That night, I couldn't sleep. Whether it was due to my back or the mutilated state of my emotional self was indefinite. One would think that after all the trauma I had suffered the days previously, the energy would have been sucked right out of me, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not get to sleep.

Still sore from the re-stitch job Jesse had executed on my wound, my back was acting up, so I discreetly left my sleeping area and pulled on some shoes. Once again, after batting through the layers of mosquito netting, I was dismayed to find the fire, although not as fiercely, still going. I groaned. Was there some sort of late night ritual I was not privy to?

Tonight was a little different from the previous I realized as I haphazardly put my hair up and put my glasses on. Instead of the Major O'Neil cleaning his weapons, I found Paul in wire rimmed glasses, writing, of all things, in a tiny, leather bound journal. I groaned. Seriously?

Paul was so engrossed with his writings, he didn't notice when I took a seat on the opposite side of the fire. I closed my eyes, pleased at the turn of events. I hadn't been in the mood to talk, anyway. Except that's exactly what I got. A conversation, I mean.

"Couldn't sleep?"

I started. Paul was glancing at me over the edge of his glasses. The hand with the ball point pen had momentarily paused. I merely nodded and pulled my feet up and under me. The embers of the fire were the color of grapefruit innards.

"Yeah, me neither," he agreed, once more engrossing himself back in his writings.

Momentarily I had thoughts of him recording in his 'diary' mundane occurrences like, 'Last night I dreamed I was a dragonfly,' but I pushed those aside.

"Plus," he added, "I'm on look out."

I nodded in understanding, not voicing that he was apparently doing a crummy job what with the writing and all. He returned to his journal, and I to my meditating, or, you know, trying to but failing thanks to curiosity. It would totally figure I try to find some sort of relief and peace, but ultimately find none because I am tormented by my short attention span.

"What are you writing in there?" I finally asked, unable to ignore my curiosity any longer.

Paul continued writing and answered, without glancing up at me, "Helps me keep my thoughts together. Right now, I'm just recording some data concerning those fish from earlier." He finished writing a few more lines and began clicking his pen absentmindedly. "Plus," he continued, "I find that as I get older, my mind just isn't what it used to be."

I snorted eloquently. "Tell me about it."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Paul's lips, but other than that he made no effort to show he had even heard me. I should have just stopped there and gone back to attempted meditation or whatever since, of course, he had basically given me the brush off. But, as it must be remembered, I am an idiot.

"So," I asked, gesturing towards the journal after a few moments silence, "anything interesting in that data?"

"Loads." He snapped his journal shut and set it on the seat next to him. He peered over his glasses at me. "But nothing you would have any interest in," he assured me.

I couldn't help it. I was a little offended. "Oh, right because my head is filled with shoe designs and shirt patterns." Just because science wasn't exactly an exciting topic for me didn't mean I might not have found whatever he was writing interesting. "An 1100 on the SATs doesn't exactly make you a genius."

Paul sighed as if to say I went into conniption fits all the time, telling whoever was nearest the woes I have suffered at the hands of this cruel, cruel world. Please. If I don't know you, you're lucky to get three words out of me, let alone for life story. Except for George Clooney. I met him once and couldn't keep my damn mouth from rambling stupidly as I fitted him for a tux for the Oscars one year. Needless to say, he never came back.

"That's not what I mean," he assured me, pushing his glasses up. "C'mon, you know me better than that. Give me some credit."

"Do I?" was all I had to add.

"Okay, I'm sorry." His eyes were dark, covered in shadows from the fire, but from the firm line his lips were set in, I could tell he was being absolutely serious. I shifted in my seat. "And I'm really sorry," he continued, "about the 'dumbass' remark from earlier. It was really insensitive and completely uncalled for on my part. I know it's no excuse, but the heat makes me really cranky, and at the time, I was pissed off at something the Master had said—I'm rambling now—anyway, I'm sorry."

My stomach plummeted to the bottom of my torso. I could handle Sarcastic Paul, and I could handle Angry/Moody Paul. I could even handle Arrogant Paul. But nothing, no matter how long I knew the guy, could ever let me handle Serious Paul. Any every time, even if I was partly expecting it, the mood change threw me for a loop. I would even prefer Asshole Paul to Serious Paul, that's how weird it was for me. So you'll totally understand that I was pretty much speechless for an entire minute. Paul was never serious, and even more rarely, did he apologize.

"Um . . . what did Maverick say to tick you off?" I asked finally, because, in my defense, I'm not exactly great under pressure.

Paul chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "Coming from you, I'll take that as an acceptance." He picked up a stick and began mindlessly poking the logs in the slowly dying fire. "And I don't remember what Maverick said."

I snorted. "Yes, you do, Slater. God, you couldn't lie to save your life."

A strange look crossed over his face, but it was gone in an instant. I noticed his jaw line looked more prominent in the fire's glow. Paul had a good chin. "You'd be surprised," he commented vaguely. "As for the other thing, I plead the fifth. Under no circumstances am I discussing my personal affairs with you."

"Oh, come on," I coaxed, fully interested now that the topic was forbidden. "What did Maverick say to send you over the top?"

"Nothing," Paul said in a voice which he thought said the conversation was over, but he was so wrong. "It was stupid, so just drop it, okay? I already told you I am not discussing it with you."

