002. Acquaintances

Suspended two feet above the jungle floor by a tangle of vines, the battered fuselage of Norseman Zulu Uniform swung back and forth like a pendulum. Apart from the metallic grinding of the aircraft's skin against the vines, the only other sound was that of a flock of macaws that had elected to roost in a nearby tree. Caroline Carol sat slumped forward in the cockpit, unconscious but otherwise uninjured thanks to the four-point harness fitted to her seat.

The fuselage groaned and Caroline stirred slightly. She gazed through the darkness at what eventually coalesced into the cockpit of the Norseman. She heard voices.

'...not too long ago...' the first voice said.

A second, somewhat younger voice replied, '...a woman...'

'...that side and I’ll...'

'...yes, sir.'

Caroline jumped. A large, broad shouldered man, silhouetted by the light of the sun, was leaning through the open doorway on the pilot's side of the aircraft.

'Are you alright?' he asked.

The man's accent suggested he was English. Caroline saw his face, that of a somewhat hardened man in his late-thirties. She felt a hand on her left shoulder and spun around in shock. A second man, younger than the first, knelt beside her, his knee resting on the control panel. His features suggested someone of Middle Eastern origin, perhaps a Persian.

'We're going to lift you out, okay?' the older man said.

Caroline nodded weakly. He braced his right arm on her left shoulder, with the other arm cradling her knees.

He nodded at the younger man, 'Unfasten her harness.'

Caroline felt herself drop slightly, though the older man was there to catch her.

'Don't worry,' he said, 'I've got you.'

He carefully manoeuvred her out of the doorway and deposited her on the ground beside the aircraft. Caroline craned her neck sideways and felt it crack. The Norseman had lost one of its floats and almost its entire starboard wing; the port wing was an unrecognisable mess of twisted metal. The older man knelt beside her.

'How do you feel?' he asked.

Caroline clutched her forehead, 'Heavy.'

'You may have a slight concussion. It should clear soon.'

She examined the older gentlemen. He had a tussle of dark brown hair and the vaguest suggestion of a beard. He was remarkably well kept for someone who had presumably been out in the jungle for an extended period of time. He wore a white cotton shirt and brown denim slacks; a leather satchel hung over one shoulder.

'Who are you?' Caroline asked.

'How rude of me,' the older man said, smiling, 'My name is Regenweald Rexton. Rex to those who know me.'

'How do you do.' Caroline said, introducing herself as, 'Caroline Carol.'

The younger man stepped forward as he hoisted a large backpack onto his shoulders.

Rexton introduced him, 'Mohsen, my travelling companion.'

Mohsen bowed slightly. He wore a navy blue shirt, and pants of a slightly lighter shade. His head was crowned by a grey coloured keffiyeh. Otherwise, Caroline found nothing particularly exceptional about him.

Rexton helped Caroline to her feet. He looked her up and down discretely. Her attire was very similar to his, though the fabrics were considerably nicer. She wore a pair of boots that were perhaps more suited to horse riding than flying a small aircraft. Her hair was a mess of bright red, pulled back tightly into a ponytail. Her face was covered with freckles. Rexton guessed her age to be just under thirty, though figured most would peg her as younger than that.

'Do you remember anything about the flight?' he asked.

Caroline considered her options. She knew nothing of this man apart from his name. What if he was the one who had shot at her? And if so, why had he rescued her from the aircraft? Were he and his so-called "travelling companion" stalling her until others arrived to finish her off? She regretted having given him her full name.

'I was contracted by a group of Canadian explorers to drop off supplies on a fortnightly basis.' she lied, 'I was returning from my last drop when I was shot down, possibly by an anti-aircraft gun.'

Rexton seemed genuinely surprised, 'Anti-aircraft fire? Over the Amazon?'

Caroline chuckled, 'Yes, I suppose it does sound a little farfetched.'

A crack of gunfire startled the flock of macaws from their roost. Rexton turned in that direction, producing an antiquated Webley pistol from his satchel. Caroline backed away slightly.

'What is it?' she asked.

'Guerrero.' he muttered.

'What?'

Rexton grabbed her hand, 'Come on.'

He dragged her further into the ungrowth, far from where the wrecked Norseman was visible. Mohsen followed behind them.

The sound of further gunshots rang out, and a dishevelled looking man ran out into the clearing. He collapsed to the ground, apparently from exhaustion.

A group of armed men, some clad in surplus military uniforms, appeared from the same direction. One of the men, presumably the group's leader, approached the fallen man.

'Jose Guerrero.' Rexton whispered in Caroline's ear.

'This is the last time you steal from me, cerdo!' Guerrero screamed.

He drew his pistol, a Luger, and shot the man dead.

A second man, dressed differently to the others, stepped forward and whispered something inaudible to Guerrero. He nodded and the group of men retreated into the undergrowth. Caroline watched intently as the second man walked away.

'I know that man...' she whispered.

TO BE CONTINUED...