Endangered

The plane lurched forward as it made its slow descent into Punta Gorda, Belize. Paul clenched his jaw and gripped the armrest until his knuckles turned white. The deafening sound of the plane’s propellers made his stomach turn, it had been a very long flight. His girlfriend Sara sat up straight in the seat next to him looking more concerned with every turbulent bump.

“I’m sure this is all perfectly normal. We’re almost there anyway.”

He couldn’t tell if she was comforting him or herself. He looked out the porthole window onto the lush green rainforest below, it was definitely a change of scenery from their hometown of Chicago.

‘My jungle is made of concrete,’ he thought to himself, “My jungle is made of glass.”

A change of scenery is exactly what Sara said he needed, though he wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t just his city that had become stale and uninspired, it was his life, it was himself.

“The first thing we should do is eat,” said Sara, “I’m so hungry, aren’t you?”

Paul continued to stare out the window; the canopy seemed to span the surface of the earth.

“Paul?”

Paul blinked back into the moment, “What’s that? Oh… yes, food, right, absolutely.”

She reached over and grabbed his hand, “Paul… This isn’t going to work if you aren’t present. You need to be with me… Right here, right now.”

“I know,” he said, squeezing her hand, “I will, I promise.”

She kissed him on the cheek and leaned back in her seat as the plane prepared to land.

There was no airport in Punta Gorda, only a narrow strip of tarmac surrounded by eager vendors waiting to sell fruit and craftwork to freshly landed tourists. After Paul retrieved their bags from the luggage pile, he met Sara at a table where a little woman was selling jewelry from a tray. Sara was holding up an ornate set of earrings shaped like birds to her ear.

“Do you like these, honey?”

“Oh… yes, very pretty.” He looked closer at the colourful birds, “Who doesn’t love parrots?”

“Not parrots, silly, these are keel-billed toucans, the national bird of Belize.”

“Well, excuse me,” he winked, “I forgot I was travelling with a master bird-watcher.”

“Ornithologist, thank you very much!”

“Ooh! Pretty lady is a doctor!” said the woman, the sun glimmering off a gold tooth, “Perfect jewelry for you!”

Sara laughed, “No, no, far from that… Only a hobbyist really.”

Sara paid for the earrings while Paul flagged down a cab driver, who proceeded to rip the bags from his hands and shove them violently into the trunk. They departed right away... just as soon as Sara was able to buy some fresh mango.

By the time the cab made it to the bustling town market of Punta Gorda, or ‘P.G.’ as the locals called it, the sun was beginning to set. The street was full of people crossing from side to side, tourists and locals alike, which forced them to stop every few feet to let someone pass. Sara was licking the juice from a slice of mango off her fingers when they stopped once again.

“Y’know, our hotel is just at the end of this street,” she said, "It’s so beautiful out, we can walk the rest of the way.”

Paul paid the cabby a handsome tip then recovered their bags from the trunk. He slung them over his shoulders and followed Sara as she fearlessly pushed through the crowd. Paul felt the eyes of the locals on him as he walked with the bags across his back.

A young boy rode up to him on a bicycle, jingling a bell. He had a wooden box of glass soda bottles rattling in the front basket.

“Coca-cola, mister?”

Paul shook his head. The boy shrugged and kept riding, asking everyone he came across if they wanted what was sure to be a very warm, very shaken soda.

There were two men beating drums on the corner ahead of them, both singing at the top of their lungs. A straw hat lay between them half-full of colourful bills. Sara stopped in front of them with a huge grin on her face. She started tapping her toe and clapping her hands along with them as Paul arrived at her side.

“Let’s keep moving,” said Paul.

“Oh come on, they’re so good! This is why we’re here!”

The duffle bags were digging into his shoulders now, so he kept walking toward the hotel.

“Well, you can stay but I’m going to the hotel.”

Sara threw a tip into the hat and chased after Paul, her flip-flop sandals scraping the road beneath her.

“You can be such a buzz-kill, do you know that?”

“I’m just tired… We can come back later, okay?”

They walked in relative silence, weaving through passing carts and waving off merchants until they were abruptly stopped by a woman holding a stack of paper.

“Excuse me, please,” she said, her voice was hoarse, “Excuse me!”

She held out one of the flyers towards Paul, who accepted it grudgingly. The page had a picture of a young girl with a large bird perched on her shoulder, the bird’s feathers were a brilliant mix of red, blue and yellow.

Paul had no doubt that this was a parrot.

