“Lady, let me help you. It will be faster,” he said, looking back at the terrifying Asian woman. She was the second person to beat the snot out of him that day, and almost as scary as the cop he left half-buried.

She shook her head, declining the offer, “Sorry mate, I'm not letting you handle a scared, hurt, teenage sheila, ‘specially one with no knickers on. We're fine as apples, limping along as we do.”

The woman held the lamed girl under her arm, helping her navigate the bushes using one staff for a crutch, another to beat back the branches out of the way. The other girl trailed after them, hugging herself, and sobbing. She was deathly pale, though Miguel assumed it was from stress and not yet from the poison.

“Look, I'm just trying to help. I don’t care if you ladies are naked, I'm naked too!” he said, exasperated.

“You being nuddy as well makes it much worse.” She said, almost immediately tripping, nearly spilling the girl on the forest floor.

“See? Let me help, we can carry her…” he approached them but the woman pointed the staff at his face, stopping him.

“...alright. We’re goin’ to put the sticks under her bottom and do a chair-carry. Grab her under the knee and over the waist…” they lifted the girl, who froze for a second when Miguel touched her, “you better remember what the words knee and waist mean, cobber. If I see you touching any of her fun bits or even eyeballing them, you're gonna regret it. And God help you if you so much as get a half-mast stiffy… ”

Miguel burst out laughing. It terrified the girl so much that she almost jumped out of his arms, and the woman stared daggers at him.

“Whatcha laughin’ for?!”

“the absurd irony of my life!” he said, heaving with laughter.

“What?”

“Lady, people have threatened and beaten me for years, for who I am. Now, some magic threw me into this weird opposite world, where people want to beat me for what I'm definitely not! The universe must hate me!”

“What are ya on about?”

“I’m maricón. A sissy. Homosexual. No need to threaten me to keep me away from them. Your fun bits are safe. I actually find them not fun at all, a bit gross, even”.

“Oi, who do you call gross you fat blob? Also, sorry for going off on ya. I was being clucky with the two dumbarses under my care. ” she smiled, softening a bit. “Girls! Say thank you to this nice bloke.”

“Thank you.” said the one they carried. The other one nodded and muttered something he could not hear.

“I'm Miguel by the way. But everyone calls me Gordo.”

“Gordo…doesn’t that just mean fatass?” she asked.

“Oh yes, on account of my obvious anorexia.” He winked. “Been called worse”.

“Nice to meet ya, Miguel The Gay Fatass. Im Candace, The Roided Hag, and these are the Russkie Fuckwits, Sveta and Nata. One is lame, the other terminally stupid.”

“What a team we make!” he said. But there was one thing he had to make clear before it came to light anyway.

“Candace. What if I'm something worse than a sissy fat man?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“What if I'm a criminal?” he asked, stopping. Candace looked him in the eyes.

“Are you the kind of criminal who hurts women? Or people, in general?”

“No… not directly at least.”

“Are you the kind of a criminal who has their own yacht, or better yet, a private helo, and can take us out of here?” she followed.

“No, definitely not.”

“Then I do not give a fuck. Let's worry about it once we are rescued…”

“But…” he trailed off, because she pushed forward forcing him to catch up without spilling their passenger. They finally breached the edge of the woods and got out onto the meadow he left a while ago. Now, he definitely needed to explain the situation, because the source of his worry noticed them, and started shouting expletives and pleas for help.

“Who the hell is that? A friend of yours?” asked Candace, picking up her pace.

“The opposite of a friend. He is…” he went out of breath, trying to match her jog, “he’s a cop that caught me. And I sort of killed him. And myself. It is…ah…complicated. And then we ended up here… and I abandoned him”.

“Gordo, you are not making any sense. You killed him and now he is alive?”

“It is… hard to explain. The important thing is, I am on your side, and saved the girl’s life. You remember that, and do not listen to what he says…” he panted out, sweating from both the exertion and anxiety.

The officer’s voice got hoarse from all the shouting, and he shut up. When they finally reached him, Miguel saw the cop was not idle. He excavated all the loose soil around himself and tried to dig into the slate with his bare hands. His fingertips were raw and bloody, and the rock was smeared red all over, but predictably, he made no further progress. His vulpine face no longer showed the confident anger of before, only fear and a grim determination to survive.

“I'm surprised you came back, fatty. You were supposed to bring help, but you brought whores instead? ” the cop said, trying to mask his desperation with a mischievous grin.

“Hey, coño, I understand enough Spanish to catch that,” said Candace with a mean scowl. “You better watch who you call a puta, your head is right on a footy punt level.”

“I am very sorry Miss,” said the cop in English this time, with an almost sincere apologetic smile. “Officer Raul Martinez of the Grupo Especial de Operaciones Federales, Argentine Federal Police. At your service.” He pointed at Miguel. “I need to warn you ma'am. This man is a criminal, a cartel associate and drug dealer… and he left me here to die.”

