by TR Kohler
Making no effort to move farther, they wait until the second woman joins them, the two holding Anika upright.
Seeming somehow much older than she had just moments before, she stares directly at him. Bags underscore her eyes. Her skin bears a tallow appearance.
A start-to-finish scene unlike anything Kidman has ever witnessed. One that has him gaping, trying to make sense of what just played out.
If even Ma had any idea before sending him here.
“Is...uh...” he just manages to get out, his voice betraying him thereafter.
“Your friend will be fine,” Anika whispers, her voice bearing the same exhaustion. “He needs to rest is all. As do I. As do you, I’m guessing.”
Together, the three women take a step forward.
“Um,” Kidman repeats. “Can I help...?”
“We’re fine,” the woman that was just trying to herd him outside replies.
“There’s a cot out back you’re welcome to,” the other adds.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Hazik’s eyes burn with each blink. A combination of smoke and sweat, helped in no small part by missing an entire night’s sleep.
A decision made more by circumstance than choice, the rapid sequence of events over the last eighteen hours forcing his hand in ways he hadn’t priorly considered.
So badly, he wants nothing more than to return back to Makoua. Driven straight there by Fumu, or Yogo, or whoever else, he wants to trudge up to his second-floor living quarters and fall into the shower. Lay with his back pressed flat to the floor tile and allow the cool water of the shower to cascade down over him.
A spot he will remain in until the scourge of sweat and the foul smell of the rainforest is cleansed from his body.
After which, he would head straight to bed. Collapse in the cotton sheets with the fans turning overhead until his body decides it has recovered.
Desires outpaced only by what still has him onsite in Bukari.
The want to know what has brought the Americans into his corner of the Congo.
And the need to see them expelled so he can get back to what he was working on days before. Building an empire that stretches from the rainforest all the way down to Brazzaville.
A solid mass under his thumb, controlled by using men just like Fumu and Yogo. The most seasoned fighters in the country, all bought and paid for from the diamonds pulled from the surrounding lands.
“Hazik,” a voice says, splitting the quiet of dawn.
The first clear word he has heard in more than an hour, it rips Hazik from his thoughts. Calls his attention over to see Fumu approaching.
A slow stride that hints of the man’s weariness as well. A saunter with his hand extended before him, a canvas sack much like the one he carried the night before gripped between his fingers.
Roughly a half-inch in total diameter, he hands it over without a word.
A gift Hazik accepts, balancing it in his palm and hefting it twice, measuring its weight.
“Where did you find this?”
“All over,” Fumu replies. “About half tucked away in the leader’s hut. The rest spread throughout the various other homes.”
Turning at the waist, he gestures to the ruins strewn around them and adds, “The ones we could enter, anyway.”
Considering the weight again, Hazik places it against what has been brought in recently. Bundles like the one he received from Fumu a day prior. Sacks that were much smaller, originating from villages not nearly as expansive as the one he stands in.
“How long has it been since the last collection?” Hazik asks.
“About a week,” Fumu replies.
“And how does this compare to their normal haul?”
“About average.”
Placing the sack between his thumb and index fingers, Hazik squeezes softly. Enough to determine that the contents are a series of much smaller stones rather than one large piece.
A key difference that lowers the value tremendously.
A decent haul for their corner of the Congo, but nowhere near enough to explain the sudden interest from outside forces.
“Any word from the patrols yet?” Hazik asks. Tucking the sack away, he stands with hands on his hips. His focus remains on Fumu, there being no need to look elsewhere.
Even under the faint light of dawn, it is nothing more than the same pile of rubble he first arrived to find.
Barely a half step down from the sad state of things a day ago at this time.
“A few,” Fumu replies. Knowing where the question was leading, he adds, “No word on the American yet.”
Given what was shared the day before about the man with long hair appearing to have special powers, Hazik isn’t terribly surprised. If he really does possess the ability to teleport, finding him will be virtually impossible.
Words he cannot believe he is even considering.
Things that if they had not originated with Fumu or even been witnessed to some degree with his own eyes, he would cast aside as nothing more than legend. Tribal lore that had managed to linger far beyond its expiration date.
“Dammit,” Hazik mutters, feeling his anger continue to ratchet upward. Incremental increases that somehow keep occurring, even as he wants to believe it can go no higher.
A state that has him aching to lash out, even now as he verges on exhaustion.
“What about the other American? The prisoner from the other night?”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Much like the lecture hall and the kitchen, the training facility is much too large for the meager crowd currently gathered. Designed in anticipation of class ranks swelling tremendously in the coming months and years, much of the space sits completely untouched.
Rows of equipment that has never been used. Items of every size and function imaginable, capable of putting a small crowd through a variety of workouts.
The kind of place that middle class people all over the country pay exorbitant fees to use on their way to or from work each day.
All of it sitting shrouded in shadow.
