by Carrie Regan
It all depended on the team in the field. If they brought back a stellar show, they could resurrect the channel, and more importantly, save his career. It was a gamble, but the payoff would be huge-— that is, if Max could hold up. Bill could have used the opportunity to introduce some hot new talent, but instead, he’d decided to place all hope on the shoulders of their aging star. At the time, he believed that he owed Max one last big curtain call. Had he screwed up? There was no second-guessing it now. Max was already there, and he had to hope for the best.
Bill tucked his phone away and headed back to the luncheon. Returning to the table, he was anxious for someone to inquire about the call. No one did. That’s all right, he thought. Soon enough, they’ll all know – as long as the crew came through.
***
Back in the heart of the jungle, his crew was settling into their sleeping bags. Max’s back ached against the hard ground; his sleeping bag and pad scarcely made a difference. The stories about the Nburu had him wondering about their safety. Still, he was elated to be on a journey that, for once, wasn’t scripted. He had no idea what would happen tomorrow, or the next day, and found it liberating, the sense of danger strangely invigorating. The resulting program would be fresh, new, and well worth any suffering. Exhausted, he quickly fell asleep.
Buddy lay on his back, wide awake, hearing every hoot, crackle and breaking branch, imagining that the Bambada were descending on camp to drag him to a watery grave. He gripped a flashlight in his right hand, Swiss Army knife in his left, and whenever a mysterious sound seemed a little too close, he flicked the light on, hoping the glow of the tent would frighten the threat away.
AJ lay in the tent next to Buddy’s, also unable to sleep. Unlike Buddy, he hadn’t attached the rain cover to his tent, preferring to gaze up through the mesh at the shadowy branches and stars. Unfortunately, it also meant that he had a full view of Buddy’s blinking tent. Every so often, the flashlight turned on, illuminating the tent for several seconds.
After years of working together, AJ had grown used to Buddy’s peculiarities, knowing that he never slept well the first few nights in a new location, that every sound troubled him, and that the on-and-off clicking of the flashlight would continue until he could no longer keep his eyes open. Sometimes Buddy would drift off to sleep with the flashlight on, and would come to AJ looking for fresh batteries the next morning.
Closing his eyes, AJ pictured Liz’s disapproving look after he had teased Troy. Did she really have a thing for the little punk? The fact that she’d chosen to pitch her tent next to Troy’s hadn’t escaped his notice. And he could have sworn he’d just heard the zip of a tent opening, perhaps for a late night rendezvous. But she wouldn’t… She had to resent Troy for getting the producer gig over her. Then again, maybe she would hook up with Troy, if only to get back at him for dropping her so quickly after their last shoot. But what did she expect? With her living in New York and he in Montana, it never would have worked. It didn’t mean he couldn’t want her now, though.
He recalled details of their brief fling: the taste of her lips, the way she quivered when he stroked her bare stomach or nuzzled her neck, the sweet release from stress that he’d found in her arms each night. Pressing his eyes closed, he rolled onto his side and tried to shut out the punishing thoughts.
Returning to her own tent, Liz zipped the door shut and settled into her sleeping bag. It never failed: as much as she tried to abstain from drinking anything before bedtime, she always had to get up in the middle of the night, and it was always an adventure. She had walked some distance from the camp to get beyond the circle of light cast by the porter’s bonfire, and then nearly tumbled over while squatting when a large bird noisily flapped overhead. They’d only just begun the journey, and already, Moe’s words had her on edge. How would she manage in the heart of the Nburu?
Safely back in her sleeping bag, she closed her eyes and tried to push images of bloodthirsty savages out of her brain. Her thoughts drifted instead to the memory of AJ’s tender caresses, and she wondered which was worse. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.