Miguel tried to protest, but Candace shushed him. “Hey, I want to hear the man out.”

“But you said you don't care!” he shouted desperately.

“And you said you were harmless!”

“Miss,” the cop started again,” this man is not harmless. He is dangerous. He caused an explosion that almost killed me and several officers. And he sold methamphetamine to the kids in Buenos Aires.”

Candace pulled Sveta away from Miguel.

“Please, let's be reasonable,” he pleaded. “I helped you with the girls. I mean you no harm…. Yes, I am a criminal, but I'm not a bad man… and I'm not a Cartel man! ”

“He is lying,” said Officer Martinez matter-of-factly. “We raided his laboratory, where he was making drugs for the Cartel. Maybe he was not selling it himself, but he was cooking it. However…” he added, putting on the face of a reasonable authority figure, “... we must be practical. We are alone in this jungle, God knows where. He might, or might not be at fault for this, but he is stuck in here as much as we are, or he would be long gone otherwise.”

“What do you suggest, Officer?” asked Candace, but the distrust in her voice betrayed that she was not exactly buying the man’s words.

“For one, you need to help me dig myself out. I have no idea how I ended up embedded in rock. The last thing I remember was an explosion caused by this boludo -” he pointed at Miguel,” and I woke up in here, staring at his ass and legs sticking out of the ground. I helped him out, and he left me here.”

“Hey, this is not how -” Miguel started but Martinez cut him off.

“... as I was saying, Mister Aguirre here,” he pointed at him again, “ left me to die, because otherwise I would have arrested him. But this is not important now. The important thing is for the three of you to get me out, so that I could help you return to civilization. I'm a special forces operator trained in wilderness survival and rescue, you won’t last a day here without my help.”

“We already lasted two, you know,” said Candace. “But alright mate, we will help you. It's not like we’re the kind of arseholes who would leave a bloke to die,” she glared at Miguel, but put in a split-second wink. “But we have a much more urgent problem. This girl,” she pointed at Nata, “ingested poison. We need to sort her out first. Then we uproot ya. Then we can have a straightening-out convo with Mister Aquirre.”

She put Sveta on the ground, but outside the man’s reach, and led Nata towards the water. Miguel followed. They sat by the river.

“Candace please…” he started.

“Oh don’t ya worry. I didn’t believe the so-called officer. He tried to sell us heaps of furphy. Typical snake-fuckin'-charming copper talk. But you do have some explaining to do, alright? ”

“So,” he changed the subject hastily, “what do we do about Nata?”

“I'm not sure. She looks scared, but fine? How fast does the poison kick in?”

“Sorry Candace, but I have no idea. I think it works fast, one, maybe two hours before she has the first symptoms.” He looked at the girl, who was hugging her stomach, her face ashen. “I don’t know if what’s happening to her is a stress reaction or the poisoning. Maybe we should make her puke anyway, just to be sure?”

Candace rose to her feet and reached for Nata with a determined look on her face. The girl froze in place, doe-eyed.

Miguel gently pulled her hand away. “Please, let me…” He knelt by the girl. She visibly relaxed when Candace backed off.

“Hi Nata. Sorry for scaring you, back there, by the tree. I was trying to help. You have to vomit out the last seed. I know this is very unpleasant, but you need to do this to save your life.”

“I…I can not.” she sobbed. “I have… do not know how say…”

“It’s alright. Maybe your sister can help translate?” he suggested.

“No! No…Sveta will be mad. I have… rasstroystvo chuvstva goloda. Ty nye panemayesh… It is when you hungry, and eat, and vomit and eat again and vomit, and can not stop? Sick in head?”

“You have bulimia? You eat a lot and then you hate it that you did, and vomit it out?” he asked.

“Yes, this word. You understand? If vomit again, I cannot stop. Sick in head again. Crazy. Better die from poison than crazy again. Please tell Candace she not make me!”

Miguel hugged her. Candace jumped to intervene, but stopped when Nata hugged him back and started sobbing.

“Chica, I understand, believe me,” he said, gently patting her head. “But you are wrong. It’s better to be a bit crazy than dead. I’ve spent a thousand evenings hugging a toilet bowl and puking my stomach inside out. But I'd rather do it again than die. Please do it the least time to get rid of the poison seed, and then I’ll help you be a little less crazy. Ok?”

She looked up.

“...ok”.

He let go of her and waded into the water. Found a floating plant that looked a bit like a water lily, and ripped off several giant, dish-like leaves. Then he pulled out a tall, thick cattail shot and snapped it in half.

“Candace, hold that reed.” He handed it to her and angled it. “I'm going to pour water up the top of it, and as it filters out, it should pour out from the bottom hole. Nata, hold that leaf and gather the water. When the leaf is full, drink it. Ok?”

