No one objected. In short order, the group mounted the long ladder and headed up the tree. Tor-tor remained below, on guard. Nate glanced down as he climbed. The jaguar was not alone down there. The Ban-ali tribesman stayed at the foot of the ladder, plainly assigned to their group.
Reaching the top of the ladder, Nate climbed onto the decking of the abode. The entire party clustered on the deck or stood inside the doorway to the lowermost level, a communal room. Above, the two other levels were a honeycomb of smaller, more private chambers, each with its own tiny deck or patio.
The tree house had clearly been some family's domicile, commandeered for their use. Personal touches abounded: bits of pottery and wooden utensils, decorations done in feathers and flowers, abandoned hammocks, tiny carved animal figurines. Even the smell of the place was not the deserted mustiness of the tiny cabin, but the subtle scent of life. Old cooking spices and oils, a hint of bodily odors.
Anna Fong crossed to him. She had a platter of sliced figs. "One of the Indian women dropped off some supplies. Fruits and cooked yams. Bits of dried meat:"
Nate remembered his thirst and took one of the moist fruits, biting deep into it, juice dribbling down his chin. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he asked, "How's Olin doing with the GPS signal?"
"Still working on it," she said in a hushed, scared voice. "But from the amount of swearing, it doesn't sound good:'
Kostos raised his voice from the doorway. "Everyone gather inside!"
As he stepped aside, the party moved into the common room. Inside,
Nate saw the other platters of food. Even a few pails of a dark liquid, smelling of fermentation.
Professor Kouwe examined one pail's contents and turned to Nate in surprise. "It's cassiri!"
"What's that?" Kostos asked from the doorway as he closed the flap.
"Cassava beer," Nate explained. "An alcoholic staple of many native tribes:"
"Beer?" the sergeant's eyes brightened. "Really?"
Kouwe scooped up a ladleful of the dark amber liquid and poured it into a mug. Nate saw bits of slimy cassava root floating in the pail. The professor passed the mug to the sergeant.
He sniffed it, nose curling in disgust, but he took a deep swig anyway. "Ugh!" He shook his head.
"It's an acquired taste;" Nate said, scooping a mug for himself and sipping it. Manny did the same. "Women make it by chewing up cassava root and spitting it into a pail. The enzymes in their saliva aid in the fermentation process:"
Kostos crossed to the pail and dumped the contents of his mug back into the pail. "I'll take a Budweiser any day"
Nate shrugged.
Around the room, the others sampled the fare for a bit, then began to settle to woven mats on the floor. Everyone looked exhausted. They all needed a decent night's sleep.
Nate set up the laptop on an overturned stone pot.
As he opened it and turned it on, Olin looked at it hungrily, his eyes red. "Maybe I can cannibalize some circuitry for the communication array." He shifted nearer.
But Nate held him off. "The computer is five years old. I doubt you'll find much to use, and right now its contents are more important than our own survival:"
His words drew everyone's attention. He eyed them all. "I know what happened to the other expedition team. And if we don't
want to end up like them, we should pay attention to its lessons:"
Kouwe spoke up. "What happened?"
Nate took a deep breath, then began, nodding to the open journal file on the laptop. "It's all here. My father's expedition heard rumors of the Ban-ali and met an Indian who said he could take the research team to their lands. My father could not resist the possibility of encountering a new tribe and took the team off course. Within two days, they were attacked by the same mutated species as we were:'
Murmurs arose from the others. Manny raised his hand as if he were in class. "I found where they incubate those buggers. At least the locusts and piranhas." He described what he and Private Camera had discovered. "I've got my own theories about the beasts:"
Kouwe interrupted. "Before we get into theories and conjectures, let's first hear what we know for sure:" The professor nodded to Nate. "Go on. What happened after the attack?"
Nate took another breath. The tale was not an easy one to tell. "Of the party, all were killed except Gerald Clark, my father, and two other researchers. They were captured by the Ban-ali trackers. My father was able to communicate with them and get them to spare their lives. From my father's notes, I guess the Ban-ali native tongue is close enough to Yanomamo:"
Kouwe nodded. "It does bear a resemblance. And isolated as the tribe is, the presence of a white man who could speak the tongue of the Ban-ali would surely give them pause. I'm not surprised your father and the survivors were spared:"
The little good it did, Nate thought sourly, then continued, "The remaining party were all badly injured, but once here, their wounds were healed. Miraculously, according to my father's notes: gashes sealed without scarring, broken bones mended in less than a week's time, even chronic ailments, like one team member's heart murmur, faded away. But the most amazing transformation was in Gerald Clark:"