"Did he bust out an offensive 'yo mama' joke?" I wanted to know. "Or did he, like, accuse you of being homosexual because I could totally understand if he did—"

"God, Suze. Just let it die, alright?" His face looked red and totally frustrated even in the minimal light. "I am not going to discuss it with you, so choose a new topic, okay?"

"Fine. What's Seattle like?" I obliged. "I've never been."

Having calmed down, Paul looked at me like I was crazy. "Really? You're giving up that easily?"

I shrugged. "Sure. For now anyway. Now answer the question: what's Seattle like?"

Paul heaved a sigh and propped his feet one on top of the other. "Seattle's great," was his elaborate description. "Very wet, but I think you would like it. It's no New York, but you should come out that way some time."

I nodded. "Naturally."

"The university I work at though," he countered, "is something different entirely. There are a lot of older men dressed in bad argyle sweaters made of a wool/bark mixture. And pleats. There are loads of pleats."

"You mean, you don't wear pleated pants?" I asked after laughing a few minutes.

"Never," he stressed, looking really offended which made me smile even more. "They always just look terrible and make my ass look huge. No joke," he added when I giggled even more.

I was about to ask him which university he worked at after my laughter died down because I either couldn't remember or wasn't told. As soon as I made an effort to speak, however, my back spasmed, and I literally had to grit my teeth together to keep from crying out in agony. It wasn't pride. I was just worried about waking up the others.

"Are you alright?" Paul asked having noticed I don't usually suck in air like an idiot through a clenched mouth. When I did not respond (excuse me for being a little preoccupied), he continued, "Suze? Is it your back?"

I shook my head and waited for the spasm to subside. Finally, I was relieved enough to reply with a weak, "It's nothing. I'm fine."

Paul saw right through my façade and snorted. "Right," he commented, leaving his seat and walking over to where I was. "Let me take a look at it."

"What?" That brought me back to reality. Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest. Why hadn't I thought to put a bra on beforehand? "No! I already told you. I'm fine."

Paul was not listening to a single thing I was saying. He took a seat beside me and lifted the back of my shirt to catch a glimpse of my mutilated back. Expecting some sort of warning beforehand, I shot out of my seat, but before I did, I slapped him across the face. Rather hard, I might add.

"What the hell are you doing?" I barked madly, making sure my arms were still crossed over my chest.

Paul, who had just suffered a punch to the face courtesy of Vince earlier, howled in pain. In retrospect, he sounded like a big baby. "OW, son of a bitch—Relax, Simon. This is strictly professional. I swear. Besides," he added, massaging his now pink colored cheek, "your back looks like hell. Nobody is going to cop a feel. Not even me. Just—don't hit me again."

Hesitantly, I returned to my spot, straddling the log we were seated on, and made sure to face my back in his direction. I felt like a crazy person for lashing out like that, but at that moment, my mind was filled with more pressing matters, like, for instance, making sure my breasts didn't make a guest appearance.

"I'm going to lift your shirt now. Do I have permission to launch sequence?" Paul asked dryly, clearly having learned his lesson.

My face fell. "Don't be an ass, Paul. I didn't mean to slap you," I said, "that hard, anyway."

I couldn't see his face, but I could tell he was pretty irritated. At least, by the tone of his next statement, anyway. "Apology accepted. Here, take these."

I craned my neck to see what he was talking about and saw in his hands his glasses. I grabbed them.

"Ooh," Paul uttered softly, after taking a sharp intake of air. His fingertips brushed over my upper back as they held my shirt up. "This looks like it hurts. Does it?"

I rolled my eyes. "No," I said absentmindedly, examining his glasses. They were really nice. I checked the label just to, you know, check out the competition. "I just acted strangely because I have a mild case of epilepsy."

"Cool it, Suze. I'm doing you a favor," Paul chastised. He came back to where he was sitting, carrying what appeared to be some sort of lotion or ointment from Jesse's first aid pack. I was too distracted to question further.

Simon. As in Simon by Suze Simon. That was the label that was on Paul's glasses. He owned a pair of my frames. A really nice frame, actually. I didn't know whether to be flattered or weirded out. I got so worked up over it, that I forgot that he could have just picked the frames without even realizing the maker. I mean, Paul wasn't exactly one to notice details like that.

"Ooh, that's cold." A shiver ran up my spine. My back really hurt, but the extreme cold made it feel a little better.

"Just stay still a little longer," Paul demanded. "I'm almost done here."

Finally he finished applying the medicated cream on my back and pulled my shirt back down. His fingers lingered probably longer than was appropriate, but I didn't mention anything. "Well," I eventually said after a loss of what to say, "um . . . thank you."

Paul smirking was the first thing I noticed when I turned around in my seat. The second thing I noticed was that he apparently had no respect for personal space. I literally could have sat on his lap. Not that I would have. I mean, please. How weird/gross would that be?

"Was that as difficult as it looked from my end?" was Paul's reply. Why couldn't he have just said 'you're welcome' like a normal person? "I mean, you looked like your vital organs were failing you," he continued. "Are you sure you're alright?"

I rolled my eyes. "Please. I am not even provoked by your sarcasm anymore. At this age, I am way wiser and pretty much immune to you." I brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. They really were a gorgeous color. His eyes, I mean. "Anyway, I'm just going to pretend you accepted my gratitude, and didn't run amok like some freak."

