Chapter 6: Forbidden Fruit
"Have you ever seen Saturday the 14th?" Katie makes conversation, "The movie, not the occasional date."
"Sure, we saw it a piece after escaping the Valley," Greg notes. He also notes that his sister's memory has been sporadically faulty on this trip, if one reviews the story so far.
"That horror-comedy has a funny merman in it," Katie grins by the port gunnel.
"Well, the merman scene is funny," Greg grants, "much as the monster's a predator pestering Kari Michaelsen in a towel."
"Gimme a break," cracks Katie, "It's funny."
"I suppose that our creature quarry is also funny. He's an oddball, anyway," Greg guesses, "Gill-man is certainly atypical evolution: a cross between an arapaima and a rampaging orangutan."
"Which makes him very interesting," biologist Katie concludes, "We must find him again after meeting him the day before last."
"Certainly," sibling scientist Greg agrees, "You and I have faced big army ants [E2], sabretooths [E15], harried hominids [E5], and dinosaurs. We should challenge the unknown. No matter what Jana or Montaro says."
Unfortunately, intrepid outsiders have often ignored Amazonian admonitions and explored "new worlds" anyway. The simpatico two, brother and sis, shall see if the Butlers are such buttheads—again.
The skiff drifts with its outboard off; thus, the siblings can hear each other. The Xingu's current carries them back north away from their fateful destination. Although, Greg intends to soon gun the motor right back toward their goal. Over the port gunnel, Katie guides an insulated electric line. It has sonar detection equipment at its end, and the transducer offers pixelated pictures of the land and life beneath the river surface. Out the aft, the skiff's skipper runs a long rope line. On its end, it has a big bait fish on a large hook. With any luck, the creature connoisseur is not sick of "seafood". Although, granted, he did recently fervently seek bipedal fare. In the boat, each Butler investigates by hopefully effective method, and both Butlers anxiously anticipate encountering the aquatic ape-man again. They bravely go with Katie Spock to Greg's Kirk.
Rounding a curve, the current carries the couple of seekers along the Xingu's circuitous path. Pleasing sights pass along the lush shores alive with fauna and flora. The vegetation is every variety of green. The wildlife is every color of the rainbow, and its various voices create an engaging cacophony. Even two serious secular scientists must passingly consider this place Eden. Their spirits savor their fortunate place upon the pellucid Xingu, and a place in their minds preserves this paradise forever.
However, at a certain point, the sunlight flares and sparkles on the channel's surface, and approaching rapids rumble in sharp ears. Each Butler alerts again to the mission. The ranger catches the outboard's cord and reinitiates the motor. The rudder rounds the skiff again southward at its lowest speed. The trolling line gently unspools and continues offering a meal. At the sonar, Dr. Butler intently studies the screen. There are piscine schools, sunken trees, and a huge snake underwater, but nothing more fishy appears. She leisurely looks over the limpid water. She sighs. Butler blinks successively and straightens her back.
Light brown eyes look around and ahead. The Xingu soon meets the Iriri, a tributary. And, the Butlers have met this notable bifurcation before. It was a fork in their fate twenty years ago, for their folks John and Kim steered their family toward the Iriri one day. The sparsely-charted Iriri almost immediately led to a totally uncharted river branch, "deep in the heart of the Amazon". Naturally, the elder explorers and their nascent scientist offspring took it. Suddenly, a violent whirlpool caught them, and they were propelled through an underground cavern into a hostile world of giant prehistoric creatures.
Therefore, the Butler kids know this stretch of Xingu well, even after only visiting once. Although, Katie has always been curious about a certain quirk, and Greg has always chewed over the same. At these coordinates, the landscape has abundant vegetation that includes very tall trees, and occasional rocky promontories pop impressively above those trees. However, this place is neither mountainous nor notably cavernous. It has no alpine passes. It has no drastic drops in elevation that provide a journey to the center of the Earth. Yet, two decades ago, the Butler bunch took an Iriri side channel into a kinky, craggy canyon with distinctly steep walls—like a mountain pass. Logically, that physical geography cannot be. And, manifestly, it isn't. Neither theory nor empiricism places a deep canyon on the map.
To have such circumstance, one would have to believe in magic such as the superstitious settlement sort who mentioned an escarpment where the river splits. Maybe, he knows something that the kids do not.
