The Jaguar Trials Page 2

  Ben grabbed a collection of Dad’s things – laptop, papers, books – feeling the floor tilt as he crammed them into a rucksack. He heard a slam – and when he made for the door he found that the heavy bed had slid towards it, jamming it closed.

  No time! he told himself, as he tried to shift the bed. Take the other exit; through the store!

  Ben entered the murky room. The electric lights flickered and his eyes stung with smoke. There was that growling sound again. He approached the pile of cargo: a tower of plastic crates sealed round with ropes; boxes and baskets poking out from under a tatty green tarpaulin.

  The noise got louder, sending a deep shiver up Ben’s spine. Pulse quickening, he edged round the stack: in front of him was a large, box-shaped something, covered with the tarpaulin. Ben’s fingers curled round the edge of the material, and he lifted the sheet up.

  Underneath were the hard metal bars of a cage. And inside the cage…

  Ben stared, trying to believe what he was seeing.

  It was a jaguar.

  A black jaguar.

  A black jaguar.

  A strange sensation pulsed through Ben, wiping everything else out, making time seem to slow and stop.

  He put the rucksack down and crouched to look inside the cage, mesmerized, the mayhem round him strangely blotted out in that moment.

  He looked at the darkly rippled diamond markings on the creature’s head; the way they merged into its coat of sleek fur. Why is it so still?

  Most incredible of all were its eyes. One was a golden shade of amber, the other a glimmering jade green.

  Their eyes locked, and for a moment there was just Ben and the creature; the jaguar and him. Ben felt himself being drawn forward, the space between them closing until all he could see were the green and gold of those unblinking eyes, transfixing him, as if in some secret communication.

  “Get away from there!”

  Ben was pulled sharply back, his arm twisted so it hurt, and suddenly the noise returned, the rattling din, and the smoke – and he came back to his senses. The captain’s furious face came close, and Ben could smell his sweat and stale breath.

  “That’s my property!” the man hissed, pulling him away from the cage.

  “Dad!” Ben shouted. What’s the captain doing with a rare black jaguar? “Dad!”

  The man squeezed Ben’s arm harder. “I already have a buyer for that skin.”

  Ben struggled to get free. That riverbank post they’d stopped at yesterday – was that where the cage had been loaded on? Had the animal been drugged or something, to keep it quiet? “Dad!”

  The captain raised a hand to hit him – but Dad was there. He grabbed the man’s wrist, face twisted with anger. Then he dropped the captain’s arm and pushed him away. “We’ve not got time for this! We have—” Dad stopped. He’d seen inside the cage. Ben saw him gaze at the jaguar in disbelief for a few seconds.

  “We need to get it on deck!” insisted Ben, pulling at the bars to try and move the cage. The animal would suffocate down here if the smoke got any worse.

  Dad shook his head rapidly. “No way, Ben. We really haven’t got time to—”

  “Dad, please!” Ben pulled the cage harder. There was no way he was leaving the jaguar here!

  And now the captain too was stubbornly pulling at the cage, cursing as he tugged it towards the door.

  Frowning, Dad helped, and the three of them wrestled the cage across the floor to the base of the steps, then began inching it up.

  The jaguar was on its haunches now, watching them, eyes glinting, fangs bared.

  They broke out on to the deck, then lugged the cage across towards Rafael and the canoe; Ben’s heart hammered when he saw how much the deck was tilting backwards, how much deeper the muddy water was over the stern.

  With each step he felt the vibrations intensify, heard the noise of the engine rise in pitch.

  “Lift higher! Gently!” shouted Dad to the captain, and Ben’s muscles strained as they heaved the cage into the canoe.

  At that moment something came crashing out through the deck of the boat, just a few metres from where they were, punching through the wooden flooring like a missile from a launcher.

  A chunk of metal.

  The captain was knocked off his feet; he landed heavily, and lay there clutching his ankle. “The engine casing,” he wheezed.

  There was the thick smell of smouldering engine oil, and Ben shouted out as he saw fizzing liquid spray from the mangled flooring. Then … WHUMP! The boiling oil caught light. Ben gaped as orange-green flames leapt up the stern and licked towards the wheelhouse.

