Rumors of Savages

by Carrie Regan

  “He’s got so much adrenaline pumping through him that he probably can’t feel a thing. He’ll crash, just wait. Out here, the infection will finish him off in a few days.”

  “Let’s stop the talk,” Alex said. “We’ve got a lot of walking to do today, kids.” Holding his shoulder, he seemed to notice the tent spike for the first time. “Guess we should get rid of this first.”

  He picked up a water bottle and filled it a few feet away with water from the Nburu River, then settled back down on the log. Unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled each arm out. The shirt remained dangling, pinned to his shoulder by the stake. Liz and AJ stopped packing down dirt on Max’s grave to watch as Alex poured half the bottle of water over the wound. He set the bottle down, grasped the stake, and, with a grimace, wrenched it out and tossed it to the ground. Retrieving the bottle, he poured the remaining water over the wound.

  “Ah, the rejuvenating waters of the Nburu River.” He winced as he slowly raised and lowered his left arm repeatedly. “The powers of this river are local legend, just the first of many treasures that lie on the path to the Bambada kingdom. You two wanted proof? How’s this for proof?”

  He pulled his hand away from his shoulder and looked down at the spot where the stake had pierced his flesh. The wound was gone; taut muscle and skin had returned in its place. Liz and AJ gasped in disbelief.

  “Ah, that Ponce de Leon. Right concept, wrong continent,” Alex said. “You think your medicine cured Max’s malaria? Naw. It was his dip in the Nburu. It’s all the body needs. Drink it, you don’t need to eat or sleep. Put it on a wound, the wound,” he said, gesturing to his shoulder, “magically disappears. But you wouldn’t know. You’ve been running your water through filters, adding chemicals to it, destroying its essence.”

  Liz and AJ stared in awe, unwilling to believe what they had just witnessed. “Are you sure-“ Liz began, whispering to AJ.

  “That stake was jammed into his shoulder as far as it could go,” AJ confirmed. “There’s just no way…”

  “Talk about miracle cures from the rainforest.”

  “Ah, but this is just the beginning. You’ll see soon enough. The early explorers were right about everything,” Alex said, tapping the weathered old book.

  Liz’s gaze fell to Max’s tomb, and Alex shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking. Sadly, all the water in the Nburu wouldn’t help him now. Once the ticker stops, it’s over.”

  “Can we turn in for a few hours? This has all been a bit overwhelming.” AJ said wearily. He couldn’t imagine sleeping, but he and Liz could use the time alone to hatch an escape plan.

  “Haven’t you been listening? No need for sleep anymore, thanks to water from the Nburu. We’re walking from here on out, and packing light. Two bottles of water each, plus some packs to tote away the treasure.” He wrapped Thompson’s book in its Ziploc and placed it in his back pocket. “Not far now. Not far at all. According to the book, we just follow the waters of the Nburu, and it’ll lead us straight to the land of the Bambada.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Welcome to a special primetime edition of AM Live, with our host, Tanya McBride. Tonight: A famous anthropologist goes missing in a remote, dangerous African jungle. A television crew is dispatched to find him and disappears. Were they sent to their death, sacrificed for the sake of ratings? We’ve got the exclusive report.

  Ned’s heart raced as a montage of images – the show’s open – flooded the screen. Handheld footage imitated the perspective of someone roaming though thick jungle. Superimposed shots of Thompson and other members of the crew faded in and out, followed by dollar signs that popped up when ratings were mentioned. The opening of the show faded to a shot of the somberly lit studio. Inside the control room, Ned said a silent prayer. This was his baby, and fly or fail, his fate was tied to the success of the next hour.

  “It was supposed to be the adventure of a lifetime, the crowning glory of a long and illustrious career that had already garnered him an impressive list of discoveries in remote places around the globe,” Tanya began. “But when anthropologist Lawrence Julian Thompson trekked into central Africa’s Nburu jungle earlier this year, he got much more than he bargained for. The solo expedition was supposed to last two months. Now, nearly six months later, Thompson has yet to emerge from that legendary jungle.”