He poured water into the hollow tube using the second leaf, and watched as it dripped out of the other end, agonizingly slowly. He hoped that the spongy mass inside the bulrush shot would filter out at least some of the contaminants and bacteria. Sure, the reed itself might have been poisonous, but he considered it unlikely. As far as he knew, no reed species was poisonous, and most were actually edible.

After what felt like half an hour of careful pouring and filtering, Nata managed to capture and drink about ten leaf-fulls of water, which was about one liter, give or take. She drank most of it.

“Ok Nata. Now the difficult part. You have to puke the water out. You need to dislodge the seed, if it is stuck inside your stomach.” He said putting the leaves on the ground. “Can you do it yourself?”

“Ehhhh, blyat'. I do it. Please… not look. Ok?” She stared at them with pleading eyes. Obligingly, they turned around.

For a few minutes, all they could do was wince in sympathy over the sounds of retching and sobbing.

“Is good. I see it it. it is out. No turn around, I want to wash.” Splashing sounds.

“You found it? You found the seed?” he asked.

“Yes.” Nata approached them, holding a tiny brown speck. “This is ..this? The seed?”

“Yeah,” Candace said with a clear relief in her voice. “Doesn’t look bitten or digested to me. Whatcha think?”

“Not worse than the previous ones. Still, we need to observe her for symptoms. Not sure what we do if she has any, but still…” he hesitated.

Nata grabbed him suddenly, muttering something incomprehensible in Russian. Then she did the same to Candace.

“So sorry, love.” Candace said, patting the girl’s back. “Did not know you were sick. If I knew, I would not jump ya like that. We alright? Still besties?” she said, waving a woven bracelet.

“Yes, Miss. We friends. And Mister Miguel friends too.”

“Just call me Miguel,” he said. “Calling me Mister and calling Candace Miss sounds like we're old.”

“But you are …”

“Call us old and I smack ya,” said Candace with mock anger. “I still owe you some good arse whoopin’, remember? Also, If it is not clear yet, do not, I repeat, do not eat or drink anything unless I…well unless Miguel says it is ok?”

“Yess M… Candace.” Nata said, and left to join her sister. Candace watched her go, her face softening.

“By the by, good on ya, Gordo,” she said, facing him. “As much as I hate babysitting these two dimwits, I would hate it more to see them die. Thanks?”

“Hey, everybody would do the same…” he started.

“Speaking of everybody,” she said quietly, nodding at the cop they left in the middle of the meadow. “Care to explain what the copper was about? You being a Cartel man? Rather hear it from ya than from that grub.”

“Candace…” he searched for words. He was never a good liar. He was not at all good with human interaction in general, having spent most of his adult life either alone in a lab or staring at a computer screen.

“...What the policeman said is true. Mostly true. I’m a meth cook. Or was one, before my lab blew up and I ended here.” He shifted his gaze down, not braving eye contact with her. “I used to be a…stupid kid, back in university days. Got in debt with very, very bad people. Could not pay them back in anything but my skills. So…yes, I cooked meth for the Cartel. First pay them off, then… I got greedy alright? Started enjoying the money.”

“Like that Breaking Bad bloke?”

“Oh no, that show is rubbish, and that man’s procedure was absolutely amateurish!” he shook his head with a sad laugh. “I would not trust a moron like that to brew soap, much less meth. I was much better, and… you can say got addicted to being good at it? Being proud of being good?”

“So exactly like the Breaking Bad bloke?”

“Huh. Point taken. But what I mean is that I never intended to hurt anyone…”

“Except the kids who overdosed on your cookin’ and fucking died?” she said, harshly.

“I… I always tried not to think about it. Maybe it makes it even worse, in retrospect?”

“It does.” She said firmly. “But you cannot undo it, and I think being teleported to fucking China, helpless and nuddy as a newborn is enough of a punishment.”

“Wait, teleported? This kind of makes sense… but how do you know?” he asked.

“How do you think I ended up here? Did you assume I just happen to enjoy trekking around the bushes, my bare arse hanging out, with two Barbie dolls in tow? We got magicked here somehow. Assume the same as you?”

“Well… I died first,” he said, uncertain.

“What do you mean, died? You are standing upright, mate. You think this is an afterlife? Hell?” she looked around. “Well, fuck me, ya might actually be right…”

“No… at least I do not think so. But the truth is, I had triggered an explosion just before I ended up here, one strong enough to blow up the whole house, and the last thing I saw, before I ended up here, was a cloud of acetone fire speeding towards my face.” he admitted.

“Well, cobber, I got you one-upped I think, the last thing I saw was a tiger shark opening its mouth to eat my stupid head. This is starting to make sense.”

“We both died?” he asked.

“We both almost died, I think. Almost is the operative word.. Defo stick to that, that’s less spooky and… spiritual,” she said, turning to go back, then noticed the sisters squatting next to the cop.

“Hey! What do you two think you’re bloody doing? Move the fuck away from him!” Candace shouted.

“We, we just…” stammered Nata, quickly scooting away from the cop.