I rested my hand on the side of his face and examined it. Vince must have been aiming for Paul's nose but missed since his right eye was a plethora of grotesque colors warped into one über, genocidal purple. Even the eyelid looked a little lazy. I brushed the pad of my thumb over the skin under his eye. He flinched. Geez, I needed a new manicure. Maybe some sort of berry or a sassy tangerine color?

"Suze," Paul said in a strange voice. His adam's apple was bobbing like crazy, "what are you doing?"

Okay, I know what you're thinking. You think I initiated a provocative make-out session, and later, the two of us could keep our passions for each other in check no longer and proceeded to have raunchy, PG-24 relations under the full moon as it reflected off of our glistening, gyrating bodies like some sacred beam of luminescence. Well, in that thinking, you would be wrong. Like way wrong. Disgustingly wrong. At that time, I was concerned about his eye. I didn't even think twice about placing my hand on his face. Seriously, not every action I make is to initiate sex. That's really offensive. I mean, geez, I'm still married. I don't hate Vince that much. At least, I don't think I do.

"Eww, my God. Your eye looks terrible!" I said, announcing what Paul most likely knew already. His body stiffened and didn't move a single muscle.

"Simon, I bruise ridiculously over-the-top, but it fades quickly. By tomorrow—er, a few hours—it will be gone. So just—" He shifted under my touch. "—leave it alone. Please."

I ignored him and prodded and poked at his eye, checking for serious infection. "Don't be stupid. Just let me put some of this stuff on it. It will at least relieve the pain, if anything."

Paul batted my hand away. "Leave me alone. You are annoying as hell, Suze." He stood up and massaged his cheek as if I had infected it when I touched it. "Just go back to bed."

"You are such a baby," I chastised, standing up myself. My back, surprisingly, felt much better and as I dwelled on it, all the physical excursion from earlier had finally caught up to me. "Have a great rest of the evening or morning rather," I added a little bitterly."

Paul ignored me and resituated himself with his journal. "Sweet dreams," he stated. Then, as either an after thought or a way to antagonize me, he added, "Give Vince a kiss for me."

Yeah, I thought angrily as I made my way back to the tent, the day I kiss that bastard again is the day I'm down a ravine being shot at by military issue helicopters.

Although with what had already happened, that was probably a likely situation.

"G'night, Suze," I heard Paul call after me as the tent flap closed behind me.

+SS+

"I could eat a frakking horse right now," a muffled voice was saying outside of my tent. Only, it didn't say 'frakking'. Actually, no one says 'frakking'. Except for people who watch Battlestar Galactica and/or spend too much time with people who watch it.

I turned over in my sleeping bag and recoiled as my eye was greeted by a thin sliver of bright sunlight pouring through the slit between the tent flaps. I groaned and reclosed my eyes, but to my surprise, I wasn't tired anymore. Actually, what I was, besides feeling energetically refreshed, was really hot. A slick pool of sweat had formed in the valley of my chest. I sat up and ran a hand through my hair. Ugh, I could only imagine how it looked.

To compensate for my inadequate grooming, I slipped on a white sundress made of lace and some white Keds. Designed for a warm evening in Philly, but entirely inappropriate for the current surroundings. I shrugged. This was an emergency, and I looked really good in it. Although, the last time I wore it, I wasn't in it very long, if you get what I mean, so I wanted to make up lost time. I slathered on globs of deodorant, not thinking about my back because it wasn't bothering me very much.

I grinned reluctantly. Maybe today was just going to be one of those days.

"There she is," Charlie greeted me when I exited the tent. I smiled at him and saw that everyone was seated around the fire pit eating what appeared to be local fruits. Guess we ran out of rations. Great. "Did you sleep okay?" Charlie continued. "We were gonna send someone in to get you up, but Paul said you had a late night."

Of course he did. I glared his way, but he seemed impervious to it. Maverick, on the other hand, was not impervious. Whether consciously or subconsciously, he gave me the once over. Oh, yeah. Who still had it? Suze Simon, that's who!

"Oh, you should have sent someone in," I assured him. "Now I've slept in way too late. It's gotta be around noon now."

Jack snorted. "Well, it's not as if we have anywhere to be," he said.

"Yeah," Jesse added. "Plus, after the events of last night, none of us were too eager to begin traveling once again.

Well, I couldn't exactly disagree with them there. I mean, at this point, I was ready to call it quits and go home, but I didn't exactly have a means of transportation. You really underestimate how good you've got it until your plane crashes in the middle of the Amazon that just so happens to be infested with mutant animals and midget cannibals. I would never take in-door plumbing for granted again. Or microwaves for that matter. Or sidewalks. Where else was I supposed to walk in heels?

"So what have we been discussing?" I asked, having devoured that banana in practically a second. It turns out that running for your life can really build up an appetite. I was famished.

"Well," Maverick cleared his throat and began putting more suntan lotion on his legs, "Mr. Slater was just explaining his conclusions regarding the fish we came upon last night. I'm not entirely sure I believe him due to the fact that what he has concluded is positively LUDICROUS!"

"Easy," Vince coaxed, convincing his friend to take his seat again. "Bring it down a notch, Maverick."

"Yeah, the only reason you think its ludicrous is because aliens are in no way involved," Paul fired back. He was right about the bruising thing. You could barely tell he was punched in the face.

