Deep within the fog, Dexter and Myra staggered forward. Eventually, Myra collapsed. “I can’t go on… I’m so thirsty… and so tired…” They hadn’t had water or food all day. Even the strongest person would be near collapse, let alone Myra, accustomed to a life of luxury. Her endurance was already a miracle.

Dexter tried to help her, but he was also exhausted and too slow. Both fell, their legs numb and swollen, unable to move. "I just want water," Myra mumbled. Water was abundant in the rainforest—on leaves, in puddles—but drinking it meant risking deadly bacteria and parasites.

Pushed to her limit, Myra crawled to some leaves, tilting her head back to drink the clinging droplets. Never before had water tasted so sweet. She continued, drinking from leaf to leaf.

Dexter struggled to his feet, intending to stop her. Before he could speak, a rustling sound emerged from the fog. Cautiously stepping forward, he initially saw nothing, until he noticed fallen leaves covered in dark, moving mud. His blood ran cold; it was a massive swarm of black ants!

“Myra, run!” Dexter yelled. He rushed to her, pulling her up and dragging her along. “W–What’s going on?” Myra resisted, exhausted and unwilling to move. But the sound behind her made her glance back, the sight forever seared into her memory.

A surging tide of immense black and red ants moved in all directions, their sheer number chilling. Each ant was five times the size of a normal ant, with formidable pincers and a sharp stinger. A bite, or worse, a swarm, meant certain death.

Human resilience in the face of mortal danger is astonishing. Moments before too weak to move, the couple, clinging together, now ran for their lives. Yet, one ant bit Dexter's heel. He cried out in agony.

Myra looked at him worriedly, but he barked, “Don’t stop! Keep running! Don’t look back!” They raced against death, until disaster struck. The path ended abruptly, and they plunged over a cliff.