“Miss, they were trying to help me out, as I ordered them.” The officer said.

“Ordered now, huh? Since when didya got to be in charge?” she asked, taking Sveta underarm and pulling her away as well.

“And you,” she scolded the girls, “are you determined to get in trouble at every damn moment my eyes are of ya?”

“But…he is police, he said… he will help us.” Sveta tried to defend herself.

“Love, and yous just believed him? Aren’t you girls bloody Russian? Don't you people know better than to trust the police?”

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“Miss,” said the officer, in a placating tone, that nevertheless had iron underneath, “I understand your caution, but this is really unnecessary. If you are in charge of this… group, I’ll defer to you. But you need to get me out. You need me.”

“I hate to say it, but he is right,” sighed Miguel. In all the crazy, horrific things that happened to him that day, he found Martinez to be the most terrifying. Not because he was a cop, that was frankly irrelevant in their situation. It's because he had the same cold, calculating, predatory stare Miguel saw in the eyes of Cartel sicarios who were his handlers. Sure, Martinez possibly saved his life pulling him out of the ground, but Miguel did not think for a second it was out of the goodness of the man's heart. Miguel was a valuable pawn in the game between the Cartels and the Buenos Aires police, and thus, was worth more alive than dead. Nothing more. If he were not a potentially useful captive in their war with the Cartels, Martinez would have just shot him, back there in the house, not tried to arrest him He turned to Candace.

“I admit, I was ready to just leave him to rot. But clearly, we are far away from home, yours or mine. We need his skills. If we ever get to civilization, he can arrest me. Let's keep ourselves alive until then.” He pointed at the cop, “and, that means digging this forro out.”

Marinez shot them a grin that was supposed to look like sincere gratitude, but the smile did not reach his eyes, which were still hard and calculating, like the stare of a raptor bird.

“Well it's your cop, Gordo, so it is your decision.” Candace.

“Well then,” he said, “as much as it pains me to say, we have to try to rescue him. We need to find some sturdy rocks and pound away at the slate to excavate him.”

“Normally I would be first to agree," said Martinez, “as it is my ass that's buried underground. But we have other priorities. It is getting cold, we have no clothes and no drinkable water. We have to secure those things first because I'm sure it will take a longer while for you to get me out.”

“I do not want to sound overly optimistic,” said Miguel tentatively, “but I think we have the water issue solved. We can suck on those reed shots. They seem to work as a filter. Not good enough to stop most of the germs, but we are likely infected with the majority of those anyway. I'm no biologist, but I'm pretty sure all that splashing around in wet soil and dirty water was more than enough to infect us ten times over with every bug there is. We are either immune or not, time will tell.”

“Well,” Martinez said, “unlike the rest of you, I haven't drunk or eaten anything here yet. I think I'm not infected and would rather not be-”

“Unfortunately, you are wrong.” Miguel interrupted him with an unpleasant smile. “Your asshole and cock were soaking-in groundwater, presenting easy access to every microbe and parasite that comes along. So I guess if we are not immune you are fucked the most. I cannot imagine it will be fun to catch gut fever while your butthole is encased in rock.”

“You fuckin…” the cop instantly went from friendly to frenzied. He swung impotently at Miguel who stood just outside his reach.

“What are you going to do, huh?” he mocked Martinez, and kicked loose dirt in his face.

“Woah!” Candace stood between them. “Enough with the shite-talking. Are you two fucks twelve years old? You-” she pointed at Miguel, “stop antagonizing the cop. And you, Mister supposed officer of the law, calm the fuck down, or we won’t help you, yah?

The girls stared at them, wide-eyed. He immediately deflated, anger replaced with embarrassment.

“Some adults we are.” Miguel sighed. “Sorry, Martinez. We are on the same side until we find help. Deal?” He reached down and extended his hand. Martinez shook it, though Miguel half expected the cop to break his wrist with some sudden martial arts trick, out of sheer spite.

“All right Aguirre. Truce.” The cop hesitated for a second. “Let's cross the water issue off the list. Hopefully none of us gets sick from it. But it looks like it’s way past noon and already getting cold. The night will be much worse. We can last without food for many days and even without water for a few, but low temperatures will sap our energy very quickly.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Well we won't find any clothing in the woods but we can build a shelter to protect ourselves from wind and rain. Of course, by we, I mean you, because I'm stuck in the ground. And we should also start a fire.” Martinez explained.

“See,” said Candace, “me and the girls already spent one night here. We built a shelter and covered ourselves in grass pads. But I do not see how you might start a fire in this damp forest. We do not have matches or a lighter or any fancy equipment you Special Forces types use. What are we going to do, rub sticks together? That only works in cartoons about cavemen.”

“Miss… what is your name again?” the cop asked.

“Why should I tell you? Without my lawyer present? You got a warrant or something?” she grinned.

“Ha, fucking ha.” He gave her a deadpan look.