  The captain was still down. There was a note of panic in his voice. “If the fire reaches the fuel tank—”

  “Boys!” Dad shouted, grabbing a fire-extinguisher. “In the canoe. Now!”

  Ben helped Rafael climb on board and gave his life jacket a shove. “Sit down!”

  “We’re going to explode!” Rafael scrambled back from the cage and drew his knees up to his chin. “You can’t have that in the canoe with us!” he wheezed. “It’s a wild animal!”

  Ben saw a jet of foam spit from the extinguisher, then fizzle into nothing; Dad threw it down in disgust. A line of fire sprang up along the deck between them.

  Ben felt the heat of the flames on his face. “Dad!” he coughed, smoke stabbing the back of his throat.

  Dad pointed a finger at a hook of metal that held the pulley system and its ropes. “Release your canoe with that clasp!” He hoisted the captain’s arm round his shoulder as the wall of flame rose. “We’ll take the other canoe. Use the paddles! Keep to the left river! Stay left!” Dad’s voice was loud above the hiss of flames and the splash of water, and Ben saw the deep frown lines across his forehead. “Release your canoe now!”

  “Please get off the boat, Dad!”

  “It’s getting hot, Ben,” wailed Rafael. “Very, very hot.”

  Desperately Ben leaned forward to grab the metal clasp.

  “If we get separated,” shouted Dad as he helped the captain across the deck, “fire the flare. I’ll find you.”

  “Please be OK, Dad!”

  “I’ll find you, Ben!” Dad hollered as the heat intensified.

  Ben unclipped his canoe. He felt himself plunge downwards. Heard Rafael scream. The canoe slammed on to the river and a wall of water rose up, drenching them. Ben was thrown against Rafael, and the two struggled to sit back up, gripping the sides in the violent rocking. Ben saw the jaguar, crouched and baring its teeth.

  He felt the current catch under them, the distance between them and the boat immediately increasing as the lighter canoe was caught in the swift water.

  Ben rubbed water from his eyes, desperately looking back. He saw Dad helping the captain to the second canoe. Then smoke billowed across them and the black plumes blotted them both out.

  “We’re moving to the right!”

  Rafael’s cries kicked Ben into action. He grabbed a paddle and craned forward. He could see the river branching just a couple of hundred metres from where they were – and the space was closing fast. A strange mist lingered over the river to the right, hanging in the air like a shroud. Ben shoved the second paddle into Rafael’s trembling hands. “Help me!” He drove his own paddle into the water. “On the right side to pull us left!”

  Rafael jabbed manically at the water.

  The current tugged faster as they approached the fork. The jaguar paced about in the cage, snarling, and Ben heard the rumble of the rapids drown out the crackling of fire behind him. The canoe pitched over the choppy surface.

  “Look out!” screamed Rafael. Out of nowhere ahead of them loomed a rock.

  Ben gripped the paddle and dug in hard, cutting a sheer diagonal, only just managing to take the canoe safely past.

  We’re still going right! Ben clenched his teeth and dug in harder. Rafael continued his clumsy strokes. “Come on!”

  Dad! Has he got to the other canoe? Ben wanted to look back and check, but
he couldn’t afford to. The muscles in his arm strained as his paddle fought the flow, as he channelled all his energy into the blade.

  Come on! Come on! The canoe made a diagonal cut to the left, veering away from the fog at the top of the rapids, but the current was getting stronger by the second, dragging them relentlessly the way they mustn’t go. Ben’s ears filled with sound: the boom of water, Rafael’s whimpering moans, the crazed snarls of the jaguar. The point of the canoe wobbled like a compass needle.

  Then started to swing right.

  Ben’s body tensed. The river surged forward, the dark slicks thinning into foamy white. He felt the force of the water overwhelming the canoe – but he continued to paddle. He saw Rafael’s eyes huge behind his glasses.

  We’ve missed the left fork. We’ve missed the left fork!

  As they skewed sideways he briefly saw behind them. Through the smoke and the spray there was a blur of movement. Two figures. He saw the burning boat hit the rock; the two men were wrenched apart; one of them – his dad? The captain? Which was it? – jumped into the water.

