Despite the shadow of the canopy above, the air was as hot as a furnace. Spalko followed Jones through the trees, clothes still damp from the morning's rainstorm. They had rested by the river for two days, but their dwindling supplies had convinced them to continue on. Spalko still felt weak and dizzy, and her bruised ribs protested with every breath. Jones wore a thick bandage over his shin, and he limped a little as he walked. Neither of them was in optimal shape for the trek to Akator, but pushing ahead was the only viable option.
As she trudged forward, Irina recalled her previous visit to the lost city. She had been at the height of her career, with an army at her disposal and all the knowledge in the world at her fingertips. Now, she felt strangely disconnected with that woman, as if she were a stranger. She had been fervently devoted to the Soviet Union, willing to kill and die for the glory of the motherland. The knowledge that her country had tortured her and left her to die in a labor camp weighed heavily. In her head, she maintained that the Union was fundamentally just and that those condemned to the gulag were traitors of the worst sort. But then how had she wound up at Chistilishche? The contradiction bothered her deeply.
As she tried to untangle her thoughts, the pain in her temples grew sharper. Her head wound had scabbed over, but the concussion remained. They had run out of painkillers the previous day, and it was becoming harder to ignore her injuries. Up ahead, Jones was slowing down, and he waved a hand in her direction.
"You look tired," he commented, rummaging in his bag for the canteen.
"No more than you." Again, she noticed the way in which he was favoring his right leg. "You are limping."
He shrugged her off, retrieving the canteen and replacing his pack. He took a sip, then handed it to her.
She drank, grimacing at the tinny taste of the water. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she stared at him.
"How long to Akator?"
"Two days," he guessed, taking the canteen and returning it to his pack.
They had a small amount of scientific equipment remaining but taking samples would be more difficult without the proper tools. She wondered if it would be more prudent to turn back, but she feared the consequences of failing. Ross would not hesitate to have her shot once she outlived her usefulness. Returning with samples from Akator would buy her time.
She followed Jones down the trail, placing her feet carefully on the slippery carpet of leaves. She felt suddenly trapped, hemmed in by dense jungle, the air thick and unbreathable. Her rifle was heavy against her back, and she pushed forward, ordering herself to remain calm. Panic would do her no good. Still, the idea of returning to Ross empty handed was frightening, and she was fiercely determined to reach Akator.
A few kilometers later, the forest dropped off steeply, interrupted by high, stone cliffs. Long-ago travelers had carved a narrow path along the cliffside, and someone had threaded a rope through a series of rusted metal loops. The rope was yellowed and fraying, but Spalko supposed that the path was wide enough to use without the extra handhold. Still, as she stared down at the rocky canyon hundreds of meters below, she felt a prickle of unease.
Jones stepped forward, testing his weight against the rope. It held, and he grinned. "That's a surprise!"
"It holds for now, but it may give out halfway down the path."
His face fell. "Always so practical."
Irina knelt to re-lace her boots, then tightened the straps of her knapsack. Her heart was thudding loudly, but she still stepped towards the edge.
"There is no alternate route. It's best not to hesitate."
Before stepping into the abyss, Spalko brushed her hand over his cheek. "Move cautiously."
"I will," he assured her quietly.
They stepped onto the ledge. Irina pressed a steadying hand to the cliff wall, placing her feet carefully. The path was narrow, and she angled her body towards the wall, craning her neck to observe the trail ahead. Bits of stone broke off under her hands, and the path beneath her feet was uneven and slippery with fallen stones. She inched forward, resisting the urge to glance back at Jones.
After a few minutes, the path began to widen, and she found herself on solid ground. Stepping back, she watched anxiously as Jones finished the climb. Readjusting his cap over his forehead, he nudged her shoulder. "I don't look forward to repeating that on the way back."
She cringed. "I did not think of that."
Ross was displeased to find himself back in Iquitos, and even more disappointed to see the face that greeted him. Marino sported a new pair of glasses and a sharper uniform, but he still wore his customary sneer. As Ross entered the room, he didn't bother to stand.
"I am surprised to see you here again." Marino licked his lips, but his face was otherwise still.
"Quite frankly, I'm surprised to be here again." Ross took a seat at the card table, folding his hands. The basement was as cold and dank as he'd remembered it, and he tensed under his light uniform jacket.
"I heard you have a proposal for me?" Ross inflected.
"Yes. There was an…incident when Jones and Spalko left for Akator."
"What kind of incident?"
"You should have received the report. The party was targeted by arrows from an unknown source."
"And? The tribes in the areas are known to be unfriendly to trespassers."
"There was a second incident last night. Their tents were set on fire."
"By whom?"
"That is uncertain. Captain Rossi managed to radio before they traveled out of range, but the connection was weak."
Ross stroked his chin. These were indeed interesting developments, but he failed to see what they had to do with Marino's invitation. "Why did you invite me here?"
Marino showed his teeth in what Ross guessed was meant to be a grin. "I think this warrants investigation."
"What do you propose?"
"We send a team to overtake Jones and Spalko and head them off at Akator. The soldiers can provide additional security."