“I'm Candace.” She introduced herself. “I'm Australian. Mostly. The peg-leg doll back there is Sveta, and her sis is Nata, they’re half-Russian or somethin’. And you know our new friend, Miguel Gordo… Acquire?”

“Aguirre.” Miguel corrected.

“Anyway, now we are all friends,” Martinez waved away her objection, “Let's focus. Fire. We are getting it, eyesippy.”

“Eyesippy? you mean ASAP? As soon as possible?” she almost burst laughing.

“... Yes.” Martinez blushed, barely hiding his sudden anger. “We need to keep warm. Even if you managed to last the whole previous night, repeated exposure to cold will ruin you.”

“Martinez…” Miguel said, “it's Raul Martinez, right? Weird to call you by your surname, what’s with us being friends. Anyway,” he turned to Candace and the girls, “Raul here is correct. We’ll last a day, two, maybe three, but if the temperature drops below ten centigrade for the night, which is a real possibility, it will, as he said, ruin us. Soft hypothermia means complete exhaustion, confusion, and drowsiness, which is the worst combination if we want to survive, find our way out of here, and find help.”

“But how do we make fire?” asked Sveta.

“Actually Miss Candace already has the solution.” Martinez grinned.

“Rub sticks? Really?” Candace was incredulous.

“Actually the solution is closer than you think.” Martinez was really enjoying himself. “You brought it!”

“What?”

“The bamboo. We’ll use bamboo sticks. Not rub them together, but saw one with another. ” he said.

“Now, this is right bollocks…” she shook her head.

“No, Mart…Raul is right.” Miguel said “If we find dry enough bamboo it might work. Bamboo has a much lower ignition temperature than wood, so it can be charred with friction easily. Rub it hard enough, and long enough, and you succeed.”

Candace and Sveta burst out laughing. Nata was confused for a second, but her sister whispered something in her ear and she joined in as well.

“You men and your love for rubbing your stick, long and hard….” Candace slapped Miguel on the back. “Come on Nata we leave Sveta and the men to set up the camp, and go find some dry bamboo sticks… to rub... vigorously. ”

They departed, going away along the edge of the riverbank, upriver where a few clumps of bamboo peeked from among the cattails.

Martinez watched them go, and whispered to Miguel. “Gordo, let's get one thing straight. Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me. You have two choices. Leave me stuck here, and die yourself, lost in the wilderness. Or dig me out, and be at my mercy. You do not want to piss me off before that. Understood?”

Miguel swallowed hard and nodded. He almost said how little faith he had in the second option coming to fruition. But he thought better of it. He needed Martinez’ knowledge and skills, and not him raving mad in hopeless panic.

“Understood, Raul. We have a truce.” He rose and said aloud, ”So how about that shelter?”

“Here, I already started!” As they were talking, Sveta wove a braid of grass. “If you bring some branches and ..reed it is? We can tie it into big umbrella house-'”

“You mean a tent?” Miguel asked.

“Yes. Make a tent over Officer Raul. Put a lot of grass on it and in it. Like a nest. We all get inside for the night, be together close to keep warm.”

“That…” Martinez hesitated. “That is actually very smart, little girl. Bravo. I have no better idea.”

Miguel went to collect branches and saplings. He could not easily break or uproot any small trees, but for once, his considerable mass was to his advantage. He simply grabbed low branches and hung from them, letting his weight do the job.

He was coming back with an armful of long sticks, when he was hit with a whiff of a vile stench. It was as if he had put his head in a cat’s dirty litterbox, that contained the cat’s rotten corpse as well. His eyes watered, and he almost gagged.

“Que mierda…?” He rushed forward to escape the smell, and tripped over a fallen branch. Getting up, he saw the patch of mud underfoot, and froze.

Tracks. Animal paw prints. By the looks of it, canine. Clear as a photograph. He put his own foot next to the print. They almost matched in size.

Steeling his resolve, he forced himself to remain calm, and collected his sticks. There was no benefit in panic. Whatever had left these prints could be long gone. Well, maybe not long, because they looked fresh, but gone anyway.

And maybe, just maybe, it was not even very big. After all, small creatures sometimes have oversized paws - he tried to fool himself. He walked back to Martinez with faked nonchalance.

“Hey.” he whispered in Spanish, quietly enough that Sveta would not overhear. He did not think the girl spoke his language, but he could not risk it. “Animal. Prints. Close.”

“What?” Martinez asked equally quietly, without changing his expression.

“Animal tracks. By the edge of the woods. Big as saucers. Dog? Maybe a wolf? Something like that.”

“You sure?”

“Yes Im fucking sure!” he growled through clenched teeth. “What do we do? What if it lurks nearby?”

“Relax, Gordo.” Martinez patted him on the face. “The police is here. You are safe. I won’t let a wolf eat you, you have to go to prison, remember?”