Troy squirmed about in his tent, attempting, for what seemed like hours, to get comfortable before finally settling in the position that caused him the least amount of discomfort. Spooked as he was by Moe’s stories, his mind drifted instead back to a recent spring break vacation at Club Med in the Caribbean. He remembered strutting past a group of Asian beauties in nothing more than his swim trunks, his tattoo plainly visible. Had they giggled? How many times had he walked about in public, with God knows what clearly written down his back? Why did he have to get the dumb tattoo in the first place?
Across camp, Moe gazed at the cluster of tents as he swung in a hammock a few yards from the fire. He’d noticed the way the crew had looked at him when they got up from the campfire, with a mix of fear and disbelief. Crazy Americans, he thought. They had no idea what they were in for.
CHAPTER 12
The next morning, the team awoke just before sunrise to the shouts of the porters. One by one, they crawled out of their protective cocoons, yawning and stretching as they emerged. Max clutched his back and gingerly opened to a full stretch. “I’m definitely getting too old for this,” he groaned.
“Moe! Can those guys make us some coffee?” AJ asked groggily, clad only in his boxers.
“Got it here,” Buddy said, squatting by the fire, where he drew a bandana over a thermos’s mouth and strained “cowboy coffee” into two cups.
“Great. Now if only we could get something to eat.” AJ glanced at Troy’s tent and noticed he wasn’t up yet. Liz’s tent was zipped up as well. He and Liz had always been careful about returning to their tents before sunrise, but maybe Liz would flaunt last night’s tryst just to spite him.
“Where’s the toilet paper? I need to go to the can,” Max announced.
“It’s about time you guys got up,” Liz said, returning from “the can” herself. AJ relaxed instantly upon seeing her. “Breakfast has been ready for over an hour.”
“Please, eat quickly,” Moe said, approaching camp from the river, where he’d been supervising the loading of the boats. “We need to go soon if we’re going to reach the research station by sunset.”
“Does somebody want to wake our fearless leader?” AJ asked, helping himself to starchy manioc paste and beans.
“I’ll do it. You guys eat.” Liz shook Troy’s tent and called impatiently, “Come on Troy. Time to get up.”
After a long pause, the tent slowly unzipped and Troy’s head poked out. He looked temporarily dazed as his eyes adjusted to the light.
“What time is it?”
“Almost seven. We need to get going.”
“Come get your bagels and lox,” AJ called, scraping a bite of paste onto his spoon.
Troy nearly leapt out of his tent. “Now you’re talking. I’m starving. What’s this?” he asked, not hiding his disgust for the rubbery manioc paste. “Glue?”
“It’s breakfast. Eat up,” Max said, wincing as he swallowed.
“I thought Adventure sent camping food?”
“Not enough,” Liz said. “We eat the stuff that’s harder to carry first.”
“It’s actually good with beans,” Buddy said, licking his own plate clean.
Troy peered into one of the cauldrons. “I’m sure it was,” he said, scraping out blackened dregs.
“It wasn’t just me. The porters ate most of it,” Buddy said defensively.
Troy settled for an energy bar from the team’s stash, downing it quickly as they packed up their camp, finished loading it onto the boats, and set off for another daylong journey up the river.
***
By noon, the TV crew was stretched out under the boat’s canopy in the midday heat, trying to sleep but failing. On broader sections of the river, the flimsy canopy provided little shelter from the African sun. If anything, it seemed to trap the heat. Relief came only when they passed under a collection of overhanging branches, bu
t when they emerged, the sun seemed hotter than ever. Moe, accustomed to the climate, prepared himself a sandwich of canned sardines on day-old bread.
Suddenly, a loud splash sounded, stirring them. Behind their boat, one of the porters’ heads emerged from the inky black surface of the water. Another porter, stripped to his shorts, cannonballed off the boat into the water, and a third lined up to follow suit.
“Damn! Didn’t they see the crocodiles?” Buddy asked, eyes darting between the porters and the shoreline, where he expected to see a throng of hungry crocs darting after this lunch offering. AJ raised the camera and started rolling, apparently expecting the same and not wanting to miss the shot.
