Rumors of Savages

by Carrie Regan

  “Why? What’ll happen?” Max asked, intrigued. AJ slowly zoomed in on John.

  “Let me put it this way: people who’ve seen their camps have also found skins nearby, hanging on racks to dry. Human skins.”

  Buddy and Troy exchanged wide-eyed glances.

  “And the rest of the body?” Max asked.

  “No one knows. People go missing in the jungle, and they’re never found. They probably use body parts for fetishes, for luck and as tributes to their gods. These are people who are in league with the devil himself. I warned Thompson not to go.” He shook his head and looked down at his glass of lemonade.

  “You think these ‘jungle people’ got him?” Max asked.

  “I know they did. Come – I’ll show you why.” John and Max got up, as AJ followed with the camera and Buddy and Troy trailed. Behind the house, John unlocked the padlocked double doors of a shed and swung them open. Immediately, they recoiled at the sight and stench of what lay before them.

  ***

  Seated at the kitchen table, Liz fidgeted, trying to figure out a polite way to go join the men, dying to know what they were finding out. Martha, oblivious, sat knitting a small pink square.

  “What adorable kids. You’re blessed.”

  “Yes, we are.” Mary lifted Johnny to her lap and resumed her knitting, arms enveloping him.

  “How did you and Mr. Simpson first meet?”

  “Through the church.”

  “Of course. You attended the same church?”

  “Not exactly. We knew we’d be married before we ever met.” She noticed Liz’s confusion and explained. “John was living here, and I was in the States. Our congregation adopted John’s mission, just as it had adopted his parent’s mission. John would send reports back, and even though I’d never met him, he sounded like such a good man, so adventurous, so clever, and Kimkali like such a magical place. I don’t think there was a single woman in the congregation who wasn’t taken with him, simply through his letters.” She smiled wistfully.

  “Several of us wrote to him, to keep him company, we said, but also because we were more than a bit infatuated. John and I maintained a correspondence over the course of a year. He would speak of the rewards and difficulties of carrying out the Lord’s work in this remote place, and I would encourage him in my own small way. Then, in one letter, he wrote that he was having difficulty reaching the women in the Kimkali community. He saw it as a sign: the Lord intended him to continue his work with a wife by his side, and he wanted that wife to be me. Above all the women, he chose me. So I wrote back and accepted his proposal.”

  “Wow. So you’d never even seen him before that?”

  “No, never. But it didn’t matter. It was his soul, his spirit, his energy and enthusiasm and passion for his work that I fell in love with, not his face.”

  “And what did you think, when he walked off the plane, or into the church, or whatever?”

  “I was at the airport, and there was a crowd of people coming off the plane, and I had one of those signs with his name on it, but I didn’t need it. I picked him out immediately. And he recognized me immediately as well. He walked up to me and shook my hand and introduced himself, and I knew I was the luckiest woman on the face of the earth. I couldn’t stop smiling the whole way home.”

  “What a great story,” Liz said. “You two were meant to be together.”

  “Yes. We were meant to be together,” Martha affirmed quietly.

  “Oh my goodness!” Liz exclaimed, jumping up. Across the room, thin columns of smoke trickled from the corners of the oven.

  “Our Tollhouse cookies!” Martha cried. She leapt up, sending her knitting flying and nearly knocking little Johnny to the ground as she rushed to the oven and threw open the door. A great cloud of smoke billowed out. “Oh no! Oh no!” she repeated, pulling out the tray of charred cookies. She looked crestfallen. “If only they had sent a timer. How could they send an oven with no timer?” Her eyes brimmed with tears.

  “It’s all right. They’re not too badly burned.” The cookies, on the contrary, were well beyond fit for consumption.

  “What do you know?” Martha lashed out. “You’ll be going home soon, back to all the Tollhouse cookies you can eat! I won’t, can’t.” She sobbed, burying her face in her apron, then just as quickly composed herself. “I’m sorry. It’s just…” She looked down at her waist. “It’s my condition. It makes me so emotional.”

