in the open.”

  “I can’t.”

  They stood in the grass, panting and sweating, listening for any sounds in the surrounding jungle. They could hear monkeys in the distance and then a roar and the jungle went quiet for a long time. The monkeys began softly and before long were at full pitch again.

  “How long were you there?” Patrick said.

  “A day maybe. I got into a cab and the cabbie locked the doors and drove me to a warehouse. Some men were in there and they paid him for me.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No, but I haven’t eaten or drank anything.”

  “We should keep moving.”

  “Okay, okay, just give me one more minute.”

  Patrick checked the clip in the Kalashnikov. He had a handful of rounds left. It was an interesting weapon and he had fired them for fun in the deserts of Iraq when they had captured them from enemy combatants. They were at least twenty years out of date but they were tough rifles, easily firing in mud and sand and absorbing impacts that would shatter many other automatic rifles. He slung the strap over his shoulder and looked in all directions.

  “I think we should head this way and see if we can find a road.”

  They began walking and soon they were out of the clearing and back into the blackness under the canopy. The crickets were deafening; you couldn’t think clearly or even carry on a conversation with their chirps filling your ears. Bugs were everywhere and Patrick had to constantly swat at them to keep them out of his nose and mouth. But the smell was halfway pleasant. Somewhere between rotting flowers and wet earth.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know where we are. Do you have any idea?”

  “No, they blindfolded me.”

  “We need to find a road. Roads always lead somewhere.”

  They walked for what seemed like a long time but the vegetation didn’t get any thinner and there were no signs of cars or houses or towns. Patrick stopped and leaned against a tree. He felt like they were going in circles and it was too dark to leave markings on trees or the ground.

  As he was about to suggest that he climb a tree to have a look around, he heard something nearby. He listened quietly, holding his breath, and recognized the sound; it was a stream.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s a stream nearby. We can follow the water down. People always build near streams. We’ll find someone.”

  As he began to walk in the direction of the stream, there was another sound that registered. It was farther off in the distance and in another direction, but it was there.

  It was the voices of men.

  * * *

  26

  Christopher left the Hotel del Mar after a shower and a change of clothes. He felt like a new man. He had gotten used to the luxury and he enjoyed the finer things. There was no harm in that. He was extremely glad that he had searched the internet and found Taylor Hamilton.

  Though he grew up wealthy, after his father’s death his step-mother had inherited everything based on a will his father had written practically on his deathbed. Christopher was certain the will was a forgery and spent his entire fortune fighting it. In the end, the courts ruled against him. Destitute and without a family to turn to, he fell in with the wrong crowd. It was at this low point in his life that he met Patrick’s father; Cameron Russell.

  They had met in a restaurant Christopher was waiting tables at. A group of men were being rowdy and the cowardly manager had asked Christopher to take care of it. When he told them to settle down, one of the men rose to fight and before he could do anything, Christopher smashed a bottle over his head. The man collapsed unconscious and Cameron laughed from across the restaurant and congratulated him on his balls and left a large tip.

  Three months later there was an opening for an office assistant with Russell Imports. Patrick got the job after only a five minute interview with Cameron. The office assistant turned to administrative assistant and the administrative assistant to executive assistant and then personal assistant. Christopher was taken out of Russell Imports and placed next to Cameron, wherever he went. He picked up dry cleaning, got cars washed and suits tailored; this was true, but he also negotiated contracts, fired subordinates and set up meetings. He was learning the business from the inside out. Neither Andrew nor Patrick had shown much interest in the business and Christopher had hoped that Cameron saw a future for him in the company hierarchy.

  With Andrew gone and Patrick not interested, that was now a strong possibility. If he could convince Cameron to take him back into the company.

  Outside a jeep waited for him, and next to that were three others. They were loaded with mercenaries Hamilton had hired to search for Patrick. Many of them were full time military men or police officers moonlighting as guns for hire, but some of them were different. Some of them were boys of no more than sixteen or seventeen with looks of terror on their faces.

  Hamilton rode up next to him and surveyed the men.

  “I’m getting a discount for the children they sent us.”

  “I think you should,” Christopher said.

  “I hope your room was satisfactory?”

  “Well above satisfactory. Thank you so much for that. I wasnh fo>πt suited for hostel life.”

  “No, I didn’t think you would be. You seem more refined than your friend. Better taste. You and I are alike that way I think.”