Maverick said something I will not repeat of my free will at this time.

"Hey, Maverick, I apologize on his behalf," I said recrossing my legs. It felt so good to be wearing a dress after so long. It felt really . . . feminine. "Anyway, let me in on this. What'd I miss?"

Jack groaned and mimed shooting himself in the mouth. "Oh, here we go again."

Paul, on the other hand, seemed ecstatic to be able to hear the sound of his own voice. "Well, Simon, since you asked so politely and that dress makes you look like an actual female—" I made a rude suggestion involving him and his mother. "—I'll start from the beginning."

It was really difficult to keep from making a sarcastic comment of feigned glee, but I managed to do so. After all, I was interested, even if, knowing these guys, it would take six decades before we actually got to the point.

"As you know," Paul began, taking his job as teacher very seriously, "each organism has a distinctive life cycle. They have a particular pattern of growth and change that rarely differs from generation to generation. Of course, their environments play a part on how they adapt, but essentially they have a distinctive life cycle. With me so far?"

I nodded.

"Good. Now, there are these things called limiting factors that obstruct population growth. For instance," Paul explained, "an unexpected change in color on leaves would be a limiting factor to a group of insects that rely on that specific color for camouflaging purposes. Also, predators could be called limiting factors. This is where Darwinism comes into play."

"Now Darwin I know," I exclaimed, pleased with myself. "He was that guy that spouted all that evolution junk, right? And something about a beagle?"

Paul flinched, obviously hurting from my lack of knowledge and technical vocab. "I think you're thinking about the H.M.S. Beagle, the ship he traveled around the world in, but that's beside the point. Basically, you are right though, except that the 'evolution junk' you mentioned was not the only contribution Darwin made. He coined a term called 'Survival of the Fittest'. Naval powerhouses in the 1890's interpreted the term in a different way, but in nature, it essentially states that the organisms that survive are the ones that are best adapted to their environment. 'Fit' didn't necessarily mean 'strong'. A taller bird could be more fit than a shorter bird merely because its height allows him food, while the shorter one starves."

"Uh, come again?" I demanded. Somewhere in the back of my head, I heard the Scarecrow's 'If I Only Had a Brain', but I ignored it.

"Basically," Vince took over, "each population of organisms is best suited to a certain niche. Penguins live in cool climates while cacti live in dry climates because they can produce their own water. But because they each fit in so well, limiting factors are needed, like predators, or else there would be massive numbers of penguins. The 'fittest' of the species are the ones that overcome the limiting factors."

I smiled, comprehension finally dawning on me. You know that feeling you get when you finally understand something? It feels so good. "Oh, so it's like when there's a twenty percent discount off Prada slides. The taller woman is the more 'fit' specie because she can reach the last pair off the top shelf while the short woman 'dies out' because she's stuck with those heinous Aerosoles."

Vince grinned. "Exactly."

His smile was so nice, I almost forgot I was mad at him. Almost. "So what does this have to do with anything?" I asked. See what I mean about the six decades thing?

"I'm getting to that," Paul replied defensively. Did I mention he was wearing a fedora? Seriously. A fedora. "So one of the major problems with rainforests like this is deforestation which is essentially when huge portions of the forests are destroyed by corporate companies or whomever. The result is that the nutrients in the soil change, and climates change. As you can imagine, for an organism, like our piranha buddies, that's used to warm climates, this could have a detrimental outcome."

"So what you're saying is . . ."

"What I'm saying, Suze, if you'll stop interrupting me is that because these creatures are faced with this type of limiting factor, they need to change or evolve."

I frowned. That was the lamest explanation ever. "So you're telling me," I wanted to know, "that because a few thousand trees were destroyed, an entire population of piranhas grew legs? I'm sorry, but I have to agree with Maverick. That's just about the lamest thing I have ever heard. Besides: doesn't evolution have to occur over billions of years or something?"

Paul groaned. "Well, e-essentially with some types, yeah, but I'm not done. Just—listen until I'm done, okay?" I refused to acknowledge that demand with a remark. "I assume you know what DNA is?"

I rolled my eyes angrily. "I know what DNA is, Paul. Don't patronize me."

"Oh, c'mon, even I knew that one," Jack remarked dryly.

Paul threw his arms up in an 'I surrender' type gesture. "Just making sure. Anyway, so in an organism's DNA, there are these things called Hox genes. They're like the master control genes that control growth as the embryo develops. They establish the overall body plan and determine growth of body parts. Like in an insect, for instance, the hox genes would decide whether it had three or four segments, and whether each segment had one, two, or three wings on each one. What I think has happened to our fish friends is some sort of mutation that has caused the hox genes to go out of whack."

"See!" Maverick interrupted in indignation. "That's what I don't get. I understand that mutations happen in DNA all the time, but they're usually minimal. What could have caused these fish to have mutated to such a degree that they're growing legs?"

He had a point. Unfortunately, instead of acknowledging that, Paul scowled and said acidly, "I said I had a theory. I didn't say I was the mother freaking Know All. I have no idea what would have caused it."

Sheez! Someone had woken up on the wrong side of the, er . . . ground? Vince played mediator since he and Paul didn't really have any qualms concerning the whole punch last night. Apparently guys have a really weird sense of camaraderie and friendship. But, hey, who was I to judge? I didn't have a single girl friend. Except for maybe Naomi. If we wanted to talk about weird friend rituals, we should first discuss my whole not having any.

