“You can’t drink it as is now?” she asks.
“You have to boil it first, unless you’re a native, of course.”
“Great.” She closes her eyes and sigh. “I think I swallowed half the Amazon while we were down there.”
I chuckle and force myself into a sitting position. I stare at the river and sigh. “Here we go again.”
I wade into the water and swim out roughly where the plane went down. Then I take three breaths, oxygenating my system, and dive below.
The plane has churned up a ton of silt. It’s almost impossible to see. I notice the scaly flank of an anaconda slip by, and feel my pulse quicken. Despite popular Hollywood legend, they don’t often attack people. It does happen, though, so I’m really happy when he keeps swimming on his merry way.
I lay hands on Dorothy’s support strut.Oh, Dorothy, what have they done to you? I’ll make those men pay; I promise.
I snag my survival bag and swim for the surface. Heather is waiting with bated breath as I drag myself out of the river and toss the bag on the bank.
“You made it,” she says, relief swimming through her gaze.
“Of course, I did,” I say, gasping. “I’m a stud.”
Then I face-plant in the mud, my vision growing dark.
HEATHER
“Trent?” I rush over and endeavor to roll him onto his back. I struggle to get the beefy goliath over. With a final heave, I get him over at last. “Trent, can you hear me?”
His eyes flutter open. “Yeah, I hear you fine. I think I just got a little lightheaded there for a minute.”
Trent frowns, looking around as he leverages himself up on his elbows. “Wait a minute. Why am I on the ground?”
“Because you fainted,” I say. “A common response to overexertion. You should have waited a few more minutes to recover before just diving into the river again.”
Trent struggles into a sitting position. “I was afraid the currents might drag it away and I’d never find it. Anyway, I didn’t actually faint.”
“Yes, you did. I was right here; I saw it with my own eyes.”
He lets out a smirking chuckle. “Baby, Trent Holt doesn’t faint.”
The smug son of a…I put my hands on my hips and cock an eyebrow at him.
“What’s your definition of fainting?”
“Well, it’s quite simple. You black out for a moment and fall to the ground like a boneless sack of meat.”
“That…pretty much describes exactly what you just did.” I shake my head “It doesn’t matter. What’s important is, how do we get back to Macapá?”
“Macapá?” Trent’s chest shakes with a sneering laugh. “Macapá? Are you out of your fucking mind? We’ll never make it that far. I’d say our best bet is a small fishing village called Tres Manos.”
“How far is that?” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.
“Twenty-five miles, give or take.”
“Twenty-five miles?” I shake my head, heart hammering a rapid tattoo inside my chest. “You expect me to hike through this godforsaken jungle for twenty-five miles?”
“It’s not that bad. We can make an average of three miles per hour if we push it, so if we start hiking now, we’ll make it there sometime tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” My brow furrows as I estimate in my head. “Your math is way off. We’d be there around one in the morning if your three miles per hour estimate is correct.”
He heaves a patient sigh. I think he’s actually trying to be nice about this, but clearly, he thinks I’m an idiot.
