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“It’s me. Layla. You fell down a cliff and gave me one hell of a fright.”
“Son of a bitch.” He dabbed his head where an egg-shaped lump was forming and scowled.
“Take it easy.”
Recognition flickered across his face. “Layla?”
“Yes. It’s me. Are you okay?”
He cleared his throat. “I thought we agreed we weren’t okay.” His words were sluggish.
“Ha! There you go. Mr. Grumpy Ass is back.”
Smacking his lips together, he sat up and swayed as he adjusted his rifle across his chest.
“Hold it steady there, mister. You had a bad knock to your head.”
“No, we need to keep moving.” Pain etched across his face as he leaned forward.
I pressed my hand to his shoulder. “Take it steady.”
He scanned our surroundings and when his eyes focused on the water, I said, “Yeah, it’s the river. You’re lucky you didn’t tumble right into it.”
“Yep, but I didn’t.” He rolled onto his knees and after he stood, shook his head like he was trying to shift a fog in his brain.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“We need to keep moving.”
“Hunter . . .” I kept my voice steady despite my frustration. “Have you forgotten you just fell off a cliff and could’ve killed yourself?”
“Have you forgotten that we have a rendezvous that we cannot miss?” He took a wobbly step sideways and glared at me like he was warning me not to comment on his unsteadiness.
“Look,” I said, “there’s a difference between being determined and being determined at the detriment of your safety.”
He leveled his eyes at me. “Says the woman who pissed off to one of the deadliest places on the planet.”
“That’s not fair.” I shook my head and the headlamp beam crossed over his chest a few times.
He pulled his water bottle from his hip and drank. “It’s not about being fair, Layla. It’s about facts. And the fact is that if we miss that rescue chopper, then we’re both fucked. As is your friend Cody and my mates, Wyatt and Booker.”
I put my fists on my hips. “Well, here’s another fact, mister. We can either take it slow tonight where we have no idea where we are going, and every step could literally plunge us into that croc-infested river. Or, come sunrise tomorrow, we can get moving and double our pace, plan where we step and where we’re going, and possibly reach our destination faster.”
By the time I finished, I was shouting like a maniac.
Groaning, he stepped toward the river and stood at the edge, staring into the tumbling water. He wore his anger in his rigid stance and stiff shoulders.
Fighting the urge to yell at him to answer me, I studied a Brazil nut tree which had to be at least five hundred years old because the fruit that contained the edible nuts was about one hundred and fifty feet in the air. The Amazon was like that, full of temptations. But the reality of harvesting those temptations were either impossible or brutal.
“I made a comfortable space for us,” I said halfheartedly.
He scowled at me, yet his expression flickered with uncertainty. “We have plenty of light from that moon, and it will get brighter as it rises.”
“No, Hunter. I’m not walking in the dark. It’s too dangerous. Every step could be our last.”
“Fine. You stay here. I’ll come back for you.”
Unsure whether he was serious, I decided to test his bluff and said, “Fine. Leave me.”