"We already sent six soldiers with them! Surely that's enough for security—"
"—Furthermore, I do not trust Spalko. I wouldn't be surprised if she were behind these incidents."
Ross hummed under his breath, then nodded in agreement. "She agreed to work with us far too easily."
"So you accept this plan?"
"Yes," Ross responded, nodding decisively. He leaned back, and the folding chair creaked under his weight.
Again, Marino flashed his teeth. "Excellent. I'll dispatch the team immediately."
They were less than a day's walk from Akator, and Indy could feel his body beginning to give out. His leg wound burned, and his face was peeling with sunburn. They had stopped in a clearing, and he'd managed to tie up their tarp between the trees. It was raining steadily, so they hadn't bothered to light a fire. Still dressed in his waterlogged jacket and boots, he stretched out beside Spalko, listening to the rustle of branches in the darkness.
Spalko also looked a bit ragged, with her ribs bound tightly over her undershirt and a bandaged gash across her forehead. She had fallen asleep almost immediately, and her hand was nestled under his. After Akator, he hoped they'd have time to recuperate before Ross demanded another task. They'd both had a rough time of it, and he just wanted to rest and recover in her company.
Indy was reluctant to use the word love; he'd only claimed such a feeling once before, and it had ended with broken dishes and a last-minute train ticket six days before the wedding. Sometimes he wondered if there was any reality in which his relationship with Marion could have survived. She had been beautiful and explosive and vivacious, but they were too much alike. Marion was hotheaded and slow to forgive, and Indy was stubborn and prone to callousness. He cherished the time they'd shared, and her death would always hurt, but something had shifted in the past few weeks.
Brushing these thoughts away, he stared out into the rain. A flash of lightning illuminated the trees, and in the brief wash of light, he noticed that Spalko was awake. He turned towards her.
"Are your ribs bothering you?" He asked softly.
"A little," she admitted, pressing a hand gingerly to her side.
"I can rewrap the bandages-"
She silenced him with a shake of her head. The light caught in her pale eyes and drew her angular features into sharp relief. It was raining harder now, and she moved closer to him, shivering in the damp air.
"You are so kind to me, Jones. But I'll manage."
Spalko had turned away from him, and her back was pressed against his chest. He arranged his arm carefully over her waist, avoiding her injured ribs. He liked this closeness, the tickle of her hair in his face, the slight rise and fall of her breathing. Outside the tent, the rain was falling in buckets, and lightning flickered above the trees. He closed his eyes.
Only a few hours from Akator, they began to encounter scattered Mayan ruins, the crumbled edifices covered with moss and fallen leaves. Patches of paving stones interrupted the muddy forest floor, and the ground was scattered with bits of carved rock and fallen brick. Spalko took in the ruins with interest, pausing to inspect a chipped marble obelisk.
Jones waved her on, eyes wide with unease. "Let's not linger too long."
There was no sign of human habitation, but she followed him anyway, picking carefully through the rubble. The day was hot, and she wore her jacket loose and unbuttoned. Her hair was covered by her cap, and as she returned to the shade of the trees, she noted the drop in temperature.
Jones was carrying their pack, and his limp had seemingly improved since the previous day. A bandana was knotted around his forehead, and he'd added a thin coating of mud to his face to prevent further sunburn. Spalko jogged to his side and waved her empty canteen in the air.
"We are almost out of water."
He looked slightly concerned, staring into the distance and narrowing his eyes. "We'll replenish our supply at Akator."
She made a gesture of agreement and returned the canteen to her belt. They worked together so easily now, and she predicted that this would make their inevitable separation more difficult. Spalko did not want to dwell on eventualities, but surely there was no future for them. She would return to the Soviet Union, whether tomorrow or in five years' time. She felt something strong for Jones, but she did not belong to herself. Her entire being was devoted to her motherland, and she did not wish to hurt Jones by leaving him behind.
The situation was peculiar, she'd admit. She had nothing left in Russia and returning would certainly be suicide. But Irina was nothing without the motherland, and her life mattered little compared to the greater welfare of her people. Enlisting in the Red Army had kept her alive through the war, and it had given her an escape from the ignorance and violence of home.
The inhabitants of her home village had been superstitious and largely illiterate. As the child of a mixed marriage between a Tatar mother and Ukrainian father, Irina had been born under a cloud of suspicion. She had an eidetic memory and a particular talent for reading faces, and these unusual skills had only earned her scorn. Her ability to read set her apart for the other village children, and her dabbling in dissection and collecting medicinal plants earned her the title witch. The Soviet Union had rescued her, a dirty and uneducated child with little worth outside her hunger to learn. That debt could never be repaid, but Spalko had always resolved to try.
Burdened by these thoughts, Spalko shoved her hands into her pockets, walking slowly behind Jones. Her boots stuck in the mud, and she dropped her head as she passed beneath a tangle of low-hanging vines. Sweat plastered her hair to her neck, and she breathed shallowly in the heavy air.
Up ahead, Jones shouted. The jungle stopped abruptly before a stretch of sand, and he stepped forward, pointing up at a large boulder. Faint carvings decorated the stone, and a trickle of water ran down the rock face.
"This is it. Akator."
