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“Hey, pssst,” Archie whispers in my ear. “Wanna be my shower partner?”
“Sure.”
I agree mostly to enjoy the consequent strained pulsing of Satan’s jaw. Logan is so pointedly not looking at us that if he tries any harder, his eyes will roll to the back of his head.
“Ah, yes, one last thing,” Tucker concludes. “The local monkeys seem to belong to a crew of petty thieves. Please leave nothing lying around you don’t want to be stolen, and always seal the supply tent on your way in and out.”
Aha.
Gloating quietly, I turn to Logan once again. Satan’s face has turned even stonier, although a faint blush is creeping up his cheeks.
Ha, ha, ha.
I got mine, but you get yours.
* * *
When we’re finally dismissed, I ask if I can help with anything, but Logan seems to have had enough of me and tells me a flat no.
Somchai, who, to the contrary, is nice and unprejudiced, comes next to me and asks, “Want to help me with the horses, Miss Knowles? You have good hand with animals.”
“Sure,” I tell him, happy to have something to do besides hating Satan. “Show me what I have to do.”
He brings me to where he has herded the beasts—far enough from the main camp that the smell of their droppings won’t reach us—and explains to me what to do. We water and feed the animals, and then Somchai demonstrates how to tether them to each other so they’ll be forced to walk one in front of the other, single file. The technique is pretty straightforward, and we make quick work of tying all the beasts together. Tomorrow, he’ll escort the horses and mules, except for one, back to the village. It wouldn’t make sense for us to keep the animals on the premises and have to feed and water them every day. But we’ll keep a mule in case equipment needs to be moved between here and Area X once we reach it.
I retrace my steps to the main camp… and stop dead in my tracks at the scene before my eyes. Logan, Archie, and Tucker have all removed their shirts—so much for staying as covered as possible—and are pulling one tent up after the other. I get why they’d want to risk bug bites and work bare-chested. In the late afternoon, the atmosphere is sweltering and, even shirtless, a thin layer of perspiration covers their backs, making them all shiny.
I try to resist, but quickly give in. Grabbing the ever-present camera dangling from my neck, I stealthily snap a few shots of my sweaty, muscular colleagues. Then I check the results on the small screen on the back of the device, and chuckle to myself. These pictures would look great on an erotica novel, probably one called something like:Taken in the Jungle by the Three Archeologists.
Bad me. I shouldn’t have these thoughts about my colleagues. But it’s impossible to remain impassive in front of such a display of manliness. Even quiet, shy Tucker has a body to be reckoned with. He’s less buff than the other two, but still ripped. Where Logan and Archie have Gerard Butler in300body types, Tucker is all Spartan Michael Fassbender—he starred in300too, only Fassbender wasn’t that famous at the time and nobody recognized him.
Still, my gaze can’t help but linger on one back in particular. Maybe because I already know what hides beneath the pants, or maybe because the devil must always disguise himself as attractive—to convince people to sell him their souls and stuff. But I can’t tear my eyes off Logan. That is, until Archie turns, catches me ogling them, and winks.
Blushing tomato red, I scurry away and claim one of the already-raised tents as my own. Settling myself in and moving all my gear should keep me busy enough, and hopefully keep my mind off half-naked, evil archeologists.
* * *
Unfortunately, with only a foldable cot, a sleeping bag, and my camera equipment to bring in, it doesn’t take me long to furnish the tent. Also, Tucker wasn’t kidding about the inside turning into a sauna. Even though it’s past 5p.m., and the umbrella of leaves above our heads prevent most of the sun rays from filtering through, the heat is still strong enough to turn these four nylon walls into a sweat trap. So, I fold back the rainproof layer and leave only the mosquito netting to allow as much air to be recycled as possible.
Outside, I string up a clothesline. If we can bathe in the river, I expect the stream can be used to do laundry as well. I choose two trees at the right distance and hang a nylon wire between them. Then, I’m pretty much done setting up, and am already bored. Despite the tiring journey, I’m bursting with all this extra energy. No doubt due to the excitement of being in an unfamiliar place in the middle of a brand-new adventure. I’ve been on archeological trips before, but never one that involved a discovery of the unknown.
I peek around the camp to check what everyone else is doing. Satan, thankfully, is nowhere to be seen, and neither is his sidekick, Archie. But Tucker—his shirt on once again—is working just across from my tent, setting up the camp’s kitchen.
Oh so innocently, I stroll over to him. “What’s for dinner?” I ask.
“Tonight, I’m cooking from scratch. Vegetarian Pad Thai,” Tucker says, screwing in place the legs of the portable stove he’s assembling. “But don’t get used to such a Michelin-star treatment.”
“Why not?”
“We could buy fresh veggies at the village, but from tomorrow on it’ll be mostly ‘boil in a bag’ food and lots of rice.”
“What’s ‘boil in a bag’ food?”
“Freeze-dried, pre-made meals that you boil to rehydrate.”
I make a pretend-gag face. “That sounds awful.”
“It isn’t, trust me. If I hadn’t told you, you would’ve never guessed.” Tucker fixes in place a three-sided windscreen to shield the burners. “Plus, with packaged food, we can have as much variety as we want.”
