***Note to the reader: I want to thank KenjiSato for his help in editing this story. I also want to thank all who've commented and sent emails about my stories. It's truly appreciated and inspiring.
"Come on Mariana, don't be like that," Andres said. He was driving a small truck through the jungles of Colombia with four large chemical tanks in the back. A rainstorm made it difficult to see and the road was practically non-existent. Just two small dirt tracks that were worn from the few trucks ahead of him.
"No! I'm not working for drug lords!" he said loudly. "Dios mio! You gotta believe me!"
His job was to drive from a small compound in the jungle to an obscure factory in town. He'd done this run a few times before, all without a hitch. And each run earned him plenty of money. But the road through the jungle was treacherous.
The rain was getting heavier and his windshield wipers were having a hard time keeping up with it. It made the drive that much more difficult. His right front tire nearly slid off the edge of the road, an edge that fell into a deep ravine, but he corrected it and, with a jolt, the truck was back on the road.
"I heard it's something for the US Government," he said, hoping that would convince her that he wasn't doing anything illegal. "Well, that's what I heard!... Mariana! No!... You can't just leave me... I'm doing this for us. I'm doing this so we have enough money to get away from here."
"Fuck!" he yelled as the phone disconnected. Angry, he threw his cellular phone onto the floorboards of the passenger seat, taking his eyes off the road for just a second, and then, the front tire slid off the road. Panicking, he tried to correct it, he tried to turn the wheel, but it was too late. The back tire also slid off the road and the truck started sliding and leaning towards the ravine.
There was nothing he could do as the truck rolled down the ravine, the tanks in the back cracking open, spilling the contents as it rolled over and over down to the bottom.
*****
It took three hours for the guards in the compound to determine he was missing and to find the crash site.
"Burn it all," said the man in the khaki shorts. He was in charge of security and wasn't going to leave any evidence.
Several men used gasoline and flamethrowers to burn as much of the side of the ravine as they could, taking out all of the vegetation, burning all the spilled chemicals and leaving the truck as an iron shell and the driver an unrecognizable corpse.
*****
Unseen, beneath the burning vegetation, the chemicals slowly seeped into the seeds of the plants above, altering its genetic make-up, creating a new variety of fragrant, flowery plant. The Slut Rose.
*****
Ten years later...
Audrey looked down at the phone in disbelief. Being a reporter for the Daily Enquirer she was used to getting a lot of strange phone calls, each leading to far-out stories, but this one was from a respected doctor, a coroner.
"Can you say that again, doctor?" she asked, wondering if she had actually heard him correctly.
"I know it's hard to believe, but I did the autopsy myself. These people have literally fucked themselves to death." An eerie silence followed.
Audrey's mind reeled from the implications. Not only was this an enticing story about plane crashes and sex, but it might all be true. This could take her from this rag into the big time. No more Elvis sightings. She could be tackling big issues, interviewing key political figures.
"Where did the bodies come from?" she asked him, beginning to take notes.
"There was a small plane crash in Colombia. Eight people were on board and these three were the only survivors of the crash. They were found a week later. Since their deaths were so mysterious, I was called in to provide some answers. This is what I found... God I can't believe I'm telling you this. If the government finds out I talked..."
"Don't worry," she spoke quickly, "I'll keep you out of it as much as I can. What did you find?"
"The bodies were well nourished and hydrated, but they were just... dead. From the state of their genitalia, I deduced that they were, shall we say, very intimate up to the moment of death. The government wants to keep this secret, in case it was some sort of toxin, but I can't bottle this up any longer."
"Good, doctor." She didn't ask why in the world he called her. "Can you give me the location of the crash. I'll do some investigation on this and then we'll blow it wide open. They won't know what hit them."
Doctor Juliard gave the approximate location of the crash as Audrey jotted it in her notebook. Hanging up the phone, she quickly stormed into her editor's office and told him the basic facts of the story. She was quickly ushered home, to the airport, and was on an international flight before lunch.
"I'll be home in a few days, honey," Audrey told her husband after landing in Colombia. "I'm on a big story and had to rush out. I'm sorry but I can't tell you how important this is... Okay... Love you, too. I might not be able to call for a few days, but I will as soon as I can... No, I'm not in any danger. It's just that I'll be out in the jungle... Thanks, hon, I'll make it up to you."
She placed the phone back on the cradle as she gazed about the Colombian airport. 'I guess I need to find a guide and some transportation,' she thought to herself. Within two hours, she had a jeep, a driver, and a young village woman as a guide. She was given a handsome expense account and would be able to pay them well for their services, especially if this panned out.
She booked a hotel room for the night and the small party met at the entrance just after dawn, ready to strike out into the jungle.
