by Roger Weston
“You were with him?” Paul said.
“I was his guide.”
Kelly found that thought less than comforting. She looked over her shoulder at Paul. “Can I have your pistol? If I have to use it, I will.”
Paul gave it to her.
Up ahead, light began to filter into the cave. As they rounded a bend, more light lit their way. Soon Paul could see daylight coming in from the jungle.
Outside the cave entrance, it took a moment for Paul’s eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight. When it did, he saw a forest in a deep canyon surrounded by thousands of incredible six-hundred foot high piercing tsingy pinnacles. Animal screams and shrieks filled the air, surrounding them with their eerie cries.
They began to deflate their canoes. Paul felt uneasy lingering out in the open while they did so. He knew that their pursuers could emerge from the cave at any moment, but they couldn't abandon the boats because they would need them again soon. He urged Kelly and Jawara to pack them up quickly. When they were once again hiking through the vines and bushes, Paul relaxed a little.
“Do you think we lost them?” Kelly asked.
Jawara wiped sweat from his glistening neck with a rag. “They stopped shooting. Most likely they don’t have rafts.”
“But maybe they do,” Paul said.
“Those bastards, I should have stayed back there and fought them. What kind of man leaves his brother’s body to rot on the road?”
“You didn’t have any choice, Jawara. They would have killed you, too. When we get out of this, I’ll help you. We’ll go back there and get James’ body, but first we need to find this mine before those thugs do. We have to stop them from enriching their cause and inflicting more death and destruction on the world.”
“I thought we were here to find Ryan.” Kelly said.
“We are,” Paul told her, but he hadn’t forgotten about the million dollar reward on Abu Bakr’s head.
After an hour of hiking through the forest, they heard a gunshot.
“Come on,” Paul said as he picked up the pace, “let’s get a move on.”
***
After a full day of non-stop hiking Kelly became increasingly tired as darkness overtook the jungle. Heaviness settled upon her eyes. A sense of urgency, however, balanced her weariness. As she hiked hard on tired legs, she was well aware that killers pursued her. She followed Paul, his helmet lamp illuminating the way through the vines, his machete hacking them away when necessary. Even in her state of exhaustion, a heightened awareness fell over her whenever they were out in the open. How close behind were their pursuers? Could they spot their headlamps? In the desert she’d been resigned to her fate, but having regained her freedom, her determination to find Ryan reemerged.
She comforted herself thinking that if she couldn't see their pursuers’ lights, then they must not be able to see hers. Yet she knew that the men that were following them could travel faster than they had because Paul and Jawara had blazed a trail for them by hacking at the undergrowth and vines along the way.
The three of them continued to hike into the night for several more hours. Finally Jawara said, “We'll camp here.”
“What?” Kelly said. “We can't stop now.”
“We need sleep. Tomorrow will be a tough day. We must cross the tsingy.”
“They'll catch up with us and cut our throats while we're sleeping,” Kelly said.
“We can’t climb onto the tsingy in the dark.” Jawara said.
“He’s right,” Paul said, putting down his pack. “We’ll camp over there.” He pointed to a spot about fifty yards away near the base of the tsingy cliff. “If they do keep moving, they won't stumble on top of us over there.”
They hiked to the base of the cliff, which loomed high above them in the moonlight. After finding a suitable clearing, they unrolled their sleeping bags.
During the night, they rotated watch every four hours. It was now Paul’s turn. As he gazed at a sky besieged by flickering stars he thought he heard something, but then; nothing. He noticed that the lemurs were watching him quietly from the trees, their yellow eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Then Paul saw movement. He lunged for his shotgun, but it was just a land crab scurrying into the bush.
