April 27, 2006
I've tried writing a novel about a pair of bioprospectors in the Congo several times. For a variety of reasons, which I'm willing to discuss at a later date, they died on the vine. Still...

Here's the first chapter. Let me know what you think. Enjoy.

Best,
Mark


THE TOUCH OF THE GODS
by
Mark Terry

1
Peru
The three men toiled through the forest, heavy packs on their backs. They were in southern Peru, working their way through cloud forest to a rim of the Colca Canyon. The world’s largest canyon, Colca was twice the size of the Grand Canyon. At this elevation the vegetation was dry and hard-scrabble. Thick deciduous forest of tough plants that could handle thin cold air and arid temperatures, so different than the bamboo and aguaje forest at lower elevations. There didn’t seem to be a horizontal surface in the area. Steep hills, crags, mountains, cliffs, vegetation-covered rocks.

Mike Peters, at the rear behind Martin Bellock and Bill Deck, glanced up past the relentless tangle of trees and foliage and didn’t like what he saw. Clouds grew denser, roiling and descending like cotton batting. Thick gray clouds scuttled toward the ridge of mountains they were trudging along. Cold wind bit at any exposed flesh. The air was thin and astringent.

Bellock said, “Must be up ahead.” He had a hard, reedy voice with a street-French accent.

“If those clouds move in we’ll probably fall right off the cliff,” said Peters.

“Good thing Deck’s leading then,” Bellock said. “Give us a warning holler on the way down.”

“Fuck you,” Deck muttered, adjusting his pack. He, too, was keeping a close eye on the weather.

Bellock flailed his arms as if he were falling off a cliff and shouted, “I foooooooonnnnnnnnddddddd iiiiiiiiiittttttttt.”

A gust of wind tugged at the trees around them, bringing with it a swirling mist. The clouds had arrived. Within seconds the three men found themselves in a whiteout so dense they could barely see each other six feet away. They slowed their pace, sticking close together. Deck stopped, checking a compass. His voice had a slight hint of Texas. “Should be near here.”

Suddenly the tree line ended and they found themselves on the edge of a sheer precipice. They could barely see a thing.

Deck and Peters surveyed the area. Bellock crouched on the very edge of the precipice and peered over. “Looks good. Forty, fifty feet down maybe. Can’t see much, but then again, they won’t be able to see you either.”

Deck, under his breath, said, “Want to wait for this to clear?”

Peters looked at his partner. “You?”

Deck grinned. “I’m afraid it’ll get worse instead of better.”

Peters thought of the three days it had taken to get to this spot. “I’d rather not camp here.”

“Me neither.” Deck turned to Bellock. “Marty, let’s get a move on. Going to be dark in a couple hours.”

“Who’s going down?”

Peters sighed, thinking, Marty, you never volunteer for anything. He said, “Here we go then. One, two, three.” They did rock, paper, scissors. Peters and Deck both chose rock, their right hands knotted into fists. Bellock held his hand flat–paper.

“Eh,” Bellock crowed. “Paper covers rock. I’ll handle the ropes.”

They set down their packs and withdrew their climbing gear. Nylon rope and webbing. A variety of camelots, hexes and stoppers because Peters was a Boy Scout when it came to climbing and believed in being prepared. It should be an easy rappel, down forty or fifty feet, then a quick climb back up. Peters and Bellock went about tying the ropes to the nearest tree trunks, laying out the gear. Deck spread out his sampling equipment. A variety of plastic test tubes filled with a number of different solutions: saline, sterile water, alcohol, formaldehyde, culture media, liquid agarose. He carefully stowed them in a custom-made climbing pack. He double-checked a collection of forceps, scalpels and collecting tools.

Then he checked a specially-designed cooling container where he could collect specimens and refrigerate or freeze them.

Peters walked over, pulling on climbing gloves. “Ready?”

“You double-check this gear and I’ll double-check the lines.”

“Sure.” They met each other’s gaze for a moment, not saying what they were thinking, then went about their chores.

Bellock sat with his back to a boulder, smoking a cigarette and drinking from a bottle of water. He watched Deck double-check the lines, making sure the knots were secure.

“Don’t trust me, Billy boy?” Bellock blew a smoke ring that quickly evaporated in the fast-moving wind. The fog was still so heavy that Peters was only a shadow figure twenty feet away.

Deck tugged on one of the ropes with a thoughtful nod. “Just being careful.”

“And I thought you were the daring one.”

