Chapter 1 #2
The muddy river was still noticeable, but farther inland I could pick out wet soil, damp wood, crushed greenery, and several floral scents I couldn't identify. Something sweet lingered beneath them, possibly fruit growing nearby or something that had fallen and ripened in the heat.
I drew in a long breath as I adjusted the camera strap.
Six weeks.
I could absolutely stay here for six weeks.
A screen door opened ahead.
“You must be Evelyn Halden,” a woman called from the nearest porch, lifting one hand in greeting as she came down the steps.
Hearing my name after two days of travel was oddly reassuring. It meant I had finally made it where I was supposed to be.
“Evie is fine,” I called back, shifting the camera bag onto my other shoulder as I approached her. “And please tell me I'm the only photographer you're expecting, because I already have plans on claiming the bed with the best morning view.”
The woman laughed as she met me near the end of the dock. She looked somewhere in her early forties, dressed in cargo shorts, scuffed hiking boots, and a faded green university shirt. Her brown hair had been pulled into a messy bun, and dried mud streaked one shin.
“Definitely the only photographer,” the woman assured me, extending her hand as her gaze briefly dropped toward the equipment I was guarding. “I'm Mara. I coordinate most of the field work around here. I was starting to wonder if the river had swallowed you.”
“Not for lack of trying,” I told Mara, taking her hand while adjusting the weight on my shoulder. “But I made it with all my limbs and, more importantly, all my cameras.”
“Good,” Mara replied, releasing my hand with a grin. “The paperwork gets annoying when a visiting professional disappears before checking in.”
“I'll try to wait at least a week before creating administrative problems,” I promised Mara, relaxing when her laugh came easily.
“Come on,” Mara said, motioning toward the station as she turned toward the buildings. “I'll get you settled before you decide the dock is good enough and start unpacking out here.”
“That possibility had crossed my mind,” I admitted to Mara as I followed beside her, our boots making the old boards creak.
“I figured,” Mara replied, giving my camera bag another meaningful glance before leading me toward the main building.
The communal kitchen and dining room took up most of the first structure.
Long wooden tables filled the center of the space, their surfaces covered in scratches and faded stains from years of researchers passing through.
Open shelves held mismatched plates and mugs, while the refrigerator had been covered with field schedules, magnets, photographs, and handwritten reminders.
One sign taped beside a screened window caught my attention immediately.
IF YOU LEAVE BANANAS OUT, THE MONKEYS WILL FIND THEM. THIS MEANS YOU, DAVID.
“What happened here?” I asked Mara, pointing toward the warning while trying not to laugh.
“David left bananas on the counter,” Mara explained, stopping beside me with the tired expression of someone who had told this story before.
“That part I managed to figure out,” I told Mara, glancing toward the sign. “I'm guessing there's more.”
“He left the window open too,” Mara added, folding her arms while her attention shifted toward the offending screen.
I glanced between her and the window.
“How bad was it?” I asked Mara, already imagining the answer.
“Seven monkeys,” Mara replied, holding up seven fingers for emphasis.
I winced.
“Okay, that's pretty bad,” I admitted to Mara as an image of seven capuchins loose in the kitchen immediately formed in my head.
“One of them stole his glasses,” Mara continued, unable to hide her amusement now.
“Did he get them back?” I asked Mara, laughing as I followed her toward the next room.
“Eventually,” Mara answered, pushing open another door before looking back at me. “He doesn't leave bananas out anymore.”
“Then everyone learned something,” I told Mara, following her through the doorway.
The rest of the station was equally practical. Mara showed me the radio room, equipment storage, water filtration system, battery banks, a modest medical area, and finally the aging generator housed beneath a covered structure behind the main building.
“If this thing dies, don't panic immediately,” Mara warned, tapping her knuckles against the dented metal casing while the generator hummed steadily beside us.
“That is not the kind of sentence that inspires confidence,” I told Mara, giving the machine a doubtful examination.
“Kick the lower left panel,” Mara instructed, pointing toward a dent near the bottom with the toe of her boot.
I turned toward her.
“Are you serious?” I asked Mara, searching her face for any hint that this was some form of new-arrival hazing.
“Completely,” Mara answered, giving me a small shrug before patting the generator almost affectionately.
