"Delani feels that after losing Kipwe and the Jeep, we've overstayed our welcome in the Ituri Forest," Ike explained.

Alfred fought back sudden panic. They were suddenly-possibly-so close to their goal, but if Delani and his a.s.sociates abandoned them now they'd have no way to move forward. They would be forced to hire someone else and procure more supplies. In that time there was no telling what could happen. Another war could break out, making finding the flower impossible.

Although Alfred fought it, his tone sounded desperate. "Ike, I am truly, very sorry about what happened to Kipwe. Nessa is as well-"

Ike shot a doubtful glare at the woman, but looked back to Alfred, allowing him to continue.

"I'm sure there's nothing we can do to make up for his loss. I'm sure if you wanted to renegotiate, H. Hurley would be willing to throw in some sort of additional funds to be awarded to his family-and to help pay for your lost Jeep."

Ike sighed and glanced back at Delani and Gilles. "This has nothing to do with money, Alfred."

"I know, I wasn't implying-"

"We just don't feel that it's worth it to further risk our lives out here so you can find your little flower."

Alfred felt his face grow hot. "It just so happens that this 'little flower' is probably worth-"

Alfred felt a cool hand around his wrist. He looked over to Nessa, who shook her head.

"I understand your pa.s.sion, mate," Ike continued. "But we don't share it. We'll take you back to the closest town and give you time to contact Hurley."

Alfred nodded. "Is that all?"

"That's all."

Ike nodded grimly to both of them and then headed back to the fire.

"Tomorrow morning we'll ask them to take us to BaKokwa village," Nessa said. "They won't refuse, it's not far and it's in the opposite direction the militias came from."

"And then what?"

"I'll call Hurley on the sat phone. We'll get them to give a higher offer. Not that they'll need it mind you," Nessa said with a sly wink. "These men are not strangers to brutality. They're mercenaries. Give them time and then tell them all about Uya Kivuli again. Trust me; they prefer working for us over the journalists they're used to babysitting."

Alfred wasn't so sure. "They seem worked up over Kipwe."

"It will pa.s.s. At least I think so."

Alfred studied Nessa. She was H. Hurley International. If she wanted to give the mercenaries more money, she could. If she wanted to hire a new crew, she could do that also. If she wanted to call the whole expedition off, she could do so with little more than a phone call.

Ike sprawled out on the ground, his back resting against a tree trunk. He held his Desert Eagle, his one remaining personal weapon, in his lap. He let his mind drift as he stared up at the jungle canopy. One or two stars dared to peek through the black leaves. Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard the cough of a leopard. The sound gave him pause, but he did not feel fear. After all, he was resting in an armed encampment.

He hadn't known Kipwe all that well. He had been just another man that Delani had picked up along the way-another man whose penchant for violence could be put to use earning a dollar. Kipwe hadn't spoken about his life much, and as far as Ike knew he had no family. He imagined that Kipwe had been very much like Delani, orphaned at a young age and forced to adapt to a hostile world.

Although Ike knew little about Kipwe, he felt a strong attachment to the man. The two had been forced to trust one another, for the sake of their own lives. Only with such a bond, Ike believed, were brothers made. Throughout his career, he had met and served beside many.

Ike had many brothers.

5.

Sam awoke in a sweat, whether from her terrible nightmare or the jungle humidity, she didn't know. She sat in near darkness. Only a soft green glow illuminated the small tent.

She had fallen asleep lying to one side with Brandon's arm draped over her waist, but she awoke sprawled out on her back, staring up at the peak of the tent. Brandon had rolled over on his side, and she could barely see the back of his head in the dim light. She tried to move her legs, but it was as if there was an oppressive weight on top of them. She glanced down at her bare legs and saw that they were free of blankets.

That was when she began to feel it. A thick cloud loomed above her, just barely visible in the shadows. Whatever it was held her pinned and helpless on her back in the small tent. Suddenly fearful, she began to try to kick and wriggle, but to no avail. She tried to scream but only a voiceless hiss moved through her throat.

As the cloud pushed closer, tightening around her body, she dared a glance at Brandon. His right arm jerked again and he rolled slightly, as if caught in the depths of some nightmare. The darkness moved around him as well. It permeated the air.

She heard a stream of whispers. There were voices outside, people moving around the tent. She debated whether to call out to them and ask for their help.

The voices, strangely, slipped into the tent and lingered in the air about her. Then a single voice echoed, calling her name over and over again among a stream of less distinguishable words.

Sam tried again to scream, but the sound caught in her throat.

The voices moved into her head. The whispers became one with her thoughts. She felt the black cloud consuming her body, taking up residence in her mind. The thing knew her thoughts. It smelled her fear.

The presence seemed driven on, strengthened by her fear, and she wondered where her thoughts ended and its thoughts began. She felt a deep, overwhelming chill.

And then, near her legs, not far from the still-zipped tent flap, she made out a form. A spectral shape sat inches from her feet. The apparition stared at her as it penetrated her thoughts.

Go away, she mentally bade it. She worked up her inner resolve, commanding it more forcefully: Go away.

The presence solidified, although the shadows masked its details. The visage looked ashen gray, a face of cold hatred. In the deepest recesses of her own mind, it echoed her words back at her. Go away!

As if it had made its point, the figure melted into the ground and vanished into the dark corners of the tent.