Paul took a deep breath. The animals. The jungle was rich with them. It reminded him of the forests in Idaho. They teemed with wildlife. He used to take comfort in their presence when he was out camping. Now he was startled by them. All because of the choices he had made in his life. Brooding over his lost boyhood dreams, he tried to understand how he had gotten so lost. How had he ended up here in Madagascar being tracked by terrorists while trying to find the body of the man he had killed? Why was he dragging Kelly along on this ill-fated trip knowing that he was the one who had killed her fiancé? It was all because of greed. The lure of treasure is what had corrupted him. He wanted it all and still did. He told himself that he was trying to help Kelly and trying to rid the world of a violent terrorist, but it was the money that motivated him. Could he ever be free of its hold over him? Would he be able to ever find his way again? Could he redeem himself and return to the path of the promise that his father had for him? Only tomorrow would tell. One thing that he knew for sure, he would never have peace as long as he had so many secrets.
In the morning, the birds whistled and shrilled endlessly. Paul crept over to where they'd left the trail the night before. He found no sign that their pursuers had passed them. As he was heading back to their camp, he heard the faint sounds of voices in the distance.
He ran back to the camp and woke Jawara and Kelly. “Hurry,” Paul said. “They’re coming.”
“How much time do I have?” Kelly said.
“None. Get moving!”
Kelly scrambled to roll up her sleeping bag and strap it to her pack.
“This way,” Jawara urged. “I know a short-cut onto the tsingy.”
Paul took up the rear as they followed Jawara through the brush.
An hour later, they were almost to the top of the tsingy ridge, when they spotted their pursuers. Fifteen minutes later, the first gunshots were fired. Although they were hundreds of feet above the jungle floor, the bullets chipped the limestone just a few feet away from the rim they were standing on. They ran to take cover in a gap behind a thick mass of limestone. With the vertical rock mountain behind them, they had just enough room to stand behind the limestone wall.
Another shot echoed from below. The bullet hit the other side of the limestone slab they were hiding behind.
“We’re trapped,” Jarawa said as he searched the canyon below. “There’s no way out of here without going in the open.”
“We can’t stay here,” Paul said. “They’ll climb up after us.”
Kelly’s lips quivered. “What are we going to do?”
Paul leaned out from behind the mass of rock to analyze the situation. “It’s only another thirty yards till the top. Who wants to go first?”
Neither of them volunteered. Paul wasn’t surprised. If they lost their footing or were shot, they’d fall off the narrow cliff-side path and drop hundreds of feet onto the carpet of bayonet-shaped pinnacles that poked out of the valley below. “I’ll go,” Paul said. “Kelly, you’re next.”
She nodded with tormented eyes.
Paul took several deep breaths, then stepped out onto the ledge and started toward the ridge at something less than a jog. Several shots boomed from the ravine below. One slug hit the limestone wall a few feet in front of him.
He jogged faster. At the top, he found no cover. Instead of flattening off, the tsingy sloped toward another tsingy rock face—a sharp towering limestone fortress. “Okay,” Paul called to Kelly, “Your turn.”
Kelly started up the trail with tentative steps.
Paul felt his stomach muscles tighten as he watched her take those first steps. While he waited, he pulled two pairs of Kevlar gloves from his pack.
“Make it fast,” he yelled.
Shots cracked from below. Kel
ly screamed, but didn't drop. She began to run. At the top of the ridge she ran right into Paul's arms. He held her close for a moment, breathing a sigh of relief.
Jawara started up the trail and made it to the top without further gunfire from the chasm below.
Wearing the gloves, Paul began the ascent up the limestone rock face. Kelly and Jawara pulled on their gloves as they watched Paul navigate the razor-sharp rock fall.
He looked down at Kelly and Jawara who ascended the slope behind him. “Hurry up,” he shouted.
“This is hard enough without being shot at,” Kelly said. “I'm going as fast as I can,”
Another gunshot echoed in the valley below.
The slug hit somewhere below Jawara. The big man cursed. “When they catch up, I’ll do the killing.”
As Paul climbed, a tenuous piece of footing broke beneath his boot, making a sharp-toned sound. Fear mushroomed in his stomach. He worried that the rock would knock Kelly or Jarawa off the rock face plunging them into doom. Peering down he saw that they had each managed to maintain their grip on the spiny cliff. Once he got to the peak, he climbed over several more shearing thresholds to get out of sight of the valley below.
