The air was thick with moisture, and every time Royce breathed in it felt like he was drowning. With each hack of his machete it felt like the jungle grew back twice as thick, ripping at his already well-worn trousers. Arthur trudged along behind, grunting under the weight of the supplies strapped to his back.
Royce paused and wiped the sweat from his brow. Arthur pulled a canteen from his pack and handed it to him. Royce accepted it gratefully and took several long drafts. He sat down on an exposed root and pulled out his journal, opening it to the bookmarked page. “How far have we come on this heading?” he asked, examining the map.
Art looked at his pedometer. “About fifteen miles, boss.”
“Fifteen miles…” Royce scratched at the stubble on his neck. “We should be right on top of it.”
Royce listened intently. “Boss…” Royce held up a hand, silencing his partner. Drifting through the jungle, mingled with the chirping birds, was the sound of rushing water.
Royce gave Arthur a huge smile. “We’re close.”