  Liz hadn’t noticed, but Martha’s belly, previously hidden under the apron, was slightly rounded. She guessed Martha was four or five months along in the pregnancy.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do. John’s so matter of fact, says we’ll have it here, not to be afraid, that it’s natural. He thinks it would set a bad example in the community if we left here to have it, but he’s strong. I’m not strong, not like him, not like the women here.” Her eyes searched Liz’s face for a solution to the situation.

  He’s strong because he’s not the one having the baby, Liz thought. She rubbed Martha’s back. “You’ll be fine. It will all be fine. John loves you, and wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

  “You’re right.” She dried her eyes and forced a smile. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sure it will be fine,” she repeated, the corners of her mouth trembling. “Ah, these hormones, they make your mind race!” She scraped off one of the burnt cookies, picked it up, and bit into it. It had to taste horrible, Liz thought, and Martha’s first reaction seemed to prove the point, but she quickly masked it with a smile.

  “They’re fine, like you said. Just fine.”

  ***

  Back at the shed, John withdrew the blood-soaked backpack of Lawrence Julian Thompson from the shed and waved away the swarm of flies that had gathered.

  “We were going to wash it, until we heard that you were on your way. Some villagers stumbled across it in the jungle. They brought it to us just like this.”

  “Coated with blood,” Max said. He was wearing rubber surgical gloves from the team’s medical kit.

  “That’s right, coated with blood. This stuff was in it,” John said, pulling out a crate.

  AJ was still rolling as Max held up its contents, piece by piece.

  “Let’s see…hopefully we’ll find a notebook, something to indicate how we can find Thompson, or at least give us an idea of what might have happened to him.” He pulled out a weathered text wrapped in wax paper, peeled back the protective cover, and read the title embossed on the spine. “Burton’s Travels in West and Central Africa, 1789-1793. Looks like it’s been read more than a few times. Perhaps it was a guide, or inspiration for Thompson. Might offer some clues.”

  Next, he held up a white ball of mesh and unfurled it. “A mosquito net. Hmmm. The mosquitoes are pretty thick in the jungle, and often carry deadly diseases. Thompson wouldn’t leave it behind on purpose. Or these.”

  He removed a pair of lightweight, inexpensive sneakers, also soaked with blood, and showed them to the camera.

  “Sneakers, men’s, size twelve. Thompson’s size,” he guessed.

  “I hate to say it, but it’s pretty clear that you’re not going to find Dr. Thompson alive,” John said. “May God bless his soul and accept him into His almighty kingdom.” He crossed himself.

  “Well, that’s a wrap,” Troy said. The men all looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Look, the dude’s obviously dead. If the ‘jungle people’ didn’t get him, some wild animal did. No need to go trotting off into the jungle to prove it.”

  AJ kept rolling on Max, who turned to John.

  “I’m not so sure Thompson is dead, John,” he said, studying the pack and its contents.

  “How do you figure?”

  “If he had been attacked with the pack on, the blood would splatter. It wouldn’t soak the pack like this. And what do you notice about the shoes?”

  John looked at them and shrugged.

  “There’s blood on them.”

  “Blood on them, and in them.
” He turned their insides to the camera. “If Thompson was attacked while wearing his shoes, his feet would be in them. Blood wouldn’t soak the insides.”

  “So you’re saying-“ started John.

  “I’m saying that Lawrence Julian Thompson isn’t necessarily dead. He could be injured, clinging to life out in the jungle, which makes our mission all the more urgent. Or maybe this isn’t his blood. Perhaps he’s already done battle with the Bambada, and won the first fight. We’ll send these items off to the States, and see if our lab can come up with answers while we begin our search.”

  “But the Nburu jungle goes on forever. How do you expect to find him?”

  “Good question. And here’s your answer.” He withdrew a device that looked like a cell phone. “A GPS, or Global Positioning System. It uses satellites to pinpoint a person’s location anywhere on earth, even a jungle like the Nburu. If we’re lucky, Thompson stored the coordinates of his journey in it along the way, and we’ll be able to follow in his footsteps.”

