We stay up the tree for what feels like hours. It's not until after Tristan says, "Let's go down," that I speak.
"What did they say?"
"I'll tell you everything once we're down. Come on. There are ants up here, and they've already bitten the hell out of me."
I hurry down the tree, and when I'm on the last branch I take a good look around for any sign that the jaguars have returned. Nothing. I leap down, with Tristan on my heels. He leads me to the airstairs, and sitting there, he says, “There is indeed a rescue team out there.”
"How far are they from us?" I ask.
He looks down at the piece of paper where he wrote the message.
"They estimate they'll need about two weeks to reach us. If we leave tomorrow morning and keep a fast pace, and they also move toward us, we'll meet in the middle in a week. They have medicine and guns, and they will lead us to a place where a helicopter can pick us up."
"How far is that place?"
"They haven't told me."
"Why can't the helicopter come here to pick us up if they know where we are?"
"They said there is flight prohibition in this area. It must have been instigated after we crashed, because it wasn’t prohibited before.”
I stare at him. “Why would there be a flight prohibition here?”
“They didn’t explain. It’s possible they don’t know. Prohibition areas are decided by state organizations and they don’t always offer explanations for what they do. The fact is, there is no way a helicopter can fly here, not even to drop supplies or pick us up. It will wait for us just outside the perimeter of the prohibited area.”
“No one can make an exception for a rescue mission?” I ask incredulously.
“I really don’t think anyone views us as a matter of national concern in order to make such an exception. At any rate, maybe the rescue team tried to obtain a permit for bringing a helicopter here and was denied. Or they didn’t get an answer yet and grew tired of waiting. Knowing how slow these things are, it could take much longer to obtain a permit than coming here on foot and going back on foot too.”
I sigh.
“But it doesn’t matter. We are going home, Aimee.”
I beam as Tristan carefully folds the piece of paper with the message and tucks it in his pocket.
That's so much more than we could ever hope for. No more walking blindly, hoping against hope it's the right direction. I think of the future, when all that will remain from our time in the rainforest will be our memories. And well, the black scratch on my shoulder. I've been rubbing it every time I shower, but it won't go away. It hasn't lost any of its intensity either. No matter. My bones feel feather-light. The air seems less heavy and moist. I'm grinning like an idiot, but Tristan isn't.
The euphoria that colored his voice earlier still illuminates his face, but with a thin veil of uneasiness underneath it. It might not be recognizable to anyone else, but it is to me. I know Tristan so well, I can read even the smallest of signs. Like a twitch of his eye. The way he rubs the back of his neck with his hand, tugging with his teeth on his lower lip. I search for what might have triggered this but can't figure it out. There's nothing about a rescue team that can cause him anything but joy. Then I realize… there is one thing…
"Who assembled the rescue team, Tristan?" I ask, my palms sweaty all of a sudden.
"Chris. He's with them," Tristan answers, avoiding my gaze. His voice shook when he spoke Chris's name, but his tone turns very brisk when he continues. "You should look through your suitcase, if there is anything that could be of help on the trip. We leave tomorrow morning. I'll hunt for dinner."
"Don't go outside the fence."
"No need to. Plenty of birds within reach here tonight."
Tristan gets up from the airstairs, but I remain propped there for a long time. This is not how I envisioned seeing Chris again. It wasn't supposed to be here in the forest, among the trees and the birds that were silent witnesses to Tristan's and my love. This place belongs to us and us alone. I play a hypothetic conversation with Chris in my head. It doesn't relieve my anxiety. Especially when I remember the ring in my suitcase. No matter what I say, it will be awful. Chris set up an entire team to face the rainforest and rescue his fiancée. And when he finds her, she's in love with someone else. Poor repayment. I can't make things right. Still, I am very thorough in preparing my speech. My defense. My betrayal.
If I had known I wouldn't get the chance to utter one single word of that speech, I would have spent these hours differently.
Early the next day I saunter out of the plane to search for eggs. It'll be our last meal before we leave, and I want it to be nourishing. We have some leftovers from the bird Tristan caught yesterday, but it won't be enough. My stomach constricts at the sight of numerous, fresh paw prints on the ground. Tristan prepares the bait we'll use to lure the jaguars away. I pray it'll work and climb in one of the trees on the inside of the fence, a basket hanging from my left hand. I find enough nests on the upper branches to fill my basket with eggs. My thoughts keep flipping between being so close to safety and my rapidly approaching encounter with Chris. I'm not paying as much attention as I should to my surroundings when I jump down from the tree, my basket filled with eggs. I scan the area for any signs of a jaguar waiting to sink its fangs into me and rip me apart, and seeing none, proceed back to the plane. Or at least I attempt to.
It's not a jaguar that stops me, but a sharp bite on my left ankle. I cry out, dropping the basket. My heart leaps to my throat at about the same time my eyes drop to the ground. My stomach recoils when I find half a dozen black, thin snakes slinking around my feet, two with heads roaring open, ready to sink their teeth into my leg again. I've stepped right into the viper lair I discovered in our first weeks here but forgot about. Adrenaline courses through me as my legs dart forward, not before I feel a second sharp sting. Dizzy with horror and pain, I race to the plane, soon out of breath but afraid to stop, because if I do, the adrenaline sustaining me might succumb to the poison.
"Tristan," I say when I reach the airstairs, leaning against the railing. Heavy beads of sweat trickle down my forehead. Tristan looks at my basketless arms with raised eyebrows, but his bafflement turns into a mask of horror when I point down to my feet. I look down and dart forward, throwing up. The flesh is torn apart where the second viper bit me—no doubt its fangs were still in my flesh when I ran—blood trickling out as the venom trickles in. The sight makes me nauseous, but I don't throw up again. Instead, I lose balance. Tristan catches me just before I hit the ground. He lifts me in his arms, hurrying inside the plane. I try to ignore the pulsing pain in my foot but fail, resorting to biting my fist to keep from screaming.
When Tristan puts me down on my chair, I want to lift my foot up, to get a better look at the wound.