Chapter 6: The Logging Road
The "ugly" was a sucking, knee-deep morass of black mud and rotted vegetation that smelled of decay and methane. It wasn't a trail; it was a wound in the earth. Every step was a battle against vacuum-like suction, and the noise they made—the wet plops, the gasped curses—felt deafening in the pre-dawn gloom. Imani leaned heavily on Zara, her face a tight mask of pain with every jarring movement. Evelyn’s mind had narrowed to a single, brutal mantra: lift, pull, step. Lift, pull, step.
They’d been in the bog for what felt like hours when the terrain began to firm slightly, rising toward a ridge littered with giant, moss-covered rocks. The tree cover here was thinner, the first grey light of dawn bleeding into the sky.
Cole, at the point, froze. He held up a fist.
Everyone stopped. Evelyn’s heart, already pounding from exertion, kicked into a frantic rhythm. She heard it then: a low, rhythmic crackle of static, punctuated by a tinny, distorted voice. Human voice.
It was coming from just beyond the ridge.
Cole gestured for them to get down. They crawled the last few meters through slick ferns, peering over the mossy crest.
Below, in a small clearing that had been hacked from the jungle, stood a faded green canvas tent. A generator hummed softly beside it, a cord snaking inside. The source of the voice was clear: a radio antenna, strapped to a slender tree. A single lantern glowed from within the tent walls, casting the silhouette of a person sitting at a table.
“Outpost,” Zara breathed. “Communication hub.”
“One guard,” Cole murmured, his eyes scanning the perimeter. “Ten o’clock, by that kapok tree. Dozing.”
Evelyn saw him then, a slumped shadow against the broad trunk, a rifle across his lap.
“We go around,” Imani whispered, her voice strained. “We cannot fight. Not with my leg.”
“We need to know what they know,” Cole said, his gaze fixed on the tent. “And we need an advantage. That radio is it.”
“It’s a suicide run, Cole,” Zara said flatly. “One shout from sleeping beauty over there, and this whole valley wakes up.”
They watched in silence for a minute. The person in the tent shifted, and a woman’s voice, bored and annoyed, answered the staticky call. “Base, this is Relay Seven. Nada. No visual, no sound. The search grid is moving east, toward the river bend. Over.”
The radio squawked a reply they couldn’t make out.
“Sim, sim. I’ll tell them. Relay Seven out.”
The woman sounded young, and profoundly frustrated.
Cole’s expression changed. It was subtle—a slight narrowing of his eyes, a tilt of his head as he listened not just to the words, but to the tone. “She’s not happy,” he said.
“We’re all not happy, Cole,” Evelyn muttered, mud caking her nails.
“No. This is different.” He looked back at them, a reckless calculus happening behind his eyes. “Stay here. Cover me. If it goes loud, disappear. That’s an order.”
Before anyone could protest, he was moving, not toward the sleeping guard, but in a wide, silent arc that brought him to the rear of the tent. He melted into the shadows beside the generator. Evelyn watched, her breath held, as he drew his knife. He didn’t look back.
He moved past the tent flap, toward the dozing guard. It was terrifyingly fast. One hand clamped over the man’s mouth, the other brought the knife hilt down in a sharp, precise blow to the temple. The man sagged without a sound. Cole lowered him quietly into the ferns, took his rifle, and tossed it into the deeper brush. Then he turned and, without hesitation, pulled open the tent flap and stepped inside.
Evelyn expected shouting. A struggle. A gunshot.
Instead, there was a low murmur of voices.
Zara had her own rifle trained on the tent opening. “What is he doing?” she hissed.
Minutes ticked by. The jungle awoke around them, birds beginning their morning chorus, as if to highlight the surreal tension of the scene. Finally, Cole’s head appeared at the flap. He gestured for them to come down.
It was insane. It was a trap. But they were out of options. Zara went first, supporting Imani, her weapon up. Evelyn followed, her legs trembling with more than fatigue.
Inside the tent, the air was warm and close, smelling of ozone, cheap coffee, and damp canvas. The radio equipment was a jumble of older, boxy units on a folding table. And there was the woman.
Paulinha Machado was younger than Evelyn expected, maybe mid-twenties. She had sharp, intelligent eyes in a heart-shaped face, and dark hair pulled into a messy bun. She wore practical cargo pants and a tight tank top, her posture relaxed in her camp chair as if Cole were a casual visitor. Her gaze swept over them—mud-caked, wild-eyed, Imani injured—with detached curiosity, not fear.
“Your big friend here has made a proposal,” Paulinha said, her English lightly accented. She took a slow sip from a chipped enamel mug. “I’ve heard it. Now I want to hear from the rest of you. Why should I not just call in your position right now?” Her finger tapped a switch on the console. “Costa would give me a bonus. A big one.”
