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     “Hmm?” Steve answered groggily. He wore a stupid smile. It’s not over. I need you to take the controls so I can prop the plane. Those guys drained the battery.”      “Ok, fly to get more batteries,” Steve said in his delirium.      “No! no! no!” John yelled. “I have to hand prop the plane. Listen; just hold your feet on the brakes.”      John climbed out and turned the propeller a couple of times and prepared for a starting kick. Then he saw a commotion in the jungle. Some of the natives were holding up the ponchos where he and Steve had been. So far they hadn’t seen him.      “Please, God, let this start,” John prayed before throwing the propeller downward.      It went around sputtering but not catching. The alerted natives looked and moved slowly toward the plane, taking cover as they advanced.      “Great, an audience.”      A hastily fired...

     Time passed slowly that morning. The natives searched for hours before finally leaving, or at least that’s what John hoped they’d done. The sun was higher in the sky and began burning off the rain water that fell the previous day. Once again fog and steam started to form, leaving John hoping for a gentle breeze to disperse it.      His plan was simple. He would help Steve the seventy-five or so yards to the awaiting plane and take off straight down the runway. The airstrip sloped upward about five degrees, so he would need all the power the plane had. He nudged Steve, who less than alert.      “It’s time to go.”      “Huh? What’s going on?” Steve lifted his pale face, his glazed eyes trying to focus.      “I need you to be alert. There are very dangerous people after us. We need to get to the plane. Do you understand?”          John spoke slowly, hoping the words would break...

   The half naked group, armed with spears and bows and arrows, and one with a stone ax, fanned out once they neared the clearing. They moved in unison like a well-rehearsed infantry unit. Someone gave a bird call upon seeing the camouflaged airplane and the rest moved cautiously toward the source of commotion.      John saw them move slowly toward the plane, and huddle around the leader. They looked for tell-tale signs of trouble, then regrouped as the leader gave instructions. On cue, they began removing the bushes and curiously rubbed their hands across the smooth surface of the plane. Some of them swung from the wings and struts, while others played with the control surfaces until the leader yelled a warning.      The leader, dressed in a loincloth and wearing a necklace of bones and ornamental feathers, motioned for one of his subordinates to try the doors. The lackey finally figured how to open the pilot’s door and curiously played ...

John and Sandy entered the hut as Numah and Tucker fearfully withdrew. Marta, having fought long and hard on behalf of the boy’s welfare, fell into the waiting arms of Sandy, and let herself sob with frustration. “We’ve got to do something, Sandy. He won’t even listen.” “We’ll do something. Don’t worry,” Sandy replied. John kicked at the dust and pretended to look at something on the ground. “I’m sorry, John, I didn’t mean to lose control in front of you. I’m just frustrated,” said Marta. Marta saw the witch doctor snicker, then continue with a professional but I-know-what-I’m-doing, and-you’re-too-simple-to-¬recognize-greatness attitude. “Don’t worry, Marta, I understand what you have been through. I’ve been through less frustrating situations, but didn’t handle them nearly as well as you are this one. At least the doctor is still standing.” Sandy laughed. “Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t ruled out violence.” Marta allowed a chuckled. Marta saw recognition in Mewpa’s eyes. He often refe...