Not the hard downpour from earlier, but a soft, persistent rain that filtered through leaves and tapped against broad green fronds before reaching the ground.
Ricardo lifted his face to it and opened his mouth.
The water was warm and tasted faintly of leaves and dirt.
Still, it eased the dryness in his throat enough that he almost cried from relief.
He thought about his colleagues back at the ranger station.
About Marta, who would have noticed by now that he never checked in.
About the trail log still clipped to the board.
About whether anyone would search in time.
Then he thought about the hunters’ words.
Let’s see if the jungle takes care of him faster than we did.
He had believed they meant death.
Now, tied to a ceiba tree while a jaguar sat guard in front of him like a living piece of the forest’s will, Ricardo wasn’t sure the jungle was as simple as the men imagined.
His right hand slipped another fraction.
Pain exploded along his wrist.
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound.
The jaguar stood up instantly.
Its whole body reawakened in a single motion, every muscle alert.
Ricardo realized his little gasp had not frightened it.
Something else had.
He heard it a second later.
A different noise this time.
Not hunters.
Dogs.
Very far at first. Then one bark. Then another.
Search dogs.
Continued on the next page
