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.

The log he sat on was saturated with rain from earlier in the night. The wetness soaked through his pants and into his backside. He barely registered it; everything was wet in the rain forest. He heard the raindrops trapped in the canopy overhead pattering their way to the jungle floor.

A few vines hung like the black tendrils of a demonic beast, swaying slightly in the breeze.

Somewhere behind him a pistol chamber clicked, echoing all around. Delani sat on the opposite side of camp, cleaning his .38. If Gilles hadn't known that fact, the sound might have alarmed him. Gilles had long ago learned to trust his instincts. He reached down to where his a.s.sault rifle rested against the log and grabbed the leather harness, lifting it to his shoulder. The familiar weight made him feel less vulnerable.

A light sprang to life up ahead. It shone with the bright white intensity of a flashlight, yet didn't project an outward beam. Gilles blinked twice to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. The small sphere drifted as if on a breeze, bobbing between the branches of undergrowth. He could see where the dim light shone on the ground underneath and the nearby leaves. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make out the source. No flashlight, no string suspending it, n.o.body standing behind it. It was as if the light existed entirely on its own, floating three feet off the ground.

I see you.

Gilles sat up quickly. He lifted the rifle, holding it in front of his chest. He spun to the left and the right, glancing over his shoulder. He heard distant conversations carried on the breeze. To his rear, the campfire glowed, and on all other sides there was nothing save for the swirling shadows of the black forest. Straight ahead the ghost light danced and wavered.

Gilles watched it with a heavy ounce of suspicion. What could cause such a strange light? The edges of the sphere faded into the surrounding darkness as if existing in a different place. The light moved suddenly through the vines directly toward him. Gilles tensed, pointing his rifle forward. The rough surface of the grip was coated in a fine layer of moisture from sweat and humidity. His fingers slipped a little.

Would bullets affect such a thing?

"Who's there?" His voice trembled.

Who's there? I see you.

Gilles' fist tightened. He stood up slowly, crouching near the log. His eyes remained fixed on the light, no longer daring to look away. He remembered the words of the American woman. Don't trust everything you see or hear.

Could he be imagining this?

He dismissed the thought. He saw the light as plain as day. The detail was too perfect, too real. Even the way it illuminated the nearby branches, looking like a sparkler suspended in midair.

Have a look.

He took a step forward, placing his feet lightly between the roots and twigs. He knew how to move without being heard.

Just a little look.

As he approached, leaving the warmth of the fire behind him, the ghost light began to retreat. It wove through the vines, darting to the right and causing him to pause. Gilles considered calling back to Delani. But what would happen if this were in his head? Or if the light vanished? The others would doubt him. Better to see if it was real first.

He moved again, following the light as it retreated into the jungle. He pressed his way through the undergrowth, pushing aside vines with the barrel of his rifle. Every so often his foot crunched on an unseen twig. He kept moving and as he did, the light moved faster.

This is not good. Head back to the fire, he told himself.

Just a little farther. See where it's going.

Gilles shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He stood for several moments, deciding which way to go. The light blinked out. He spun around, but the foliage had closed in around him, blocking out the glow of the campfire. What little light shone down from the sky only made the shadows deeper.

They had set up camp when they reached the river. The night darkened quickly in the forest and it became impossible to navigate. They camped a short distance from the river, the line of undergrowth that hugged the embankment obscuring their view of the water. It didn't matter because the firelight became the limits of their tiny bubble of existence. Everything else was unknown.

Sam and Brandon invited Temba to their tent. He gladly obliged, leaving Kuntolo to cook tomatoes and beans at the fire. Sam hoped that privacy would loosen Temba's lips. She suspected that he wanted to tell them what took place at the abandoned campsite.

They sat inside, Sam leaning against her husband. The tent flap hung open so that the warm light could find its way in. Temba's face glistened, fiery orange on mola.s.ses brown.

"I heard the tale from Kuntolo's father. He is friends with Mbogo, the man whose camp you discovered," he explained. "It happened during the dry season, right before the honey season. During the honey season, all hunting stops and the BaMbuti go on trips through the forest looking for honey. It is a very happy time when there is always plenty to eat. We always look forward to it, because it means we'll be eating well.

"As Mbogo and the other men were getting ready, they decided that it was a good time to organize one more hunt. That way they could have meat to eat with their honey and something to give to the villagers if they needed supplies. So the men gathered up and got ready to leave. Mbogo's family hunts with spears and bows instead of nets. They poison the tips of their arrows to kill larger game. Because they don't use nets, there is no reason for the women or children to hunt with them. When they go out on the hunt, they leave the oldest men behind to watch the camp.

"While the men were gone, some of the women went to the river to clean and gather water. That was when the soldiers found them, men from one of the militias. There were a lot of them, and they were armed with guns and looked very strong. They pointed their guns at the women and told them to be quiet. Of course, they listened. Then the soldiers forced the women to have s.e.x with them, telling them they would be killed if they did not."

Brandon's arm slid around Sam. Her eyes stayed locked on Temba. The young man's face showed intense sadness.

"You see, the militias believe that they can be cured of their illnesses by having s.e.x with a pygmy woman," Temba explained.

Sam chilled at the thought, snuggling closer to her husband. The men raped them to cure their diseases. In the process, what kinds of diseases were they pa.s.sing onto their victims?

"When they were done they told the women to take them back to the camp," he continued. "When they got there they made everyone get together and they began to shoot them. Some of the women and children ran and hid, but most of them were killed right there."

"How many?" she had to ask.

"I don't know the number."

"How long ago was this?" Brandon asked.

"Two years," Temba replied. "I am not finished."

They apologized and fell silent, letting him continue.

"The soldiers lit a giant fire made from the pieces of their houses. Then they chopped up some of the bodies and put them on sticks. They cooked them and ate them. They believed that eating the flesh of a pygmy would give them power over the forest. They think that they can steal the pygmy's magic this way."

Sam cringed at the gruesome thought. Her mind drifted back to the small clearing with its gorgeous colors and trickling brook. It had seemed so peaceful and beautiful at the time. Now its memory unsettled her stomach. She remembered the patch of turned earth. She had walked right across it before she knew what it was.

"I can see why the BaMbuti would want to move away from the villages," Brandon said. "They have a very good reason to want to return to the forest."

Temba nodded. "In the forest they are safe. Out there, there are only the animals and the other BaMbuti. No villager, no soldier can find them."

At least for a while, Sam thought. If the fighting ended, there would be loggers. The BaMbuti could not hide forever. The world might sweep them away. She wondered if Temba feared the same thing.

"Has anyone ever talked about going back there and giving them a proper burial?" Sam wondered what kind of funeral customs the BaMbuti had.

Temba shook his head. "Why? What is the point? They are dead. Gone forever."

Temba's face twisted in sudden confusion. He swatted the air near his ear with one hand, becoming animated. He rose up, glancing about at the corners of the tiny tent. His eyes searched for some invisible object.

"What is it?" Sam asked, sitting up.

"Do you hear that?"

She listened and heard nothing. Brandon shook his head.