"So let's get to the damn point already," Charlie suggested. I couldn't have agreed with him more. Actually, the more I sat there, the antsier I got. Weren't we kind of open game sitting here? Who knew when the next flank of undead would come along.

"This morning I performed an autopsy on one of the fish from last night," Jesse informed us. None of us asked him how he had managed to get his hands on one of the fish. Also, I don't think any of us cared. "Typically, fish are categorized under the phylum chordata. Organisms in this category have a back bone, a notochord, and a tail extending past the anus. Our little guy had all of these except for the back bone."

Vince frowned. "Wait. You're tellin' us that organism had no spine?" he asked incredulously. "That's ridiculous. The only nonvertebrates categorized under chordata are tunicates and lancelets, but that fish sure as hell wasn't one of them."

"Which was exactly what I thought," Jesse replied, with a nod. "But as it turns out, the organism has an exoskeleton."

We were all speechless. Well, most of us were falling asleep, but not me. I was too involved. "Exoskeleton?" I repeated. I racked my brain for my tenth grade biology class. "That's when the, um . . . skeleton is on the outside, right?"

Jesse nodded emphatically. "Precisely."

"But fish don't have exoskeletons," I found myself saying. Suddenly hoards of old cartoons depicting someone eating fish began playing in my mind. Whenever they ate a fish, there was always a tiny skeleton left. "Wouldn't an exoskeleton have to be really tough? I mean, from my knowledge, fish are kind of squishy. Granted, I've never been up close and personal to a piranha, but I assume the same squishy factor can be applied."

Once again, Jesse nodded. "Not only does this unidentified organism have legs, but an exoskeleton as well. Also, judging from its ability to survive on land, and my findings this morning, these things can switch between lungs and gills."

I scoffed. Suddenly I was the expert on the subject. Can't lie: it felt kind of nice. "But that's not so unusual, right? I mean, look at frogs."

"True," Vince admitted, taking over for Jesse, "but the thing about amphibians is that their skin has to be moist, usually from mucus secretions, to be able to breathe on land. Our little buddy had no pores on his exoskeleton, and it was as dry as a drought filled summer."

"Well, great, but what does that mean?" I asked. The climax hadn't exactly been as informative or as exciting as I thought it would be. Wasn't there supposed to be some sort of alien abduction involved or something?

"What it means, Suze," Paul stated, taking over his original position of The Informer, "is that the organisms in this jungle—the piranhas, that thing that took out Charlie's eye—are jacked. They're evolving so ridiculously fast—it's taking them hours to do what would normally have to take millions of millions of years. Soon enough, these things'll become so 'fit', they will literally wipe out the entire human population. The hunter will become the hunted."

I snorted. Well, at least PETA would be having its hay day. Wait! What was I saying? Annihilation of the human population? Really fast evolution? It sounded like the plot to that absurd movie Evolution. Fish didn't kill people. People killed people. Hadn't they ever seen Court TV? Then again . . .

Could it be possible? Could we have stumbled across something that wasn't a movie at all, but in fact a serious threat that faced anyone that was human? Even worse, was my father somehow involved? Or had he been a victim years ago?

And was it actually possible for fish to grow feet?

I took a deep, shuddering breath. Somehow all we had been through didn't really count. Somehow, this was the point of no return. It was either throw away my cynicism and have faith in something for the first real time in my life or turn my head and walk the other way. Sure, the no transportation thing made my pickings slim, but I actually wanted to pick the first option. I wanted to see this thing through to the end.

"So what do we do?" I asked, standing up. A sudden rush of endorphins seemed to scour through my veins. This was the first step towards being happy with me, myself. It wasn't much, but I knew it had to get better than this. "I believe you. I'm in this. What do we do?" I asked again. "I want to help."

"Well, the first thing I suggest we do is pack up," Charlie answered, placing his sidearm in the back of his pants. "We've only got a few hours of good daylight left, and judging by what happened last night, I suggest we try to find higher ground.

Jack stood up, too. "I agree. Only, I really think we should take the time to comb the surrounding area for one of those symbols again. From what Paul's gathered and Maverick's told me, the last two symbols were a good fifteen hundred feet apart." He took his M4 from its spot next to him, and slung the strap over his shoulder. "If I've kept track correctly, we're about the same distance away, so if those things really do form a path, then the next one should be somewhere in our vicinity."

"What are we waiting for?" I wanted to know. "Let's do this."

+SS+

"Charles Darwin's wife was named Susannah, you know."

I turned around and groaned. Oh, no! Paul was running to catch up to me. Naturally, I sped my pace up, but wouldn't my luck have it, my Ked got stuck in an uprooted tree root, and I fell flat on my face. Before I fell flat on my face, a single thought crossed my mind. What happened to Maverick? He was right behind me, like, a second ago.

"Really?" I asked, feigning interest, and accepting Paul's unwarranted help as he raised me to my feet. "I had no idea."

Paul steadied me on my feet and brushed some loose debris off my shoulder. So much for wearing white in the jungle. Or a dress, for that matter. Eww, was that a spider on the hem? "It's true," Paul emphasized, mistaking my lack of interest for disbelief. "Maybe you've got more of this nature stuff in your blood than you realize."

