“Madre de Dios,” she breathed when she saw him.
The next minutes came in fragments.
Hands on the ropes.
A knife sawing fibers.
The sudden collapse of pressure when the bindings finally gave way.
Ricardo sagging forward, unable to feel his own arms properly.
Marta catching him before his knees hit the mud.
“Easy, easy.”
“I’m okay,” he lied.
“No, you’re not.”
One of the guards wrapped a poncho around his shoulders. Another examined the abrasions on his wrists. The guide muttered something about getting him back before the river rose again.
Ricardo turned his head toward the undergrowth.
The jaguar was gone.
Of course it was.
Still, he kept looking.
Marta followed his gaze.
“What is it?”
Continued on the next page