Directly ahead, the Xingu splits southwest. "Iriri?" Greg asks.
"Yeah, let's look. An amphibious abomination needs to live somewhere," Kate answers.
"Dad and Mom would have looked for trouble too," Greg makes light.
Katie loops in the detection plumb so that Greg can gun the motor. Temporarily, the Butlers cannot see boulders, bogies, beasts, or bogeymen beneath the surface.
Creatures concealed in the abutting brush have no such problem though. Like a caiman, the Creature slides into the Xingu and takes the Iriri exit after the explorers.
In the boat, Prof. Kate inspects a topographical map that indicates what elevations are expected around her. She looks over to shore and is unsure what she sees.
"Do you see the sine?" she asks the steersman.
The ranger reacts, "What sign? Did someone post something?"
"No, not 'sign'. 'Sine'," natters the nettled naturalist.
Her brother is befuddled, "Have you been sighing? Honestly, this trip is sentimental street for me too."
Tripping slightly herself, Kate shouts, "No, 'sine'!"
Greg abruptly ebbs the roaring outboard, "What?! There's a large fishing net hung in the water? Where? That's insane!"
"Nooooo, not 'seine'! 'Sine'!" the educator indicates, "Besides, s-e-i-n-e is pronounced, whether the river or the net, sān like 'pain', and you have no brain!"
The perplexed soldier stops the skiff entirely and is dumb. Then, he says, "So, the river's insane?"
Big sis Katie crinkles her mouth and bites her lower lip. Then, she calmly explains, "No. Look at the river's surface, and then look at that ridge over there. If you imagine a line between the right and left banks of the river, you can also imagine a slanted line from the left bank to the sun, and you can imagine a line straight up from the bank's ridge to the sun. Those lines would form a triangle. A person could calculate the ridge's height with the slanted line, and the answer to that math problem is called a sine. A person could also compute two other things called a cosine and a tangent. Sines, cosines, and tangents can be useful to know when doing science such as Greg and I do."
"And, that's your science lesson from the Valley of the Dinosaurs, kids," Greg jokes through some fourth wall. Teacher John Butler was also always offering such lessons when around these parts back in '74.
Dr. Kate looks about, "Anyway, that ridge should not be so high. It is peculiar in nature."
"Well," Ranger Greg scoffs, "You sure have an obfuscating way of saying it. How much dialogue does it take to so unbelievably bloviate?"
"Beats me. But, while we bloviate, the banks grow bizarrely even bigger," Katie points indices to both sides.
Sheer stone walls are beginning to block sunlight and bring dense shade upon the adrift boat. Small waves buck the hull up and down, and the Butlers bob at midship and astern respectively. On the thwart, Katie canvasses the extraordinary cliffs forming an eerily familiar canyon. Déjà vu enters her cogitation. She just speculated about caves and such. In the back, the non-academic takes action. The Screaming Eagle restarts the engine right quick and aims to execute an egress. The pilot need only do a tight turn between tight walls.
Before any Butler can act, however, the trotline runs to utter taut. Tensely, the ranger watches the baited rope unreel into the outboard's wake. With bated breath, he inspects the churning water, but he can discern no body. Deftly, he dips to the boat's bottom boards and grabs the gaff hook on its long pole. He peers into the turning tumult again, and its essence agitates Ranger Greg greatly.
The Creature is not hooked. The monster is not many meters astern. Rather, a 130-kg threat cleverly climbs the trotline flipper-over-flipper—a fathom down and thirteen-feet from humanity. Webbed peds paddle powerfully, and a head fin fissures the water like Jaws. The flowing wake lofts the humanoid from the deep, devilish eyes staring down Greg.
Greg prays that the dull brute will bring itself to the outboard's keen propellor. Perhaps, the skiff's screw will rip and slice this rogue specimen into manageable samples. However, no such brutal violence is to occur in Butlers' story. Instead, the ranger witnesses a wily aquatic ape who readily wraps the rear rope into the running propellor. The line severs and snaps dangerously. In less than a second, the Creature propels itself to the outboard, plants wide webbed hands, and it leap-frogs the motor into the boat. The craft shudders beneath shocked Katie and Greg.
