Page 8 of Knox's Mission

Night or day, the jungle was its own living ecosystem.

“A.J.’s wife said he refused to speak for hours after he returned to their village,” Lorna continued. “He just sat next to the fire, squatted down, holding onto his knees. Clearly upset at what he saw and the fact he came back without Amy and Donnie.”

Whatever he saw out here might have taken the lives of those in his charge. “How skilled is Donnie in the jungle?”

“He’s great with maps,” she said, brightening.

Without a canoe of their own, they could be winding their way through the jungle back to base camp right now.

“He can work a knife, and he knows a decent amount about finding food,” she continued. “This is the first time here, so that makes it harder to say how well he’s navigating the area, and he’s never been left alone before.”

“First time to the Flooded Forest or the Amazon?” His cotton shirt was already drenched with sweat.

“Both,” she supplied.

Knox figured this wasn’t the right moment to point out that Amy and Donnie could have run into other hazards besides wildlife and illness. Illegal deforestation ran by criminal networks posed another serious threat for a documentary filmmaker. These networks wouldn’t want their activities filmed.

Then there was corruption. It existed in every government. Brazil was no exception, which would mean someone else who knew this area well, had possibly grown up coming here navigating this area, could be lurking.

Based on Lorna’s knowledge, Donnie wasn’t exactly as skilled or experienced as he should be, considering his guide had run away. If anything happened to Amy, Knox would deal with A.J. at a later day and time.

Hours passed on the water, leaving Knox’s imagination to run wild. His injuries hurt like hell, but he could compartmentalize the pain. He’d pay for making that choice later. Right now, though, he was on top of the pain using sheer adrenaline and grit. Or insanity. An argument could be made for the last explanation.

A sound to his left caused him to stop paddling. He held the oar still, slowing their progress so he could ascertain if there was a threat.

The chopper crash might have taken a lot from Knox, but his hearing was intact and as sharp as ever.He gestured for Lorna to lie low. Thankfully, she did without questioning why. His serious expression, the potential threat seemed to take hold.

Good. You never knew what you were working with going into a fight with someone new. Lorna got quiet and did as instructed. He could work with that.

Sounds of someone or an animal thundering through the nearby trees caused commotion from the treetops. Monkeys called, filling the air. Whatever was flying through the jungle was being chased. He managed to paddle closer to the shoreline. It was high noon, but you couldn’t tell. The jungle was disorienting. A storm was rolling in.

Thunder cracked as the first raindrops fell, pelting Knox. There was no time to reach for the ballcap tucked inside a pocket of his rucksack. He needed to figure out what the hell was charging toward them ahead of the storm.

Or was it the storm they were trying to outrun?

The canoe was close enough to the shore for him to grab hold of a tree trunk. It bent and stretched as he held on for dear life after dropping the paddles inside the canoe. The hull of the canoe was between his thighs as he tried not to allow them to be swept away with the water rushing faster with the onslaught of rain.

His body reminded him just how damaged it was when he exerted himself as he grabbed his ruck.Again, he tucked the pain away in another file that would reopen at an inconvenient time later. It always did. His head still pounded but the constant throbbing was background noise at this point.

Body extended like a rubber band, something had to give. Legs dangling in the water with God only knew what else, he wrapped one arm around a bendy tree trunk.

The thought of capsizing, ending up in the water, threatened to suck him under and spit him out. Knox didn’t swim. Not voluntarily. And he’d hoped like hell he wouldn’t have to on this trip. His muscles started to twitch as memories haunted him.

“Grab my hand!” he shouted to Lorna. The driving rain drowning out every other sound, including his thoughts.

Lorna made a move for his extended arm, grabbed hold.

With a yelp, she fell out of the canoe, causing it to capsize.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Now, they were both in the water. The rain kept their presence hidden and deafened the splash. At this point, nothing could be heard over the pounding rain.

Knox managed to swing, fold his body in half in a move Tarzan would appreciate, and launch Lornatoward shore. Another yelp broke through the driving rain as she closed her eyes and let go.

She tumbled onto solid ground a second later, then scrambled onto all fours as if aware of how dangerous the jungle floor could be. The circle of life happened here and humans weren’t guaranteed a spot at the top of the food chain. It was a humbling thought, but Knox knew to respect his surroundings.

His legs dragging in the water tightened the knot in his chest a couple of rachets. Rain caused the tree trunk to become slippery.

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