The young girl, no older than thirteen, wore a t-shirt of Queen’s Freddy Mercury, his arm raised at Wembley stadium. She looked happy... but above the picture, it read:

MISSING

“Oh no,” said Sara, reading the page over Paul’s shoulder, “That’s so sad.”

“My daughter Elise and her bird Freddy,” said the woman, exhaustion etched into her face, “They’ve both been missing for ten days. They go everywhere together. Please take this… If you see her… please.”

She thanked them and walked forward into the crowd, handing a page out to everyone she met. Paul handed his flyer to Sara, who looked down at the young girl and her bird,

“She’s so beautiful.”

“Great taste in music,” said Paul, he then smiled, “A parrot named Freddy.”

"Not just a parrot, a Scarlet Macaw! Gorgeous birds,” she grimaced, “I wish we could help.”

“Nothing we can do.”

“I know,” she said solemnly, and put the flyer in her purse.

When they arrived at the P.G. hotel, they realized that it wasn't as grand as the title would suggest, but it wasn't without charm. The owner was a squat little man named Horace, who rushed out to meet them.

“Welcome, welcome!”

For such a small man, he was exceptionally strong. He grabbed the bags from Paul's shoulders with shocking ease and ushered them up to the second floor where they would be staying. Horace managed to open the door while still holding the duffle bags,

“If you need anything at all! I’ll be at the front desk!”

Their room was small and musty, with a little kitchenette in one corner and a double bed in the other. Sara scanned the room and immediately rushed to a set of French doors leading to a balcony. She opened the doors onto a small orchard and the smell of citrus floated in on a cool breeze. She sighed gratefully,

"If that doesn't bring a smile to your face, nothing will."

Sara stood in the glow of the sunset, looking more beautiful than ever and suddenly Paul felt it, the pale grey fog of Chicago dissipating and replaced with the glorious colour and warmth of Belize. He walked up behind Sara and held her around the waist and kissed her neck.

"Thank you."

As peaceful as that moment was, the nightlife in Punta Gorda was like an explosion. The street overflowed with musicians and the chaotic sound of Jazz filled the air. They stayed out well past midnight, they danced together and ate deep-fried corn tortillas then walked down the street hand in hand.

They hadn’t been walking long before a little hunchbacked howler monkey came running out of nowhere and crawled up Sara’s back. Sara let out a startled yelp of nervous laughter as the monkey snatched the tortilla from her hand and ate it in one bite.

A long thin rope was tied around its neck and stretched over behind an dirty black van with tinted windows ahead of them.

“Marco! You stupid monkey!” cried a gravelly voice.

The rope and the voice belonged to an old man sitting in a lawn chair just behind the van, who stood abruptly and yanked on the rope. Marco let out a screech and leapt off to follow the pull of the rope. The monkey then jumped up to the old man’s shoulder.

Paul looked past him to see two other men sitting expressionless in lawn chairs positioned a few steps behind where the old man sat.

“I’m sorry about my monkey,” the old man said, “I hope he didn’t hurt you.”

Paul almost didn't notice that curled up beside his chair was a sleeping panther, black as the night, thankfully with a much more substantial rope around its neck.

“No, no, just startled me is all,” said Sara, who then noticed the large cat as well, “Wow! Look at that!”

“Oh, you like my little panther here?” He laughed, “This is Ava.”

He held his hand in front of the resting panther’s nose, the big cat stretched its neck and gave it a placid lick,

“Go on, you can pet her if you’d like.”

Sara looked at Paul with a half scared, half excited expression on her face and ever so slowly reached out and pet the panther's head. Ava didn’t seem to respond very much. In fact, if it wasn’t for the odd stretch and lick of its chops, you could have considered it stuffed.

It must be drugged. This cat is a mirage, a show cat.

“I can’t believe I’m petting a panther!”

The old man bellowed, “My dear lady, this is Belize! You should think about taking some of it home with you.”

He looked over at one of his silent friends and nodded. The mute man stood up and pulled a set of keys from his pocket to open the back door of the van. Once the van doors were open it all became clear, the inside of the van was stocked full of what looked to be a wide array of exotic pelts.

Poachers.

“We can give you a very good price. My way of apology for little Marco here.”

“I don’t think so,” said Paul, gently pulling Sara back.

“Why don’t you let the lady decide, eh?” said the old man, his eyes turning steely for a moment.

“That’s very kind of you,” said Sara, “but it’s not for me, thanks.”

They left without hesitation. The old man called out from behind them,

“We’ll be here all night if you change your mind!”

The van door slammed shut and Marco gave a loud howl. They went straight back to the hotel and tried to put the whole thing out of their minds. It had been a long day.

That night, Paul fell into unsteady dreams.

