Quentin felt stronger than he had in days. Even his hunger and thirst were diminished.
“Yeah, let’s move.”
Bobby forced himself awake. Something wasn’t right. Wetness struck his face and he wiped it away. Through sleep-crusted eyelids he saw the green light of morning above him. Something struck his face again, and then his arm. He squinted. The stuff on his arm was reddish-brown and moist. He propped up on an elbow and hit his head. His confusion turned to fear. The roof of the plane’s cabin was less than a meter above the ground.
Bobby looked at the floor beneath him. It was covered with fine soil, concealing his ankles and part of his legs. Ashley and the others were half buried where they lay. Bobby shook Ashley’s shoulder. She moaned.
“Ashley, wake up! Mrs. Darnell, wake up!”
Mrs. Darnell responded immediately. “What’s wrong?” She had been sleeping on her side, and her body was partly buried. She sat up, striking her head on the ceiling, which seemed even lower now than it did only moments before. The soil fell away from her body.
“Mrs. Darnell, your clothes!” Bobby tried to look away, but couldn’t. Most of her shirt was gone. Where the fabric had touched the soil, only bare skin showed.
Bobby realized his own shirt had fallen into his lap. He lifted what was left. The entire back was gone. He grabbed his jeans and pulled. Only the front remained, and they lifted easily from his legs, leaving him naked. The heel portions of his shoes were gone, and the remains covered only his toes. The soil was eating everything around them.
“We need to get out!” Mrs. Darnell cried.
Quentin led the Englishman along the riverside path, retracing his steps. The Papuan, Noadi, was no longer with them. Apparently he had serious misgivings about the crash site and survivors.
As they walked, Quentin was astounded at his own dexterity. His machete wound was all but healed. The pain in his hip from the plane crash was gone. His lacerations, which had been infected, were now aseptic and dry. Even the bites that had pockmarked every inch of his exposed skin were nearly gone. And now the insects had apparently decided he was no longer fair game. They buzzed near him briefly and then left, as if he were distasteful.
“What did you give me last night?” he asked. The path was wide here, and they walked side by side. “Are you a doctor—a shaman or something?”
“I am no doctor—medical, magical, or otherwise—although I have learned much about healing as a guest amongst the indigenes.”
“What tribe are these people? Are they Yali, or maybe Korowai? They don’t look like Papuans I’ve seen before.”
The man hesitated, as if his choice of words were very important. “What they call themselves is of little importance, as I assure you they are unknown to you.”
“And you,” Quentin said. “Why are you here?”
“I am a naturalist, devoted to studying the fauna and the flora of this land.”
“Well, whatever you gave me healed wounds that should take months to heal.”
The Englishman was silent.
Quentin tried again. “This is an immense medical discovery.”
Silence.
“Who are you?” Quentin asked. “How long have you been here with these people?”
“My name is Samuel Inwood.”
Samuel wore no modern clothing, only a pair of shorts and a strange vest. The shorts were made of animal leather, supported by a strap tied around the waist. The vest seemed to be hand woven and stitched, perhaps from hair or silk. The only item that was plainly not from the forest was a peculiar amulet, made of twisted gold wire and hanging from a cord around his neck.
Quentin asked again, “How long have you been here, Samuel?”
“Perhaps we shall have the opportunity to become better acquainted. As for now, I have learned a good deal from your words regarding the state of society beyond this forest. Your surprise at the healing nature of my treatments, for example, tells me that my discoveries here have not been duplicated elsewhere.” He paused. “But I have yet to learn your name, sir.”
“Quentin Darnell. I’m a teacher. I teach Eighth graders—about fourteen years old.”
“And you have brought with you here your young students, from the United States. Remarkable. Tell me Quentin, what is your age?”
“I’m thirty-six. Why?”
“Thirty-six years. Yes, you have the appearance of a man of that age.”
Quentin was wondering how to respond when they came upon the marker he had arranged on the path after slicing his ankle. “This is where I found the trail,” he said. “I may have walked in circles for hours before that.”
