That’s gotta be the place.
Gray faced back around. “Then we’ll begin our search there.”
He got the ATV moving again. Rather than following the long curve of the flooded shoreline, he trundled straight into the water. Crushing through reeds, he headed through the lake’s shallows. The huge tires found traction in the silty lake bed, and where it didn’t, the thick treads turned the tires into paddlewheels. It did not take them long to reach the stream-fed cove.
As Gray climbed onto shore again, Faraji pointed ahead to a small fern-covered clearing. The axed stumps of trees protruded from the undergrowth. Gray also noted a trio of rock circles, likely marking old firepits.
“Kuba make camp there,” Faraji confirmed.
Gray drove the ATV into the clearing and parked. He then turned to the group. “We’ll split up into two teams and search the area. I’ll take Faraji with me. Kowalski, you go with Benjie.”
Kowalski eyed the biologist dubiously, then turned back to Gray. “What are we even looking for?”
“I don’t know. Anything suspicious or out of place. Sheppard must’ve led us here for a reason.”
They all clambered out of the ATV and stretched their legs. They were immediately beset by clouds of mosquitoes. Gray waved the photo in hand to hold them at bay. He then lifted the picture. From this position, the boulder in the lake matched the view from here. It confirmed that Sheppard must have taken this photo at the campsite over a century ago.
Satisfied they were looking in the right place, Gray called to the others. “Let’s move out.”
The two groups headed in opposite directions from the ATV. They set about searching their respective halves of the clearing. The rings of rocks did mark old campfires. The circles were full of thick layers of ash. Littered across the site were bits of camp detritus: a dented tin cup, a moldy coil of rope, an antelope skull with broken antlers, even a scattering of old shell casings, indicating the Kuba’s hunting techniques were no longer limited to arrows and spears.
As Gray searched, he tried to imagine how this place must have once looked, when the now-endangered okapi had flourished here, when the tribe had lived more in harmony with the forest.
This group’s hunt slowly spread outward from the clearing to the ring of trees. He paused at the edge and pulled out the second photo that Sheppard had taken. The picture was dated three days after the first.
He studied the image in the moonlight, hoping the context of this location would add meaning. The photo showed Sheppard in a white colonial outfit, missing only his usual helmet. He stood before a group of tribesmen who were kneeling as if in prayer. This impression was further reinforced by what was drawn on the back. He flipped it over. A cross had been sketched atop a hill with a zigzagging path to its summit.
He had shown the photo and drawing to Faraji earlier, but the youth had only given him an apologetic shake of his head. Still, this lack of knowledge further reinforced Gray’s belief that Sheppard must have left behind some clue at the lake that would help guide them toward that next site pictured on the second photo.
With certainty and frustration growing in equal measures, Gray continued his search along the clearing’s edge. Mosquitoes plagued them. A chorus of croaking mocked their efforts. Bats dive-bombed, bombarding them with ultrasounds that itched the ears. With every step, mud sucked at their boots. The steamy humidity glued their clothes to every crevice.
With no success, Gray began to despair, to wonder if it was fruitless search. Even if Sheppard had left a clue back then, it could be long gone by now.
Then a scream jolted Gray out of his misery. He grabbed and swung his KelTec pistol around. Across the clearing, Benjie crashed headlong to the forest floor. The hard impact silenced his panicked cry.
Kowalski rushed to his side.
Gray kept his weapon ready. “Is he okay?” he called over.
“Looks like he fell over his own feet.” Kowalski extended a hand to help Benjie up, but the offer was rebuffed.
Benjie rolled around and dug through the undergrowth. He finally sat higher and lifted something muddy in his hands. He wiped at it, revealing a length of thick silvery links.
It was a chain.
7:34 P.M.
Benjie stepped back to let the others examine what he had found. While he should have been chuffed at his discovery, his cheeks instead burned with embarrassment. He felt daft for not watching where he was walking, for screaming like his mother did when she spotted a mouse in the kitchen.
He squeezed his arms around his chest, using the pressure to calm himself. While low on the autistic spectrum, he still had to contend with how a sharp jangle of his emotions took time to quell. He took deep breaths as he had been taught. He finally swallowed and let his arms relax.
Kowalski patted him on the shoulder, hard enough to almost drop him to his knees. “Good job, kid.”
He nodded and backed farther out of the way, lest the man should thank him again.
Gray followed the chain back to where it had been secured around the bole of a red cedar. The growth of bark had nearly swallowed the links. It proved the chain had to be old, placed long ago.
Gray lifted the chain and stared down its length, then eyed his large partner. “Kowalski, help me with this. It’s got to lead somewhere.”
The two set about extracting the heavy length from where it lay buried under two centuries of mulch and mud. Despite the heavily saturated soil, it still took lots of grunting, digging, and tugging to free the chain, link by link.
Benjie left them to their work. He finally remembered what had distracted him before he fell. He had been following the ambling path of a giant moth. He had a particular affection for moths and butterflies, both for their beauty and their amazing adaptation techniques, a curiosity tied to his own studies of evolutionary pressures on inheritable traits. The moth specimen appeared to have been a Holocerina angulate, an African batwing. Its fiery-edged wingspan had stretched seven or eight inches. He had thought the species only grew half that size. Plus, its body had been an iridescent cerulean, which appeared to glow in the dark, though this effect was likely due to the shine of his flashlight reflecting off its carapace.
He searched the forest’s edge for it again, but the specimen was long gone.
Disappointed, he returned his attention to the others. They had freed more of the chain and followed its course. Its buried length appeared to aim for the lake.
By now, Faraji had wandered ahead, peering around.
Benjie crossed over to join him. Faraji reached the water’s edge and stopped. He kept one eye squinted and absently rubbed at his arms.
“Is something wrong?” Benjie asked.
Faraji stared over the water and skyward. “Popo gone.”
“Popo?”
Faraji kept his gaze above the lake and pantomimed by folding his hands together, forming wings with his fingers. He fluttered his hands through the air.
“Do you mean birds?” Benjie asked.
“Not ndege. Popo.” He fluttered his hands again for emphasis.
Benjie frowned. Then he realized it wasn’t just the sky that Faraji was studying with suspicion. It was the night sky. “You must mean bats,” he mumbled.
Only now did Benjie realize the constant hum and quickfire flights of the bats had stopped. They were gone. Benjie wanted to dismiss their absence as just the cessation of their natural feeding time, but he knew better than to doubt Faraji, who was far more attuned to the rhythms of the jungle.
Before he could inquire further, a gruff voice shouted at them. “Out of the way, boys!”