She was up on her elbows immediately, her paralysis lifted. She stared around the tent, still sensing the dark presence everywhere. She looked to Brandon again, his right arm jerking spasmodically, as though locked in the clutches of a terrible nightmare. Maybe the presence had him as well.

Stop it, she told herself. You're not thinking rationally. It's just a dream.

She grabbed his arm, trying to shake him awake. His body rolled to the side, but he remained asleep.

Sam grabbed the edge of her bedroll and pulled it over her body. She felt eyes on her back and sought the comfort of a blanket over her.

He stirred and sat up.

"Brandon." She heard the tremor in her voice and hated it.

He turned to her slowly and, in the shadows, his eyes were sunken and sagged. That was not her husband.

"Sam?" he asked.

Sam?

She retreated, crawling backward toward the edge of the tent. She did not know what she was seeing. She did not know what anything was.

"Can't sleep?"

Can't sleep?

He reached out to her and she panicked. "I have to go," she mumbled and unzipped the tent flap, scurrying outside.

A cool breeze hit her face as she stepped into absolute darkness. She could hear Brandon-but not Brandon-struggling with the tent flap, calling out to her. He acted afraid, but it all felt wrong, like a thin ploy.

You're being unreasonable, she told herself. If that truly was Brandon, then she was acting insane and flipping out on him for no reason.

But if it wasn't . . .

Brandon or not, she had to be away from it. She moved into the jungle, feeling her way through the undergrowth. Brandon let out a cry of protest from somewhere behind her.

"Just leave me alone," she yelled.

Tiny branches whipped at her face and legs and a row of jagged thorns cut into her thigh. She didn't run, fearful that it might chase her if she did.

She emerged into a dense thicket, where moonlight found its way through the canopy. She tried pushing through the branches, but they gripped her legs and slowed her down.

She heard footsteps behind her and then something crashed into the clearing behind her. She reacted without thinking, spinning on her aggressor and tightening her fist. Her knuckle connected solidly.

Brandon gripped his left eye, wincing.

The presence, whatever it was, had vanished. Or had it been there at all?

"Oh my G.o.d, Brandon," she cried. "I'm so sorry."

"What the h.e.l.l is going on? Why did you hit me?"

"I don't know," she replied, feeling guilt welling up inside. "I-I just panicked."

"Sam, you scared the h.e.l.l out of me."

She kneeled down, feeling jagged branches sc.r.a.pe her legs. She helped him up so they were both crouched, the thicket towering around them.

"I was having a nightmare and-" his voice trailed.

"You were?"

"Yeah," he replied with a shiver. He looked around at the dark forest, before grabbing her roughly and hugging her tight. "There was this thing . . . and it . . . it had you."

"What?"

"It was inside you," he tried to explain. "And then you were running away from me . . . like you were someone else and you didn't know who I was."

She felt the chill. Was the presence still there in her mind? It was hard to tell the difference between dreaming and awake. "Brandon, that last part happened . . . I ran away from you."

"I know. It felt like part of the dream."

A noise cut through the forest, a guttural cough. "Maybe we should head back to the tent," she said.

Together, they crept back to the tent. They did not hear the noise again, but neither of them could shake what had happened.

Dream or not, they remained awake for the rest of the long night.

Morning shone through the canopy in amber hues, illuminating the swiftly flowing waters of the jungle stream. With the sun came the thick heat and humidity and, because they stood by the river, swarms of biting insects. Brandon swatted at one landing on his neck. He felt the stinging slap on sunburned skin and the satisfying squish of a mosquito.

Their water was low, and Brandon suggested they crawl through the dense brush at the waterline to inspect the stream. He hoped the stream had originated in the mountains and would be drinkable.

Sam stepped to the edge of the water and crouched on the bank, holding out the empty water bottle. She stared at the gla.s.sy surface, gazing at her own reflection. She appeared transfixed by the trickling stream.

"Does it look clean?" he asked.

"I don't know," she answered. "What does bacteria look like again?"

"Is it clear though?"

"Yeah . . ."

"So touch it."

She dipped the tips of her fingers into the sparkling water. After a moment, she looked at him and nodded. "It's pretty cold."

She dipped the water bottle, watching the bubbles roll out of the top and get swept downstream where they disappeared in the froth. Cold water meant water that had moved swiftly from its source, the melting snows in the nearby mountains, and was less likely to be contaminated.

She lifted the full bottle to her lips and took a sip. She tasted it carefully, letting the liquid collect in her mouth before swallowing. "Mmm, tastes like Ebola. Want some?"

Brandon took a few gulps, tasting the fresh, icy liquid. He felt good about his suggestion to follow the river. They had moved out of the marshy lowlands and were heading east toward the mountains. As long as they stuck to the water and kept out of trouble, they could survive indefinitely.

Keeping the stream at their left, they moved through the forest. As the morning wore on, the temperature got hotter.

Around midday, the forest came to life in the distance. Wild cries rose up; frenzied screams came through the trees. They stood still, not making a sound, as the screams turned to wails.

"What do you think that is?" Sam whispered.

"Lizard," he answered quickly.

She looked at him doubtfully. "Actually, it's the mating call of the red polka-dotted Ituri chameleon. One call from him and the females come scurrying from miles around."

He laughed, and they resumed walking.

The forest opened up around them, blue light playing on the roots of the ma.s.sive trees.

A creature lay awkwardly against the root of a tree. The tan coat faded to black and was crisscrossed with white stripes near its hindquarters and along its upper legs. The legs, white near the hooves, dangled limply.