Singularity

  I stand and study the terrified faces of those in the crowd, but one man does not look terrified and is easing back toward the path that leads into the rainforest. As he moves, Tomás is still holding his bag, heavy with the additional cobras.

  He sees me looking at him and spins abruptly and sprints toward the trailhead to a jungle path that leads to a waterfall about a quarter mile away.

  “Help Emilio,” I call over my shoulder to Charlene, and then Xavier tosses his shovel aside and the two of us take off for the trail after Tomás.

  Pursuit

  Xavier is quick, but I’m a half-marathoner and I reach the trailhead first.

  Despite the rain we’ve had, the path is surprisingly firm. Most of the water must have run off into the sloping ground and thick underbrush trailing down to both sides, and into the nearly impenetrable bamboo groves paralleling the trail. The right slope is steeper than the left, dropping off directly to the river.

  I sprint through the darkening rainforest, but Tomás is still too far ahead on the winding path for me to see him.

  For a little while I hear Xavier pounding behind me, but as I put more distance between us the sound soon fades. Apart from my own footfalls and breathing, and the unidentifiable jungle noises around me, I hear nothing.

  The path is uneven. Narrow. I have to be careful to keep my footing.

  I’d been hoping to see Tomás by now, but the trail zigzags in a series of tight turns on the way to the falls, and I still haven’t caught sight of him.

  It’s possible he found a place to slip off into the jungle somewhere.

  Yes, that’s possible, but the tight clumps of bamboo trees leave very little room for someone to get off the trail, and I’ve been keeping a close eye on the jungle as I run and I haven’t seen anything.

  Though only halfway to the waterfall, I can hear it in the distance, thundering through the jungle.

  Charlene and I hiked up here yesterday. The trail ends at a small scenic overlook. I’m not sure if there’s anywhere beyond that to hide, but Tomás has been in the area a week already, and if there is another trail, he could have scouted it out earlier. Otherwise, I’m not sure why he would have fled on this path.

  I round a curve in the trail and finally catch sight of him. I’m gaining ground, and there’s only sixty or seventy feet between us.

  As I sprint toward him, I can see that up ahead, the trail cuts sharply to the left to follow the escarpment of the cliff that plummets more than a hundred feet down into the valley.

  Tomás disappears around the bend.

  Easing up slightly so I can make the turn, I grab a tree with one hand to help me whip around the corner.

  And as I fly forward, I almost step directly into the coiling mass of cobras Tomás left on the path in front of me.

  I scramble to stop in time and barely manage to keep from trampling on the snakes.

  Beyond them, Tomás disappears around the next turn.

  Scanning the sides of the trail, I try to see if there’s enough room to edge past the snakes, but the jungle is too thick.

  Quickly, I snatch a sturdy stick from the underbrush. It’s about four feet long, not ideal, but it’ll have to do. There’s no way to know if these snakes still have venom, but I don’t have much choice. I move toward the cobras, prod the stick toward one of them, and manage to sweep it aside.

  I tell myself that if I don’t make any sudden movements, the snakes might just let me pass. However, as I move the stick toward the next one, it rears back and raises its hood, ready to strike.

  I freeze, but before I can leap backward or knock the snake aside, it strikes at me with impossible quickness and latches onto my right forearm.

  Dropping the stick, I grab the cobra’s head with my free hand to pry it off, but it sinks its fangs in even deeper. I have to work at it, and finally I’m able to rip it loose, taking a meaty clump of flesh with it.

  I sling the cobra into the jungle.

  Maybe that snake had its venom glands removed and maybe it didn’t. I feel a flash of pain, but at least it’s not the same stinging, debilitating feeling that swept over me when I was bitten by the Egyptian cobra two years ago.

  However, almost immediately my heart starts racing and I begin to feel like I did when I was struggling with claustrophobia and was sealed in a trunk and dropped into a shark tank.

  Panic.

  A rising, inexplicable, reeling sense of dread.

  Calm. Breathe. Stay calm.

  Xavier arrives at my side. The sound of the nearby falls makes it difficult to hear him, but by his gestures it’s clear he’s telling me to step back, to sit down.

  He unbuckles his belt and snaps it out to wrap my arm in a rudimentary tourniquet, but I’m not about to have a seat; I’m going to catch the guy who left these snakes on the path, the guy who passed at least two cobras through the air tube Emilio was using.

  My heart is jackhammering in my chest, and I can tell it’s not just from the run and not just from adrenaline. It’s something else. It’s venom, it has to be the—

  Get going, Jevin!

  Stick in hand again, I shove one snake aside, giving me just enough room to get by. As soon as I’m past the cobras, I toss the stick back to Xavier and bolt forward again.

  Blood flows freely from my arm. I ignore it and after maybe fifty yards I round the last turn and see Tomás.

  He has reached the small clearing where a swath of forest was slashed away by the villagers to provide an overview of the waterfall, which drops ten stories into the gorge. He looks my direction, backs up two steps, and I have a feeling I know what he’s about to do.

  Trying to buy time until Xavier can get here, I hold up my hands to show Tomás that I’m not a threat. Slowly, I step forward.