He found himself running through a concrete maze with the walls closing in around him. He felt a rope around his neck and saw that it was a noose leading onward into the maze. He followed it slowly until he felt the noose tighten around his neck and start to pull him forward. He could barely keep up, the rope started to burn his skin. His legs grew tired quickly, straining to keep up until suddenly the rope went limp. He dropped to his knees to catch his breath when he noticed a shadow growing on the floor in front of him. The loose rope started to tighten again. He looked to see the smiling face of the howler monkey, Marco. His fang filled mouth opened even wider and without warning lunged towards him.

Paul woke with a fright, the sheet draped over him was covered in sweat. The room was stifling. He stood from the bed and went to the balcony door and opened it. A soft breeze entered the room. Dawn hadn’t quite broken and Punta Gorda was in the quiet lull between nightlife and the daily hustle. He pulled in a lungful of citrus-scented air then went back inside to the kitchenette sink. He turned the tap and splashed his face and wet his neck, somehow still burning from his dream.

“Scaramouche!”

The voice was small and nasal, not quite human. It was coming from the balcony.

“Scaramouche! Will you do the fandango?”

“What the—?”

Paul dried his face and walked to the balcony to find a scarlet macaw perched on the railing.

“Oh!" said Paul, "Well, hello there.”

The bird made no more noise, it just picked at its feathers with its pale beak. Paul crept toward the bed, he shook Sara by the shoulder. She stirred for a moment then opened one eye,

“What is it?”

“There’s a macaw,” he whispered, “On our balcony!”

She sat up in the bed, “Oh wow, you’re right!”

“Scaramouche!” squawked the bird once again, “Will you do the fandango?”

Sara laughed and looked gobsmacked at Paul, “What does that — Oh my god!” Her face went white, “It’s Freddy! Those are Queen lyrics! This is the little girl’s bird!”

The thought hadn’t occurred to Paul, his brain was still foggy from the dream. Sara pulled her purse from the nightstand and fished out the flyer. She studied it closely,

“It’s definitely him!”

“Oh, it could just be a coincidence,” said Paul, “I mean, Queen aren’t exactly unknown. Maybe this one just… picked it up from the radio?”

The idea sounded silly even coming from his own mouth.

“These birds don’t just pick up words, not wild ones at least. This is a domesticated Macaw. This has to be Freddy! Look!”

She pointed down at the picture, the bird in the photo was wearing a small studded bracelet, just like Freddy Mercury was wearing on the t-shirt. She then pointed out to the balcony. The macaw was wearing the same bracelet and there was something tucked inside it; a white roll of paper by the look of it. Sara stood up and started toward the macaw.

“What are you doing?” said Paul.

“There’s something in the bracelet.”

“You’re going to scare it away!”

She put a finger to her mouth, “Shush!”

Sara walked out on the balcony, the bird was still nestled on the railing grooming its feathers. She slowly reached out to grab the piece of paper from the bird’s bracelet but it wasn’t paper at all, it was a piece of white cloth like the t-shirt in the photo. She unrolled it, there was crude writing in dark red ink,

Help

Follow the black van

Hurry

With that, Freddy squawked once more then flew away.

“Oh my god, Paul, oh my god.”

He felt a pit form in the bottom of his stomach. Were these Elise’s last words? Was she still alive? So many questions flooded his mind that he got dizzy, but one thing stood out like blood on white cloth.

The black van. The poachers.

It almost wasn’t even a surprise that they were involved in this, but to what extent he didn’t know. All he knew was that the feeling in his stomach told him whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

Sara and Paul argued back and forth regarding what to do next. Should they tell the mother? Should they alert the authorities? Would anyone believe that a bird delivered them the message? Was there enough time to waste explaining themselves? Would they be implicated?

Sara threw her hands up in frustration,

“Well, we have to do something!”

“This is beyond us, Sara. We should just forget about it.”

“What? We can’t leave this little girl to die!”

“What do you suggest we do? Who will believe us? I can barely believe it myself.”

She pointed in the direction of the van,

“Those men are probably still out there!”

“We have no idea what they’re capable of… Listen, she’s probably dead already.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Listen, I wish it was different.”

“Don’t pretend that you care.”

“What?”

“Why do you think we’re here, Paul? Y'know, you’re missing too… and me? I’m your only connection with the world,” she sat him down on the edge of the bed and held his hand, “Are you still holding on? Are you beyond reach?… just 'cause you've given up, doesn't mean I will… I won’t.”

She threw the cloth into his lap, “This girl needs our help.”

