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Winter
The horse ride through the jungle is far more pleasant than being jostled around inside a car. Atop my beautiful mare—Duang Jan, which means “moon” in English—I don’t feel the fatigue, and the hours pass quickly. I’ve missed riding, and even when my calf muscles get stiff from lack of practice, I have the best time.
In LA, I always find excuses to not go riding. I’d forgotten how both calming and exhilarating it is to sit on top of a horse. The slow, repetitive rhythm that lets our postures mold one to the other and lets our spirits soar together. When I get back home, I’ll find a good riding school and enroll in regular trail rides. I owe it to myself not to forget again how powerfully beautiful it is to mount these creatures.
My granddad from my mother’s side taught Summer and me how to ride. Pops owned a farm, and when we were kids we’d spend most of our summers in Indiana, sometimes inviting Lana along. But since Pops passed, we haven’t visited. No reason to. My grandmother was too old to run the ranch on her own, so she moved to Pasadena to be closer to my mom. That was years ago, and today’s the first time I’m back on a horse since then. Definitely too long.
I’m enjoying myself so much that, when we reach the targeted camp area, it feels too soon. My heels are still prickling to give Duang Jan a little push and get wild on a gallop together. Pity the trail never became wide or straight enough to allow us to race the wind. If it did, I wouldn’t have been able to behave. I smirk, imagining Logan’s face if I had suddenly taken off at a gallop. Satan would’ve probably thought I’d lost control of my horse and freaked out, maybe burst a coronary. It would’ve been worth the resulting lecture just to see his expression.
Anyway, the road kept getting narrower, steeper, and more treacherous the farther we advanced, so no chance of a gallop anywhere. Likewise, the jungle became denser with every yard forward, so much so that the area we’ve stopped in doesn’t seem all that hospitable or suitable to build a camp. Yeah, there’s the tiniest clearing where we could set up the bigger tents—supplies tent and gathering area—but otherwise, it looks like each individual tent will have to be scattered around where the gaps between the trees allow for enough space.
I jump off my beautiful companion and caress her muzzle.
“You’ve been a good girl,” I tell her. “A very good girl.” I tether her reins to a nearby tree trunk.
Behind me, everyone dismounts as well.
Logan and Tucker begin confabulating at once, their voices loud enough to carry over.
“We should get the gathering tent up first,” Logan suggests.
“Yeah,” Tucker agrees. “And as soon as it’s up, I want to brief the group on safety.”
“Good idea,” Logan says. “Let’s be quick about it, then.”
And quick they are. I barely have the time to gather and check all my photographic equipment before the tent is up. Tent… the structure is more of a sheltered, open area: four poles holding up a blue tarp ceiling that’s also secured to the trees above, creating a sloping roof. Underneath, they’ve assembled a foldable table and chairs. It’s the perfect spot to have a meal or hold a meeting.
“Everyone,” Logan calls for attention. “Please gather around, Tucker has a few important announcements.”
We all sit around the table—I’m across from Logan with Archie to my right, while Tucker is standing at the head of the table on my left.
“All right, people,” Tucker says. “Before we finish setting up camp, I want to stress some basic camping-in-the-jungle safety tips.” He sets one foot on the folding chair and leans forward on his bent knee. “First off: undesirable jungle buddies. You can bet the undergrowth around here is teeming with bugs, insects, scorpions, snakes, and spiders. Some venomous, other with bites so painful they’ll make you wish to cut a limb off instead of enduring the pain…”
Tucker takes a long pause to ensure everyone’s paying attention. “We’re equipped with the most common antivenoms and state-of-the-art medical supplies, but we don’t know every species that crawls this jungle, and a helicopter would take hours to reach us. So our best bet to stay alive and unhurt is not to get bitten.”
That seems a little dramatic. I mean, even when I visited the Borneo rainforest, our guide at the time wasn’t half as worried as Tucker. I look around the table to check if everyone else is taking this speech seriously. The soldiers seem mostly unconcerned. Dr. Boonjan, though, has visibly paled. Somchai is sporting his signature cheeky grin. And Logan… is staring “pay attention, woman” daggers at me.
My heart jolts in my chest at being caught absent-minded. So I concentrate back on Tucker and vow not to let my attention wander again. Maybe he’s being overcautious, but this is still important stuff to know.
“So, how do we avoid bites?” Tucker continues. “I’ve provided each of you with a powerful insect repellent; you must apply it all over on a regular basis. Spray your clothes with it, even. And cover up as much as you can, especially after dusk.” He fans the air near his face. “Looks like we’ve gotten lucky, as there aren’t too many flies around during the day. But you can bet as soon as the sun goes down, bloodsuckers of all sizes will want to join the buffet, so don’t leave any skin unprotected. Use the repellent.”
I wrinkle my nose; the spray he provided us stung my nostrils when I smelled it. I’m not letting that chemicals-ridden concoction touch my skin. Don’t need a rash, thank you very much. I’m sure my lemongrass spray will—
“Even you, Winter.” Tucker’s words cut directly into my thoughts. “That natural spray of yours is not nearly powerful enough, and you don’t want a case of Dengue fever to prove me right. Understood?”
Morosely, I nod, and stare daggers at Logan as if to dare him to show even the slightest sign of amusement. His face is composed in a too-neutral expression, and he’s not looking at me. But I can tell Satan is dearly enjoying me being told off.
“For the same reason,” Tucker continues, “I’ll spray the perimeters of your tents twice daily. But you must keep the flaps closed at all times—both the internal mosquito netting, and the external rainfly when you sleep. If during the day you want to leave the rainfly open to avoid the tent turning into a sauna, the mosquito netting must still be sealed, always.
“At night, before you go to bed, you must carefully inspect your sleeping bags before getting in. And don’t even think of leaving your boots scattered outside your tent. Find a couple of wooden stakes, plant them in the ground, and use them to store your shoes upside down to avoid any unwanted guests crawling in during the night. Each morning, always give your footwear a good shake before you put it on, just in case.”
I shiver at the thought of putting my foot in a boot, only for my toes to find something crawly and pinchy inside. Eww.
“If bug bites sting and can transmit diseases,” Tucker says, relentlessly carrying on with his terror speech, “a snake bite can turn you into a dead man—or woman—walking right away. So wear your snake gaiters at all times, no matter the hour or where you’re going or for however short a journey. Better safe than sorry. Also, if you find an obstacle in your path, don’t you ever just walk past it. Go on top first, check what’s on the other side, and only then move ahead. Snake fangs can cut through your boots’ leather like a knife slicing through butter. Same goes for where you put your hands, be it a branch, stem, or tree trunk—always look before you touch anything. And when you’re moving into the jungle, please wear gloves.
“And last but not least.” Tucker seems to be finally ready to wrap up the talk of doom. “We have drinking water reserves to last a few days. After that, we’ll need to resupply or use the river’s water if a journey to the village is not possible. But never drink river water without boiling or sanitizing it with purification tablets first.” He eyes everyone around the table with an “understood?” scowl before he goes on. “The river will also be our shower, of sorts; we have biodegradable soap that you can use to clean yourselves. But under no circumstances should any of us leave the camp alone. Always pair up, and ask for an armed escort.” Tucker points at our three military men. “Wild beasts could attack at any time, and I don’t care if you have a black belt in karate, you’re still not taking on a three-hundred-pound tiger with your bare fists and living to tell the tale.”
