“And what made the doctor move to this sector?” Mitch asked when he was knee-deep in ferns and unable to spot the ground beneath him.
Chuck stopped, lifting the bottom of his shirt to swipe the perspiration from his forehead. “You mean you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“That no one else has been here.”
One glimpse up at the ceiling of writhing limbs, uncertain whether they were branches or indigenous reptiles, Mitch observed, “Understandable. But you sound cryptic. Why does no one come here?”
“Well…” Chuck seemed reluctant to embellish, “−there have been others—others who have.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder as if to confirm no one had followed them. “But they never returned. Not one single member of any party that traveled to this region ever returned. The area is marked on the map as No Man’s Land.”
At that moment, a macaw screeched an eerie warning, and Mitch flinched.
“You’re pulling my leg.” He tried to sound composed. “Let’s spook the photographer, huh?”
“Would I purposely try to scare you?” Chuck grinned. “I wish I had thought of that.”
He pushed a branch aside and looked back. “Personally, I believe that a group or two have come in here, ran into some problems…hell, get bit by the right thing, or have a run in with a Fer-de-lance, and you’re doomed. Anyway, over the years, those little tales have escalated into hordes of archeologists gone missing. It’s become nothing more than campfire fodder,” Chuck frowned. “You know what I’m saying?”
Mitch doubted the man’s levity. And it was hard for him to form any conjecture without knowing the facts. “How many people are you talking? How many have gone missing?”
“Five that I know of. There have been reports of others, but like I said, the frenzy of gossip could have jacked the count up.”
“Word of mouth can spread faster than a rash from these damn mosquitoes.” Mitch swiped at the offensive swarm.
Confident now in his role as the leader, Chuck charged through the shrub. “So, you got shot down by Doc?” he tossed back a blue-eyed grin.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, hell, it was written all over your face when you came back to camp. We all know that expression. Don’t sweat it, bro. You’re not alone. No one’s ever gotten a piece of that.”
I’m not going to have the time to try, because I’m not staying here.
And, I’m not interested in a piece of that, dammit.