She stood up and went to the balcony, wiping the tears from her eyes. Paul was left sitting on the bed, holding the bit of t-shirt in his hands. The bloody words seemed darker now.

“I know I’m screwed up,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, “but you know I’m right about this… Listen, we can make an anonymous call to the Police.”

Sara didn’t look at him. Paul continued,

“It’s just about sun-up, I’m going to go take a shower... Then we’ll ask Horace if there’s a payphone around here, okay?”

Sara just stared out into the orchard.

Paul went to the communal bathroom down the hall. When he got there he saw his reflection in a small cracked mirror above the sink. The crack broke his face into two halves, he stared at the mirror and fought the urge to rip it off the wall. The shower was situated in an old claw-foot tub and after turning on the taps, hot water didn’t appear to be an option.

Perfect.

The cold water may have been a blessing, it slowed his heart rate and slowed his mind. Before long he started to feel calm again, so he turned off the water and grabbed a towel from the rack. The water was cold but it was nothing compared to the chilly air he expected to find back in the hotel room. He trudged down the hallway and took a moment to collect himself.

Here we go.

He opened the door to find that Sara wasn’t there.

Paul knew immediately where she had gone. She was going to confront the poachers. The sun had risen while he was in the shower, the room was now filled with warm tropical light. He threw some clothes on and ran as fast as he could down the stairs.

“Good morning, sir!” said Horace, “Sir?”

Paul simply ran passed him into the street, which was now bustling with morning traffic. He couldn’t see Sara anywhere in the crowd and he had no way of knowing how long she had been gone. He tried his best to clear a path but the mob was thick and determined.

“Sara!”

His voice was lost in the din of the crowd, though he did turn a few heads. By the time he made it to where the poachers had been the night before, there was no sign of the black van or the old man and his monkey, and worst of all, no sign of Sara.

“Son of a—!”

Breathing heavily, he looked down to see one of Sara’s sandals on the ground. His mind went black. He felt as if he was going to be sick. He looked around, maybe he could still spot the van, maybe he wasn’t too late. He didn’t see any vehicles anywhere and there was no chance of driving through the gauntlet of people in the market.

Just then, he heard the jingle of the boy from the day before, who came riding up beside him on his bicycle.

“Coca-cola, mister?”

“Oh! Have you seen a van here?”

The boy hesitated, “A black van?”

“Yes! Yes, did you see where it went?”

The boy looked immediately worried, his hesitation convinced Paul that he knew of the men who owned the van.

“Please, I need to know where that van went!” Paul pulled a twenty dollar bill from his pocket, “Please!”

The boy looked around to make sure no one was watching then took the bill from Paul’s hand.

“They have a camp,” he pointed down a dirt road leading off the main strip, “In the forest.”

Paul pulled out a wad of cash, “Your bike, let me buy it from you.”

The boy looked at the money in Paul’s hand and back down to his bike. Finally, he grabbed the cash and his box of sodas and Paul rode down the path on his newly purchased bicycle.

Paul had no clue where he was going, he only hoped that the road would lead him there. He peddled as fast as he could, riding for miles, the dirt road fighting him all the way. When he finally reached the edge of the rainforest, the path immediately became too wild for his little bike to handle, so he was forced to continue on foot.

He walked for hours, wishing he could call out for Sara, for Elise, so they could guide him the rest of the way but he knew he would have to tread lightly and remain unseen. The path deteriorated with every step, and with the sun waning in the sky, he could barely follow the tracks left by the van. Soon he would have nothing to guide him.

He was running out of time.

But it suddenly dawned on him that he might be too late, and even if he did reach them, what would he do? He wasn’t about to shoot the place up like some commando in an action movie. He was going to get himself killed.

...But Sara was right, if I don't do something, who will? How many lives are lost due to inaction?

The sun had fallen low in the sky and finally dropped behind the horizon. He was officially lost. He walked aimlessly through the rainforest, feeling naked in the darkness. He felt a great sadness wash over him. He had failed them.

Sara, I’m sorry, their last words burned like acid in his mind, I’m so sorry.

…But suddenly there was light, dim and far away, a flicker of life in the darkness of the jungle. He followed it with a renewed sense of his mission.

He had only the dim light to guide him. As he got closer, he could start to make out shapes. The light was a series of lanterns in the distance, flickering off thick canvas tents and shining off metal cages littering a campsite and there it was, the black van.

Then his foot caught something and he fell to the ground. He couldn’t see a thing, but he was sure that he had tripped over a human body... and it stunk of death. He had to risk some light. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He braced himself for the worst and turned on the light.