“Costa treats his people like disposable tools,” Cole said, his voice low. “He left two men to be gutted by a jaguar. You heard the calls.”
A flicker in her eyes. Anger. “I heard. He called them ‘unfortunate losses.’ Expendable.”
“We are not Costa,” Imani said, her voice gentle but firm despite her pain. She met Paulinha’s gaze. “You are surrounded by life, but you sit in this box of static. You are bored. And you are angry. It is a heavy energy to carry.”
Paulinha’s smirk faded slightly. She looked at Imani as if seeing her for the first time.
“We can get you out,” Zara said, pragmatic. “You help us, we take you with us. You’re clearly not a fighter. How long do you think you last out here when things really fall apart?”
“And what are you?” Paulinha asked, turning to Evelyn, who had been silent.
Evelyn wiped a streak of mud from her cheek. “We’re the reason Costa is out here. We found something he wants to steal. I’m guessing you’re not a fan of thieves, or you’d be somewhere nicer than a bug-infested tent babysitting a radio.”
A genuine smile touched Paulinha’s lips. “Scholar. I like you.” She set her mug down and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Okay. Here is the reality. There are two ATVs under a tarp behind this tent. Keys are in them. They have maybe half a tank each. Enough to get you to the river fork, if you know the old logging roads.”
Hope, sharp and painful, lanced through Evelyn.
“What’s the cost?” Cole asked. He knew there always was one.
Paulinha’s eyes locked on his. The casual demeanor dropped, replaced by something hungry and specific. “The cost is not for ‘we.’ It is for ‘you.’” She pointed a finger at Cole’s chest. “You want the bikes? You want me to get on this radio and send every one of Costa’s remaining men on a wild goose chase to the southern swamp? You want a five-hour head start?” She paused, letting the offer hang in the humid air. “Then you stay here with me. For one hour. Alone. You fuck me like you mean it. And then you go.”
The tent went utterly silent. The only sound was the persistent crackle of the radio and the generator’s hum outside.
Evelyn felt the words like a physical blow to the stomach. Her face flushed hot, then cold. She stared at Cole, her mind blank.
Zara let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’re joking.”
“I have not joked in six months,” Paulinha said, her gaze never leaving Cole. “I am stuck here. I am ignored. I am bored. I listen to brutish men grunt into this radio all day and night. I want a memory that is mine. Something that burns out the boredom. He,” she nodded at Cole, “looks like he can burn.”
Cole’s expression was unreadable. He didn’t look at Evelyn, or at Zara. He studied Paulinha, assessing her the way he might assess a treacherous river crossing.
“You get your hour,” he said, his voice devoid of inflection. “You give them the keys and the directions first. You make the false report while they’re still here to hear it. Then they leave on the ATVs. Then we have our transaction.”
“Cole,” Evelyn choked out. It was all she could manage.
He finally looked at her. His green eyes were hard, professional. A guide making a call. “It’s a tank of gas and a five-hour head start. It’s Imani not having to walk on that ankle. It’s our best chance. The only chance.”
It was logic. Cold, brutal, survival logic. Evelyn hated it. She hated the way Paulinha was looking at him, the crude certainty in her demand. She hated, most of all, the part of herself that understood it.
Paulinha smiled, a victorious, feline thing. She reached into a drawer and tossed two keys onto the table. Then she picked up the radio handset. “Relay Seven to all units. Priority update. Possible visual contact, south-southeast grid, near the old rubber plantation. Movement detected. Request immediate sweep. Over.”
The radio buzzed with immediate, confused responses. She repeated the command, her voice dripping with urgency. Orders were given. The search was officially redirected.
She put the handset down. “They are now running the wrong way. You have your head start.” She looked at Zara, Imani, Evelyn. “You should go. The clock starts when you’re gone.”
Zara snatched the keys, her jaw a hard line. She helped Imani up, supporting her toward the flap. Imani gave Cole a long, sad look, but said nothing. She understood necessity, the economy of the jungle, better than any of them.
Evelyn stood rooted to the spot.
“Evelyn,” Cole said, her name a command. “Go.”
The sound of her name on his lips, in this context, broke the spell. She turned and pushed out of the tent, into the grey dawn, feeling like she might vomit. Zara had already pulled the tarp off the two battered four-wheel ATVs.
“Get on,” Zara said, her voice rough. She helped Imani onto the back of one, then swung a leg over the front. Evelyn numbly climbed onto the other, fumbling for the handles.
The engines coughed to life, obscenely loud. As they lurched forward, bumping onto the overgrown track Paulinha had indicated, Evelyn couldn’t help but look back.
The tent flap was closed. The lantern still glowed inside.
And the generator’s hum was drowned out by the sound of the engines, carrying them away, leaving Cole behind to pay the price.