Deck glared at Bellock, not saying anything. “Let’s just do this and get on with things.”

“Sure.” Bellock shrugged, taking another hit on his cigarette, a Galoise. “You’re the boss.”

Deck continued to stare at Bellock, saying nothing. Peters felt a chill watching them interact. They hadn’t had a civil word to say to each other for the last three days.

Bellock shrugged again and looked away.

Within minutes they were ready. With harnesses and packs on, Deck and Peters leaned back over the edge of the precipice, their journey shadowed in fog.

They paused over the drop for a moment, then Deck grinned and bellowed, “Bonzai!” and leapt off the edge of the cliff.

Peters rolled his eyes, tipped a hand to Bellock, and followed more cautiously. Deck moved in long, swooping arcs, covering the distance to the condor nests in a series of exhilarating leaps. Peters, studying the terrain as he dropped in short steps, came after him, finally meeting his partner.

“Where’re the birds?”

Deck said, “You didn’t see?”

“I was busy not looking down.” That and he’d been studying the cliff face. It was craggy, pocked with holes and small fissures and crumbly-looking knobs and outcroppings.

They dangled hundreds of feet, maybe more, above jagged rock and hard, unforgiving ground. Wind whipped at their clothes. Gray mist clung to their clothes.

“About halfway down the whole bunch took off. Saw us coming.”

“How many?”

Deck said, “Maybe a dozen.”

“Let’s hurry then.”

“They say they’re not aggressive.”

“Let’s hope someone told the birds.”

The rocks around and immediately below the nests were covered with bird droppings. The Peruvian condors in this part of the country were big animals, thirty or forty pounds with wing-spans up to ten-feet wide. They were carrion-eaters, though under certain circumstances they could become predators–like protecting their nests.

They edged past the nests, pathetic ugly masses of twigs and grass clinging gamely to bare ledges. The guano was everywhere. White and gray, matted with bits of rotting meat and digestive bile. Lichen and moss grew on the older bits.

With practiced dexterity, they began to collect the moss and lichen into the test tubes.

“This is such a glamorous job,” Deck said, wrinkling his nose. “I hope your research is right.”

A huge gust of wind knocked them sideways, whistling past the rocks. Clouds of dried guano and grit blew up into their faces.

“Shit,” Peters coughed. He closed his eyes, wishing he had opted for goggles.

“Exactly.”

“Shut up.”

Deck laughed. Suddenly the cloud cover moved away, revealing a range of surrounding mountains and valleys for as far as they could see. For a moment they were struck silent by the beauty and grandeur of it. Deck said, “I love my job, man.”

Peters was about to agree when he spotted trouble.

Behind them and to their left were three large birds, flying directly toward them, claws extended.

Deck and Peters spun sideways, trying to move away. One of the birds struck Deck, slashing across his shoulder. The sharp claws tore through his shirt, ripping skin and muscle.

Peters dodged his attacker and shouted, “Marty! A little goddamned support here!”

High above them Bellock leaned over. He threw down a third rope. “Tie off the samples.”

The birds circled, then came in again. This time Deck was watching, and dodged the attack.

“Marty! Use the goddamn flares!”
“Tie on the samples.”

“We don’t have them all yet.”

Bellock disappeared overhead. A moment later, he appeared with a flare gun, and fired it at the approaching birds. As the brilliant orange star flashed by the condors, they screeched and circled higher, higher, catching a thermal.

“I’ll do the samples,” Deck said. “You tell me what’s happening.”

While Deck collected, Peters balanced on a ledge and kept an eye out for the approaching raptors. They were keeping their distance, but there were more of them. He counted seven black birds, circling, but moving in closer.

Deck put the test tubes away. “Damn, that hurts.”

“Going to get infected, too.”

“That’s the least–“

Five more condors flew in from the opposite direction, shrieking angrily. Their razor-sharp claws scraped at the rock, their wings beating at the men on their precarious perch.

“Second string,” Deck shouted.

Peters, scalpel in one hand, jabbed at one of the birds. With a shrill cry it flapped away, circling fifty yards out.

Deck tied the pack to the third rope. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Amen.”

Bellock leaned over the cliff edge. “Ready?”

“We’re coming up.”

Bellock nodded. His distant voice called down to them. “So long, boys. It’s been fun.” In his right hand he held a sharp knife. He brought it down on Deck’s rope, sawing through it.

Deck’s eyes widened, and with a growl, he dove sideways. Just as his rope parted, his fists caught Peters’s rope. They spun wildly, slamming against the cliff, sharp rock ripping at them.