  Tomás glances toward me, then peers at the plummeting falls. I pause, then ease closer. He takes one more look at me and then spins and runs directly toward the edge of the cliff.

  Time seems to slow as he strides across the ground, reaches the lip of the overlook at a full sprint, and launches himself off the edge.

  A few seconds later I arrive and come to a halt near the place where he jumped.

  You can catch him. You’ve fallen farther than this, you’ve—

  Yes, but that was onto a stunt pad, not in a jungle river.

  My heart is slamming hard against the inside of my chest, not just from the run but from the thought of what I’m about to do.

  Shivers are still running through me; everything around me seems to shrink and grow larger at the same time. I’ve never hallucinated before, but this must be what it’s like.

  What is that? The venom? No, it can’t be. It’s—

  Go!

  After two decades of doing water escapes, I can hold my breath for close to three minutes.

  But that’s when you’re sitting still, in calm water, not swimming through rapids!

  In the fading light I can just barely make out Tomás’s head emerge thirty feet beyond the base of the falls. He’s moving toward shore. Still alive. Swimming. About to disappear into the jungle.

  I take a deep breath.

  No, you’re not going to do this.

  Actually, I am.

  I’m backing up to get a running start when Xavier arrives, gesturing wildly for me to stop, but all I can think of is Emilio lying in that coffin, struggling to breathe, that baby cobra writhing from between his bluish lips.

  Tomás did that to him.

  And now he’s getting away.

  I dash forward and leap into the void.

  Maelstrom

  The cascading water envelops me as the world whips by.

  My stomach seems to float up into my chest as the eternity of the fall wraps me in its drenching arms. Then I land, plunging into the water at the base of the waterfall, and everything is a swirl of black and I’m swimming hard, but it does no good. The rushing, tumbling river is tugging at me, dragging me down, holding me relentlessly under.

  I
should be able to hold my breath here without any problem, but whatever happened with that snakebite has affected my respiration and my pulse. The sense of apprehension is almost overwhelming. The water is shockingly cold and my lungs are already desperate for air.

  Spinning.

  Descending.

  My left shin slams against a boulder, and a thick chug of pain pounds up my leg. The roiling water swivels me around but at least takes me to the surface briefly—just long enough for me to grab a breath before it sweeps me under again.

  I try to swim up, but fail.

  Calm.

  Stay calm.

  Just get to the surface.

  I kick and stroke uselessly in the fearsome current, trying to make it to air, and at last the water spits me up, and I snatch another much-needed breath and swim hard toward the riverbank where Tomás headed a few moments ago.

  But the river has hold of me and sweeps me swiftly downstream, past the clearing and toward the steep cliffs that tower high above me on both sides. Ahead of me, the water channels into another, smaller falls, but since the chute is so narrow, the current is even stronger here than it was at the base of the main falls.

  Okay, this is where I need to get to shore.

  Right.

  Now.

  I fight the current to get to a place on the right shoreline where a break in the cliffs just above the chute provides a spot that looks large enough to stand on. From there I’m not sure how I’ll get up the cliff, especially if I have to climb it in the dark. But that side of the river is within reach. That’s where I’m going.

  It’s the wrong bank to catch Tomás, but right now I’m more concerned with just getting out of this river and staying alive than anything else.

  I swim fiercely toward the riverbank, and just when I’m starting to think I won’t make it, the ground rises up beneath my feet, giving me enough footing to push off and propel myself toward the shallower water.

  Chancing entrapping my foot between the rocks on the river bottom, I press off a boulder and scramble through the water that’s still trying to sweep me under, and make it to the rocky edge of the break in the cliffs.

  Exhausted, I crawl out of the river and use an outcropping on the rock face for balance as I hoist myself to my feet.

  From here I have no way of getting across the river, but even though I can’t get to Tomás, if I’m lucky I’ll be able to scale this cliff and then scramble back up the bank and make my way to the trail again. Not easy by any means, but doable.

  As long as I have enough light.

  Xavier. He knows you’re down here. He’ll find you.

  But darkness is already beginning to ensnare the jungle. Still, I can make out Tomás staring at me from the far shore. His face is hidden by shadows, but his form is visible.

  He stands stoically for a moment, then slowly steps back and disappears into the trees. I watch to see if he’ll reappear, but he does not. It’s quickly getting so dark that it’s tough to see across the river at all.

  Leaning against the rock face, I close my eyes and try to catch my breath, but only find myself thinking of Emilio lying there struggling for breath himself—and of Charlene leaning over him, trying to save him.

  I tell myself that my friend will be alright, that Charlene was able to get air past his swollen throat and into his lungs. I try my hardest to make myself believe it.

  But right now I can’t do anything to help him, all I can do is try to get back up the slope to the trail before the jungle becomes completely one with the night.

  I inspect my wounded shin. It’s bruised and already swollen, but passing my hand gently across it, I don’t feel any fractures or obvious deformities. When I put pressure on it, the leg doesn’t hurt like I imagine it would if there were any broken bones.

  Taking off my shirt, I tie it tightly around my bleeding arm, study the darkening cliff for handholds, and begin to climb.

  Dust to Dust

  Emilio did not survive.

