Today Iquitos stood as a proud city among giant plains, dwarfed on all sides by the western Amazon jungle. None of which could be seen by DeeAnn or anyone else in the vehicle thanks to a torrential downpour.
“We got hit by the mother of all storms, and we’re now trying to make our way to some place called Pebas.” DeeAnn’s side window was abruptly covered by a wave of water as they passed through an intersection.
“How’s everyone else?”
“Good,” she said, raising her voice over the beating of the windshield wipers. She looked to Dulce next to her. Her small face was plastered against the opposite window in what could only be described as fascination. “Apparently some are doing better than others.”
“What does that mean?”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re all fine, although Steven is not exactly my favorite person at the moment.”
On the other end, Alison looked playfully at Neely. “What’s that? Steve Caesare’s not your favorite person?” She covered the phone’s microphone with her hand and whispered excitedly to Neely. “He’s still available!”
Neely Lawton stared at her, turning several shades of red from embarrassment. “Shut up!”
“What’s in Pebas?” Alison asked, removing her hand.
“I don’t know. Steven isn’t telling me.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“No, no it doesn’t.” DeeAnn rocked in her seat after a large dip in the road. “Anyway, I can’t talk for long. I just wanted to check in.”
“Thanks, DeeAnn. I’m glad you’re all okay. We’ve had a few surprises here.”
“Anything bad?”
“No. Not bad. More like…astounding.”
“That’s great. I look forward to hearing all about it when I get back.”
“Deal.”
DeeAnn smiled. “Thanks, Ali. I needed a quick pick-me-up. When Steven stops talking, I get nervous.”
“I know the feeling. Hang in there and call back when you can.”
“I will. Thanks.”
DeeAnn hung up the phone and watched as Caesare twisted around from the seat in front of her.
“Please tell me you forgot I was in the car with you.”
She gave him a devious smile. “Whoops.”
The deluge continued for the entire duration of the drive. Outside, the heavy rain left little to see, even out the front windshield. The bright headlights behind them were the only evidence that the other two vehicles were still there, carrying Juan and the rest of Caesare’s team.
The rain eventually began to lighten. Shortly afterwards, the Peruvian driver next to Caesare slowed and turned onto a small muddy road which was almost entirely hidden in the dense jungle. DeeAnn jumped when giant leaves began slapping the sides of the vehicle as it bounced and rattled over a trail not much wider than a set of tire tracks. After a few miles, the slapping gradually disappeared and the leaves were replaced by bright green grass on both sides, illuminated by the headlights.
Moments later they caught sight of an approaching structure with its shadowy shape rising into the darkness. Upon closer inspection, they watched the outline materialize into an old Quonset hut with dim glowing lights inside. The shadow of another unmistakable shape emerged next to the building –– a large airplane sitting idle in the tall grass.
Stopping next to the old building, DeeAnn could make out the words “La Vida Del Aire” painted in large red letters on the plane’s fuselage.
The driver climbed out at the same time as Caesare, who briefly ducked back in his own door and grinned at them. “Wait right here.”
The door slammed shut before she could think of a reply, leaving her and Dulce sitting in silence, silhouetted in the bright glow of the vehicle’s headlights directly behind them.
“Wait right here?”
Dulce didn’t reply. She was trying to touch the small streams of water zigzagging down the other side of her window.
DeeAnn watched as the other three men’s shadows passed her window and joined both Caesare and their driver. Together, the five climbed a short set of wooden steps. Pushing open a door to a scarcely lit room, they all disappeared inside.
The metal door banged shut behind them as the men examined what appeared to be more a living room than an office. In fact, even calling it a living room was a stretch. The only two furniture items of note consisted of a ratty leather couch in the middle and a large, dark wood table with nonmatching chairs nearby.
Along the right wall, miscellaneous crates and empty boxes were stacked neatly against the hut’s metal frame which rose above them, echoing the fading raindrops outside. Underfoot, wooden planks squeaked almost as loudly as the door when the men moved forward. They stopped again when another man in his late fifties appeared from the far end. He was dressed in faded blue coveralls and a wide brimmed hat, dripping from both sides.