Rogue Angel 47: River of Nightmares by Alex Archer Page B

she went faster. Caves like this could hold pockets of air, and that’s what she prayed for, air...and then a way out.
    Yes!
    Her head cleared the surface and she gulped in stale air that to her oxygen-starved lungs tasted so very sweet. Minutes...she’d been without air for minutes, had nearly drowned. Her head ached so much, and when she closed her eyes Annja saw white pinpoints. She took a breath and held it, then took in more, releasing it and then repeating the process.
    Finally sated, Annja paused, listening. The water sloshed around her, against the walls of the cavern. She clawed the ledge and the wall to get herself upright. Leaning on an outcropping, she waited until the shakiness passed. When she called for the sword again, this time it came, forming in her hand, comfortable, an old friend returned. Her muscles bunched to keep a hold of it, and at last she let the tip down. She’d spent so much energy that the blade felt heavy and unwieldy.
    Keeping her free hand against the wall, she edged toward the light to take stock of herself. The leg where the caiman had bit her looked horrible, the flesh in tatters. She could see the white of bone; it was only her iron will that let her walk on it. No wonder she felt so faint; she’d lost a lot of blood and would need an emergency room. If she didn’t possess such an amazing ability to heal, she would have died at the bottom of the river and be digesting in the bellies of the Amazon’s beasts.
    Best-case scenario, she’d make it back to the Orellana and could use Wallace’s satellite phone to arrange for a helicopter to take her to a hospital. Worst case, she’d never make it out of this cave. She tore a strip off the cloth that had miraculously remained tied around her and used it to staunch some of the bleeding. The piranha bites were minor compared to the damage the caiman had done. She used another strip to make a bandage and cover the worst of the wound so she wouldn’t have to look at it.
    Now to see about getting out of here. She padded forward and took in the details of an enormous cave. There was some sort of phosphorescent lichen high on the walls that kept the darkness at bay.
    There was something else, too. Paintings! Primitive, but discernible, remarkably preserved, the colors—red, black, green and violet, all reasonably bright. They depicted amazing creatures. And there was more than just the paintings. There were bones!
    The pain in her leg became inconsequential at the discovery of large skeletons that could well be the remains of mapinguaries and other animals she had no names for. The skulls were unlike anything she was familiar with.
    “Incredible. This is wonderful.”
    She’d need to get her crew down here to film this, and then she’d contact some archaeologist friends, and they could work the site together, expand the show’s series on the Amazon River. Ned could take stills of everything. It should be easy to get the necessary permits. Her mind spun.
    There was so much to do! But first she’d have to get out of here. Get out of here and get mended. She stumbled, her leg throbbing to the syncopated beat the pounding in her head provided.
    “So tired,” she muttered. The fight with the caiman had robbed her strength, the loss of blood compounding it. She tried to ward off the fatigue.
    “Death is close to life,” D’jok had told her.
    How close to either was she? Could she heal from this devastating wound? Not on her own. Whatever enhanced constitution the sword provided her, surely wasn’t going to be enough.
    “Marsha, Wallace.” No doubt they thought she was dead. Would they have the captainless boat turned around? Would she be stranded in a nameless village...provided she could get out of this cave?
    Annja desperately needed to escape, let her crew know she was all right, and tell them about this unprecedented discovery. It would be the high point of their series, a ratings bonanza that would make Doug swoon.
    Mourn for the