“... this is not a joke…”

“No, it is not.” Martinez said matter of factly. “First rule of any interaction with potentially dangerous wildlife is not to panic. Even if it comes close, it will likely be more terrified of us than we are of it. We won’t panic, or run around, or yell, or make any extra noise, but we won’t keep quiet either. Just act normal. Build the shelter. Wait for the girls to come back with the bamboo to start the fire.”

“No. We have to go and get them. Warn them. I can’t even see them from here! What if they are in danger? I need to go there!” Miguel pleaded.

“And do what, exactly? What if they are in danger? You are going to stand between them and a wolf? Eh? Aguirre?” Martinez smirked, and started casually browsing through the branches, picking the best ones for the shelter.

Miguel sat, defeated. The truth was, he was still a coward. Even the events of the last twenty-four hours had not changed that about him. Only fear and desperation could motivate him to take drastic actions, and in this case, fear made him sit still. Not that he was any safer here, with Martinez and Sveta, as neither of them was capable of defending themselves or even running away.

“What is it?” Sveta asked, and frowned, reading Miguel’s expression. “Why you whisper? In Spanish? What is happening?”

Miguel exchanged a split-second look with Martinez. The cop shook his head curtly.

“Nothing Sveta, we are just arguing…” he said. She tried to ask something more, but noticed her sister and Candace returning.

Candace lugged a giant armful of dry bamboo and kindling. Nata carried another. They triumphantly piled it in front of Martinez. “Here Mister Cop, as many dry sticks as you could ever eat. Now, show us the trick.”

“What trick?”

“The bamboo sawing trick? The one you were going on about?” She crossed her arms and waited expectantly.

“Well, I don’t really… I mean I know the theory…” Martinez stammered.

“Raul, given our previous conversation, maybe you should really give it a honest try? And I mean right now?” Miguel insisted.

“Yeah. Eye Sippy, Raul.” Candace snorted. “Dazzle us with your Boy Scout skills.”

If the situation were not truly dire, Miguel would enjoy it immensely. Watching Martinez humiliate himself, but keeping the feelings boxed-in to appear professional, was a special kind of delight. Rubbing sticks together to make fire was not as easy as it seemed, and it seemed hard already in the first place. Sure, the cop managed to saw one bamboo with a long shard of another. He cut it almost in half, without actually producing any flames.

“This bamboo is too wet!” he complained, barely hiding his anger. “You need to find a drier piece.”

“Look, mate,” Candace yawned. She tried her hand at bamboo-sawing with similar results. They all did. “This bamboo is the driest you are likely to get around here. These woods are as damp as knickers on a rave girl, everything is moist and squishy. Maybe your idea is not as good as you thought it was?”

“It is good! We had it shown during training, it can be done…” Martinez argued.

“He is right, you know.” Miguel interceded. “I saw a documentary about native people, they did start fires in a similar way.”

“So what are we doing wrong?” she asked. “Use that brain of yours!”

“Honestly, I have no idea.” He shook his head and looked at Martinez, who shrugged as well. “Maybe it is too damp. Or maybe the wrong type of bamboo. Or maybe we do not put enough force into it? Sooner or later it must work, heat is just motion against friction,… got it!”

“Got what?” she asked.

“Friction! The bamboo is too smooth. We cut a groove in it, but it just gets polished as we saw through it, not enough friction. We need it to be rough, at least at first.” Miguel rummaged through their pile. Finally, he found a small shard of slate. After a few minutes, he managed to drill a small hole in a halved bamboo shot, and smeared it with fine, powdered rock. “Here. I put some slate dust in the groove. It will prevent it from getting too smooth, too fast. The plan is like this, the girls will hold that piece of bamboo, and me and Raul are going to see-saw at it with that other, longer piece. Candace, when you see a flame, or even a bit of smoke, start blowing at it gently through a reed. It won’t work without oxygen, but it also won’t work with too much oxygen.”

They set to work. They had to replace the saw part twice, because it broke under the strain. Finally, right before they gave up, a tiny ghost of white smoke emerged from the hole. Candace gently blew at it… and it died.

“Fuck!” Martinez yelled, and tossed the saw away. “We had it!”

“Eh… we did not have it. We forgot about tinder.” Miguel sighed with sudden realization.

“The app?” Nata asked, confused.

“No, you drongo, he means actual tinder, as in the shite that was supposed to catch on fire. We did all the work for nothing! ” Candace waved at her, exasperated.

“Not nothing, look!” Sveta pointed. The rim on the inside of the groove was still smoldering, with embers smaller than a grain of sand. “Quick, what is to burn?!”

They scrambled to find anything suitably flammable. Luckily, Sveta’s grass-braid making left a whole handful of bushy fiber that fell off the dried grass. Candace ran to the river and brought a bulrush tip overflowing with fluff. They mixed it together and put it right upon the dying embers. Miguel took a straw and blew on them as delicately as he could.