A fact that seems to fail to register with Doc as he puts the young trainees through their paces. A coordinated sequence of HIIT training that has all five openly panting, their hair matted flat, faces dripping with sweat.
Recruits in various stages of fitness, all fighting to get through the sequence Doc has laid out.
A task that seems to be received with mixed reviews, the charges far too exhausted to hide their animosity as Kari Ma enters.
“Keep going, keep going,” Doc chants from his spot along the baseline. A two-word mantra repeated on loop as he paces along the wall, watching the trainees push to finish.
Whistle clamped between his lips, his trademark towel is draped around his neck. Every few seconds, he swipes one of the ends of it up over his head, peeling away the droplets of sweat formed on the bare skin.
An effort that looks to be having mixed results, as evidenced by the wide bib of sweat staining his gray sweatshirt.
Bypassing the use of her invisibility for the time being, Kari enters through the side door to the facility. Ali’i at her hip, the two stride down the length of the wall, drawing over a few glances from the exhausted trainees.
Quick stares that cause Doc to turn their way as well, a thin smile forming on his lips, allowing the whistle to fall away.
“Well, well,” he says by way of greeting. “Looks like you two are getting along better this morning.”
“Something like that,” Kari mutters, pretending not to notice the smile that grows wider across Doc’s features. Instead keeping her gaze on the young crowd working through their calisthenics, she asks, “How’s it going in here?”
“Almost done,” Doc replies. “After that, they break for showers and breakfast before heading off to class.”
Fully aware of the schedule, Kari nods anyway. An effort to keep the conversation in front of them, rather than on her ongoing interaction with Ali’i.
A pairi
ng that nearly ended in spectacular fashion a few hours earlier when the dog attempted to join her in bed.
A situation that very nearly required her explaining to Kidman when he returned what happened to his dog.
Folding his arms across his torso, Doc falls silent a moment. Standing alongside Kari, he watches as the group continues before asking, “Any more word from The Kid?”
“Just the one,” Kari replies.
Grunting softly, Doc replies, “Doesn’t mean anything. He’s barely been gone a day. Hell, I was surprised he even checked in as fast as he did.”
Very much in agreement, Kari lets the comment go without response. Her attention fixed on the group, she watches as they make their way through. Abilities and responses as disparate as the people themselves.
Lukas Myles well out front, clearly viewing it as a competition. The never-quite-made-it high school athlete wanting to prove his place, as if there might be a newspaper photographer hiding outside, waiting to get a shot of whoever comes in first.
Angel Murreaux running a surprising second. A look of disdain on her face as she pushes through. A silent desire to validate herself, even if she will never admit as much.
The others falling in order behind them, Garret Wirfs bringing up the rear. A young man looking to be in absolute agony, his feet barely leaving the ground as he trudges along.
“You talk to Pruitt yet?” Doc asks, his voice drawing Kari’s attention over his way.
Beside her, Ali’i does the same before rising from her spot on the floor. Glancing upward, she lets out a single whine before heading for the door.
A quick trot that hints she is on a mission.
A departure Kari watches for a moment before replying, “Supposed to check in later this morning. Guess he’s in transition meetings up until then.”
Turning for the door, she begins to drift out after Ali’i.
Already, the animal’s third such trip of the morning.
“Great,” Doc mutters as she heads away, “so he’ll be in a good mood when you finally get ahold of him.”
“Won’t we all,” Kari replies before turning and heading toward the bright sunlight streaming in through the open door.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Most mornings, Kidman rises with the sun. Stretched out on a hammock swinging from the windward side of his home, he is greeted by the first golden rays stretching across the surface of the Pacific. Gently rocked to and fro by the breeze, he sits with one hand nestled between Ali’i’s ears, listening as the waves are deposited onto the sand nearby.
A few stolen moments before rushing off to meet Uncle Kamaki or climbing onto his board for some paddling.
An idyllic existence that he knows will not last forever. Much like the other stops over the last two decades, at some point somebody far more imposing than Ma will discover his whereabouts and stop by for a visit.
Or somebody even nosier than Auntie Napua will notice that he doesn’t appear to be aging.
Still, for the time being, he could not ask for a better greeting each day. A fact he has been intimately aware of these last six years since arriving on The Friendly Isle and deciding to make it his home.
Never more so than this morning, his current position as different as humanly possible from the start that greets him most days.
Peeling his eyes open, Kidman takes in the forest canopy high above. An intricate pattern of branches and vines and leaves. Hundreds of shades of brown and green all splashed together into an uneven spread.
A mottled mass far more intricate than any sort of camouflage ever employed by man.
Having no idea what time it might be, his best guess is that it is just after daybreak. An assumption made by a few light spots just managing to peek through the dense foliage. Barely enough illumination to give him a clear look at his new surroundings after making only a quick assessment upon his arrival the night before.
