Part 5 (2/2)

The clearing was large enough to accommodate dozens of the small buildings. Many of the charred patches were overgrown with thick, flowering vines, suggesting that the burning wasn't recent.

Sam stopped in a patch of mud. She kicked up wet clumps of dirt. ”Brandon, come look at this.”

The thick muddy patch covered a few hundred square feet at the corner of the clearing. His foot kicked against something in the dirt-something thin and small. At first, he thought it was a sharp twig of a broken root still deeply embedded in the soil, but when he looked down he saw a fleck of white. He stooped down to investigate.

”What is it?” Sam asked.

As he looked closer, he saw fleshy ligaments on bone, blackened in places. The twig was, in fact, a finger bone. ”I think this is . . . a grave.”

She paused, looking around in shock. ”The whole thing?”

”Yeah.”

”Oh, my G.o.d.”

He felt cold waves across the back of his neck. How many bodies were buried under their feet? A whole family? A whole tribe? He suddenly had the urge to move, and he strode carefully, but quickly, off the upturned soil. Sam followed suit, keeping close behind him. She looked pale in the fading light. Around them, the brook still bubbled and the leaves and flowers blew gently in the breeze, suggesting a serenity that neither of them felt. She stepped up close to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

”There's a well-worn path over there,” he said. ”We could try taking that instead of following the river. It might lead to a village.”

”Or to another grave,” she finished. Then she perked up a little and added, ”But I think you're right. We should take the trail.”

He nodded and pulled off his pack, unzipping it and digging inside. ”We should refill the water bottles first.”

”I think we have enough,” she interrupted.

He paused, looking at her. ”Just to be safe.”

”I just don't want to take water from here,” she answered.

Brandon nodded, and they headed toward the trail, the canopy thickening overhead. They stepped carefully as the world grew dark once again.

6.

BaKokwa was a much smaller settlement than Michanga's village. Only a few buildings sat in the center of the village, and the plantations did not extend very far into the jungle. Instead, much of the cleared s.p.a.ce was left untended and twisting jungle vines crept in at the outskirts, choking the soil that had once borne rice.

In the rare moments when a wind blew through, it picked up dust in a billowing cloud and swept it between the bamboo huts. The place was dry, dirty, and hot. Let the jungle consume it, Ike thought bitterly.

Nessa and Alfred had managed to talk the three mercenaries into accompanying them to the hidden village-if the place even existed. They had offered a nice bonus to sweeten the deal.

When they drove into BaKokwa, Ike hadn't been able to spot a single militia soldier-not even the Mai-Mais, who in his experience were slightly reasonable. The only people on the streets were unarmed Bantu villagers, weaving through the huts on their daily business.

Unlike at the other Bantu villages, no identifiable town leader came out to greet them. Instead, the children watched them curiously and the adults walked to and fro from the huts.

Alfred got out immediately and began speaking to the closest men and women in both French and the local tongue. Ike watched as the phytochemist tried to strike up a conversation with a Bantu woman, trailed by two young girls. Although the woman seemed to understand French, she kept insisting that there was no other road out of the village besides the one they came in on, so how could there be another village? The other settlement would need trails and roads to bring the things that they needed in and out. Villages did not exist by themselves in the forest.

Ike agreed with the Bantu woman, and so he leaned back against the Jeep with his arms folded, expecting nothing to come of the conversation. Delani sat in the Jeep with Gilles.

Nessa stood quietly off to the side, alternating between watching Alfred's struggle and examining the edges of the forest around them. Ike found his eyes roaming, drifting down her back, where her ponytail hung loosely. Her s.h.i.+rt was baggy, masking her narrow waist, but her pants clung to the curve of her hips.

Ike had been in the jungle too long, he decided. He found himself hating Nessa Singer more than ever today, and yet his eyes would inevitably find their way over. The woman seemed unaware that she was beautiful. She had a reserved, shy way of conducting herself, and she never smiled. She lacked sensuality, always cold and distant.

Nessa turned suddenly, and his eyes rose up guiltily to meet hers. Ike swallowed and s.h.i.+fted against the Jeep, turning to look at the forest leaves. She had caught him looking at her-not an ideal situation. He didn't need her to know that she held any sort of power over him.

He looked back to see her still looking over, a perplexed look on her face. Her brown eyes were wide and girlish.

Aw, what the h.e.l.l? Ike thought and gave her a wide toothy grin.

Nessa's face reddened and she looked angry and embarra.s.sed, as if Ike had made fun of her. That was understandable-usually when he smiled at her, he was doing just that. She looked away, turning back to the village.

Ike wondered about her response as he continued to watch her from behind. Maybe she really is shy, he thought. And here I thought it was an act.

The Bantu woman was tiring of Alfred's questions, who would not relent no matter how much he was stonewalled. Finally, she insisted that if Alfred wanted to know about the forest so badly, he should go and talk to a pygmy. As she walked away, Alfred called after her, asking where he could find one of the pygmies. The woman huffed and pointed across the village at a hut on the outskirts. Ike could make out a few silhouettes sitting on the porch.

She added, ”Good luck getting them to tell you anything.”

Alfred yelled a merci after the woman and returned to the Jeep. He said, ”I'm going to head across the village to go have a chat with the pygmies. Would any of you like to come with me?”

”You want protection?” Delani asked with a doubtful grin. ”From the pygmies?”

Gilles let out a small laugh, and Ike cracked a grin. Alfred turned to walk away.

”Hold up,” Ike called. ”I'll go with ya.”

They made their way through the dirt streets. As they approached the front of the hut, the three men looked up, stopping their conversation.

One of the pygmies was wearing a dirty, torn s.h.i.+rt that hung down past his waist. The other wore a high-quality but worn-out and dirty polo s.h.i.+rt. He also wore a pair of khaki shorts, making him look very well dressed for a pygmy.

The third man was Bantu, with white hair and a crooked jaw. He watched Alfred and Ike approach with suspicion.

Alfred called out a greeting, spreading his arms out wide. Ike noticed the men's eyes lock on the chemist's hook. The well-dressed pygmy spoke first. He answered Alfred's greeting and followed it up with a phrase from some Bantu dialect. Alfred responded. Alfred's ability to learn many different dialects astounded Ike, who spoke only pieces of Swahili. Unfortunately, in the Ituri Forest only a small percentage spoke that most widespread of Bantu languages.

Alfred's next question, in the Bantu language, caused the Bantu man to raise his eyebrows and mutter.

When the chemist began to elaborate, the Bantu man cut him off. He grew animated, gesturing with his hands and speaking forcefully. Alfred's queries only angered the man further.

As the conversation intensified, Ike kept his eyes on the two pygmies, who had fallen silent.

Alfred nodded to the three men and apologized for interrupting them. Then he turned away, Ike trailing closely behind. When they got out of earshot, Ike asked, ”What was that all about?”

Alfred shook his head in disbelief. ”He did not want to say anything.”

”He didn't seem to like the questions you were asking.”

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