“You must recall your route, Quentin. I am aware of but the general direction.”
Quentin felt panic surfacing. He should have made an effort to mark his path from the crash site. He had carried a machete in his bag; he could have cut markers. The others might die simply because he hadn’t thought to do that. He took a deep breath, trying to flush his doubts. With Samuel’s help, they would find the others and save them. And then perhaps Samuel’s medications could be used on them. Quentin glanced at the listless brown water of the river. He would need to hydrate before leaving the trail.
“Samuel,” Quentin said, “I need some water. Is this safe to drink?”
Samuel was busy scattering the sticks that made up Quentin’s marker. “You may drink without ill effects,” he said.
Quentin no longer had his water bottle, so he waded in to drink with his hands. “Good, I drank from it yesterday.”
Samuel tossed the last stick away. “Yesterday was an altogether different matter.”
Quentin had scooped a handful of brown water to his face, but he paused. “It’s safe today, but it wasn’t yesterday?”
“It is not the river which has changed, Quentin. It is you.”
Once off the path, Quentin could discern no sign of his passage. “I can’t do this. I came too far.”
Samuel pointed ahead. “It is somewhere to the east. But without your assistance, we may not find it. The lives of your party are at risk. I am not deceiving you on this point. The indigenes are intent upon killing all intruders. I learned only this morning they have not yet committed murder. For what reason and for how long, I do not know.”
“If they told you that, why aren’t they guiding us to the plane?”
“They have not invited me to go there. I am but a guest among them.”
Quentin’s fists clenched. “Then why didn’t you ask them not to hurt my family?”
Samuel gazed at him with patient eyes. “You must understand that their savage ways have been gradually embedded, with no intelligent eyes to observe them, and no civilized mind to reason with them. The habits of countless ages cannot be so easily set aside. So I have come to you in hopes that we might together find your party and prevent violence.”
In spite of the irrationality of the very existence of the half-naked white man in this place, Quentin sensed for the first time that he could trust Samuel.
A motion in the trees above caught their attention. Quentin glanced up in time to see a brown shape complete an arch through the air from one branch to another. It was the tree kangaroo. It jockeyed for a stable position and then turned to stare at them.
Quentin watched the Englishman to see his reaction, but Samuel only glanced at the creature and then looked away as if it were as common as a honeyeater.
Quentin sighed. “Mbaiso, how do we get back?”
Samuel’s brows folded with interest. “Mbaiso, do you say? I presume you are referring to the mbolop, the tree kangaroo?”
“Mbaiso is the name one of my students gave it. It’s from a story I told them.”
“Why did you speak to it in such a way? Does the creature answer you?”
Quentin gave him a sidelong glance. “Just wishful thinking. It’s been hanging around us. It helped us gather water, and it followed me here from the crash site.”
Abruptly the Englishman turned to
the tree kangaroo, clicked his tongue in rapid succession, and gestured at the animal with both his arms. In response, Mbaiso backed down the tree by reverse-jumping, claws noisily scratching bark, and hopped to the two men.
Samuel began gesturing with his hands, a series of motions as elaborate as any sign language. He was clearly trying to talk to the tree kangaroo. It hadn’t occurred to Quentin until now that this man may simply be insane.
Mbaiso watched until Samuel finished his extraordinary performance. Then the creature rolled back onto its haunches and began gesturing in return. The tiny forearms weaved, folded, and gyrated with miniature motions as controlled and precise as Samuel’s. Samuel responded, as if clarifying the finer points of his first discourse. Then the conversation suddenly ended. Mbaiso hopped away and scuttled up a tree.
Samuel turned to Quentin. “If you had but told me sooner of your acquaintance with the mbolop, you may have saved us some consternation.”
Quentin could think of nothing coherent to say. “I didn’t think it was—”
For the first time, Samuel’s eyes showed what might have been a sparkle of humor. “Once again, sir, your response reveals much.”
“I, uh, have some questions for you,” Quentin said.
