side. The impact wrenched his neck and sent him through the air. He hit the ground and felt a soft, heavy mass fall on him, something about the weight of a golden retriever.
Clawed feet scrambled lightly back and forth on his arm. The touch seemed too weak, or maybe too delicate, for whatever had just knocked him over. The stench grew stronger, suffocating him. His face was stinging, especially his eyes, which were now clamped shut. His nose burned as though flooded with seriously over-chlorinated pool water.
A few yards away, someone said, “Welcome” in accented English , the word muffled inside the crash helmet. Through his shock and confusion, Sanderson could recognize the logging foreman’s voice, and thought he heard a streak of fierce amusement in it. “Welcome to the jungle!”
When he managed to open his watering eyes, the area was becoming brighter, though not from any headlights. There was a general glow throughout the forest. Sanderson looked around at the foliage, and even as he watched, the trees and vines and undergrowth disappeared, giving way to a subtly shifting luminescence overlaid with a scotch-tweed pattern pulsing with color after color.
He could smell the perfume of the Australian woman he’d met last week in the islands. For some reason he imagined that the growing light and color emanated from that smell, though he could not identify the source of either. Something seemed to lift him far into the air.
CHAPTER TEN
Sometime after midnight, Amy hauled herself up the side of a fully loaded logging truck that had slowed to a crawl on a steep incline.
She fell asleep almost immediately, lying flat on the truck bed under the overhang of an enormous tree trunk. Her first few descents into REM sleep were haunted by dreams in which someone unknown pursued her through a network of dark forest trails. No matter which way she ran, her escape was eventually blocked by an enormous white rabbit that lay on its side, vomiting up rivers of black Jello.
Well past sunrise, she awoke to find that the truck had left the logging road and was on the country’s main north-south highway, headed north toward the capital. It was slowing down, and she could see people on the roadside ahead. Boys were waving to the driver, who responded with a blast of the air horn. Soon the boys would see Amy, and she had no desire to find out what would happen if they pointed her out to whoever was at the wheel.
Still under the overhang of the great log, she crawled on her belly toward the rear of the truck in search of a hiding place. The log turned out to be shorter than the truck bed, but the area behind it was completely blocked by a mound of cargo covered with a blue plastic tarpaulin.
She started to climb up over the mound, heading further back, but then realized that a solution had just presented itself. She backed up, undid a knot in the nylon twine that held down the tarp, pulled aside a flap, and wiggled under. To get the flap back down, she had to displace some of the loose bulk beneath her, burrowing in slightly.
The air under the plastic was heavy and cloying, and it made a heady, too-sweet taste deep in her throat. She breathed in and out once, started a second inhalation, then gagged and threw up the few grams of water in her stomach.
She was lying on a heap of dead animals.
Matted fur itched at her assortment of wounds. Chopped-off bones scraped and poked, and one of them put a long slice in her forearm when the truck lurched. Slimy surfaces made her slide a little with each bump in the road, though the truck was barely moving now. There were cold spots here and there, as though some of the meat had been frozen not long before. At first she tried to make as little contact as possible with the carcasses, but that only made her slip around more, and movement was something she needed to avoid. Reluctantly, she let her weight rest fully on the mess, settling into a position in which she could
Clawed feet scrambled lightly back and forth on his arm. The touch seemed too weak, or maybe too delicate, for whatever had just knocked him over. The stench grew stronger, suffocating him. His face was stinging, especially his eyes, which were now clamped shut. His nose burned as though flooded with seriously over-chlorinated pool water.
A few yards away, someone said, “Welcome” in accented English , the word muffled inside the crash helmet. Through his shock and confusion, Sanderson could recognize the logging foreman’s voice, and thought he heard a streak of fierce amusement in it. “Welcome to the jungle!”
When he managed to open his watering eyes, the area was becoming brighter, though not from any headlights. There was a general glow throughout the forest. Sanderson looked around at the foliage, and even as he watched, the trees and vines and undergrowth disappeared, giving way to a subtly shifting luminescence overlaid with a scotch-tweed pattern pulsing with color after color.
He could smell the perfume of the Australian woman he’d met last week in the islands. For some reason he imagined that the growing light and color emanated from that smell, though he could not identify the source of either. Something seemed to lift him far into the air.
CHAPTER TEN
Sometime after midnight, Amy hauled herself up the side of a fully loaded logging truck that had slowed to a crawl on a steep incline.
She fell asleep almost immediately, lying flat on the truck bed under the overhang of an enormous tree trunk. Her first few descents into REM sleep were haunted by dreams in which someone unknown pursued her through a network of dark forest trails. No matter which way she ran, her escape was eventually blocked by an enormous white rabbit that lay on its side, vomiting up rivers of black Jello.
Well past sunrise, she awoke to find that the truck had left the logging road and was on the country’s main north-south highway, headed north toward the capital. It was slowing down, and she could see people on the roadside ahead. Boys were waving to the driver, who responded with a blast of the air horn. Soon the boys would see Amy, and she had no desire to find out what would happen if they pointed her out to whoever was at the wheel.
Still under the overhang of the great log, she crawled on her belly toward the rear of the truck in search of a hiding place. The log turned out to be shorter than the truck bed, but the area behind it was completely blocked by a mound of cargo covered with a blue plastic tarpaulin.
She started to climb up over the mound, heading further back, but then realized that a solution had just presented itself. She backed up, undid a knot in the nylon twine that held down the tarp, pulled aside a flap, and wiggled under. To get the flap back down, she had to displace some of the loose bulk beneath her, burrowing in slightly.
The air under the plastic was heavy and cloying, and it made a heady, too-sweet taste deep in her throat. She breathed in and out once, started a second inhalation, then gagged and threw up the few grams of water in her stomach.
She was lying on a heap of dead animals.
Matted fur itched at her assortment of wounds. Chopped-off bones scraped and poked, and one of them put a long slice in her forearm when the truck lurched. Slimy surfaces made her slide a little with each bump in the road, though the truck was barely moving now. There were cold spots here and there, as though some of the meat had been frozen not long before. At first she tried to make as little contact as possible with the carcasses, but that only made her slip around more, and movement was something she needed to avoid. Reluctantly, she let her weight rest fully on the mess, settling into a position in which she could
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