As she ran, she spotted Ndaye beyond them. He had his rifle raised, but he held off shooting, clearly fearful of hitting them. Benjie crouched behind the ICCN leader.
Before Charlotte could reach the shaman, Woko flung his arm wide and spun. A yellowish powder flew from his fingertips, as if by magic. But she knew the source, picturing the tiny vial removed from the Kuba Box. Before the rain could wash the powder out of the air, a fine mist circled the pair.
The baboons tried to attack through it—only to suddenly balk and retreat, screaming even louder. Several fled fully away.
One raced straight at Charlotte. She flinched and skidded sideways, only to have it lope past her, hooting in panic and alarm.
Ahead, Woko used the momentary break to grab the back of Faraji’s collar. He hauled the boy to his feet and shoved him toward Ndaye. The boy fled, still clutching the remaining strap of his pack, the other ripped to shreds.
The motion of his frantic flight drew a few strays to chase after him.
Ndaye fired, keeping the closest from the boy’s heels.
Woko waited too long. The rains had cleared the powder too quickly. The surrounding baboons sniffed the air, noses high, then as if acting as one, they bounded at the shaman. The pack hit his body from all sides, climbing his torso.
A burst of lightning revealed a flash of fangs. They buried into the shaman’s throat. For a moment, Woko’s eyes shone at her, reflecting the storm light.
Then darkness wiped away the worst of the sight.
Without a single cry, Woko’s body collapsed under the weight, under the onslaught. Something glinted in the air, passing through a pool of lamplight. It landed in the mud near Charlotte.
She snatched it up, knowing what it was.
She clutched the glass vial in one hand and her scalpel in the other. Beyond the shaman’s ravaged body, Faraji crashed into Ndaye. The eco-guard caught the boy and pushed him toward Benjie. Ndaye then fired once into the air as he retreated away from Charlotte, the noise and flight drawing the baboons after him.
He shouted back to her, “Run!”
As the world thundered and howled around her, she turned and fled the other way, chasing after Jameson’s group. She hated to split up, but they had no choice.
6
April 23, 11:28 P.M. CAT
Tshopo Province, Democratic Republic of the Congo
Benjie was never happier to be proven right.
Panting hard, he waded and pawed his way through dark waters. Ndaye and the boy flanked him, splashing fiercely to get deeper into the flooded village. Behind them, a troop of baboons screamed from the shoreline, reluctant to enter the storm-swollen river.
And for good reason.
The current was strong. It threatened to rip Benjie’s legs out from under him with every step. To keep his footing, he propped one arm along the side of a wooden hovel. He reached the door but passed it by.
Not the best spot.
The small hut only had a thatched roof made of palm leaves. It would offer little protection should they be attacked. He continued onward, having already picked out his target. Ahead stood an abode with a corrugated steel roof and walls. It rose from waist-deep waters.
Perfect . . .
He hurried toward the shelter, keeping a wary watch on the river.
The strong current and riptides were not the only dangers out here. He searched for crocodiles and hippos, both equally dangerous. He prayed the storm had driven such beasts to higher ground or deeper waters.
Still, he studied the river, trying to read it like a book, watching for any telltale ripples, any blasts of expelled air.
Nothing.
Maybe my prayers were heard.
Benjie’s mother certainly placed much stock on her faith, on the weekly masses at St. James Church. She swore that anything could be granted if one prayed hard enough.
Unfortunately, Benjie had not been clear enough about his wishes this night.
The howling behind him grew louder.
He glanced over a shoulder. A line of dark shapes leapt from rooftop to rooftop, crossing above the floodwaters. Clearly the baboons had devised a way to continue their pursuit without entering the river.
Ndaye realized the same. “Faster!”
Benjie kicked and batted at the river, fighting the current and his own panic. The steel-roofed structure was only a few yards ahead. He shoved and fought his body through the deepening waters.
Screams echoed across the village behind him.
He finally reached the home and edged around its side. A black doorway opened in the wall ahead. He lunged toward it, leading the others. As he reached the threshold, he noted two disappointments. The home had no door and was open to the river. And worst of all, it was already occupied. Others had sought shelter from the storm.
Lightning flashed in the sky, bright enough to reveal a layer of slithering bodies, squirming across the water’s flat surface. The long coiling lengths filled the flooded single-room structure.
Snakes . . .
11:31 P.M.
On the other side of the village, Charlotte snugged the belt around Byrne’s forearm. She hoped the makeshift tourniquet would be enough to stop the blood flowing from the nurse’s severed wrist.
Byrne sat leadenly atop a stool that she had found in the flooded home. His weight held it in place. His entire body shivered. His eyes showed too much white. He was in shock, close to passing out from pain and blood loss.
The ICCN guard—a man named Kendi—manned the door, which he had left cracked open enough to spy upon the shoreline. Baboons still howled out there, but the darkness and row of riverside homes kept them out of direct sight.
Jameson hovered at Kendi’s shoulder. The pediatrician’s hands were balled into fists. He also shook in the knee-deep water, but not from shock.
Disanka stood stiffly in the far corner. She nursed her son. But Charlotte knew the effort was less about feeding the boy than keeping him quiet.
They were still too close to the shoreline for her liking. Jameson had led them to the first structure with plank walls and a door framed in tin. She glanced up to the thatch roof, knowing it would offer little protection against a baboon’s strength to rip and tear.
Still, she could not fault Jameson for his panicked pick of shelters. She kept a hand on Byrne’s shoulder, which trembled under her palm. She doubted the injured nurse would’ve made it much farther out into the river.
She could only hope this spot was far enough.
A loud yowl rose from the shoreline. It was picked up and passed by others. It was punctuated by hooting barks. The chorus rang out for a full minute—then suddenly fell silent.
Charlotte straightened.
Disanka stared unblinking at her, her eyes glassy with terror.
Then Charlotte heard a faint pounding and slapping, along with a few grunts. The noise quickly approached. She understood, picturing shapes bounding through the air, crossing from roof to roof.
Kendi whispered from the doorway, “They’re coming.”
11:32 P.M.
No, no, no, no . . .
As the hunters closed in, Benjie stood at the threshold of the snake-infested chamber. He could not get himself to enter. He hated the slithering creatures. In the Congo, tens of thousands died each year from snake bites. Standing there, a list already ran through his head: bush vipers, boomslangs, black mambas, puff adders, twig and stiletto snakes. But what especially set his bollocks to icing was the thought of Naja christyi, the deadly Congo water cobra, which could grow to be seven feet long.
Still, it wasn’t the fear of venom or fangs that kept him rooted in place. He simply could not tolerate the feel of slick scales across his skin. His university herpetology class had nearly unmanned him, badly enough that he had considered leaving school, abandoning his degree. Especially the practical labs, where he had to handle such creatures.
While his ASD was at the lower end of the spectrum, certain noises and sensations could set him off. The crinkle of cellophane made him want to claw at his ears. He would vomit at the smell of frying onions. And the slide of a snake over his palm—its scales somehow both bone-dry and oily—left him shaking all over.