Part 16 (1/2)
Brandon wasn't a stranger to risk and danger, but Ike lived in a world of constant peril.
”I didn't mean to b.u.m you out,” Ike said with a laugh.
”It's okay.”
”You should know,” he went on. ”The rebels that shot down your plane were probably Hutus who fled Rwanda after the takeover, possibly involved in the genocide. The blood runs deep out here. This place is beautiful, but it's completely insane.”
Brandon wondered what would have happened to him and Sam if they had stumbled across these rebels.
”How did you get out here?” Ike asked, deflecting the conversation. ”Is there some secret high-stake poker game I don't know about?”
”We were out here counting villages.”
”Is that right?”
”The Bantu villages,” he clarified. ”One of our friends was planning to do it before he died. He was a journalist working with the National Geographic Society. They wanted someone to gather data about the populations and towns throughout Africa. When he pa.s.sed away, Sam wanted to do it in his place.”
”You two travel a lot?”
”You could say that,” he answered. ”Some people call us adventurers.”
Ike nodded slowly. ”I've heard of it. We have some of those back home. Takes a fair bit of money now, doesn't it?”
Brandon nodded.
”Money or b.a.l.l.s, I'd say,” Ike corrected, smiling.
”If that's the case, I've got the money, and Sam has the b.a.l.l.s.”
Ike laughed loudly. ”Too much info, mate.”
As their conversation quieted, Brandon listened to Sam and Temba talking up ahead. Their voices echoed around the surrounding forest. Temba described a game, much like tug of war, except that all the BaMbuti women would line up on one side with the men on the other.
”When one side begins to win, they will send help over to the opposite side,” Temba explained, ”until there are men and women on both.”
”How does anyone ever win?”
He laughed. ”Why does anyone need to? The game is about the need for men and women to work together,” he explained. ”When will we see this ghost?” Temba asked suddenly.
Sam fell silent.
”I think we should have a talk,” Brandon said.
As they walked, Brandon and Sam related the tale, beginning right after their crash into the pond. When they described the encounter with the baboons, Alfred commented that baboons were the most violent primates. But when Sam recounted the tale of the okapi, Brandon saw Temba wrestling between his own doubt and his desire to trust Sam.
”Believe us or not,” Brandon told them. ”I know how crazy it sounds. But keep a close handle on your thoughts. If you feel angry or paranoid for no reason, try to ignore it.”
”Don't trust everything you see or hear,” Sam added.
Streaks of blue light filtered through the canopy, lighting the twisting trail ahead of them. The ground sloped downward, becoming flatter and less hilly. They had pa.s.sed the point where they originally encountered the BaMbuti girls. At such a rate they might reach the river before being forced to camp.
Raoul whistled a tune as he strode off to the side. Delani and Gilles were at the rear, backs bowing under the weight of the packs. They kept their eyes as much on the procession as on the forest. Nessa and Alfred walked side-by-side, whispering to each other at times.
They didn't rest much. It surprised Brandon how little they stopped. But when he regarded the muscled frames of the mercenaries and the lithe bodies of Kuntolo and Temba, the only one who really surprised him was Raoul. For a drunk, he was in good shape.
The sky darkened overhead, preparing for its customary rain. They continued their march unconcerned, even when the raindrops drummed the canopy overhead. After staying in the village so long, the forest rain felt mild and cool. The air refreshed him.
Soon they pa.s.sed the campsite they had used their final night in the jungle. Sam paused, recognizing the surrounding foliage and a light imprint on the ground made by their tent. As Brandon gazed at the dark soil, he felt a familiar presence return. His eyes scanned the nearby forest.
”We should move off the trail soon,” Temba suggested.
”I thought the trail led straight to the river,” Alfred replied.
”It does,” Sam said.
Temba put a hand to his chin. ”The place ahead is not good.”
”All right,” Alfred declared in frustration. ”We didn't ask you to come along. And I've had enough of your vague warnings. If there's something out here for us to be concerned about, then you b.l.o.o.d.y better tell us now.”
Temba and Kuntolo conversed briefly. Nearby, Raoul c.o.c.ked his head, apparently catching snippets of conversation.
”It's because of the campsite, right?” Sam asked.
”What's this campsite?” Nessa asked.
”Brandon and I found an old abandoned camp on the river. We're pretty sure it was BaMbuti. The huts were burned down, and there was a grave.”
”What kind of grave?” Alfred pressed.
”An unmarked one,” Brandon explained. ”Big enough for a lot of people.”
”It is a bad place,” Temba insisted. ”It is better to forget.”
Brandon suggested, ”We can press through the jungle and head straight to the river. If it doesn't get too thick it might even save us some time.”
”That sounds like a fine idea,” Ike replied.
Alfred nodded in agreement.
Temba guided them off the trail.
15.
Gilles hummed under his breath. The last few notes hung in the air, unvoiced. Something startled the mercenary as he sat. He sensed they were not alone in these woods. Something nearby stalked them, dogged their trail, and waited to strike. He felt those eyes as certainly as the humid air.
Behind him and several yards off, the campfire blazed, a sphere of soft light surrounded by thick blackness. Clouds blackened the sky so not even starlight shone through. The vegetation in front of him writhed with dark shadows, stirred to life by the movements of the trees and his imagination. He sat far enough away from the encampment so that the campfire didn't obscure his night vision. That left him feeling alone on his watch, only the distant noise of chatter telling him otherwise.