  “Can I ask you something? Patrick is my best friend, and no matter if you were helping me or not, I would be out there looking for him. But why are you spending all this money helping me? You could just as easily cut us out and go look for this octopus yourself.”

  “It’s not an octopus. And I have my reasons for helping you and for wanting Patrick.”

  “Like what?”

  “Do you honestly think I would get to where I am in life but just jumping blindly into things? I’ve done my research and checked up on
you two. Patrick’s talents are going to be very helpful to me. If he can control that other thing.”

  “What other thing?”

  Hamilton looked to him, confused, and then his face softened into a smile. “He never told you, did he?” He laughed. “Well, I’ll save that for when we find him. You can ask him yourself.”

  “Seńor,” one of the men said as he ran up, “the men are ready.”

  “Christopher, why don’t you wait here for the men with me? They’ll find Patrick.”

  “No way, I have to be out there too. I’d go crazy just sitting here.”

  “There’s nothing you can do anyway. Stay here with me and we can talk about your future. I’ve checked up on you as well young man.”

  Christopher looked out to the jeeps. The men were loading rifles and readying flashlights. “Maybe I could help though?”

  “No, you couldn’t. We’ve been told some bandidos have your friend in the jungles. They kidnap tourists for ransom. There’s going to be bloodshed because these men I hired are ready for a fight. Better you stay here with me.”

  The first jeep roared to life and peeled out, the men inside hollering and banging the side of the jeep like a drum.

  “All right,” Christopher said, “I’ll stay.”

  * * *

  27

  Angel looked over to Javier who was just barely slipping on his fins. The moonlight off the water of the Pacific this early in the morning was something to behold. He had seen it many times in his travels to Mexico and the Caribbean with his job at the phone company but his homeland of Chile had the best water for it; clear and blue, but only near Viña. In many parts the water was green or muddy or farther up shore a slick gray from chemical byproducts dumped into it from the companies that came to Chile for the cheap labor and loose labor laws.

  Javier finally got on his fins and then adjusted his r egulator and his mask and gave the thumbs up. They both fell backwards into the water from opposite sides of the boat.

  Within a few feet down the water was black as tar and Angel flipped on his industrial flashlight in the plastic casing. Javier did the same and they pointed their lights at each other and gave the mutual thumbs up indicating they were ready to go.

  As they descended, two black bodies with long beams of light jutting below, Angel kicked softly, feeling the cool water against his exposed cheeks. He enjoyed these times below the surface. It was a place where the rest of the world couldn’t reach him. There were no bosses yelling at him and no wives nagging him. Here, he could be himself.

  He checked his watch and then the depth gauge. They were thirty feet. The line that had been damaged was at seventy feet. He felt his ears pop and looked to Javier. He had occasionally had trouble with the pressure but he didn’t seem to notice.

  They were slowly making their way to the bottom though Angel couldn’t see it. He wanted to slow down even further, to really enjoy this time when they were weightless and alone. But Javier was new and thought only of efficiency. He was rushing to the bottom too quickly and Angel thought that if he tried rushing like that to the surface he was going to get them both killed from decompression sickness.

  There was movement to the right and Angel swung his flashlight around to see a tuna dart away from the beam. They were some of the fastest fish in the sea and for fun Angel tried to keep up with him, his beam zigzagging through the water as the fish tried to escape its glare.

  Javier turned his light on him and sat there looking at him like he was crazy. Angel shrugged and they continued down.

  The bottom was soft sand and coral. As the beam ran over the coral they were lit vibrant blues and reds and greens. Javier motioned to the thick black tube half-buried in the sand. They both came down together.

  The tube was fine where they were looking but they knew there coordinates for the damage could be off by as much as two hundred feet. They touched the tube with one hand, and began to kick, slowly drifting up its length.

  Angel looked to Javier who was focused, head down, on the tube. This was a marvel of engineering and Angel guessed he didn’t even really appreciate it. A lot of the younger guys saw this as a paycheck but Angel remembered the days when they had no phones in his youth in Valparaiso. He would come to the pier every day and watch the big ships load up and go out to sea, laying tubing and wire on the ocean floor.

  They kicked for a few minutes until reaching a section of tube that looked like it was fully buried. They swam to it and brushed off sand, trying to pull the tubing up. They got the sand off and saw a tube that had been ripped in half.

  The tubing was at least a foot thick and made with solid rubber. It had specifically been designed to withstand shark attacks as the fish were occasionally attracted to the electric currents passing through underneath.

