[u][b]Inland Central America, in a place that was once called the "Río Plátano Biosphere Reserve"[/b][/u]

Manuel hated this route once they passed the point where the signs disappeared. The inland country was still marked by the crumbled remnants of roads and buildings, sunken into the mud of the brackish swamp but still useful for determining where you were. Some of the old steel signs could even be read. Salt eroded, humidity rusted, and the jungle swallowed whole, but a few relics of civilization stood strong.

This all changed in the north. They passed into a place that was all wilderness; an old nature reserve, who's only value was the military base hidden at its core. Chatarreros discovered it a decade ago, but it was still producing useful finds. Manuel and Daniel had made it their business to transport scrap out of the back-country for the Chatarreros, which in most places was not a difficult job, but the wildness of this place made it complicated. They could only take a single long canoe through the swamped streams and rivers, light enough to carry over land when they needed. If the Chatarreros managed to find something heavy or difficult, Manuel and Daniel would have to enlist help at their destination. 

"We should dig a canal to the sea." Manuel said to his partner. He watched the trees for signs of jaguars as they paddled slowly over a thin stretch of tepid green water. 

"To this site? It will not be long and this place will be completely salvaged. What then? It would take years, and hundreds of Turistas. And for what? When the site dries up, we will have a canal into a shitty shitty jungle." Daniel spat into the water. He was a lighter skinned man, enough so that he had to wear a rag on his balding head to protect it from sunburn. 

"The wilderness here is healthy." Manuel replied, looking at the lush broad-leaf trees which hung lazily over the water. Flowers bloomed, and birds sung from everywhere surrounding them. It was a picturesque rain-forest scene. "I think the old sea waters are being processed by the jungle, and it has been many years since waves have smashed this place from the sea. It must be a good place to grow crops, if the trees were to be cleared."

Daniel's response was a judging chuckle. "You think you can become Sangre Azul? How many bullets and rolls of duct tape will it take to purchase fifty Turistas?"

Manuel stayed silent. Daniel's mood always went sour when the job was difficult, and navigating this place was as difficult as anything.

When they came to the end of the water, they were forced to carry their canoe for a time. Mud the color of old orange peels squelched underfoot when they stepped out onto land. There are different sounds in a place for night and for day. The day held the sounds of birds and monkeys, and at night they were replaced by the songs of the insects and whining of frogs. With the sun setting, these sounds were still very much intermixed. The red-glow of a moon rise peaked above the canopy to the east. 

Manuel thought about how many Turistas he could buy if he could save the money. Their labor would be useful in this job. How good would it be if he no longer had to carry a wet canoe across the greasy mud of places like this? He knew nothing about purchasing Turistas though, and the thought of feeding and housing another person made the venture sound too complicated.

"There it is." Daniel said. Manuel looked forward and saw where a smattering of simple huts marked the entrance to a clearing. The first thing Manuel felt was relief. He would get to rest now. But in the next moment, that relief turned to apprehension as it became apparent the Chatarreria was not what it should be. It was too quiet. There were no human sounds here. He heard Daniel mutter "The doors." in a confused tone, and that is when he saw it.

The doors to each hut had been boarded up from the outside. The thick boards were made of a different lumber than the huts, and they were nailed hastily to bar entry.

"Did they abandon it?" Manuel did not know how to react. His natural impulse was to question as the fear born by unknown factors swelled within him.

They put the canoe down. Daniel kicked through the boarding in front of a hut, and the door smashed in. In the fading sunlight, particles of dust could be seen escaping the house. Manuel followed Daniel inside.

The windows had been boarded as well, leaving the place dark except for the fading light streaming from the doorway. There was a wooden cot, turned over. Bowls and the porridge within them had been thrown upon the ground, and the mess was beginning to mold. The strangest thing in the room was the smell. Perhaps it was the spilled porridge, Manuel considered, but the room had a pleasant musky-sweet scent.  

Daniel inspected everything thoroughly. He picked up a bowl and inspected it thoughtfully, sniffing the crusty residue inside. He frowned and put it down. Manuel stood in the doorway, dumbstruck in the fading beam of light. What had happened in this place?

They inspected more houses, and found the same thing. The wooden huts with their dead broad-leaf thatching were immaculate on the outside except for being boarded up. There were signs of struggle. In one hut, they found bloodstains on a sheet. It was too dark to leave the village, but Manuel did not feel safe here. He suspected Daniel felt the same way, but the other man hid his true feelings behind a scowl.

The sun fled and gave way to the night. Nobody alive could remember the small white disk that was the old moon, but it lived on in the collective memory of all people, and this new one still seemed to be an imposter. It dominated the sky, a vicious red monster with a living surface, like the still heart of a slain giant suspended as a spiteful sign in the heavens. It gave off a light the color of blood drained straight from the arteries; a bruised tyrian purple, its glow multiplying their foreboding as the two men tried to get their bearings.

House by house they checked. When they finished the entire village, they hadn't learned any more than they discovered by the first hut. "We should find a place to sleep." Manuel suggested. The jungle around them was a wall of unknown black. To do anything else but stay here would be to risk themselves to the jaguars. 

"Let's check the dig-site first." Daniel mutter. His eyes caught the bloody red light of the moon, and his pale skin looked ghostly in the light. Without waiting for an answer, he plunged forward down a muddy path that led into another unknown. Manuel followed. 

The swamp bubbled around them. Frogs had taken over the singing from the birds, and their throaty calls were the only friendly thing among all the unknown whispering animal sounds of the impenetrable forest. The air was still humid and muggy, but a coolness was starting to settle in, delivered by a weak breeze. Manuel watched the forest and let Daniel look ahead. He thought he saw something move, but in the faded light all he could see was shadows. 

"Jesus Christ." he heard Daniel exclaim. They stopped in their tracks, and Manuel looked forward. What he saw was a horror he hadn't imagined until now.

Near a stream there was a copse of mangroves. To each spindle branch was the naked corpse of a Chatarrero, garroted and fastened to the branch with ropes. Their blood had been drained from hundreds of X's cut deep across their entire bodies so that the water and ground beneath them was blacker than night. These people, men and women and children, had pale skin behind bloody cuts and eyes so very white they were like ivory. It was those white, white eyes frozen in terrified death that fastened Manuel's feet to the ground. 

They had to run, but where to? It did not matter. In that moment, Jaguars no longer seemed like the most dangerous thing in the world.