  There was a line of orange-green flames…

  A jet of fire as the fuel tank exploded.

  Dad! Ben heard the word in his head, but no sound came. He covered his face as the heat from the blast hit.

  Bits of boat rained down like shrapnel: twisted metal, charred fragments of smoking wood which hissed on the speeding water. Falling embers singed holes in Ben’s shirt.

  When Ben looked again, all he could see was the skeleton of the boat, collapsing into itself, burning, sinking.

  And Dad was gone.

  The canoe sped on. Ben saw a dark blur as the jaguar hit itself against the bars of the cage; he felt the cool damp as they went through the fog at the brink of the rapids.

  Dad. Dad.

  Numb, he felt water smack the edge of the canoe; saw rocks ahead, approaching fast, water breaking over them in a churning white crust.

  A low growl cut through the sound of thundering water, bringing Ben back to his senses. The jaguar was strangely still, crouched and watching; fixing him with its wild-eyed stare.

  And then the rapids were upon them.

  No time to think. No other choice.

  Try.

  Something.

  Anything.

  Ben forced his paddle into the foam, sending the canoe into a zigzag, avoiding a rock, then another. Waves slapped his face and went into his eyes, and he had to blink hard to see what was coming. His saturated clothes clung to him like a slimy skin.

  Adrenalin pumping, he stabbed down with the paddle, trying to use it to steer, aiming for the narrow channels between the rocks, willing the canoe towards the gaps. Instinct kicked in as he forced the hull into a diagonal swing. “Help me!” he yelled, water gritty on his tongue – but Rafael kept his hands clamped to the canoe edge, gaping at the frothing water.

  Panting, Ben braced himself for the next slam as they were spun and smashed. What next?

  The canoe blade glanced off a boulder and Ben felt the length of his arm jar as the paddle was almost wrenched from him.

  His aching body shuddered. No time to look back! He plunged the paddle down, his muscles tightening painfully. He crammed all his energy into each stroke. He fought the chaos. He fought the noise. He fought the blinding spray.

  The canoe crashed against a rock, cleaving a strip off the hull. The vessel veered, and Ben fought to get control and to avoid the added hazards: thick, sharp branches, rolling logs; a cauldron of debris.

  Without warning, the canoe slanted forward, snatching Ben’s breath away. They shunted downwards, pitching metres down a waterfall. There was a rebound as the canoe hit the plunge pool, its front lifting.

  Ben saw the jaguar cage start to tip and he flung himself down, grabbing at the bars, managing to slow its momentum. It wedged itself against the triangle of the stern, and the canoe slammed down and shot on.

  Ben got back into a sitting position, scrabbling round for the paddle. What now?

  Almost immediately, the canoe curved down the next waterfall. Ben felt his body scrunch as the canoe jolted up, nearly throwing him out.

  How many more falls?

  Water hit Ben from all angles; spray blurred his vision. He gripped the paddle as the canoe tumbled on towards jutting boulders. He shot out the paddle, leaning over the water dangerously far … he had to steer them past those rocks. Had to. He shouted with the effort, his voice blotted out by the crash of the rapids, every bit of him straining as he dug down and sliced.

  The rocks streaked past.

  Yes. Yes!

  Ben felt the paddle collide with an unseen stone surface, felt the wood disintegrate, felt himself losing his balance – unable to pivot back…

  And then, as the nose of the canoe tipped down the next waterfall, he was falling.

  Falling…

  “On your back! Feet facing downstream! Starfish!” he heard Rafael scream – and then Ben hit the water, the current squeezing him from all sides as he rolled and sank, water burning up his nose and into his throat.

  Ben flailed about in the spinning current, forcing his eyes open. He saw whirling strings of bubbles spiralling upwards, the base of the canoe … daylight.

  Aim for the light. He kicked and swam. He felt the air drain from him as he fought upwards, trying to free himself from the twisting water.

  Survive.

  Ben made for the surface against the relentless spiralling pull. With no air left, his body heavy, a muffled thunder hammered through his skull.