  Javier looked to him and he shrugged. He had no idea what could tear the tubing in half. The only thing he could think of was if a ship’s anchor caught on to it and pulled as it sped away. But few ships could anchor in over seventy feet of water.

  Javier bent down to examine the tubing closer when Angel noticed something behind him. It was a faint glow of red.

  He pointed his light up and caught only a glimpse as the creature charged forward at incredible speed. Angel screamed, bubbles filling the space in front of his mask, as the beast sped by overhead. It seemed to go on forever, like a submarine had shot past them. One of its enormous appendages wrapped around Javier and he disappeared, ripped through the water by the massive animal.

  The creature was so immense it had created its own current and as it sped by the force of the current knocked Angel five feet back. His mask flew off his face and he couldn’t breathe, his view taken up by white flesh flashing a deep red.

  He grabbed his mask and slipped it back on over his face, taking a deep breath from his regulator. The creature had passed and he was surrounded by the deep blackness of the ocean again.

  He looked to the surface, and began kicking.

  Angel clawed and kicked and with each movement he grunted. The blackness began turning a light blue and he kicked harder. The scuba equipment was slowing him down and he took in a deep breath and unstrapped it.

  He could see the surface, panic gripping hold of him. He saw the underbelly of the boat and the sunlight that had begun to break over the horizon.

  Angel glanced down once and saw the head of the creature as it raced in behind him. It twisted around and he caught a glimpse of the human-like eye. He shrieked as the legs spread wide, revealing the black cavern of the mouth, and it enveloped him whole.

  * * *

  28

  The jungle seemed to close around Patrick, swallow him like some monster out of his nightmares and hold him in its belly. The deeper they went, the more alien it became. They were hearing animals they had never heard before and even the vegetation seemed to grow more aggressive. What had once been bushes and willows was now needles and poisonous tips that made the skin flare in hives.

  Patrick glanced behind him to ensure that Jane was all right and as he was looking back he felt the ground sink underneath him. Both his feet were sinking lower and lower and he realized with horror what it was.

  “Quicksand, stop!”

  Jane had one foot in the pit and Patrick pulled it out and she jumped back. He was instantly knee deep and sinking quickly. She ran over and grabbed his arms and pulled but by then he was already up to his waist. The sand felt like nothing he had ever experienced. It was as if monkey hands were wrapped around his waist and legs and they were pulling him deeper and deeper into the earth.

  “Get me a branch.”

  “No need,” someone behind him said. He turned to see Martín standing with a pistol in his hand. He walked closer; a flashlight in his other hand illuminating the quicksand. It was a thick goopy substance, gray with bits of brown, and Patrick was up to his chest. He reached for the dry earth to pull himself up and Martín fired a round into his hand. Patrick didn’t scream or flinch, but he pulled his h
and away as the blood began to pour out of the wound.

  “Do not worry, my friend. You will be dead from suffocation before your hand is infected.” He walked over to Jane. She backed up until she hit a tree. He leaned in close to her. “You know, maybe I will rape her now and make you watch? You must care about her since you tried to kill my men for this bitch,” he said, running his hand along her face.

  “I don’t know her. I was just doing a good deed. You can do what you want.”

  “Nice try, my friend. Your lying is not as good as your fighting, heh?”

  “Do you want money?” Jane said. “I can get you money. Take us back to the city and I’ll get you money.”

  “No, I think we are past money. Those were good men your boyfriend tried to kill. Poor Juan may die in the hospital.”

  Patrick was up to his chin and bits of quicksand were getting in his mouth. He reached out for the dirt and Martín pointed the pistol at his other hand and fired. The round missed and went into the jungle floor. Martín stepped close and bent down. He placed the barrel of the pistol against Patrick’s head and in one swift motion Patrick thrust out of the pit and grabbed something on Martín’s belt.

  Martín twisted away and stood up. He pointed the gun at Patrick.

  “Jane,” Patrick screamed, “get down!”

  Martín was confused until he looked down to his belt. He looked to Patrick who was holding a pin from one of his grenades. Before Martín could get out another word, the explosion tore through the air. Bits of flesh and bone and organ flew twenty feet around them as the top half of his torso was blown apart. The legs took a few steps and then collapsed into a mass of slick, wet flesh.

  The quicksand now hid Patrick’s mouth and it slowly rose until his eyes were covered. He reached up, his head submerged, and felt Jane’s hands as she desperately tried to pull him out.

  He held his breath as long as he could, and then the blackness took him.