  Max flipped the unit on. “Bingo.” He turned to the camera. “Hang on, Thompson. We’re coming.”

  The men rejoined Liz and Martha back on the porch, where the missionaries agreed to ship fabric samples from the pack and a roll of photos of its contents to Adventure’s office with their next package of letters to the church.

  “Did you get good stuff?” Liz whispered to Buddy.

  “Really good stuff. Max is a master,” he said, nodding to Max.

  “We’re heading out early tomorrow. Wish us luck,” Max said.

  “Good luck, and God be with you in your travels,” John replied.

  “Please, take some cookies with you,” Martha said, offering the plate of blackened cookies. Buddy, always hungry, was the only one oblivious to their inedible state, and started to reach for one, until AJ jabbed him with an elbow.

  “You’ll come back to visit?” Martha asked Liz.

  Liz smiled and squeezed her hands. “We’ll come back,” she replied, knowing it was a lie.

  CHAPTER 10

  After settling into their rooms and reorganizing their gear, the team reconvened in the courtyard of Kimkali’s only hotel for a greasy dinner of fried fish and potatoes. Their accommodations were far from luxurious. The one story cinderblock hotel consisted of a half dozen coffin-like rooms containing little more than flattened foam mattresses on wooden frames. The only “facilities” were a shared, roofless latrine that doubled as a shower room, featuring a fly-covered pit toilet hole in the middle of the cement floor and bucket of murky bath water. A generator next to it coughed and sputtered as it strained to power a few flickering bulbs. The courtyard contained a handful of weathered plastic tables and chairs, and an empty hotel room served as a combination office, restaurant, bar, and disc jockey booth. A high wall surrounded the complex, though it was unclear whether it was to keep people in or out. They were the only guests.

  The crew lingered in the courtyard after dinner, seeking refuge from their dingy rooms and taking turns in the bathroom/shower. AJ and Max, freshly bathed, studied the map with the GPS. Moe, well fed from a visit with distant relatives in town, joined them. Liz, seated next to AJ, paged through the weathered old text they’d found among Thompson’s belongings. As Buddy bathed, Troy prepared for the shower in his room. The porters had disappeared the moment they hit town, preferring to stay with family and no doubt enjoying one last night of revelry before the expedition began.

  “It appears that he stopped off at the research station,” Moe said, indicating a spot on the map where two rivers converged. “There’s lots of animal life in the area because of the rivers: gorillas, hippos, forest elephants, chimpanzees. Scientists come from around the world to study them. One, a British man named Philip, has lived there for over twenty years.”

  “I think I read about him in National Geographic. Heir to Dian Fossey’s legacy, studying gorilla behavior,” Liz said, looking up from the book.

  “That’s him, though it’s a different species of gorilla,” Moe corrected.

  “Finding anything interesting in that?” AJ asked, nodding to the weathered tome in Liz’s hands.

  “Lots of tall tales about magical rivers, jungles paved with gold and diamonds, and an enchanted village of tiny people with special powers,” Liz said, snapping the book shut. “I’m sure it was entertaining reading for Thompson, but I don’t see how it’ll help us find him.”

  “Damn loon,” Max huffed. “Got himself lost following some fairy tale.”

  Buddy shuffled from the shower stall in flip-flops, towel about his ample waist, scratching at a few suds he couldn’t wash free from his hair. “Shower’s free,” he bellowed, tapping on Troy’s door.

  Troy emerged, and Liz’s jaw dropped. Towel about his waist, his hairless upper body was bare—and as muscle-bound and chiseled as a Chippendale dancer’s. She quickly looked away, thinking it’d been far too long since she’d been with a man if a pest like Troy could make her look twice.

  “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a gym rat,” AJ said.

  “Jealous?” Liz commented, refusing to look up from the book. AJ was fit, but at 36, he had about 15 years on Troy, and a thin layer of fat had recently started to settle around his waist.

  “Hell, I’ve seen men more cut than that crumble once they get out in the wild. You just watch.”

  “I will,” she kidded, pretending to appreciate Troy’s physique as he strolled by. In reality, she knew that no amount of muscle would ever compensate for what the rest of the package lacked.