The tiny orange lights flickered and grew. Seconds later, the charred bamboo smoked, and then the fluff caught on fire. Everyone except for Miguel hooted and cheered, while he gently wrapped the burning bundle in more dry grass and pushed it under a tiny dome of kindling Martinez carefully prepared.

Within a minute, they had a small bonfire. Soon, they had a very big one, when the enthusiasm overtook them and the heat put some energy back into their tired bodies.

They watched the night fall sitting around a bonfire, with the sole exception of Raul who had no choice but to stand in his trap. Miguel broke the silence, fell on his back and laughed. “Not a day ago, starting a fire was easy and almost killed me. This time starting a fire was fiendishly hard, and quite possibly saved our lives. Life is strange.”

Martinez spat out a bit of a bamboo shot he was chewing on, “wish you had your chemicals here. A barrel of benzine, like the one you used to blow us up, would come in handy.”

“It was acetone, you ignorante. But yeah. I could use some of it. And a loaded gas burner. “ He stretched. “And you know, clothes. Blankets. A charged phone to call for help. The stuff.”

“Beer. A cold one. Or maybe Cab Sav. Or one of those fizzy drinks with a tiny umbrella in it, ” Candace said, dreamily.

“Chocolate. Taxi to go home.” Sveta added.

“My guns.” Martinez added.

“What for? You can’t shoot your way out of that rock.” Miguel asked.

“For… things. Safety and so…” Martinez said, giving him a meaningful look.

Candace rose, dusting herself off, and threw more sticks into the fire.

“Alright boys, cut it out. Enough with the meaningful looks and half sentences. What the hell is going on?”

“It is nothing-” Miguel started but Martinez cut him off.

“Animal. Big. Nearby. Maybe dangerous.” He said in Spanish.

“Fuck! Why haven't you told us?” she fumed.

“We did not want you to worry. Maybe it's nothing.” Miguel tried to explain.

“Well let me tell you, mate. We have been attacked by wild animals twice in the last twenty-four hours, so for the three of us it's defo not nothing. It actually feels like quite something, you know? So next time do not withhold that kind of critical info are we clear?” She pointed at them both, “Either way no more cryptic Hispanic chitchats. My Spanish is not very good, the girls likely don't speak it at all, and we all deserve to know everything.”

Miguel looked at Martinez who gave him a small nod. ”Maybe it's actually nothing,” he said, “or maybe not. When I was away collecting branches for the shelter I saw tracks. Animal tracks.”

“What kind of animal?” she frowned. The girls scooted closer to the fire, and they all felt how pitifully small its circle of light was against the falling darkness.

“I am not sure, but it definitely looked big. The paw prints were almost as big as my foot.”

“So what, a bear?” asked Sveta.

“No. At least I do not think so. I'm no expert, but it looked like a dog's tracks, maybe wolf’s.”

“Well that's just fantastic,” said Candace. “I'm not sure you know, Martinez, but I just fought a bloody shark and only one day later a pack of giant otters, of all things, so I'm absolutely done with dangerous wildlife.”

“You fought me too.” said Miguel, “but I guess I'm not very dangerous.”

“The shark story is something I would like to hear one day," said Martinez, “but let's focus. None of us is dangerous. Well, normally, I would be, if I was not stuck in the ground. So the next best thing we can do is to at least appear dangerous.”

“What do you mean?" asked Miguel. “We already have fire. I cannot think of anything more dangerous from an animal's perspective.”

“I would not put much stock in fire protecting us. Wild animals don't have a silly phobia of fire, just healthy respect for it. They know fire, and know how to get around it. A wolf or a jungle cat can easily sneak up on us and drag someone away from the bonfire. It would not be deterred. What really works in our favor is that we are strangers in this place, we smell different, we look different, and in nature, different usually means dangerous. But this advantage can easily be ruined if an animal gets too curious or if we walk into its den or hunting grounds. We have to make ourselves look even more dangerous than that to increase our chances.”

“So what do you have in mind?” Miguel asked. “Spears? Clubs? Give me a month of time and maybe we can have gunpowder…”

“Masks.”

“You are kidding, right? You want us to believe that if we dress-up scary enough wolves and such would let us be?” Candace looked incredulous.

“Yes, that's actually what I'm suggesting.” Martinez smiled, enjoying himself. “How about I tell you a story…”

“Well it looks like you inevitably will, so let's get on with it.” she said, rolling her eyes.

“A long time ago, when I was a young rookie," said Martinez who obviously looked young, still, “we got jungle survival training with this old native guy, a Guarani hunter turned Spec. We called him Lizard because he was bald as an egg, ancient, and seemed to be made of tanned leather and sinew. Looked like a desiccated reptile, hence the name. He claimed too, and I very much believed him, that he was the only man in Argentina or possibly the entire world who had killed a jaguar in single combat.”