“Yeah. We can’t afford to lose any porters,” Troy said, eyeing the mound of equipment piled on the boats.
Moe laughed. “They are crazy! Actually, they believe they have no reason to fear. Crocodiles on this river are said to be reincarnated spirits of those who died in battle against the colonists. They say the crocs won’t hurt a man pure in thought and action.”
“That rules you out,” Liz whispered to AJ. A sly smile spread over his lips.
“Ancestors or not, all their splashing should keep the crocodiles from coming near. Crocs are actually quite shy,” Moe said. “You would be fine if you wanted to jump in and cool off.”
“Thanks, but I’ll just bake out here where it’s safe,” Buddy said, preparing himself a sardine sandwich.
“I’m with you. Wouldn’t want any of those reincarnated ancestors mistaking me for a colonist and taking revenge on my white ass,” Troy said.
They continued up the river, the porters splashing and frolicking along the way, the hot crew looking on with envy. By four o’clock, the temperature had dipped. AJ took another GPS reading and plotted it on the map with Moe’s help.
“We’re only about eight miles from the research station,” Moe announced. “Cold beers for everyone within the hour!”
The crew let out a cheer and gathered around to look at the map. With such a short distance remaining, their mood noticeably improved. But the celebration proved premature: within moments, the boat’s engine sputtered once, then again, and died.
“So much for those cold beers,” Buddy groused.
AJ joined the captain as he inspected the motor. “It’s toast,” he announced.
The porter’s boat pulled alongside them, allowing the captains to strategize. After much discussion in Kituru, they ran a towline between the boats.
“They’re going to pull us the rest of the way,” Moe said.
AJ looked on skeptically. “Do they really think that’ll work?”
“They do it all the time on this river. They make this run once a week to bring supplies to the research station, and one of the boats always goes down.”
Slowly, the still-functioning boat crawled ahead until the towrope stretched to its limit. Neither boat budged. The motor whined with effort as it attempted to propel both boats, then died with a cough.
“Great. Now we have two dead motors,” AJ said, throwing his hands in the air while the captains argued noisily, exchanging blame.
“They say it’s your baggage. It’s too heavy,” Moe said over the commotion.
“They could have noticed that before now,” AJ said. “We could have ferried people to the camp in one boat and been there in under an hour. Now what do we do?”
The captains continued to argue, discussing options, until they came to an agreement. They untied the boats, then reached under the benches and pulled out long bamboo poles.
“Poles? they’re going to pole us for eight miles?” AJ asked incredulously.
“Goodness no. It’d take forever. We’ll make it to the shore, then walk,” Moe said. The crew groaned. “Welcome to Africa.”
It took close to an hour to pole the boats to shore. Once there, it took another hour to unload and divide up the gear. When Liz checked to make sure they hadn’t left anything behind, she noticed a large pile of goods stuffed in old rice sacks under a tarp in the center of each boat.
“What about this stuff?” she asked Moe, who passed the question on to the captains.
“These are goods they planned to sell upriver,” Moe explained in disgust. “I’m sorry. If I had known, I would have had them remove them in Kimkali.”
“I knew we didn’t have that much equipment! So it was our baggage that slowed them down?” AJ said, glowering at the captains.
“There’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s get going or we won’t make it to the station until morning,” Liz said.
The guides located a narrow animal trail running parallel to the shore, and the team set off on their first trek of the expedition, following, unbeknownst to them, in the five-month-old footsteps of Lawrence Julian Thompson.
CHAPTER 13
It was well after midnight when the jungle gave way to a wide clearing and the buildings of the research station popped into view beneath the full moon. The path had been relatively flat and free of debris, but darkness complicated the trek. The porters, though burdened by heavy packs, moved rapidly in the moonlight. The television crew, on the other hand, stumbled even with flashlights in hand. They raced to keep up with their nimble guides, envisioning machete-toting Bambada behind every broad leaf and rocky outcropping.
