“What do we do?” Jameson asked.
A spatter of gunfire cut through the howling outside, coming from the other side of the camp. Charlotte shared a worried look with Ndaye. Another two of his teammates were out there. They had been guarding the last ICCN truck, readying it for the evacuation. Now they must be attempting to hold the line and protect the patients.
She pictured the beleaguered truck, their only means of escape. Still, she knew the truth.
We’d never make it that far on foot.
Ndaye looked like he had come to the same conclusion. He snapped a radio from his hip and lifted it to his lips. He spoke rapidly in French, ordering the truck to leave while it could, to follow after the first one.
Jameson overheard him and was fluent enough to understand. He grabbed Ndaye’s arm. “What’re you doing? Tell them to come here. To pick us up.”
Ndaye shook free of his grip and remained unnervingly calm. “Non. They will be overrun before they could get here. It is better that they go. Plus, the noise, the motion, it might help us here.”
“How?” Jameson demanded.
A truck engine roared to life, accompanied by a loud grinding of gears. Then blasts of a horn sounded, bleating out in a fading Morse code as the vehicle headed for the jungle. The message of that horn was not meant for those in the tent, but for the trampling horde outside.
Another baboon leaped to the top the tent, rattled across it, then leaped in the direction of the retreating truck. From the trail of hoots, screams, and fading howls, a majority of the troop chased after the truck.
It’s trying to draw them off . . .
“We’ll not have much time to seek a better shelter,” Ndaye whispered.
Charlotte tightened her jaw and listened. A few shapes could still be heard scuffling about, past the front of the tent, grunting and toppling crates. Some of the baboons had remained behind.
But how many?
Charlotte shifted closer and pointed toward the back of the tent. “What about trying to reach the flooded village? Several of the structures out there have wooden walls, tin roofs.”
She stared around at the others. She felt as if she had fallen into the story of “The Three Little Pigs,” urging their group to vacate this flimsy shelter and make for somewhere stronger.
If only we had a brick house nearby . . .
Benjie nodded. “It’s a good idea. Baboons can swim but prefer not to. Those floodwaters might discourage them from following us into the river.”
“Then we hurry,” Ndaye said. “Go quietly.”
He stepped toward the zippered flap, but Woko grabbed him and shook his head. “Hapana.”
The shaman turned and headed the opposite way, to the rear of the tent. A long blade appeared in his fingers. He stabbed into the fabric and slashed downward, forming a new back door, away from the noises out front. He held the torn fabric open and waved to them.
“Endelea,” he urged.
Jameson obeyed, hurrying to the new door. He clearly wanted out—but he did not want to be the first one. He grabbed Byrne and pushed the Swiss nurse through the sliced opening. Byrne wormed his way out. Only once it appeared safe did Jameson follow.
Charlotte paused long enough to grab a scalpel off a tray table, then helped Disanka and her boy squeeze through and followed them. She tried to move as silently as possible.
Outside, Jameson and Byrne crouched near the tent. The rainswept camp lay dark, illuminated by pools of light from generator-powered lamp poles. Thunder rumbled, and distant flashes of lightning bright ened the black clouds. At least, the rain had washed away the worst of the ants underfoot.
Clutching her tiny blade, she searched ahead.
Beyond the scatter of tents and crude lean-tos, shadowy outlines marked the village proper. The river reflected the growing battle in the skies, the waters briefly appearing and disappearing.
Woko and Faraji joined them. The boy gripped the straps of his backpack and its precious cargo, the Kuba mask-box. Ndaye followed Benjie out and eyed the gathered group.
Jameson shifted nervously, clearly anxious to get moving. He likely would’ve already taken off, except his gaze flicked to Ndaye’s rifle, the only gun among them. The pediatrician intended to stick close to that weapon.
Ndaye waved them all into motion.
They set off across the camp, avoiding pools of light and sidestepping deeper puddles lest any splashing draw the attention of the baboons. The outlines of the village slowly grew ahead of them, limned against the reflected flashes of lightning.
Charlotte glanced back frequently. Her ears strained for any threat, but the constant rumble of thunder and patters of rain confounded her. She panted as silently as she could. Then a chain of lightning shattered directly overhead. The thunder pounded down at them, trembling the puddles.
In that crackling flash, movement atop a tent drew her eye to the left. A large shape rose out of a crouch, briefly illuminated. It looked huge, far bigger than any baboon. Or maybe terror made it seem so. Another shift of shadows stirred, to her right, perched atop a netted pile of crates.
Sentinels . . .
She didn’t know if she and the others had been spotted in the lightning flash, but her worry became moot. A sharp cry rose from among them, rising from the tiniest throat. The blast of thunder must have frightened the child. Disanka huddled over the boy. Jameson lunged at her, his arms outstretched, looking ready to strangle the child to silence.
Disanka retreated into Charlotte.
But the damage was done.
The sentinel to the left howled. The call was carried even louder by the second baboon. They both vanished, bounding off their roosts and into the darkness. Cries erupted behind them, rising from many throats.
Too many . . .
“Run!” Ndaye shouted.
They fled, scattering apart. Charlotte stuck close to Disanka and her boy. She followed Jameson and Byrne. As they rounded a lean-to, a shape crashed into them. Byrne was struck in the side and flattened to the mud. A massive baboon battered and clawed at him. The nurse lifted a defensive arm, only to meet the beast’s fangs and powerful jaws. Wrist bones crunched. With a toss of the baboon’s head, the hand ripped away with a high arc of blood.
Byrne screamed.
Then two gunshots deafened Charlotte, firing past her ear. Fur flew, but the beast simply flung itself away, diving back into hiding. Charlotte glanced back around, expecting to see Ndaye, but it was another ICCN guard, a smaller man in similar attire. He ran past her. She realized the guard must have come from the truck, maybe hiding when the vehicle took off and making his way over to help them.
The guard rushed to Byrne and pulled the nurse to his feet. Byrne cradled his arm, staggering as he was half-dragged onward.
Jameson hadn’t waited and was a good distance ahead. He had already reached the village’s edge, but he didn’t slow until he hit the water, splashing into the flooded section.
Charlotte headed after him with Disanka.
Chattering and howling chased them, closing quickly upon them.
Charlotte gasped and ran, her heart pounding.
We have to make it . . .
A terrified cry rose to her left. She glanced over. Fifteen meters away, Faraji lay facedown in the mud; two shadows tore at his form. The boy rolled and fought, more to keep his blue backpack in place than to protect himself.
She pushed Disanka toward the ICCN guard. “Get her to safety. Follow the doctor.”
She then clutched her scalpel and ran toward Faraji.
Woko reached his apprentice first. The elderly shaman kicked one of the baboons away. The other rolled sideways, hissing with a baring of long fangs. More beasts closed in on the two of them, melting out of the shadows with ear-splitting howls.