I finished clearing myself of debris and blew a piece of hair out of my face Free Willy style. "Somehow, I seriously doubt that." Paul let go of me and began searching the trees around us. Today, he had on a pair of white jogging shorts and a royal blue t-shirt along with that stupid hat. I waved him off. "I already searched this area. What are you doing here, anyway?" I wanted to know.

"One of the unspoken rules is that we shouldn't wander off by ourselves," he reminded me as he came back to where I was standing.

"Okay," I explained, "first of all, I was not wandering, and second, I was with Maverick. Or at least . . . I thought I was. Did you see him go off?"

Paul shook his head. "You were all by your lonesome when I came across you. Even Vince was keeping his distance."

"Ha-ha, you're hilarious," I quipped facetiously. "Not." I didn't let on to how much it actually hurt, and that, really, I missed talking to him. A lot. "Actually, though, I'm glad you are here," I surprised myself by saying. It then dawned on me that I had a question for him. "I want to ask you something."

"Shoot." He gestured forward, and I fell into step along side him as we continued to walk through the dense tree growth.

"Okay, well, you fully explained the creepy animals thing back at the camp," I began.

"Uh-huh."

"And, well, I wanted to ask you about—"

"Hey, guys." It was Jack. What was this, a Slater family reunion?

"Scram, Tripod."

"I have every right to be here, plus, she's married, dickhead. Stop trying so hard."

"I said—" Paul growled angrily, "—beat it!"

Jack was about to say something else, but I interrupted, and linked arms with him. "Jack's my friend, and he can stay if he wants to. God, Paul, what is your malfunction?"

I'm pretty sure I only imagined Jack sticking his tongue out at his older brother in my peripheral as I stared at Paul, waiting for a response. His jaw clenched rigidly, but he didn't say anything. I ignored it and continued walking.

"You were in the middle of asking me something before Dipshit over here interrupted," Paul inquired of me.

It took me a moment to recollect the conversation before I remembered once again what I had wanted to ask. "Oh, yeah," I said. "Well, what I wanted to know was how do you explain the other thing?"

"The other thing?" Paul repeated with an inquisitive eyebrow raised.

I nodded. "Yeah, the, um, paranormal thing."

Paul, still confused beyond belief, just stared at me, gesturing in a manner that suggested he was trying to coax the answers out of me. Jack clarified. "She means the ghosts."

I flinched. "Jack, you open your mouth one more time," Paul roared menacingly, "I swear to God, I will—!"

"—You'll what?" Jack wanted to know, fully egging his brother on. I rolled my eyes. What was with these two? "You gonna knock me out like Vince did to you? There's a reason I'm in the Marines and you teach at some secluded university in Washington. It's because you're a pus—I-I mean, a pansy. You're a freaking pansy."

Paul was silent. They both stared at each other with a red, hot malice in the cores of their eyes. You could literally cut the tension with a knife. All I knew was that I did not want to be hit in the crossfire. Lord knows my glutes were already killing me from all the running yesterday.

"Okay," I mediated, placing a hand on Jack's shoulder. I looked between the both of them. "That's enough. There will be no fighting on my watch, especially fighting to prove, essentially, who has the bigger junk. We all, regrettably, know who has won in that category." Jack beamed. "So why don't we get back to my question."

"About the paranormal?" Paul asked.

"About the paranormal," I confirmed.

July, Present Day

1400 Hours

Somewhere in the Amazon

Felicity Grabowski claimed a tree stump with her boot. Her sleeves were rolled up, her hair was a mess, and her blouse was mostly unbuttoned, but no matter what she did she couldn't escape the heat. It was worse than the Sahara, she decided.

She hadn't gotten an ounce of sleep last night because everyone was on guard duty after the homicides of their fellow officers. Just to think about it again had Felicity's stomach in knots. How had whatever it was killed so many men in that allotted amount of time? She hated not having answers. Had she been asked again a few months ago, she never would have taken this assignment on. Even with all its damned fortune and glory.

"Agent Grabowski!"

Felicity turned around and saw Leibowitz, the computer guy, from last night. Instead of looking frantic, he looked pleased with himself. She gestured for him to continue.

"For whatever reason, we got the GPS up and—"

At the sound of 'GPS', Felicity did not even have to hear the rest. She followed Leibowitz back to a cluster of soldiers gathered around the mentioned piece of equipment. While the others looked pleased, probably at the prospect of going home soon, General Holdren looked positively joyous.

"What seems to be the problem, Dax?" she asked, gathering her hair in a hair tie.

"Problem?" he repeated incredulously. He laughed like a crazed lunatic. "No, no. There's no problem here. Take a look."

The contraption was handed to her, and she looked at the sweeping line on the screen. At first she didn't see anything, but upon further inspection, she noticed a faint dot near the edge of the screen. "What is that?" she asked.

"That," Holdren explained, "is our ticket out of here. That . . . is a human life form."

Felicity's heart stopped. Were they really that close? "Are you sure?"

He nodded, as a menacing grin exploded over his face. "That double-crossing bitch will regret the day she ever messed with General Dax Holdren."

July, Present Day

South America

Somewhere in the Amazon

The area ahead of us was strangely bare of trees, although a canopy of tree tops still covered any exposure from serious sunlight, much like the area from the other day. I stopped walking. Not because I had made a connection, although I should have. I so should have. But because I didn't quite understand what Paul had just said.

