Despite the name, there had been no rain since entering the rainforest. Our path had not crossed any streams either. I had no way of knowing what lay ahead, and the only water I knew of was back in the village. I wasn't even sure I could find the village anymore.
With no compass and only the smallest patches of sky poking through the canopy, I had become completely disoriented. My sense of direction shifted from the cardinal directions of North, South, East, and West, to up and down, back and forth. My only landmark was the mountain, and even it was hard to make out more than a few square yards of it through the growth.
I was following the anorexic path Jaye Mercury had cut. Mostly it went straight up the mountain. But every so often, as if taking mercy on me, it would make a sharp turn and run along the side of the mountain for a while, allowing me to at least catch my breath. Roots and loose stones under the detritus of fallen leaves made footing treacherous, and I spent more time looking down than forward. I thanked whatever sense of intuition I possessed that made me wear real shoes instead of my more accustomed flip-flops.
The one upside to leaving the more established trail was I no longer had to worry about making noise. Flocks of squawking tropical birds filled the jungle with their squabbling. Their squawks helped hide my bumbling ascent of the mountain, masking the sounds of my falls and stumbles.
Occasionally, I moved fast enough through the makeshift trail to catch a glimpse of Jaye Mercury. Other times the thick growth would slow her down enough I would see flashes of her machete as it reflected in the afternoon sun. I looked up and frowned. Soon I would lose that small visual advantage. The sun was setting lower by the minute, elongating the already deep shadows, adding a foreboding sense of claustrophobia to the mountain jungle. If night fell, I would lose her in the darkness. But she showed no signs of slowing or setting up a camp. The woman was a machine.
I might not have been in the best condition of my life. I partake in a few too many midmorning beers, but I wasn't exactly out of shape. Swimming and diving kept me relatively fit, but this mountain and the humid heat was quickly sapping me of my strength and endurance. There was a reason I lived my life at sea level.
At one point, the path ran alongside a steep drop-off. There were obvious signs that people had visited this area of the jungle before. A single galvanized steel cable, an inch in diameter, ran from the ledge back down towards where I thought the village was, disappearing into the treetops hundreds of feet below. It had almost no visible sag in the wire. Whoever had put it here went through the effort of stretching it taut. But why? There were no towers or structures of any kind this far up the mountain. It was a mystery I would normally investigate, but the necessity of finding the idol and following Jaye Mercury overrode my boyish curiosity.
Finally, after hours of hellish hiking, I climbed over a fallen tree trunk and came upon a shallow stream. It's clear waters rushed down the mountain, and to me, looked like a much needed oasis. Following the tiny river up the side of the mountain with my eyes, I could see the vegetation became more sparse a couple hundred feet farther up. How high have we climbed? I wondered to myself. Looking in the opposite direction, I watched as the waters tumbled and spilled in a winding path before disappearing into the jungle. Apparently we had climbed a great deal. It was no wonder I was dehydrated.
I knelt by the stream, cupped my hands, and dipped them into the refreshing cool waters. I was bringing my hands up to drink when I heard something and froze. At first I wasn't sure what it was, but the sounds grew louder and more distinct. It was voices. Men's voices, to be more precise. More words and laughter drifted from the veil of the forest. I couldn't see them, but the voices were clear and loud. Typically, the jungle devoured most sound before it could go far. That meant they had to be close.
I crawled back behind the fallen tree trunk and searched the brush. It didn't take long to find them. There were three men. All three wore olive army fatigues and carried automatic rifles slung on their backs. They were a scant hundred feet downstream of me and doing their best to traverse the stream while staying on the steep mountainside. Their constant chatter was only interrupted by the exertions they expended trying to climb.
Their body language and lack of military discipline told me they weren't on a routine patrol. They didn't expect to find anyone up here in the highlands. They didn't deviate from their path either. It was almost like the men were walking out a strict search pattern along the side of the mountain. The soldiers' presence was not a welcome one. Now I had to track my competition and avoid random patrols from the Cuban military too. This entire trip was beginning to feel like a giant game of capture the flag.
As the men walked away and disappeared into the foliage, I rose from behind the fallen tree trunk. Unimaginable pain shot through my legs and right arm, spreading like fire. To my horror I saw my arm was crawling with huge vicious looking ants!
I swatted at them, but only aggravated them farther, causing me more suffering as dozens of the beasts all bit in unison. Panicked and blinded by pain,