“And I have questions as well. But now the mbolop will lead us to your vessel.” Without another word he turned and followed the tree kangaroo, which now bounded from tree to tree.
Bobby checked that all his body parts were still there as he fumbled with the remains of his clothing. He tied his jeans around his waist, covering his front but leaving his butt exposed. Ashley and Mrs. Darnell were struggling with the same problems, and it might have been funny if a mass of steel were not collapsing above their heads.
“We have to get them out!” Mrs. Darnell said to Bobby and Ashley as she tied a knot in her shirt. She grabbed Addison by the armpits and tried pulling him to the front of the cabin. The rear ceiling was nearly touching the ground, so this was the only way out.
Bobby moved to her side to help. Ashley gave up trying to knot a scrap of her pants and tried to help too, but there wasn’t much room. Mrs. Darnell squirmed out the opening. She tugged on Addison’s arms, while Bobby and Ashley pushed from inside. As Addison inched through the opening, the remains of his clothing were torn from his body. His skin was pale, almost gray, and Bobby tried not to look at it. Addison’s head rolled to the side and his face pressed against Mrs. Darnell’s arm, forcing one eye open. The eyeball was gray and lifeless.
Addison was finally through and Bobby crawled out to help drag him clear of the wreckage. As they turned back to the shrinking doorway, Ashley’s voice came from inside. She was talking excitedly, but not to them. Bobby and Mrs. Darnell looked at each other. They crawled back through, and there was Carlos, sitting upright.
“They’re awake!” Ashley said.
“What’s going on?” It was Miranda. She was propped up on her elbow.
Mrs. Darnell paused only briefly. “We need to get you out. Carlos, can you crawl?”
Carlos looked at the shrinking opening. “No problem, Mrs. D.” Then he edged past them and through the hole.
Mrs. Darnell glanced at Bobby again, her eyes wide, and then grabbed Miranda’s arm. “Miranda, honey, this is going to hurt, but we have to move you out of here too.”
“Wait a second.” Miranda pulled away the remains of the bloody jeans that had held the splint in place. The splint had disintegrated. She bent the leg, bringing her knee to her chest, and then slapped her thigh. The sound filled the tiny space of the cabin.
Mrs. Darnell put her hand over her mouth. “Miranda!”
“It seems okay now,” Miranda said, as if announcing that cookies were ready to come out of the oven. She pulled at the remains of her shirt and it fell from her body, exposing her breasts. “Can someone tell me what in the name of Elvis is going on?”
Before anyone could answer, a portion of the plane’s fuselage gave way, and the structure dropped another few centimeters with a thunk. The doorway was now smaller than ever.
Carlos’s voice came from outside. “I think you guys should get out. Like now.”
Ashley grabbed Miranda’s shirt and pushed it to her chest. “C’mon, I’ll help you.”
“I told you I’m fine.” Miranda used both legs to push herself through the opening.
Bobby and Mrs. Darnell followed her out just before the gap closed.
They watched the last of the Twin Otter disappear into a heap of soil. Their shelter was gone. Everything was gone. They didn’t even have a single complete item of clothing between them. There was barely enough to cover their privates. Bobby had already glimpsed more female body parts than he had seen in all his life. He sat on the ground against a tree, mainly because he had not figured out a good way to cover his butt. Trying not to stare, he watched Ashley as she talked to Miranda. Somehow the girls had managed to tie their clothing together to cover their breasts and waists, somewhat like bikinis. Miranda walked back and forth as they talked, bouncing like she was eager to run but had no room for it. Bobby had seen the broken bone sticking out of her leg. Now she was walking around like it had never happened.
Carlos was seated on the ground. He had removed the wrap and was staring at his hand. The fingers looked swollen and lumpy, but he was opening and closing his fist. He grinned and held his hand up for Bobby to see.
It seemed like a miracle, except for Addison, who was no better than before. Mrs. Darnell held Addison’s head in her lap as she watched Miranda bounce around.
Suddenly the girls saw something and stopped talking. Bobby turned. Three Papuan men stood side-by-side without moving, like ghosts in the trees.