At the research station, the captains led them to a modest wood plank hut with an adjoining screened-in porch. A lamp flickered inside, and the door connecting the hut to the porch creaked open. A lanky figure shuffled out, squinting at them through the mesh screen.
“What’s this?” he said in a faint British accent. He studied the crew, the porters, and the pile of gear behind them. “A television crew, I presume? Must be. Only a television crew brings that much shit into the jungle. You’re with the BBC, correct? I thought you weren’t coming ‘til June.”
“We’re actually with the Adventure Channel in New York,” Liz said.
“Ah, yes, Americans. What a treat,” he said wearily. He opened the door and stepped out into the moonlight, clad in boxer shorts and a gray tank tee. He was gaunt and rather pale, and his long, thinning hair, more gray than black, was tied in a long ponytail. Liz guessed he was in his late 50s.
“I see you’ve gotten quite an introduction to our jungle. Well, since you’ve already dragged me out of bed, you’ll have to share a beer with me.”
The invitation immediately improved their mood. They filed onto the porch, taking seats around a picnic table covered with papers and specimen jars.
“Welcome to the Kabai Research Station. I’m Philip,” he began, distributing beers from a petrol-powered fridge that hummed just inside the door. “I’ve run this place for over two decades. Now what are you doing in my neck of the woods?”
“We’re on our way to the Nburu jungle, in search of Lawrence Julian Thompson,” Max began.
“The Nburu? In search of that old fool? What a colossal waste of time,” he said, shaking his head.
“You know Thompson? Have you seen him recently?” AJ asked.
“We’ve bumped into each other through the years, so you could say we’re acquaintances. He dropped in for lunch a few months back, at the beginning of that foolish expedition into the Nburu. I told him not to bother. No one knows this jungle better than I. I’ve been here for over 20 years, have heard all the rumors, and I can tell you that there’s nothing here but poachers, bandits, mineral speculators, and the occasional foolish Westerner in search of adventure.”
“How did Thompson respond?” Max asked.
He chuckled. “There’s no changing the mind of the great Lawrence Julian Thompson. He’ll listen with the slightest hint of a smile on his face, and then do whatever he damn well pleases anyway. I suspect he knows that most of his proposals are complete rubbish—just excuses on his part to go frolic in the jungle at someone else’s expense.”
“The Nburu doesn’t sound like much of a pleasure cruise to me,” Liz observed.
“Perhaps not to you, but to Thomps
on, this is heaven. Strange. For someone who calls himself an anthropologist, he preferred being alone in the wild over the company of people.”
“Maybe that depended on the people,” Max said. Philip grinned, raising his beer to Max in a “touché.”
“So you’ve been here for twenty years?” Liz asked.
“Over twenty years. Started as a PhD student studying Western lowland gorillas and never left.”
“Has it changed over the years?”
“Has it! The population has exploded. The people here are breeding out of control, hacking into the jungle and eating the wildlife into extinction. If that weren’t bad enough, an Australian mining operation based in Kimkali has been sniffing around, laying roads down around the perimeter of the park and hounding the ministry for permits to dig for gold and gems here. We’ve only been able to hold onto this place through a steady stream of payouts to the proper government fat cats. Otherwise, these people don’t give a damn about the jungle and the wildlife. All we can do is put up fences, close off the protected areas and threaten to shoot anyone who trespasses,” he said bitterly.
“You’ve been here through the wars,” Max observed.
“Civil wars, cross-border skirmishes, foreign backed coups, I’ve seen it all. And if you ask me, it’s been nothing but beneficial for the animals here. The best thing that’s happened to wildlife in Africa is all the war, disease, and famine on the continent. It’s kept human population levels down, at least somewhat, and given the animals a fighting chance.”
He noticed Moe glaring at him. “Are you going to deny it’s true?”
“Deny what? That the wars that have ravaged my country have been worth it because we have a few more elephants and gorillas today? I guess you’re right. I mean, what’s the value of a generation of Africans next to our glorious wildlife?”