  Ben broke out from the water, mouth wide – but no air came. He was scooped up by water. Why couldn’t he breathe? His heart pounded. He knew he didn’t have the energy to kick away from the vortex at the bottom of another waterfall; if he was caught in a plunge pool again, he was as good as dead.

  A desperate idea seized him. What had Rafael said? Starfish?

  As he hit the bottom of the next drop, Ben flung wide his arms and legs, spreading his weight, slamming the water in a kind of belly flop. And instead of being sucked downwards in the whirlpool spin, he stayed on the surface and was washed on, still fighting to breathe; bracing himself for another drop.

  But no drop came.

  He was at the end of the rapids, skimming over a long stretch of rippling water like a bodyboarder, towards a thin pebble beach.

  Trickles of air passed into Ben’s suffocated lungs. He hauled himself out of the water and on to the bank, lying on his back on the smooth stones, chest heaving.

  Vaguely he saw Rafael, in up to his waist, heaving the canoe to shore, wedging it against the pebbles; its hull smashed up, half-flooded; the jaguar in its cage.

  “Ben? You OK, Ben?” Rafael crouched over him, soaked and dishevelled in his bulky orange life jacket, staring anxiously down. “It’ll be all right,” he reassured. “I read about that. When you’re under water too long, a valve in your throat closes off. It’ll loosen soon. It’ll be all right.”

  Ben managed to sip more air, but it was minutes before he had enough to speak. “Did – you – see – Dad?” His voice rose to a shout as more air filtered down his windpipe. “Dad!” He broke into a spasm of coughing.

  Rafael shook his head. He fiddled with his glasses, the lenses still flecked with drops. “No. Not yet… But no bones broken, no – that’s a miracle! You saved us! I did good to push the canoe to the side, didn’t I, yes?”

  “Your idea saved me.” Ben weakly patted his friend’s shoulder. “Thanks, Raffie.” He sat up, panting, and scanned the river. Where is he? “If Dad escaped, he’d have been swept the same way as us, wouldn’t he?” Ben stumbled to his feet in his saturated clothes, scrutinizing the stretch of waterfalls to the top of the rapids.

  “I think so,” said Rafael slowly, not sounding at all sure.

  How far have we come? thought Ben. A few hundred metres? A kilometre? He took a few steps along the pebble bar.

  Has Dad survived? Ben’s thoughts buzzed with terrible scenarios. Skul
l smashed on the rocks. Caught in the plunge pool of a waterfall…

  He dug his nails into his palm. Dad was alive; he had to believe it. Had to.

  Ben made for the bottom of the rapids. Dad might be stranded somewhere, injured, clinging to a rock in the middle of the river. Debris floated past. Something red like blood. Dad’s red laptop case! Ben broke into a faltering run. Get back up the edge of the rapids, he told himself. Check the site of the boat accident.

  He came nearer to the bottom plunge pool, breathing fast. He felt the spray coat his face, the air vibrating from the churning currents, the force of it stopping him from going closer. He placed a foot on the wet surface of tumbled rocks that made up the bank – and immediately his boot slipped backwards. He tried again, but his foot slammed down painfully. There was just no friction, no footholds. And further up it got no better. He felt a wave of nausea. All he could see were cliffs and vertical mud, knotted roots over raging water. How did we ever survive that?

  “Dad!”

  “Maybe people from that Espírito village saw the smoke,” Rafael shouted over the noise of the water. “They’ll come and help. They will, won’t they? Do you think someone will come?”

  “That village was miles back.” Ben scanned up the falls again, trying to make out shapes in the fog of the rapids. And who else knew they were here? The stark reality hit. They were well off-route after Dad’s detour. Senhor Santa Lucia hadn’t even been told their location.

  He tried to clamber towards the boiling rapids again, but there was just no way to do it. He tried to find a way up the bank into the forest, all the time yelling Dad’s name. If only he could trek alongside the river, he told himself… But the edges were too sheer, too rocky; the permanent fog in the air coated everything in a treacherous slick sheen; and the forest beyond was an impenetrable screen of interlocking branches and stems.

  Ben stood there panting. A sudden need to sit, to lie down, overwhelmed him. He couldn’t seem to breathe properly again; a throbbing pain gripped his chest.