"Wait, so you're telling me these . . . things are Nazi scavengers?" I repeated incredulously. I felt like I had just landed smack dab in the middle of an Indiana Jones chronicle.

Paul looked at me. "What? No. Have you even been listening to me?" He questioned, pacing around aimlessly. "Francisco de Orellana was a conquistador, not a Nazi. He was a celebrated war hero, and like Columbus and Magellan, his objective was to bring part of the Americas under Spanish rule."

I took a moment to collect my thoughts. Was it my imagination, or did it feel cooler? "So . . . this Francisco guy," I articulated, "he's important, how?"

"Well, like I said, he was a celebrated war hero who ranked lieutenant under this guy named Gonzalo Pizarro," Paul explained, ignoring Jack's declaration of 'Hey, I'm a lieutenant, too'. "The two became such good friends, that in 1541, they decide to combine forces and recruit some of their other friends as well as a vast majority of natives to begin an expedition east of Quito in search of 'La Canela'."

Jack, who had been chewing what I hoped was gum, spit it out onto the forest floor. "What the hell is la canela? Is that like a cannoli or something?"

"'La Canela' literally means cinnamon," Paul enlightened us, "but back in those times, it was the name given to a place they referred to as the 'Valley of Cinnamon'."

Jack and I exchanged glances. Was he for real? "They went on an expedition for ordinary table spice?" I inquired skeptically. "That's pretty much the stupidest thing I have ever heard of."

"You don't understand. Back in those times, spices were really uncommon, and therefore, you'd have to be pretty loaded to get your hands on some. So imagine what two schmucks with an entire valley of spices could do. Early retirement," Paul listed, "all the hot chicks in Madrid, hell, they could probably even do Queen Isabela with that kind of change."

"Still seems pretty stupid to me," I scoffed, running my fingers through my hair. "I mean, there are only so many things you can put cinnamon on, like applesauce, for instance. Did it come anniversary time, and they were all, 'Honey, you'll never guess what I got for our golden. Cinnamon!' Because, seriously, if Vince ever gave me cinnamon for my anniversary, I would so be like, 'See ya!'"

"Well," Paul said sweetly with an annoying smile, "that would actually constitute him having to talk to you first."

Before I could take a swing at him, and believe me, there was one coming, Jack asked, "So did they ever reach this 'La Canela' then?"

Paul shrugged and toyed with a leaf he had ripped off of one of the tree's branches earlier, "Well, sort of. See, this 'Valley of Cinnamon' was actually more of a legendary location, like 'El Dorado', than an actual place. Columbus made reports of all these new findings and riches, and suddenly, the whole country was overcome by wealth fever."

"So is that a 'yes' or a 'no'?" I asked innocently, as I twirled a strand of hair around my finger. "Because it was kind of hard to tell what with all the big headed-ness."

Paul scowled. "Well, you see, Suuuzie, Orellana and Pizarro combined their teams and began their expedition down the Amazon River, but somewhere down the line, Orellana's ship was separated from the main fleet. Later, his ship was attacked by a tribe of female warriors—"

"The Amazons!" Jack contributed to our discussion. We both stared at him blankly. "You know," he tried to explain, "like Xena: Warrior Princess? They were Amazons. That's probably who attacked this Francisco guy."

"You," I said dryly, "have way too much time on your hands."

"Anyway, as I was saying," Paul continued, shaking his head as if to rid it of Jack's inane inclusions, "his ship was attacked by a tribe of female warriors, most likely male natives with long hair, and not a single member on that ship was ever heard from again."

"So you think," Jack spoke, catching on, "that these ghosts, or rather, poltergeists who have been attacking us are the crew members from Orellana's ship?"

Paul nodded, a smile of pride tugging at the corner of his lips. "Exactly. Those tribe members must have been guarding something," he went on to say. "It wasn't as if Orellana and his crew were raping and pillaging or anything, and I'm pretty sure the tribe was not cannibalistic. My theory is that he got too close, and that the reason the tribe attacked was because they were guarding La Canela."

For some odd reason, my heart began beating rampantly in my chest, like I had run a marathon or something. "So you think it's real?" I asked, quietly for some reason. "This La Canela, I mean."

Once again, Paul nodded. "And I think that Orellana and his men—the ghosts, I mean—have taken over as guardians. I think that like them, we're getting too close to something we shouldn't be, and once we find La Canela, a lot of questions will be answered, including your Dad's whereabouts and these creepy ass organisms that keep popping up conveniently."

Jack frowned. "So all this—" He made some sort of weird gesture that must have meant 'all inclusive', "—is related?"

If Paul kept up this nodding business, his neck was certainly going to snap clear off. "As far as I'm concerned, yeah. I have a pretty good feeling it is."

All I could do was stare, as each of us stayed silent for a good five minutes. It felt like one of those power moments in movies from the 80s right before the credits roll where some crazy power ballad or Pat Benetar song comes blaring on after the hero gets the girl or the bad guys are taken down. I could almost hear 'Heartbreaker'.

"How do you know all of this?" I asked, finally voicing what Jack and I were both thinking. Honestly, I thought Paul was just a man of science.

Paul cracked a smile. "I watch the History Channel a lot," he explained. "Plus, ever since I was a kid, I've just liked history. A lot," he added at the dumb look on my face.