The solider reacts immediately. He swings the polearm. The fishy fiend reacts even faster. A broad, meaty mitt seizes the swung stick, and the Creature gets Greg's gaff hook in its grip. Almost glibly, the gill-man dislodges the gouging gear. Ranger Greg gasps, despite himself.
"Hey!" Katie hollers, "Dead ahead!"
The dinghy proceeds pilotless toward peril. Unpropitiously, the boat's throttle sticks a piece. Resisting waves pound the careening craft as it vaults violently vertically and down. Rough water raps all riders. Dead ahead, there be protruding boulders between the solid canyon walls. Katie points them out. A bad crash seems imminent. And, after that, there seems to be an abrupt precipice like the cliched waterfall in an adventure film—although this cataract impossibly flows uphill and upstream.
However, Greg is awfully occupied, and Gilly seems unconcerned. So, courageous Katie crawls for the unmanned helm. She hopes that her brother can match the fearsome beast in a fight.
Frothing at the gills and fuming at the nostrils, the Creature fractures the hook from holder. He hurls the pole aside. Greg punches the fish-freak's side—futilely. The fist meets fast armor and firm (no doubt flakey) flesh. Quickly, Hell's halibut hooks the hubristic human and slams him to the deck. Dazed Greg gawks at the deadly (seeming) impalement. However, he sees that the hook is only through his shirt! A horrid hand hastily hauls up the trotline. Oddly, the savage beast adeptly hitches the hemp through the hook's eye. Apparently, if you are around water enough. . . . .
"Howabout I cast you?" croaks the Creature.
"Wait, you speak English?" blurts the Butler.
"Sure, I try to be a universal monster," the Creature says. He casts Greg.
Gurgling grievously, Greg drags behind the boat, for a troll now trolls him for piranhas and the ichthyological like. Lively liquid lashes and smothers him low in the drink, and the uncoiling line continues to carry him up the canyon creek. Underwater, peripheral structure cuts him crisply.
Meanwhile, Katie clutches the outboard's tiller that she has reached. The clever character has options. Canny Katie could quell the throttle, tap the kill (engine) button, yank the kill cord (killing the engine), or detach the fixture's fuel line. Fretfully, fingers fix upon. . . . .
But, an enormous claw clutches her wrist, and the other huge hand encompasses her head. He hauls her up like a trophy catch. Her grip slips loose. The Creature suspends the wriggling scientist like a lab subject. The anthropomorphic amphibian may dissect her like a frog. Rictus wide and rake raised, he just may be about to rip her bodice.
But suddenly, the skiff skips high. Into the sky. Four yards of wood catapult twelve feet upward after crashing mid-canyon. A boulder. Upon impact, the keel comes cataclysmically aground, and everyone Evel Knievels—from evil Creature to thrown Kate to tethered Greg grazing the granite before following an airborne torpedo like a screaming eagle. The flying float flips, and a capsized craft wrecks, decommissioned. The Creature crashes into a cliffside and drops him like a delirious damsel into the Iriri arm. The rushing current carries him unconscious away.
With wide eyes, Katie plummets parabolically. Pleading with open air, the projected professor expects to plaster like poop upon pavement. Either surface tension or stiff sediment will get her. Pithy prayer. She plunges precipitously between cliffs and prepares to perish. However, the unplanned and paranormal proceeds to occur. Almost like Providence, the tributary's plane parts, and there appears a wide whirlpool descending cavernously. Pealing, Katie plops into it. Circular currents pirouette her like a darling prize.
Ten ticks previous, Greg also arches along an axis of symmetry. In other words, the tossed boy also travels a parabola. At the vertex, the arch's apex, the soaring soldier spots a scrub stubbornly growing in canyon cliff. When diving like an eagle, Greg finds and grasps the bough. Below, he beholds a harrowing sight. A titanic maelstrom swallows his sister. Then, like in a cartoon, gravity finds Greg, and the bough breaks. He falls one hundred feet, initially flailing. At the water, however, the daredevil dives perfectly down the spiraling pit into the unknown (although anyone has a good hunch as to where this violent whirlpool leads).
In the vortex, vectors veer Katie verily about and about. Weighty water whips her around, and the firm fluid stifles all senses. However, "Dorothy" does open her eyes momentarily. Incredibly, they espy the orange raft from the previous trip sitting twenty stories down two decades later. Bewildered brown eyeballs blink.
Then, Katie isn't in Kansas anymore.