“Don’t do anything to threaten them,” Mrs. Darnell said. She lifted Addison’s head from her lap so the men could see him. “He’s not better,” she called out. “Can you help him?”
Bobby recognized two of the men from the night before. They still held their spears with darkened tips and patterned shafts. The man with the green-feathered head was the first to approach. He glanced at a piece of wreckage on the ground and pointed to it. One of the other men reached into his pouch and smeared the pasty miracle-cure stuff onto the chunk of metal. The spot immediately began gleaming with wetness as the wreckage dissolved.
“Our clothes, and all our stuff,” Ashley said. “They’re the ones who did this!”
Mrs. Darnell shushed Ashley. She raised Addison’s head again. “Can you help him?”
The green-feathered Papuan kneeled, looking closely at Addison. “Yu le khomilo-mbo. Khomilo. Dead.”4
“He’s still alive,” Mrs. Darnell said. But her voice was quiet, like she wasn’t sure.
The man rose to his feet. “Khomilo.”
Mrs. Darnell pointed to the pouch hanging from his neck. “Your medicine. Maybe it can help him. Maybe he needs more.”
“Ané kha-fen.” He pointed away, into the forest. “Ané lai-m.” With his spear he motioned for her to get up. Mrs. Darnell didn’t move, and he repeated the words. The two other men were smearing paste onto small leftover parts from the plane. They stopped what they were doing, approached Bobby and Carlos, and waved their spears for them to go.12
“Mrs. Darnell, they want us to go with them,” Bobby said. “Maybe they want to help.”
“Or maybe they want to eat us,” Ashley muttered.
The green-feathered man shoved his spear tip under Mrs. Darnell’s chin and forced her to stand. She waited for the spear to be withdrawn and then grabbed Addison by the armpits, trying to lift him.
“Bobby, Carlos, you’ll have to help me carry him.”
The Papuan’s foot shot out and pushed Addison out of Mrs. Darnell’s hands. Addison’s head thumped the ground.
“Khomilo!”
Quentin didn’t recognize any landmarks, but the tree kangaroo moved with such purpose that he was reassured. And Samuel followed the animal, asking Quentin no more questions concerning direction.
“Do you th
ink they’re still okay?” Quentin asked as he caught up for the third time. Physically, Quentin felt great, but he lacked Samuel’s practiced agility.
“With any good fortune. Nevertheless, we will soon know.”
Quentin’s anxiety over Lindsey and the kids was like a crushing weight, so he tried thinking of other things. “What is the medicine you rubbed in my eye?”
“I wondered if you might inform me that such things had been found elsewhere. It appears, however, that my own discoveries are more important than I had supposed.”
“But what is it? Is it from a plant?”
“No, most certainly not a plant, nor from insect or beast. Soon enough, Quentin, you may understand. Assuming our indigene hosts allow it.”
“Why haven’t you reported what the stuff can do to the rest of the world?”
“There is much about my discoveries you have yet to learn. Can you be quite sure that your society is prepared for such things?”
“What do you mean?”
“Tell me, are you a Christian man, a follower of God?”
This caught Quentin off guard. “I don’t know. No—not really.”
“Is this also true of others you know? Is this true of your society?”
“No. There are plenty of religious people. Christians mostly, where I’m from. Why do you ask?”
The Englishman stopped walking. Mbaiso moved ahead, leaping from tree to tree. Samuel clicked his tongue and the tree kangaroo stopped and turned, waiting. A few flies buzzed Quentin’s head but then left without biting.
Samuel spoke. “In my younger life, Quentin, I was a man of Christian principles. Those principles served as a guide for my actions and judgments. While many naturalists were driven to find in nature the evidence that might disprove the hand of God, I was inclined to see God’s hand in all of the wonders of the world—in the elegant design of the butterfly’s wing or in the restless winds of the tropical seas. In my eyes, God’s wisdom was to be found in all of nature. Do you understand, Quentin?”
Diffusion Box Set Page 10