Peters scrabbled at the cliff face, trying to find a handhold. His heart thundered and pain shot through his back, hips and shoulders as he slammed into sharp rock. “Hold on!” he screamed at Deck. “Hold on!” They spun wildly, Deck clinging to the rope just below Peters.

Bellock slashed at the rope supporting both men.

With an howl of rage Peters clenched his fist and slammed it hard into a crevice, wedging his hand.

The rope separated, snaking past them.

“Hold on!” Peters shouted, struggling to find purchase with his feet and hands.

Suddenly the weight of Deck was off him. Oh Jesus! No! He snagged a tiny outcropping with his right toe and hugged the cliff wall. He heard shrieking. Condors were circling back toward them.

“Deck?”

“Motherfucker.”

Peters dared to peer to his left. Deck dangled from a ledge supporting one of the rudimentary condor nests.

“Your ... left foot. About six inches. There’s a ... ledge.”

Peters watched Deck move his boot and balance on the tiny bit of rock. He began to inch his way upward.

Another condor struck Deck in the back. Deck wheeled and for one heart-stopping moment Peters thought he was going to pinwheel right off the cliff and into infinity. Then with a desperate lunge Deck hugged the cliff.

“Go!” Deck shouted. “Go, goddamnit.”

Peters crept upward until he had a more stable position on the cliff face. For a moment, just a moment that he didn’t think he could really afford, he tried to clear his mind, blank out the fear, the anger, the betrayal. Focus, he thought. Focus or die. Peters took in a deep breath of the cold mountain air and started to work. He reeled in the severed length of rope dangling from his waist. When he collected about twenty feet of line, he used the scalpel to cut it. “I’m going to–“

A condor slammed into him, gashing his scalp. He flinched, almost lost his balance, but jammed his fingers into the rocks. His breath rasped in his chest, plumes of frost emitting from his mouth and nose.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw another condor spiraling in toward Deck. “Incoming!”

Deck lunged upward. “We’ve got to get away from these nests!”

“The rope! I’m going to throw it to you!”

Deck nodded, watching. Peters swung it; tossed it. Reaching out, Deck snagged it, then dropped it. “Screw it. Let’s–“

Two condors arrowed in on him. With a bellow of anger Deck slashed out with his hand, catching one of the birds in the chest. With a croaking caw it flapped away.

“Again,” Peters said, and swung the rope. This time Deck caught it and awkwardly threaded it through his harness.

“Tell me when you’re ready!”

Two more condors spiraled closer.

“Go!” Deck said. “Go!”

Like spiders tied together, they groped up the cliff face. Twice more the condors strafed them, razor claws slashing at their head and shoulders, shredding their jackets. From a half-dozen feet away Peters saw that Deck’s climbing jacket was soaked with blood. His own gloved hand was red from a slash he had taken fending off one of the birds. But slowly, incrementally, they inched their way up the jagged rock. Fingers jammed into a crevice. Toe balanced on an unstable outcropping of rock. Testing. Then moving upward. An inch. A foot. His lungs burned and sweat rolled down his face, chilling him in the bitter cold wind. He could feel every pound of his own weight on his fingers, muscles screaming in protest at the workout. Up. Up and up. Bit by bit. Once they were a dozen feet above the nests the condors abandoned their attack.

Ninety minutes later Deck and Peters hauled themselves over the edge of the cliff and lay sprawling on the rock ledge, dragging burning lungfuls of air into their chests.

“He took everything,” Deck said. “That bastard took our packs. Our food. Our water. Everything. He took the samples.”

Peters rolled over on his back. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Deck said. “He took the bird shit.”

Around them lay the silence of the mountains, cut by the beating of their hearts.

They looked at each other and laughed, but their amusement faded as fast as it had come.

Deck was the first to sit up. He rolled over onto his knees, then stood up. “Damn, that hurts.”

“We’ve got to get it cleaned up. It’s going to get infected long before we can get back to the village. We’ve got to look for a spring.”

“Oh, that’s good. Let’s infect our buzzard cuts with parasites from the local water.”

“Any other suggestions?”

Deck nodded. “Let’s catch Marty.”

“He’s got a good head start.”

“Yeah, but he thinks we’re dead.”

“And if we catch him?”

Deck’s eyes glittered. “He’d better pray we don’t.”

With effort the two men helped each other to their feet and began to trudge down the mountain after Martin Bellock.