It was true, Lita Lawrence hadn't known the feeling, either often or to any extent to write home about. But this might be the exception.She woke in a grotto unable to move. Her gaze roamed over her surroundings. Obsidian stone stalactites stared back at her, and dark slate-colored walls had crystals winking from them. The cave must've been made from volcanic activity. As for herself, she didn't discern any pain and so laid there for several minutes trying to recall what happened and where she was. She had been flying in a Cessna seaplane with Professor Moreno and his collegiate assistant, Bobby Williams. They had come to the Amazon to study the Pirarucu, Arapaima gigas, one of the largest freshwater fish native to South America. They were over Venezuela when the engines sputtered, smoked, and gave out. Down they had gone in a roaring, gut-wringing plunge.She took a deep breath and, without moving anything but her neck, looked herself over. Goo covered her lower extremities and her arms from the elbows down.
