Tenderloin

Amazon Forest

The symphony of the rainy season had returned to the Amazon. Large drops fell from the treetops, hammering huge, paddle-shaped leaves and thumping the ground like a bass drum. Deafening, wet, but not enough to slow the teen’s efforts. His bare feet continued to grip the earth as if it were dry. 

Whack! Whack! Whack! 

His hands attacked the wet hanging vines, slapping them out of his way as he dodged mossy tree trunks and hurdled thick, exposed roots. He had navigated that trail countless times. He could do it blindfolded. He practically was.

Whatever sunlight was left in the day lacked the strength to punch through the thick canopy of the jungle. With every passing second, the shadows around him faded together, forming the inevitable darkness that would envelop the slippery terrain. It forced his eyes and ears to work harder at navigating. It wasn’t a worry. He was born in the jungle. It was his backyard. Nothing could stop him from moving at full speed. Nothing could prevent him from reaching his village. Nothing except the thing chasing him. 

At first, the boy kept a pace that had him thinking he was in the clear, but when he heard movement behind him, he realized he had misjudged his pursuer’s speed. Impossible, he thought. How could that thing have caught up? He forced his eyes to adjust to the dark and willed his legs to move faster. He wasn’t the only one.

Sooner than he expected, the burn in his thighs set off a warning: slow down or run the risk of losing all power. How much longer could he maintain his speed? He didn’t want to know the answer. 

Ten minutes, he kept repeating to himself. That was the distance separating him from the safety of his village. He had to hang on for ten more minutes. Fail, and he would face the terror behind him. 

He shook those thoughts from his head and concentrated on moving. By then, the rain had soaked him to the bone. It snaked its way down his face, forcing him to wipe his eyes clear every few feet. Or were those tears? He couldn’t tell. 

Suddenly, flashes of movement appeared on either side of him. What was that? Could there be more than one chasing him? He shook his head and told himself to focus. The jungle was playing tricks on his eyes. His ears would have to take the lead. And when they did, the throaty growl behind him grew louder. 

With the spring of a panther, the boy hurdled over a half-rotted tree stump; so did the thing behind him. The loud smacking of leaves and vines behind him grew louder. Whatever it was, it had caught up.

At times, it sounded as if the beast had backed off, but at other times, it appeared as if it were off to his side, ready to flank him. Again he asked himself how something could move with such agility. Nothing he knew of in the jungle could move like that—nothing human or animal. 

Worry exploded into fear and ravaged his body like never before. No matter how hard he tried, he could not lose what was chasing him. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, and muffled cries escaped between breaths. His head shook. His eyes widened. His heart thumped against his chest. “Faster. Faster. Faster!” it shouted. It took the young man all he had to keep trying. He willed his legs to move quicker, but they wouldn’t; they couldn’t. At times, it felt like that thing hunting him was right on his heels, able to strike at any moment, but nothing happened. How could something so close not strike? 

And then it all made sense. It was toying with him. It chose to extend the chase. The situation had worsened more than he ever could have imagined, and the hope of reaching his village safely dimmed.

He darted to the left then to the right. No matter the path or the direction, he could not escape that growl. But there was hope. He had an idea.

A large tree had fallen across the trail earlier in the week. Impossible to see in the dark, but the boy knew exactly where it lay. Whatever was chasing him would run smack into the trunk, break a leg even. He could hear it gaining once again. Maybe it, too, knew the village was near. It was no more than a few steps behind. He hurried. The tree trunk was just ahead. Five steps. Four. Three. Two. Jump!

Upside down, sideways, right side up, the jungle spun around him then stopped.

The boy lay dazed on the jungle floor. He couldn’t have tripped. He leapt at the right moment. Yet, there he lay on his back, staring up at the treetops.

Footsteps off to the side quickly gained his attention. The slow stepping appeared to be methodical as they circled him. Was he being sized up? Was this still a game? Before he could react or give it more thought, his attacker pounced on him, thrusting his shoulders against the ground. The boy twisted his body, looking for a way out. It was useless. 

Rapid breaths forced his chest up and down. This time, the instigator was fear, not exhaustion. His attacker leaned forward, close enough that he could feel blasts of hot air against his face and glimpse the black eyes staring at him. 

Noooooo!