Bang—
At the very last second, Martin pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the anaconda's head, and Owen could see one of its eyes vanish.
Pythons don't have vocal cords and can't make a cry, but if they could, this one would have been screaming.
The part of its body above water fell back into the river. Martin was already lining up his second shot, aiming right at the snake.
But the rescued snake catcher lunged for the rifle, jerking it upward just as Martin fired.
Bang—
The second shot went harmlessly into the air.
"No—stop!"
The man's shout came at the same time. Martin struggled to shake him off and re-aim, but by then the anaconda had vanished beneath the water.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Damn it, you can't kill it! I worked so hard to find that giant anaconda—if you shoot it, it's worthless!"
The boat went silent. Owen frowned at the ponytailed man. Honestly, he didn't like what he saw. They'd just saved his life, and instead of thanks, he was complaining. In that instant, Owen had already sized him up: a man with warped values, selfish to the core.
…
"Thanks… thanks for saving me."
Under the weight of everyone's stares, the man realized his tone had been wrong, but no one replied.
The anaconda was gone, and Martin lowered the rifle. Saving an ungrateful wretch left a bitter taste. If he'd known ahead of time what kind of person this was, he might have let the man and his snake sort it out themselves.
"What's your name?"
Kroll, as the de facto leader of the boat, broke the tense quiet.
"Saro."
"You're a snake catcher?"
"Yes. I work for museums and collectors."
"Where are you from?"
"Uruguay."
Saro's eyes flickered as Kroll questioned him, and he was also sizing up everyone else on the boat.
"Is that anaconda worth a lot?"
This time it was Jackson asking.
Saro looked at him, then let his gaze sweep the group before nodding. "It's about nine meters long—the biggest I've ever seen. Most anacondas are under five meters. A six-meter one can sell for a hundred thousand dollars. This one would be at least a million, maybe more at auction—but only alive. Dead, it's worth a few thousand at most."
The price difference between a live and dead anaconda was enormous.
Though he seemed to be answering Jackson, Saro was really trying to justify himself.
"What's that on your belt?"
Karl spoke up, and everyone noticed the small transparent vial at Saro's waist. Inside was what looked like a spider.
"My pet," Saro said with a smile. No one pushed it further—people in the Amazon had unusual tastes. Martin, for example, kept a snake in his cockpit as a pet.
"You people… don't look like ordinary tourists."
Now Saro began probing into their background.
Kroll said, "We're a film crew, here to shoot a documentary."
"Documentary?"
"Yes—about the Shuar. But we weren't lucky. The village is still there, but the people are gone."
Jackson was the talkative sort, and with just a few casual questions, Saro had most of their story.
That was when Monica leaned in to Owen and whispered, "I don't like him."
"Me neither," Owen murmured back.
Saro's words might sound reasonable, even giving a neat explanation for his earlier actions. In the heat of the moment, maybe it was understandable. But Owen still disliked him—pure instinct and old habit from his police days. He never trusted people whose eyes darted around when they spoke, and Saro's selfishness was beyond doubt.
The conversation continued until Saro suddenly said, "I know where the Shuar went. We can make a deal—you help me catch that anaconda, and I'll tell you."
"You know where they are?"
"Yes."
"And we just saved you."
"That's different. Even if you hadn't, the anaconda would've killed me and then gone after you. So it doesn't count. Think about it—at least a million dollars for that snake. I'll split it with you. With that money, you can film all the documentaries you want."
"Okay, now everyone dislikes him," Owen quipped. And indeed, Saro had just refilled the boat's store of resentment toward him.
"No way. We're not catching any damn anaconda for you. Shove your million dollars," Danny snapped, and the rest of the group looked just as disgusted.
"Fine. Then I'll get off at the next village."
Knowing he wasn't welcome, Saro found himself a corner. Every now and then, he glanced at the others, his constant polite smile somehow making people more uneasy.
The boat went quiet again. Martin went into the cockpit, and they got moving. No one spoke to Saro, and he didn't bring up the snake again. His own boat, damaged by the earlier explosion, was left behind for now—it wasn't going anywhere.
Along the way, Martin steered while Adrian kept calling Old John on the radio, but there was still no reply.
After some time, Martin cut the engine and pointed to a wooden house by the riverbank. "That's Old John's place."
It was small, with a dock out front. From the looks of it, John really was the kind of man they'd described—unsociable, private. Owen couldn't imagine many people willing to live alone in such isolation.
Kroll went ashore with Martin to look for him. Knowing his reputation, she decided to speak to him herself if they found him. The others stayed aboard. Seeing no boat at the dock, Owen doubted they'd find him home.
Sure enough, the cabin was empty.
The boat moved on. The documentary project was going badly—problems one after another—leaving everyone in low spirits. Only Saro still sat in his corner, that refined smile on his lips, which to Owen seemed more sinister than charming.
They continued without direction. Without finding Old John, their options were to wander aimlessly and hope to stumble on the Shuar, or return to Belém early. There was a third option—working with Saro—but no one wanted that. His behavior made him impossible to trust, and for all they knew, he'd lied about knowing the Shuar's whereabouts just to get help catching his snake.
The mood stayed heavy. Owen went to the stern, leaning on the railing, staring out over the water. He couldn't shake a strange sense that something was watching them. Yet he saw nothing.
He shook his head, wondering if he was just being paranoid, and went back inside—unaware that as he left, a pair of cold, lifeless eyes slowly surfaced. The black-and-green patterned body beneath them shifted in the green river water, then slipped away again. In the shadow of the deck, Saro, who had seen it, let a crooked smile curl across his lips.
______
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