At a glance, the place is both similar and different to Bukari. Less than half the size, it seems to be more of an outpost than an actual village. A small cluster of huts formed into a wide circle. An arrangement that gives him a clear sightline, allowing him to take in the dozen structures, all carbon copies of one another.
Tiny dwellings that seem to be exclusively for residences, void of any of the larger huts found in Bukari.
Domiciles for overseers of the herds of livestock roaming nearby. Goats and pigs that easily outnumber the residents by a factor of two or three to one.
Roving bunches of animals that can always be heard and smelled, just as the bed of straw beneath his cot no doubt belongs to them as well.
The combination being what woke Kidman this morning.
Sprawled flat on his back, he raises both hands to his forehead. Placing the flats of his pinkies even with his brows, he runs them straight back, peeling away the sweat already formed there. Pushing it to his hairline, he mats his locks flat to his skull before dropping his hands away, a low groan escaping his lips.
A sound emitting both the exhaustion and dehydration he can feel starting to set in.
Two things that even accelerated healing cannot get around.
If anything, are only exacerbated by the heightened cell regeneration that fuels his various attributes.
Rocking his knees back toward his chest, Kidman uses the momentum to pull himself to a seated position. A fluid motion that sees him turn at the midpoint, dropping his feet to the straw beneath him.
A perch he maintains as he surveys the small encampment, the place still largely devoid of life. A slow start to the day, most people having the good sense to sleep past dawn.
A luxury afforded to those not in direct contact with the assorted sounds and smells he currently is.
His gaze still lifted upward, he bends at the waist, snatching his backpack from the straw beside him. Pulling it to his lap, he plunges a hand inside, rummaging through the loose collection of items before his fingertips drag across the smooth metal of his canteen.
Stainless steel covered by a half inch of insulation, meaning that the water housed inside is still cool as it passes his lips. Measured sips taking down more than half of what remains.
A pace and total consumption that are both forced decisions, his body craving nothing more than to keep going. Gulp down a half gallon or more, going until his distended stomach can hold no more.
Setting aside the water for a moment, his next item from the pack is a nutrition bar. Some sort of thing grabbed from the shelves at The Ranch, meant to be a mix of protein and fats. A high calorie brick coated in something approximating chocolate.
An experience that is almost more effort to chew than it is worth.
Finishing his makeshift breakfast with a few more sips of water, Kidman stows everything away before rising. Still completely dressed from the night before, he makes his way around to the front of the hut. A slow march made with heels dragging. Small sounds to announce his arrival well in advance.
A walk that ends a moment later with him tapping on the wooden slats framing the open doorway.
“Come in,” Anika responds, Kidman entering to find her already awake. Same for Wembo and the two women, all back into the original positions where Kidman found them the night before.
The only noticeable differences being that Wembo is awake and Anika still seems a bit worse for the wear.
All four turned and openly staring at him, they seem to have been waiting for him, nobody the least bit surprised by his appearance.
Expectation he pretends not to notice as he focuses on Wembo and offers, “Look who’s up.”
His body raised so his shoulders rest against the frame of the bed behind him, Wembo offers a thin smile.
“Thanks to her,” he replies, “and you, I’m told.”
“Eh,” Kidman answers, raising a hand to wave off the comment. “I was just the ambulance driver, she was the doctor.”
A joke that seems to land a bit flat, hints of confusion rising to Wembo’s features. C
asting a glance to the side, the same uncertain look rests on the faces of the two aides.
An unintentional gaffe that heightens the awkwardness in the room, whatever urgency that might have existed the night before having dissipated.
Replaced by the fact that now, in the light of day, he is very much out of place.
“And you?” he presses, sliding his focus over to Anika. “Feeling okay?”
“Better,” she replies. “You? Sleep okay?”
“Very well,” he lies. “I’m an outdoor sleeper back home as well.”
Clearly not caring in the least about his response, Anika rests her gaze on him before flicking it toward the door. An unspoken missive for them to step outside. Have a quick conversation beyond the prying eyes and ears of those inside the room.
An olive branch extended, hoping to rescue them all from the odd scenario playing out.
One Kidman is all too happy to accept as he nods silently, not waiting another moment before turning and exiting back out into the thin early morning light.
Chapter Forty
“There were rumors going around about a group of American soldiers showing up a few days ago and getting into a fight,” Anika opens the moment they are outside the hut. A question that is framed as a statement, the implication behind it clear.
“I heard,” Kidman replies.
Only a few minutes have passed since he first stepped inside, but already, the encampment seems to have come alive. People starting their day, putting on morning meals or beginning various chores.
Though his face and arms have been scrubbed free from blood and dirt and his shirt changed out for a clean one, the open stares that began inside now continue. Pointed glances displaying a wariness of the newcomer in their midst.
Looks matched by the one Anika is wearing, whatever acceptance she might have had the night before well past. Pushed aside now that the immediate danger of Wembo’s condition has subsided.