Kelly emerged over the ridge next, with Jawara right behind her. Paul turned to face what lay before them. He saw an endless field of razor-sharp tsingy peaks that went on for miles. Between each crest, dark shadows lined gorges that dropped into darkness. If one of them was to fall into one of those narrow rifts there would be no way to rescue them. Paul was astonished that this sea of deep gashes existed anywhere on earth. He watched in amazement as a white lemur leapt from edge to edge with ease and alacrity.
“Is this passable?” Paul asked.
“I believe so,” Jawara said. He wiped sweat from his shiny brown forehead. “If one is careful.”
For the next fifteen minutes they climbed from stony scalpel to scalpel without incident. Then Paul heard a ping sound right behind him followed by a scream. He looked back and to his horror. Kelly was gone! Then he spotted her gloved hands clinging to the well-honed rib of tsingy.
“I'm gonna fall,” she screamed. “Help me.”
“Hold on,” Paul said, working his way back. “I'll pull you up.”
But he feared that when he did, his weight would cause the stone to break under his feet. Then they would both plunge to a grisly death in the bottomless trough.
Heart pumping, he reached out to Kelly's hand. “I'll pull you up.”
“I can't. I can't let go.”
“Grab on!” Paul shouted.
Strain pulled at Kelly's facial muscles and terror swarmed in her eyes. “It hurts.”
“Do it now,” he ordered her.
She winced, hesitating for a moment. Finally, she grabbed Paul's hand. The sudden weight knocked him off balance. Stabilizing himself on the rock rib he was perched on, he began to pull Kelly up. He heard the thin stone beneath his right foot snap with a ‘ting.’ The sound rang out like a death knell. Fear and adrenaline flooded his gut. His heel landed on the broken foothold. Another half inch and he'd have been castrated by a huge limestone bayonet between his legs, the last sensation of his life before he plunged into the bottomless cleft. Carefully, he worked his heel backwards, twisting his boot from side to side. He hoisted Kelly up while he tried to keep the weight properly distributed on his precariously-positioned limbs.
Once he'd gotten her clear of the deadfall, she struggled to regain a difficult perch on two fine-ground mineral daggers. Her knees were shaking violently. “I don't have the strength for this,” she said. Finally, she managed to come down firmly on a thin peak of limestone.
Paul looked at Kelly, who was sitting between slices of stone. The rocks had cut several holes in her pant legs. They were so finely cut that it was if a tailor had taken scissors to them. Blood oozed out of the holes.
“You ready to keep moving?” Paul asked as he handed her one of his shirts.
“Do I have a choice?” She responded reluctantly as she dabbed at the bloody holes with his shirt.
Several hours later when they finally arrived at the end of the tsingy field, Jawara showed them a narrow place where they could get their feet on solid ground again, a clearing with inviting palm-like trees. Kelly stripped off her pack and lay down, closing her eyes. Paul looked at her legs and saw that they had stopped bleeding. He walked to the edge of the clearing. He stood on the brink of a 700-foot cliff that dropped down into an emerald-green lake. The lake shimmered in the sun, and Paul took a deep breath. Then a high-pitched scream in the distance caused goose-bumps to erupt on his skin. The scream gradually faded and then a soft thump was heard.
Kelly’s eyes flew open, “What was that?” she said.
“Sounds like one of our pursuers didn't make it across.” Paul shuddered at the thought that it could have easily been Kelly who had plunged into one of those bottomless abysses.
“I hope the tsingy swallows them all,” Jawara said as he grasped the rope that was slung around his neck and under his arm.
Then the big man went to work tying knots on the end of the rope, “For now we continue on. Then I will do what I need to do to avenge my brother.” He hooked the rope to a rappel device as Paul selected a natural anchor. Then Jawara rappelled down the cliff. Kelly went second. Paul guarded the rear with a shotgun. Kelly was half way down when the shooting started. Paul crouched behind a ridge and fired in answer to the barrage that was coming at him. Two turbaned pursuers also had cover, but a third man's head darted around in panic as he looked for someplace to hide. Paul fired back, and the exposed man realized his dire position. Sprinting for cover, his black legs danced above the razor edges and narrow chasms.
