Page 62 of Beasts of Mine

“I thought you might say that,” Mara replied, looking far too satisfied with herself as she curled both hands around her mug.

“When can I leave?” I asked Mara, reaching toward the map.

“After you finish breakfast,” Mara told me, placing one palm firmly over the paper before I could drag it closer and dropping her gaze toward my plate.

I stared at her. She stared back without the slightest hint that she intended to surrender.

“Hostage situation?” I asked Mara, glancing pointedly at the map trapped beneath her hand.

“Eat your eggs, Halden,” Mara told me, pushing my plate closer again while a smile threatened at the corner of her mouth.

I ate the eggs. Apparently, professional independence had limits.

The next two hours were spent turning what sounded like a simple three-night photography trip into enough equipment to support a small military campaign. The camp already had most of the bulky infrastructure. Mara explained that the observation platform sat slightly above the ground on treated wooden supports, with a corrugated roof and heavy canvas walls that could be lowered during bad weather. Inside were two narrow cots, mosquito netting, a folding work surface, sealed storage bins, and an old metal lockbox intended for sensitive equipment.

There was also a photography blind positioned downwind from a game trail a short distance away, which might have convinced me to go even without the promise of a giant anteater.

I still had to carry everything I actually needed. Two camera bodies went into the padded field pack along with the lenses I expected to use most often. The larger telephoto received its own protective sleeve, while spare batteries, clean memory cards, lens cloths, rain covers, a small hard drive, notebooks, and enough silica packets to make my equipment bag sound faintly medicinal filled the remaining compartments.

Mara supplied a compact solar panel and battery bank.

“You'll get decent light on the platform between ten and two. Don't trust the weather enough to wait until every battery is dead,” Mara told me as she checked the cable connections before tucking them into a waterproof pouch, her hands moving through the equipment with practiced efficiency.

“I would never,” I told Mara, sliding the battery bank into my pack while trying to look appropriately offended.

“You tried charging four batteries at once yesterday while the generator was making that noise,” Mara reminded me, folding her arms as though she'd just presented evidence in court.

“It always makes noises,” I told Mara, testing the weight of the pack before setting it down again.

“Not that noise,” Mara replied, her expression flattening as she glanced toward the main building. Dolores chose that exact moment to cough somewhere behind the station, making both of us turn toward the sound.

“That one,” Mara added, pointing toward the building without taking her eyes off me.

“She's dramatic,” I told Mara, tightening one of the straps while refusing to take responsibility for the generator's personality.

Mara laughed under her breath and returned to packing.

Water was easier. The camp had a covered collection barrel for washing and backup use, but drinking water still needed to be treated. I carried two filled bottles, a collapsible container, a filter, and purification tablets because I'd learned very early in my career that redundancy was preferable to explaining to a doctor how I'd acquired an intestinal parasite while supposedly knowing better.

The emergency kit went into the top of my larger bag with first-aid supplies, antihistamines, painkillers, electrolyte packets, a snakebite pressure bandage, an emergency blanket, signaling mirror, headlamp, spare batteries, whistle, and personal locator beacon. My blockers and emergency heat medication went into their own waterproof pouch and stayed somewhere I could reach them easily.

Always.

Mara checked the radio twice before handing it over.

“Morning check at seven-thirty, evening at six. If you're leaving camp for more than an hour, tell me where you're going. If you change direction, tell me. If you decide to chase anything because it looks interesting—” Mara told me, clipping the radio case securely to the side of my pack and tugging once on the strap to make certain it wouldn't slip free.

“I don't chase wildlife,” I told Mara, interrupting her with both hands raised defensively. Mara stared at me long enough that I reconsidered my wording.

“I strategically reposition myself in response to wildlife movement,” I corrected myself, lowering my hands while trying not to smile.

“Radio first,” Mara told me, pointing one finger at the device clipped to my bag while her expression made it clear she wasn't interested in my terminology.

“Radio first,” I repeated to Mara, giving her a solemn nod that earned absolutely no trust in return.

The route had been marked with narrow reflective tags attached high enough on tree trunks to remain visible even when the lower vegetation grew thick. Mara walked in with me because she wanted to inspect the camp after the recent rain, which meant the first hour and a half passed with considerably less solitude than I usually preferred while working. That didn't bother me. Mara knew the rainforest well, and she also knew when to stop talking.

We moved steadily beneath the canopy, following a route that climbed gradually away from the station. The air seemed wetter the deeper we went, although logically that was probably impossible. Moisture clung to every exposed patch of skin, and within twenty minutes my shirt was sticking between my shoulder blades beneath the weight of the pack.