I was going to say something, I was, but a rustle in the tree leaves stopped me right in my tracks. The blood in my veins ran cold, and my muscles turned to stone. Spirit like chanting flooded the canopy above us. It was happening again. Orellana and his men were here again. Oh, no!

"Let's go," Jack urged, looking every which way, and getting a head start. "Let's go!"

He didn't have to tell me twice. Happily, I joined both he and Paul's side, and the three of us ran like our lives depended on it, which, coincidentally, they sort of did.

"We're gonna play this out just like last time," Jack demanded, happy to be in charge and in his element once again. I felt a strange sort of comfort knowing that someone was doing the decision making for me. "Paul, you team up with Charlie and Jesse. I'll team up with Maverick, and, Suze, you take—"

"—Vince, yeah, thanks," I muttered angrily. "I kind of got that by process of elimination."

"Good, then we're settled," Jack said, his voice wavering with each step he took. I saw a drop of sweat drop from the tip of his nose. "On the count of three, we split. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Got it."

One . . .

Two . . .

"Three!"

I couldn't even tell you what direction I took. All I knew was that wherever I ran to, I ran faster than I ever had in my entire life. At some point, when I got the time to actually think to myself, I thought maybe we had overreacted, but then I heard that unmistakable screech. Seriously, not a single sound in existence can be used for comparison. There's nothing like it.

Whether God was on my side or not, I managed to find Vince. I stopped only momentarily and grabbed his arm, rather harshly. The poor guy looked elated that I had started speaking to him again. For a moment, I stopped. Maybe he was as messed up about us not talking as I was. I brushed the thought aside. We had to get out of here.

"Vince, we have to get out of here," I informed him urgently.

He steadied me by grabbing onto my shoulders. "Whoa, slow it down, darlin'. What's up?"

I shook my head fervently. "No time. Remember those things that attacked us before the fish? The things we couldn't see?"

"Well, yeah," Vince replied reluctantly, "but—"

"We have to go," I stressed, pulling him along. "Please. I am not kidding."

"Okay, then," he agreed. "Lead the way."

I did exactly that. As the two of us ran, I guided us through uncharted territory, as far as I knew, anyway. Tree branches, insects, all of it was a blur as we rushed past it at light-like speeds. I lost my footing once, but Vince grabbed hold and didn't let go. We were, in theory, the perfect team.

Right before I heard a second screech, something hard hit me on the back of the head. This time, I did lose my footing, but Vince didn't stop it. I struggled to keep my eyes open as unconsciousness threatened to take over and made an effort to stand up. I swayed, totally disconcerted, trying to take in my surroundings bit by bit. When my head had finally cleared a little, the first thing I noticed as I looked around was that Vince, who had been there a second ago, was nowhere to be seen. The second thing I noticed was that the first thing was actually completely wrong and that Vince was being dragged away by two soldier zombies.

"Vince, hang in there!" I cried, more for myself than anything. I couldn't hear his response, but if I couldn't see my attackers, I'd be pretty scared shitless myself.

When I realized I didn't have a single weapon on hand, my hands began to shake, and my legs took off with a mind of their own. Maybe Vince turned the other way when danger struck, but not me. Not Suze Simon. I couldn't live with myself if I let him get away.

No matter how fast I ran, Vince kept getting farther and farther away, yelling for his life. My legs began to ache, and I was even sweatier than this morning, but I didn't care. The only thing I could focus on was getting Vince to safety, but no matter what I did, he kept getting further out of reach.

It was then that I spotted it. The ravine, up ahead. The one Vince would surely drop to if the creatures didn't let go of him. Tears streamed down my face as I pushed every ounce of energy possible into my legs at that moment.

I would just jump. Simple as that. As soon as I came to the edge, I would jump across the ravine. Speed certainly wasn't an issue, if my legs could attest to it. And I was going to. Jump, I mean. But as soon as my knees bent to give me thrust, arms wrapped around my midsection and pulled me back.

"Suze, you're going to kill yourself!" Maverick yelled at me, his hold on me surprisingly strong. But I was never one to give up without a good fight.

"Let me go!" I cried, writhing in his grasp. It was only then that I noticed I was crying. "I have to get to Vince. They're going to kill him!"

I watched in horror as the creatures began swinging across the ravine on vines up above, with Vince loosely grasped in their decaying talons. There had to be some way to get him. Some way to catch up.

Out of my peripheral, I saw that the rest of the gang had caught up. How embarrassing that they would see me cry. How embarrassing that they would see me, essentially, kill my husband.

"VINCE!" I cried again, clutching fistfuls of Mavericks shirt, as I watched him get smaller and smaller as the seconds passed by. My voice cracked and heaved with every gut wrenching sob that was ripped from my body. I couldn't feel. Physically, mentally, none of it. I was helpless.

I watched, helplessly, until I couldn't see Vince at all anymore. It was then that I broke, sobbing uncontrollably into the front of Maverick's shirt. I collapsed to the ground and everything went black.

TG/N: I'm sure my English teacher will be totally understanding when I tell her that, no, I did not work on my research paper, and yes, I did update Simon Says. All I know is that I am PSYCHED that it is finally updated. This chapter contained a lot of information, so hopefully, I didn't bore you. Also, I apologize for spelling/grammatical errors. I didn't go through this a second time, so it's probably terrible. Anyway, sorry for taking SOO long.

With love,
The General