For the first six or seven steps, he glided with skill and fluidity. But then the sharp sound of thin limestone breaking beneath his feet chimed across the deadfalls. The man plunged forward face first. His neck came down directly on a tsingy ridge with tremendous force. The thin slab cut right through his esophagus before his full bodyweight jerked his head back against the limestone blade in his throat. His body dropped out of sight.
Exploiting the shock value of the death they'd all just witnessed, Paul slipped over the side of the seven-hundred foot cliff. He rappelled at a dangerously fast rate. He was near half way down when he saw men looking over the brink.
He rappelled faster. Below he saw an outcropping beyond which the rope dropped out of sight. If he could just get below that—
Gunfire crashed like thunder, spraying projectiles across the rocks all around him. He jumped out and dropped straight down. As his feet made contact with the cliff, his knees absorbed the shock and pushed him out again as another burst of gunfire sent bullets in his direction. A ricocheted slug hummed past his head so close he could feel the air move. He dropped below the bulging rocks and fell out of sight of the gunmen above.
But he felt little relief. As he'd passed the outcropping, he'd noticed that the rope had become frayed from friction. The rope held some life yet, but he couldn't help but imagine what his body would look like after a four-hundred foot fall onto rocks. And the men above could cut the lifeline as well, unless they needed it to follow.
When he reached the canyon floor, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Over here,” Kelly said.
As Paul made for her position behind a huge boulder, he saw three men coming down the same rope. One of them swung his gun toward Paul and squeezed off a burst of automatic fire as he descended.
Jawara plugged the air valve of the second inflated raft as Paul ducked behind the big boulder. “Let's get in the water,” he said
At the shoreline, they climbed in their boats. Paul and Kelly paddled after Jawara, toward where the lake spilled into a large cave.
“Once we get inside the cave,” Jawara said, “the current is fast and the rocks are sharp. If you puncture your raft in the rapids, the crocodiles will be waiting for you.”
A burst of automatic fire sprayed the water, cutting a li
ne across the wake of Jawara's raft, which approached the cave.
“Faster!” Paul said.
Two of the men had touched down now and the last was still rappelling. A shriek lifted goose bumps on Paul's neck and shoulders again. He quickly looked back and saw a body plunge two hundred feet down into the rocks. An eerie silence followed.
They pumped oars into the water, and their rafts slid into the cave.
CHAPTER 40
The darkness grew thick. Paul tried to paddle to steady the raft, but the oar struck rock. Kelly braced herself. Paul dug the oar in again and stabilized their boat. A strong current pulled them deeper into a narrowing cavern. Occasionally, a wide stretch of sand would appear, separating the river from the cave wall. Paul flipped on his helmet light, and the beam cut through the blackness, creating random geometric patterns on the limestone walls. Their raft whisked over shallow churning whitewater. As the cave walls continued to move in on them, the current quickened and their rafts began to race through a whitewater torrent.
Jawara focused his helmet light on the shoreline. “Row shallow,” he said, “so you don't roll and snag.”
The swift water grew faster, and the angle of the cave grew steeper. The beams from their helmet lamps revealed only what lay directly ahead of them. Paul closely watched the angry, thrashing froth of rapids sweep into the darkness ahead. His headlamp flashed on jagged rocks as they hurled past with breathtaking speed.
“This is crazy!” Kelly said.
“No kidding.”
The river narrowed even more and the current pulled them even faster. They barreled around a corner, and when they came out the other side, the current threw their raft against the wall. Paul’s shoulder banged against the rock, causing the raft to roll and start to capsize.
“Ah!” Paul stabbed his oar against the rock riverbed just in time to keep them from going over, but then the raft rolled the other way as it flew into the darkness. Paul banged his oar against the riverbed on the opposite side and managed to right them.