  Xavier and three men from the village catch up with me as I’m picking my way through a narrow furrow in the trees, trying to locate the path. We don’t find out about Emilio until we make it back to the village, but when I see him lying motionless with a sheet pulled over his head, it’s clear what has happened.

  Charlene approaches me silently as we emerge from the darkness and enter the uneven circle of light cast from the lanterns and torches that the villagers have left positioned throughout the cemetery and surrounding the body.

  Her gaze lands on my arm, which is still wrapped with my shirt. Blood has stained the fabric dark red, and a question mark of deep concern crosses her face. I do my best to ease her worry, telling her I’m fine—and then I ask how she is and notice the trail of fresh tears on her cheeks.

  She touches my shoulder lightly, then leans into my arms, and I feel her tremble as the shock of what has happened to our friend sweeps over her.

  I don’t know how long we stand there, but by the time she eases back, Xavier and the villagers have walked off and left the two of us alone.

  I brush my finger across Charlene’s cheek to press away the final tear that has slipped from her eye, but she shakes her head slightly and pulls away, as if suddenly my touch is disagreeable to her.

  “What did you think you were doing?” Her tone is somewhat strained, but also delicate, like glass that’s too brittle to stand on its own. “Going after him like that? You might have . . .” She catches herself and leaves the rest unsaid, but I can fill in the blanks.

  It’s hard to know what to say. “He got away,” I tell her at last.

  She gestures toward my soaked clothes. “The waterfall?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jevin, you didn’t really jump off that overlook into the river.” Her tone makes it clear that it’s not really a question.

  “I had to go after him, Charlene. He killed Emilio.”

  “But you didn’t have to follow him off a hundred-foot cliff.” There’s sharp exasperation in her voice, making it clear that having this conversation right now is not going to lead anywhere productive, and all I do is end up agreeing with her.

  “Right.”

  After a moment I realize we’re both looking at Emilio’s body.

  “They’ve sent for some of the Philippine National Police,” she tells me softly, “from Kabugao, but you know how far that is.”

  “They won’t be here for, what, three, four hours?”

  “At least. Do you have any idea why he did it? Why anyone would want to hurt Emilio?”

  Charlene says “hurt” instead of “kill,” and I figure it’s just because actually putting into words the reality of what has happened would be too painful.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  She looks at my wounded arm again. “What happened out there, Jev?”

  “It’s okay. I’m alright.”

  She reaches out tenderly to unwrap my impromptu blood-drenched dressing. “Did he have a knife? What is . . . ?”

  I put my hand on hers to stop her. “It was a snake. One of the cobras. I had to pull it off—”

  “What? You were bitten? We need to get you some antivenin right away and—”

  “The snake didn’t have any venom,” I reassure her, but I’m not sure that’s exactly true, not based on the reaction my body had after that cobra bit me. Regardless, whatever caused that uncontrollable rush of anxiety, the effect has been fading and I’m feeling more like myself again. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

  “Well, I at least need to bandage that up properly.” She takes my hand to lead me to the hut where we’re staying. “Come on.”

  “Let me see him first.”

  “I don’t want to go near him again, Jev. I can’t.”

  People deal with death in different ways, and I sense that Charlene’s urgency to treat my arm is, at least partially, her way of trying to wrap her mind around the situation—she can’t do anything to help Emilio, but she can attend to my wound. It’
s not much, but at least it’s something. And in times when things feel completely out of control, finding a way to manage at least one thing always seems to help, at least in a small way.

  “I won’t be long. Just give me a minute.”

  Her gaze shifts past me toward the dark fringe of the jungle. “Okay. I’ll meet you by the hut.”

  “Right.”

  Then without another word she heads off, and it’s just me in the graveyard with my friend’s corpse.

  Jagged shadows birthed from the flicking torchlight shift erratically across each other, giving the cemetery a ghostly, surreal feel.

  As I walk toward him, the gravity of what has happened hits me full force.

  My friend Emilio is dead. He will never smile again, never laugh again, never dream or hope or love again. It’s over. Whatever he might have wanted to accomplish in this life will remain forever undone. His soul has escaped this vale of tears and slipped into eternity, and his body has been left behind for us to mourn and bury. Dust to dust. Life to death. Hope to grief.

  I arrive at his corpse and stand for a moment looking down at the sheet covering his body. It strikes me that we cover the dead, we treat them with respect, not for their sake but for ours. We extend reverence to corpses in an attempt to affirm the value of our own lives and to mask the stark truth of our own mortality.

  After all, if we just treated our dead like the skin-encased sacks of blood and bones and soon-to-be-rotten meat that they are, we would feel that—apart from the breath that separates us—we’re as finite and susceptible to the grim reaper as they were. And that’s just too terrifying a thought.

  So we distract ourselves, divert our attention from all that, cover up the truth beneath the frantic, stifling busyness of our brief and worried days. If I were a devil trying to tempt people to squander their lives, I would simply keep them buried in urgency and obsessed with trivialities; otherwise they might just take the time to reflect on life and death and eternity and wake up to the things that matter most.

  I kneel and gently pull back the sheet that’s covering Emilio’s face.