Chapter 3: The tension on the airstrip is thicker than the jungle heat as Cole steps onto the tarmac, his duffel slung over one shoulder, watching Evelyn's team fracture before the mission even begins—Zara's military precision clashing with Evelyn's academic chaos, while Imani remains an unsettling calm at the eye of the storm.
The jungle air at the airstrip was a wet, hot cloth pressed against Cole’s face. It smelled of rotting flowers and avgas. Ahead, the argument was a sharp, discordant note in the predawn stillness.
“The reference texts are non-negotiable, Zara. They’re the entire reason we’re going.” Evelyn Reed’s voice was crisp, academic, fraying at the edges. She stood beside a mountain of duffels, her hands on her hips. Her hazel eyes were bright with frustration.
“And my reason is keeping you alive long enough to read them.” Zara Khan, a solid wall of muscle and annoyance, hefted a crate of medical supplies with a grunt. “This goes, or the ballistic plates go. Your choice, Doc.”
“It’s Doctor Reed.”
“Right now, you’re a payload,” Zara shot back, not looking at her.
A few yards away, Imani Adebayo seemed separate from the conflict. She wasn’t looking at the plane or the gear. Her gaze was fixed on the tree line, where the jungle was a solid, breathing wall of green. Her head was tilted, listening to something the others couldn’t hear. Her fingers gently brushed the leaves of a potted plant she’d set carefully beside her own, modest pack.
Cole let his boots crunch on the gravel, announcing himself. Three pairs of eyes swung to him—Evelyn’s assessing, Zara’s instantly hostile, Imani’s calm and knowing.
“You’re late,” Evelyn stated, crossing her arms. The motion pulled her shirt tight. She was all curves and sharp intelligence, and she made no attempt to hide her appraisal of him, from his scarred boots to his sun-bleached hair. He saw the doubt there, the question of whether he was the legendary guide or just another hired brute.
“I was settling a debt.” Cole’s voice was a dry rasp. He walked past them to the plane, a battered twin-prop Cessna that looked like it had survived a war. He ran a hand along the fuselage, feeling the rivets, then crouched to peer at the tires. “Who’s flying this?”
“I am,” Zara said, her tone challenging. “Problem?”
“Just wondering if you know how to ditch in a river. It’s a useful skill out here.” He straightened, turning to the gear. He pointed at Evelyn’s stack of hardbound books. “That stays.”
Evelyn’s mouth fell open. “You cannot be serious. That’s my research! Comparative linguistics, satellite geomorphology—”
“Is useless if you’re dead of a parasite or a gunshot. We take essentials. Medicine, water purification, comms, weapons, lightweight shelter.” He nudged a duffel with his toe. “What’s in here?”
“Clothing. For a month.”
“You’ll wear one set for a month.” He turned to Zara’s organized piles. “You’re over on ammunition. Ditch half the 9mm, keep all the rifle rounds. We’re not clearing rooms. We’re making noise at things that slither.”
Zara’s jaw tightened, but after a beat, she gave a single, curt nod. He knew the type. She respected competence, not talk.
Cole finally looked at Imani. She met his gaze. Her eyes were deep pools of stillness. “You sense it,” he said, not a question.
“The forest is watching,” Imani replied softly. “It knows we are coming. It is… considering.” She touched the soil of her potted plant. “This is samambaia. A blessing for safe passage. It will help the air inside the metal bird.”
Evelyn let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “A blessing. Wonderful. Meanwhile, the foundational texts for locating a city that shouldn’t exist are being left on a tarmac.”
Cole moved into her space, not aggressively, but close enough that she had to look up at him. He caught a scent of clean soap and stubbornness. “Listen, Doctor. Your last team? The one before the guys in the grain sacks? They probably had nice books, too. They’re fertilizer now. Out here, knowledge doesn’t come from pages. It comes from listening.” He jerked his head toward the jungle. “That’s the only text that matters. And it’s already failed two of your tests.”
The color drained from her face, but her chin came up. The grain sack comment had hit its mark. “Fine,” she bit out. She turned and began yanking books from a duffel, her movements stiff with anger. She kept a single, worn notebook and a small tablet in a hardened case.
The repacking was swift and tense. Zara worked with silent efficiency, her eyes constantly scanning the perimeter. Imani gently placed her plant inside the plane, whispering to it.
As the first true rays of sun speared through the canopy, they were loaded. The plane’s interior was an oven. Cole took a seat beside Zara in the cockpit, ignoring her sidelong glance. He watched the tree line.
The engines coughed, sputtered, then roared to life. The plane bumped down the narrow strip, vines and leaves whipping at the wings. They lurched into the air, the green sea rising to meet them.
Evelyn stared resolutely out her window. Imani had her eyes closed, one hand resting on her plant’s pot. Zara’s hands were steady on the controls, but her neck was corded with tension.
They’d been airborne for twenty minutes, the river a brown snake winding below, when the left engine made a sound like a fistful of marbles being tossed into a blender. A sharp bang. A shudder ripped through the frame.
Zara swore, her hands flying over the controls. “We’re losing oil pressure! Left engine.”
Cole looked back. Evelyn’s eyes were wide, her knuckles white on the seat. Imani was calm, her lips moving in a silent chant. He turned forward, his mind clicking through options. “Can you feather it?”
“Trying.” Zara’s voice was tight. The plane yawed violently, dropping a hundred feet in a sickening lurch. Jungle rushed up.
“The river,” Cole said, pointing to a wider bend ahead. “Put it down there.”
“It’s not a seaplane, Mercer!”
“It is now.”
Zara wrestled with the yoke, sweat streaming down her temple. The right engine screamed in protest, keeping them aloft by sheer will. The green wall raced toward them. The river widened, a brief, brown promise of survival.
“Brace!” Zara yelled.
The skis of the landing gear kissed the muddy brown water, then caught. The world dissolved into a deafening roar of tearing metal and rushing water. The plane slewed sideways, the wingtip digging into the bank, spinning them like a top before everything came to a sudden, jarring stop.
Silence, broken by the hiss of steam and the drip of fluid. Then the chorus of the jungle rushed back in, louder than ever.
Cole unbuckled, his body aching. He looked back. Evelyn was shaking, but unhurt. Imani was already gathering her plant, which had somehow stayed upright. Zara slammed a hand against the instrument panel, a string of furious Punjabi curses filling the cockpit.
Cole pushed open the bent door, humid air flooding in. They were half in the water, half on a muddy bank. Vines already seemed to be reaching for the wreckage.
He jumped down into the knee-deep water, scanning the dense foliage. Nothing moved except the usual chaos of insects and birds. It felt like a held breath.
Zara dropped down beside him, a rifle already in her hands, her eyes hard. “That wasn’t mechanical failure.”
“No,” Cole agreed, remembering the sound. It was too precise. He waded to the torn left engine cowling, reached into the hot, jagged metal, and pulled. His hand came back holding a shredded piece of canvas, stained with oil. Wrapped within it was a small, crude clay figurine, pierced with thorns. A fetish.
He tossed it to Zara. She caught it, her face grim.
“They knew our route,” Cole said, his voice low. He looked past her, to where Evelyn was being helped out by Imani. The scholar’s confident facade was gone, replaced by raw, trembling shock. Imani’s calm had deepened into a profound sadness.
“Costa?” Zara asked.
“Or someone who works for him.” Cole sloshed back to the bank, water streaming from his clothes. He looked at the three women, stranded in the green silence. “The welcoming committee knows we’re here. And we’re sixty miles from where we need to be.” He hefted his pack from the wreckage. “Time to start walking.”