The light pierced the darkness and revealed the corpse of a headless jaguar, its leg caught in a massive bear trap. He couldn't stifle the scream that came bursting out of him. His eyes shot back to the poacher's site... they didn't seem to have noticed his outburst. He looked back to the jaguar's spotted coat, which looked to have been disfigured long ago and obviously the pelt was now worthless to the poachers.

His disgust was only outweighed by his anger, he stood back up and continued toward the camp. He saw the three men from the night before gathering around the black van. The monkey Marco screeched as he jumped inside and the drugged up jaguar Ava crawled in behind him. They appeared to be loading up, they must be getting ready to head to the market.

Good, go pull your hustle far from here.

The van grumbled as the engine came to life, then it rolled slowly out from the campsite over the bumpy terrain of the jungle path. There were no remaining poachers that Paul could see but there was also no sign of Sara or Elise. He prayed that they would be in one of the tents… he prayed that they would be alive.

When he entered the camp, he heard a metal cage start to rattle. There was a long narrow cage positioned along one wall of the main tent. He heard growls coming from inside it. There were two massive jaguars circling the inside of the metal cell, hissing and pawing at the bars. Their teeth were long and yellow and sharp as knives. He could see that there was no lock on the cage and the only thing keeping them from tearing out his throat was a thin metal clasp.

Solid operation they’ve got here.

He came to the tent opening and peered inside. There they were, both of them. Sara and Elise lay on the floor of the tent, both bound with a blindfold over their eyes.

“Sara!”

Sara lay quietly but gasped at the sound of his voice. She had been gagged and had a long cut down her face. He rushed to her side and pulled the gag and blindfold off. She immediately started crying,

“Paul, I’m so sorry.”

He kissed her, “Don’t worry about that now.”

Her hands were tied with the same thin rope that had been wrapped around Marco’s neck and it had been pulled so tight it broke the skin. Beside her lay Elise, lifeless and pale... until a shallow breath animated her body.

Her white shirt was torn at the belly button. Paul could see one of her ankles was broken and she had lost a lot of blood. She must have followed them out here and stepped into one of the bear traps that Paul had passed earlier. He sat her up and pushed her bloody sweat soaked hair away with his thumb. She recoiled at his touch before he pulled the blindfold from her eyes.

“No, no, I’m not here to hurt you. We’re going to get you out of here.”

She was barely conscious, her eyes were bloodshot and she was clearly in shock.

“I… thought I could stop them.”

He put his arms under her and lifted her from the ground. Sara held the canvas flap open for them to leave and just beyond the tent was the sneering face of Marco.

A pit formed in his stomach.

They set me up... I should have known this was too easy.

“What did you find, Marco?” said the rough voice of the old poacher, “A lost tourist?”

Marco followed his rope back to his owner standing in front of his two cronies and Ava who lay sleepily behind them. The old man continued,

“Y’know, tourists go missing every day in this part of the world. They just don’t know the land, the customs…”

“We’ve alerted the authorities,” lied Paul, “You should let us go before you make it worse for yourself.”

The poachers laughed, even Marco snickered from atop the old man’s shoulder.

“Is that so?” he said, “Well, I don’t believe you. No, I don’t think anyone is coming for you,” the old man stroked his short whiskers, “Do you want to know what I think? I think —“

“Scaramouche!”

Freddy the macaw came flying out of nowhere and raked his claws against the old man’s forehead. He screamed in pain, flapping his hands above him. Marco started screeching and jumping at the bird, circling the old man from shoulder to shoulder, his rope wrapping around the old man’s neck. His two cronies didn’t know what to do, they stood stunned. Ava just yawned and went back to sleep.

Paul knew that this would be his only opportunity. He turned to the jaguar cage beside the tent, threw open the clasp and pulled open the door. He shielded Sara and Elise behind the gate as the two jaguars burst from the cage. They immediately ran to attack the two cronies, jumping and sinking their teeth into arm, shoulder and finally neck. The two men went limp instantly. The jaguars didn’t stick around after that. They licked the blood from their chops then rushed into the darkness of the forest.

The old man was still fighting the bird while Marco continued to wrap his rope around the poacher's neck, tighter and tighter until he could no longer breathe. He dropped to his knees and looked up at Paul and the girls. His face had turned a dark red and he looked at them with bulging eyes then fell to the ground.

Freddy flew over to them leaving a screeching Marco tied to the dead man on the ground. The parrot perched himself on Paul’s shoulder.

“Will you do the fandango?” he squawked.

Paul let out an amazed laugh and Sara put her arm around him. Elise then lifted her head and smiled,

“Good bird.”

THE END

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