The brief episode by the river had cast a shadow over the entire night. No one knew exactly what had been hunting along the shore earlier, nor whether it had already fed. Still, nothing else happened during the night.
Although Adrian and Martin said they'd keep watch, Owen stayed half-awake for the first part of the night. Only in the second half did he doze off, and when he woke again, the sky was already bright. The sound of an engine had roused him.
When he came onto the deck, everyone was already up. Music played from the boat's speakers, people were chatting and laughing, and the smell of food wafted through the air—Adrian was grilling fish.
Seeing Owen's sleepy face, Monica came over, and Nick tossed him a can of beer. Owen caught it. The boat was moving forward, and a glance around told him they were no longer in the same spot as yesterday.
"What's going on?"
"Darling, today's Kroll's birthday."
Owen made an exaggerated look of realization, popped the can, and called across the deck, "Bronzed beauty, happy birthday\~\~"
"Thanks."
Kroll, holding a glass of wine, raised it in return from a distance.
"Darling, Martin says we'll reach the Shuar village in about three hours."
"Oh really? Let's hope they don't eat people."
"As if, haha."
Monica handed him a piece of grilled fish. Owen glanced over at the group cooking the meat, took the piece, and tasted it, tossing out a joke as he did.
Monica had been in high spirits the whole trip, showing none of the usual caution of a pregnant woman. Before long, she had her camera out again, snapping photos and occasionally sharing them with Kroll and Danny.
"You know what? Danny says I've got real talent as a camerawoman."
Like a child proud of being praised, Monica ran over to show off to Owen. Owen looked over at Danny, who raised his beer toward him; Owen smiled and nodded back.
The morning weather was perfect—sunny, warm but not hot. Everyone was in a good mood. The party was simple but lively. Before long, Wilson switched the music to a pounding dance track, and a bunch of men and women started dancing on the deck.
Owen wasn't much into it. He swapped his beer for a glass of red wine and leaned against the railing to watch. Both Kroll and Monica were stunning, but since Monica was already taken, Kroll was getting more attention today. A few young men circled her, and being single, she seemed happy to dance—if any of them made a good enough impression, one of them might just end up her date by nightfall.
Owen watched them sweat and sway. Up on the second level, Martin was piloting the boat but acting like a DJ, nodding along with the beat. Adrian, young and energetic, was the wildest of all. Caught up in the moment, he pulled off his shirt, showing his muscular build, and started dancing closely with Kroll, the two of them moving almost like entwined snakes.
Karl came over with a glass of juice and leaned on the railing next to Owen. As an anthropologist, Karl was the most reserved of the group and, like Owen, didn't seem to care for the dancing. They chatted casually.
After a while, Monica must have gotten tired. Seeing Owen off to the side, she came over with her own juice.
Karl, noticing her approach, politely stepped away to give them some privacy.
"Why aren't you joining in?"
Monica leaned in and gave Owen a kiss, then turned to rest against the railing—except no one realized she had leaned against a hatch in the deck used for loading cargo. The hatch wasn't locked, and as soon as she pressed against it, it swung open, sending her tumbling into the water.
Her startled cry came from below. Owen reached for her but was too late. The boat was still moving, and Monica was quickly left behind.
"Stop the boat! Stop the boat\~\~"
Shouting, Owen ran toward the stern. In the cockpit, Martin heard and cut the engine.
The boat coasted to a slow stop, now a short distance from Monica. Fortunately, she seemed unhurt—just a bit shaken.
The others, having heard her cry, rushed over, relaxing when they saw she was fine. Kroll even teased, "Oh, Monica, if you wanted to swim, you could've told me…"
Owen knew Monica could swim and was fairly good at it. Seeing her surface, he tossed her a life ring. Martin found a long bamboo pole at the stern and extended it toward her.
"Grab it, I'll pull you in…"
Monica swam toward the pole. A few friends laughed and joked from above—no one noticed the shadow surging through the murky water.
Owen, about to pull her in, was the first to see something wrong.
"Quick! Monica! Quick—behind you!"
His urgent shout snapped the others out of their levity. They too saw the disturbance on the surface. Monica, understanding immediately, didn't waste time looking back—she swam for her life.
But whatever was in the water was far too fast. The ripples closed in on her, and with no time to think, Owen grabbed a plastic bucket from the stern and hurled it at the approaching shape.
Gasps rang out as the massive jaws of a crocodile erupted from the water, snapping straight at Monica—only for Owen's bucket to smack down on its head first, knocking it back into the water.
"Go! Go!"
Panic spread as several hands yanked Monica, who had grabbed the bamboo pole, toward safety. But Owen dove into the river. He had to keep the beast busy—otherwise Monica wouldn't have time to escape.
Screams erupted again as the black caiman came in for another attack.
To Owen, the chaos seemed to slow. In his eyes, the caiman's head was clear above the water. In that split-second life-or-death moment, he triggered bullet time. As it lunged, Owen snatched up the floating life ring and jammed it into its mouth, the rubber ring blocking the first strike.
The beast was massive—judging from its head, at least four meters long. In the water, Owen stood no real chance.
The caiman spat the life ring, and the reek of its breath hit him. While it shook its head to regain focus, Owen twisted and hauled himself onto its back. That was exactly what he wanted—so long as it focused on him, Monica could get away.
The animal went berserk. Never in its life had anything dared to climb onto it. It thrashed wildly, trying to throw Owen off. With one hand gripping its rough scales, Owen pulled the MK3 knife from the sheath on his leg with the other.
He slashed, driving the blade straight into its eye. The caiman's scales were too tough for ordinary blades, but Owen had aimed for its most vulnerable spot.
In the slowed-down world of bullet time, he stabbed, pulled out, stabbed again—each strike precise, each one avoiding the armor of scales without a single mistake.
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