  When Troy had strolled out of earshot, AJ continued, unable to control himself. “Check out the tattoo!” He was pointing to three Japanese characters on Troy’s lower back. “Let me guess: ‘Peace, Love, Mercy.’ Now isn’t he profound?”

  “Leave him alone,” Liz said wearily.

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize you two were so close. Listen, when you’re whispering sweet nothings in his ear tonight, can you ask him how the hell he could have forgotten to bring a GPS?”

  “Why? Thompson’s GPS isn’t working?” Liz asked, panicked. She was equally annoyed that Adventure didn’t send a GPS with the maps, but she’d long since learned to expect such mix-ups and omissions if she didn’t pack for the shoot and oversee every detail herself.

  “It’s working, and we’re pretty damn lucky. We never would have found our way in or out of the jungle without one. But we shouldn’t have to count on finding one in the field.”

  “I’m as upset about it as you are, but we have a GPS, and that’s what counts. So let’s all just try to get along. It won’t make things any easier if we’re fighting.” The men, she thought, were being unjustly hard on Troy. In the interest of keeping the peace, she’d decided to be the adult and reined them in.

  Suddenly, Troy reemerged from the shower room, still dry, still clad in the towel, clearly confused. “Where’s the shower?” he asked, unaware that the bucket of water in the corner was the shower.

  “Why don’t you go show boyfriend how it’s done?” AJ prodded. Liz ignored him. Did she detect a trace of jealousy?

  The hotel clerk steered Troy back inside the shower room and instructed him on the fine art of the “bucket bath,” while Max drew their attention back to the map. “Looks like he follows this river for a ways before ducking into the jungle here,” he said, pointing to a spot where Thompson’s trail veered off to the west.

  “Then he heads straight for the Nburu,” AJ said, following the path to a mass of solid green. “The last coordinate we have is about thirty five miles from the research station, in the heart of the Nburu. Where did John say they found the bag?”

  “In the jungle, not far from the research station,” Max said.

  “So someone – Thompson or the person who nabbed him – carried the bag out.”

  “Someone or something,” Buddy said. Now fully dressed, he joined them to study the map. “That’s a whole lot of walking in the middle of nowhere.”

  “How can you showe
r and then put on that filthy cap?” Liz asked incredulously.

  “My kids gave me this cap,” he said, pulling it down on his head.

  “Don’t mind her. Our gal’s just feeling a wee bit sexually frustrated,” AJ joked. “Too much beefcake in these parts for one woman to handle.” He poked her ribs, and Liz swatted him in return. In light of his accusations, she found it curious that AJ’s leg had, perhaps accidentally, perhaps not, been pressing against hers under the table all evening.

  “We can save time traveling by boat,” Moe announced, bringing them back on point. “It’ll take less than a week to reach the Nburu.”

  “Great. Can’t wait,” Buddy said, less than enthusiastically.

  ***

  After polishing off the last of the cold beers, the members of the team, with the exception of Moe, retired to their rooms. While the crew offered him a room in the hotel, he preferred to sleep in the vehicle, where he could keep an eye on their equipment.

  Eventually, after they turned in and the generator wound down, all was quiet. Still, Liz couldn’t sleep. She blamed the thin mattress and a buzzing mosquito trapped in her bed net; in reality, haunting visions of the Nburu had her tossing and turning.

  Just as she was finally drifting off, a soft knock on the door jolted her suddenly awake. She began to think that she’d imagined it when the knock came again, followed by a hoarse whisper: “Liz!”

  Her heart raced as she patted about on the mattress for her flashlight. Flipping it on, most of the illumination stayed trapped inside the mosquito net. She checked her watch: 1:17 AM.

  “Liz? You awake?” came the voice again. She recognized it this time: AJ.

  Throwing her legs over the side of the bed and slinging the mosquito net over her shoulder, she emerged from her cocoon and stumbled to the door.

  “AJ, what is it?” she asked groggily. He stood before her in the moonlight, dressed in a pair of boxers and a ragged gray tee.