“For safety, you’ll have a satellite phone with you, so if something goes wrong, you can call for help. The phone is equipped with GPS so a rescue team will be able to find you within, hopefully, just a couple of hours, depending on where you are. Idriss here will be on call the entire time to bring help straight away, but there’s a catch.”
Of course there is.
“Of course there is,” Will mutters.
Ignoring him, Dylan says, “If you use the phone, you lose the danger bonuses and a special surprise brought to you by the good people at GoPro. GoPro has offered a one-hundred-thousand-dollar prize to be split between the two of you if you can make it out of the jungle in under ten days!”
She shouts, “Can you believe it? An extra fifty-thousand for you, Will, and for your charity, People for Animals, Your Highness!”
“Brilliant,” I say, attempting to smile.
Will says nothing, but just stares.
“Yes! Exciting, right?!” She smiles into the camera. “GoPro, be a hero!”
When neither of us start jumping for joy, she lowers her voice. “Well, that’s okay. You’re obviously too thrilled to speak. Anyway, I’ll give you ten minutes to figure out where you want to be dropped, then we’re going to start the countdown clock and you’ll have exactly two hundred and forty hours to make it to Mbambole!”
Two hundred and forty hours sounds like a very long time.
“Two hundred and forty hours?” Will asks her. Turning to me, he says, “That sounds like a very long time, doesn’t it?”
I shrug as if I’m a hardened criminal who just had another life sentence handed down to make an even hundred years.
Idriss pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket, then taking one out, he lights it up as he and Will lean over the map. He sets down the pack and the lighter on the table and takes a casual puff on the cigarette. “So, where to?”
I peer down at the map. To the untrained eye (i.e. mine), it just looks like a bunch of trees with the odd river and some elevation markings. But apparently to them, it all means something. There’s a large circle that has been drawn on with a red marker. Will points to the spot that would bring us closest to our end point. “Is it too much to hope we can land here?”
Shaking his head, Idriss says, “The gorillas have moved down there for the hot season. I don’t think they’re going to welcome you with open arms.”
I gasp. “Guerrillas? Nobody said anything about guerrillas. Are they armed?”
Idriss looks at me like I’m wearing my bra on the outside of my shirt.
“Gorillas,” Will says with disdain. “As in mountain gorillas. They don’t generally carry guns because they don’t need them. They could snap your skinny neck with two fingers.”
“Oh,” I say, my cheeks burning.
The next few minutes are spent with me just trying to breathe in and out in long, slow breaths so as not to hyperventilate. I stand silently, not having anything intelligent to add to the conversation. My mind starts to wander, and I glance at the cigarettes and lighter, wishing I was a ballsy woman who’d take one out and light it up for myself. That would be such a power move if it wouldn’t make me turn green and vomit everywhere.
Hmmm … maybe I can’t use the cigarettes, but that lighter might come in handy. Dylan did say ‘be resourceful.’ I lean over the table and nod, pretending I’m following what they’re saying. Placing my hands down, I carefully cover the lighter with my right hand.
“How close can you get me to that river?” Will asks.
Idriss squints at it. “About five kilometres.”
Huh, they haven’t noticed. My heart pounds in my chest as I close my fingers around it and casually lift my hands off the table, putting them into my pockets and saying a “Hmm, five sounds good.”
Will stops and looks up at me. “Does it?”
“Yes,” I say, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.
“Glad you approve, Your Highness.” He picks up a pencil and draws an ‘X.’
Suddenly, I realize how uncomfortably hot I am, even though we’re in the shelter of the hanger. Tosh, the camera guy, steps up and starts giving us instructions on how to use the GoPros. I'm so terrified, I'm not taking in anything he’s saying, so when he finishes, and asks me if I’ve “Got it?” I just nod and smile.
“Okay, I guess that's everything,” Will says. “The sooner we get going, the more light we’ll have to set up camp.”
He gives me a long look, then turns to Dylan. “Where are her real clothes?”
“This is it. It's jungle chic.”
“She won't last fifteen minutes in this getup. She needs thick pants and a long-sleeved shirt.”
“That's not exactly what I had in mind.” Dylan lowers her voice. “This outfit has more of the sexy vibe we’re going for.”
“Well, I don't think dead is very sexy, do you? You've already got footage of her to show off her nice legs, so get her some pants.”
Nice legs? I can't say I hate hearing that. Oh, Arabella, what are you thinking right now? You're about to jump out of a helicopter to your death and you’re excited about a tiny compliment? Pathetic. Just pathetic.
By the time I've changed into some baggy pants and a button up khaki shirt, the helicopter has been started, creating a loud, intense wind on the tarmac. Will is seemingly ready to go because he’s already wearing a harness around his waist that goes through his legs. On his shoulders, he’s got a large backpack. He gestures for me to come over, holding a harness for me. “Last chance to change your mind.”
“Last chance for you to change your mind,” I say with a raised eyebrow.
He holds open the harness and crouches in front of me. “I'm assuming you haven't worn one of these before?”
I step in carefully, fully aware of his proximity to my body. “You assume correctly.”
He stands, pulling the harness up and fastening it around my waist while I stay perfectly still with my arms up in the air. Oh, he smells yummy. Too bad he’s a total arsehole.
“Turn around, please.”
I do as he says, and he tugs on the harness, tightening it even more, his fingers dangerously close to the bottom of my bottom. Clearing my throat, I say, “I could probably manage this myself.”
“I'm sure you could, but we’re in a bit of a rush, and it's not something you want to get wrong.”
Fair enough. When he finishes, I turn to find him directly in front of me, holding a backpack. I take it from him, and the weight of it causes my arm to fall to my side. It feels like it’s got a bowling ball in it, but I don't dare complain. Instead, I slide it on, wishing I was anywhere but here.
Will gestures with his head, and we start toward the helicopter. I jog along behind him, ducked down like an idiot the entire time, even though we're still a good fifty yards from the helicopter. Once we’re on, he attaches two long ropes to my harness and checks to make sure everything is secure, tugging hard enough on the equipment to lift me off my feet.
Mac and Tosh sit across from us, then Dylan gets on. As the helicopter lifts off, my stomach hops up to my throat and I plaster a smile on my face in spite of the fact that I'm positive I'm going to vomit. That lunch was a bad idea.