“We should be about an hour from a bunkhouse usedas a campsite by various tour groups,” Nico tells me as we round a sharp bend in the trail. “They get supply shipments by helicopter every other day for the soldiers who patrol theparqueand the popular ruins. I can probably get the pilot to airlift Neda back to Cartagena.”
“If we camp there, we won’t get to see the ruins today.”
“We wouldn’t anyway.” Nico gives the sinking sun a pointed glance. “Your friends move too slow.”
“Okay. The car’s coming for us at Cañaveral tomorrow night. If we get a decent start in the morning, can we see the ruins and make it back to the park entrance by nightfall?”
He nods. “If you can light a fire under your friends’ feet.”
“Done.” I turn around to address the entire group as I walk backward. “We’re camping at an army bunkhouse tonight.” I let my gaze linger on Holden, driving home my threat to have him searched. “Let’s go.”
The bunkhouse turns out to be a short, squat building made of rough wood planks, in the middle of a large clearing. A patch of bare dirt to the west of the building has been designated for helicopter landings, and a dozen other tourists have pitched tents on the opposite side of the bunkhouse.
“How long am I going to be stuck here?” Neda demands as Ryan, Domenica, and Maddie start unpacking their gear. Holden, Rog, and the bros drop their packs and head straight for a large campfire, where people are already grilling hot dogs and passing around bottles of beer.
Penelope hangs back, glancing first at Holden, then atme, as if she needs my permission to get within ten feet of him.
She does.
I leave her standing there while I help Neda hop toward the bunkhouse, where Nico is making arrangements to have her removed from our company. I totally owe him a beer.
We can already hear her ride coming, but in the end, I have to part with a fifty-dollar bill—US currency—to buy Neda a one-way ticket out of the jungle.
It’s money well spent.
“You should still try to have fun without me,” Neda shouts as the helicopter descends into the clearing, blowing back our hair and our words. “I totally don’t blame you for dragging me into the jungle without telling me I’d need boots. So don’t let that ruin your hike, okay?”
I laugh as I return her hug and shout into her ear, “I promise I won’t let your lack of coordination and common sense plague my vacation.” Now that she’s leaving, I’m sure I’m going to miss her, for the entertainment factor alone.
“I’m not uncoordinated. The jungle was out to get me,” she insists with a grin.
“Take it easy when you get back. In fact, have a spa day in Cartagena, on me. They have my card on file from the reservation we canceled.”
“A spa day by myself?” Neda pouts, but she’s clearly pleased. The spa is all she wanted in the first place.
Nico and one of the other guides help her into the helicopter, and we watch, our hair whipping around crazily, asit rises into the air. Neda waves from the open side of the helicopter, her heavily wrapped ankle propped up where we can all see it from the ground, in case we’re tempted to forget about her hardship.
The moment she disappears over the treetops, our party begins.
59 HOURS EARLIER
MADDIE
With Neda gone, my day brightens by about 300 percent, even as the sun drops beneath the jungle canopy to the west. And seriously? Removed from the party by her own couture sandals? Those strappy death traps may have cost her a fortune, but the irony is truly priceless.
I take a seat at the campfire, as far from my cousin’s asshole boyfriend as I can get, and Luke sits between me and a middle-aged tour guide wearing a stained white T-shirt and dark cargo shorts.
“I’m Nixon,” he says with a thick but clear accent as he shoos a small, scruffy-looking mutt away from his hot dog.
“Maddie.”
Luke sticks his hand out in front of me. “Luke Hazelwood.”
“Are you going to Ciudad Perdida?”
“No. We have to be back in Cartagena tomorrow night,” I tell him as the dog begs for a bite of meat.
“Vamos, Caca,” Nixon says, and I can’t help laughingover the dog’s name. “Fetch my pipe.”