I noticed DOLORES written across the side in fading black marker.
“Does Dolores have any other preferences I should know about?” I asked Mara, studying the battered casing with new respect.
“Don't kick the right side,” Mara replied, starting back toward the path with a straight face. “She takes it personally.”
“I'll remember that,” I told Mara, following after her while trying not to laugh. “I'd hate to offend the power supply on my first day.”
By the time we reached the sleeping quarters, some of the tension from traveling had finally eased.
My room was small but clean, with a narrow bed beneath mosquito netting, a battered dresser near the foot of it, and a simple wooden desk beneath the only window. Scratches and old pen marks covered the desktop, along with a set of initials carved deeply into one corner.
The window faced directly into the forest.
I dropped my large backpack beside the bed and rolled my shoulders, enjoying the immediate relief.
Mara had just started explaining where the spare bedding was kept when a flash of red moved beyond the screen.
My attention snapped toward it. A small bird had landed on a branch less than ten feet from the window.
I was already opening the camera bag.
“You've been here for maybe fifteen minutes,” Mara pointed out from behind me, amusement creeping into her voice as she watched me carefully lift one of the cameras from its case.
“There's a tanager outside my window,” I whispered to Mara, choosing a lens while keeping one eye on the bird.
“I know,” Mara replied, stepping closer to look outside. “They're pretty common around the station.”
“Not that one,” I told Mara, glancing over as though the distinction should have been obvious.
Mara considered me for a moment before recognition settled over her expression.
“Oh, you're one of those photographers,” Mara said, leaning against the doorframe as she crossed her arms.
“One of what?” I asked Mara, pausing before attaching the lens.
“The kind we have to remind to eat,” Mara explained, watching me with the confidence of someone who had already identified one of my worst habits.
I almost denied it.
Then I remembered the emergency protein bars buried in my backpack and the embarrassing number of times something similar had become dinner because I'd lost track of time.
“That feels unnecessarily judgmental,” I told Mara, turning back toward the window before my expression gave me away.
“Accurate, though?” Mara asked, laughing softly when I didn't answer immediately.
“Occasionally,” I admitted to Mara as I adjusted the focus ring.
“Just don't disappear into the forest because you spot something interesting,” Mara warned, her tone turning more serious as she pushed away from the doorway.
“I don't disappear,” I told Mara, lowering the camera enough to glance toward her.
“You wander?” Mara asked, one eyebrow lifting.
“I intentionally go somewhere without always planning the exact destination beforehand,” I explained to Mara, hearing how weak the argument sounded only after I'd said it aloud.
“That is wandering, Evie,” Mara replied, her mouth twitching despite the warning in her expression.
“It sounds much less professional when you call it that,” I told Mara, smiling as I returned the camera to my eye.
“Do you at least carry GPS?” Mara asked, pausing in the hallway with one hand resting against the doorframe.
“Always,” I assured Mara, tapping the unit clipped to the outside of my field pack.
“So did one of our researchers last year,” Mara replied, giving the GPS a pointed look.
I lowered the camera again.
“What happened to her?” I asked Mara, my curiosity winning over the tanager for the moment.
“She got turned around and walked straight into a swamp,” Mara explained, her face serious enough that I couldn't tell whether I was supposed to laugh.
“Did she get back out?” I asked Mara, frowning.
“Yes,” Mara answered with a short nod. “But she lost a boot.”
“I brought two pairs,” I told Mara, pointing toward my luggage with a satisfied smile.
Mara stared at me for a long second.
“I'm going to regret telling you where the trails are,” Mara muttered, shaking her head as she finally walked away.
“You probably are,” I called after Mara, smiling to myself before returning my attention to the bird.
By late afternoon, I had unpacked most of my equipment, completed the safety briefing, checked in through my satellite communicator, and learned exactly which routes I was permitted to use without another member of the research team.
The rules were reasonable.
Stay on marked trails when alone. Carry plenty of water and the radio. Tell someone which route I planned to take. Check the ground around fallen logs before stepping over them. Don't touch brightly colored frogs, no matter how harmless they looked.
And, because apparently someone had once needed the clarification, don't intentionally approach a large predator just to get a better photograph.
I knew better.
Usually.