“Now, that's a load of crap,” Miguel interjected, “jaguars were basically extinct in Argentina for the last seventy years! ”

“Of fuck off Gordo, don’t ruin my story,” Martinez said, flicking a stick at him. “Who knows, maybe it was the Lizard Man, who made them extinct, eh? Anyway, the story goes like this. Mister Lizard was on a recon operation against possible insurgents, a million years ago, somewhere in the South-West. His base of operations was next to a local loggers’ camp. It was before all this environmental nonsense, when lumberjacks could go off into the wild and make a buck.”

He threw a handful of sticks into the fire. “So anyway, as Lizard got cozy with the locals, trying to pry out of them what’s what, they told him, nah, begged him to get some of the silly masks they all wore, for his team and for himself. Apparently, they all wore elaborate masks, with bulging eyes and giant fangs on the backs of their heads. The idea was, that the mask would make them look fearsome and vigilant, and a jungle cat, like a jaguar or a mountain puma, would not try to sneak up on them from behind. Of course, Lizard, being a bit of a skeptic like our friend Gordo here, said it was all superstitious nonsense, that there are no jaguars in the woods, and even if there were, a mask would not deter one.”

He made a pause for dramatic effect. At this point, everybody except him huddled by the fire, trying to look behind them inconspicuously. The darkness beyond the glow of the fire was absolute.

“So, one day Lizard went on a bit of a recon all by himself, against regulation. There weren't any confirmed insurgents nearby, so there was no point dragging the troops around. He slung his gun over the shoulder and was chopping away his way through the bushes, when something slammed into him from behind, and crushed his shoulder in a vise-like grip.”

“Let me guess,” asked Miguel, “the non-existent, long-extinct Argentine jaguar?”

“The very much real, Argentine jaguar,” Martinez corrected. ”It pounced at him from behind, just like the lumberjacks said. The only thing that saved Lizard’s life was that the barrel of his rifle got in the way, and instead of biting into his neck, the beast settled for his shoulder instead. The impact made him drop the ‘chete as well, so he was completely unarmed.”

“So, what he do?‘ Nata asked, huddling close to her sister.

“Well, he did the only thing he could, a technique I rather don’t advise we test anytime soon…” Martinez looked around their faces. “he rammed his hand into the cat’s maw and grabbed its tongue. Some men grow stronger than they normally would be in desperation, and Lizard surely was a strong man already. He tore the tongue clean off, ruining the jaguar’s throat in the process. The cat let go of him and started thrashing in agony, letting him escape. He ran towards the loggers camp, bleeding, his shoulder ruined, and screaming his head off until he collapsed. The troops found him, and found a dead jaguar, two klicks behind him. The cat bled to death first. Lizard barely survived, but since then, he always, always had a monster mask attached to the back of his head whenever he was anywhere in the green.”

“Yah, that's a tall load of top-quality, unadulterated bollocks, but entertaining.” Candace gave him a slow clap, to which he bowed, as much as he was able to, anyway.

“So, the moral of the story is… wear a mask or a cat will get you?” Miguel clarified with a disbelieving smirk.

“Well, aside from my beautiful tale which you rudely disregarded,” he waved away Miguel’s objection, “the use of masks for that purpose is known worldwide, and well-tested. Not just masks, bangers, whistles, feather headdresses, and long capes, drawing snarling maws and big eyes on your clothes. It works. It will not work on a determined predator, but it will deter opportunistic stalkers, which are more numerous. If you look dangerous, look like you are staring at them, they will leave you alone.”

Miguel shrugged. “This is all very interesting, but we do not have any of these things. We would need to produce paint, and get cloth somehow, and… I'm not sure about the rest-”

A shrill sound interrupted him. Martinez waved a whistle he made out of a piece of bamboo he had been just chewing. “See Gordo, you need more faith and optimism. Shows you were a city kid born to rich folks, because every kid from the villas knows how to make a whistle.” He blew the thing again, and watched them wince from the noise. “Annoying, isn’t it? If that hurt your ears so badly, imagine how it would feel to a wolf or a cat.”

“Ok, Raul, point taken,” Miguel admitted. “At worst, we will have means to call one another if we get lost. Can you make more of those?”

Martinez looked up at him, with a second whistle nearly finished.

“Oh. Do you mind not chewing them out if we are to put them in our mouths? I'm sure you can use a sharp rock to carve them out instead, like a civilized person.”

“Inefficient,” Martinez said, spitting out a chunk of bamboo, and examining the third whistle critically.

Nata and Sveta shot rapid Russian at one another, and after some back and forth, Sveta said in English, ”I think we can make masks. Nata can make mats out of grass. I can too, but she is better. We will try make simple clothing, and masks too.”

She reached towards the ashes spreading from their fire. “We can use the white thing and water to make paint. And black thing.. coal? Make black eyes and white big teeth on mask.”

“See?” Martinez grinned at Miguel. “Optimism. Finding solutions. Even the chicas get it. Try to find solutions and be useful.”

“I am useful,” Miguel grumbled. “Was probably more useful today than my entire life.”