  She turned to a second camera, which captured her in a tighter frame. “But the story is just starting to get interesting. When the anthropologist was reported missing last month, the Adventure Channel, a cable network based here in New York City, dispatched a crew led by correspondent Max Carrington to try to find him. Now their crew is missing, all contact lost.”

  “Did they fulfill Thompson’s dream and stumble upon the legendary Bambada people, a violent ‘lost tribe’ rumored to possess vast mineral wealth and ‘superhuman’ powers? Or did they meet their end at the hands of a charismatic Australian geologist, a fugitive hiding out in the same jungle who’s wanted for murder? What possesses men like Thompson to risk their lives in pursuit of knowledge or adventure, and should television crews be allowed to exploit them for profit? We’ll answer these questions, and more, after this break.”

  As the program cut to a commercial, Bill Warner grimaced. They were slaughtering him. Not just him, but the very foundation upon which Adventure was built. And if that weren’t bad enough, NBC’s program was no doubt gobbling up Adventure’s share of the audience.

  Exploiting them for profit? The suggestion infuriated Bill. Without Adventure, the adrenaline junkies they profiled would be bagging groceries, saving up for their next madcap quest, and eventually climbing the same mountains and disappearing into the same jungles whether or not cameras were rolling. His programs transformed their wild, often pointless pursuits into noble ventures, turning ski bums into spokesmen and climbers into commodities with fat sponsorship contracts and video games created in their names. It was the same for academics, who got fast-tracked on the funding circuit once they appeared on TV. And yet they had the audacity to claim that Adventure was exploiting them?

  Back from commercial. Bill gnawed on a thumbnail as the hour plowed forward. Anthropologists debated the existence of the Bambada and explorers discussed the perils of traveling in the Nburu. A former girlfriend of Alex Chambers in Australia weighed in on his sanity, and a correspondent in Africa interviewed a dreadlocked local named Abdoulaye who had supplied the team with porters and warned the crew against going. Family members sobbed, complaining about the lack of communication from the Adventure execs, a point Tanya illustrated by replaying excerpts from her interview with Bill and Brenda Billings.

  Mere minutes remained in the program. Just when Bill thought he’d witnessed the full extent of the damage, Tanya returned from the final commercial break.

  “What we’ve witnessed her tonight is a tragedy – a tragedy that could have been prevented. Instead, it was encouraged, cultivated by greedy television executives in pursuit of ratings and ultimately, money.”

  “The Adventure Channel feeds on the drama created when others put their lives on the line. Last year, a cameraman for Adventure lost his life filming in the Himalayas. The year before, a kayaker disappeared while attempting a deadly first descent of a river in Bhutan. Adventure’s cameras were rolling. The network not only finished those documentaries, it used the deaths to publicize the programs, sell ads, and score record ratings as a result.

  “The question we have to ask ourselves as an audience is this: Is it worth it? When we tune in, are we sending a message that it’s okay to risk human lives and exploit death for ratings and profit?” Tanya turned to a camera that framed her in close up. “Thank you for joining us tonight, and a special heartfelt thanks to all those who shared their memories of, and grief for, the people who are missing. This is Tanya McBride for NBC’s AM Live, wishing you all a good night.”

  Bill stared grimly at the screen. The credits rolled. It was over, for now. He flicked off the television with the remote, resistin
g the urge to throw it through the screen instead, and was about to bury his head in his hands when his telephone rang.

  CHAPTER 47

  Dawn found Liz, AJ, and Alex wading through the waist-deep waters of the Nburu. After drinking from the river, they felt stronger than they had since the beginning of their journey, walking quickly and effortlessly through the night.

  “If we ever make it out of here,” Liz began, slogging along.

  “When we make it out of here,” AJ corrected.

  “When we make it out of here. We could make a fortune bottling this stuff. Who needs the Bambada’s treasure when we’ve got this?” Liz said, taking a sip from her water bottle.

  Apparently Alex still did. “Any minute now…any minute,” he whispered, scanning the banks of the river. “A path…we’re looking for a path.” He stopped, pulled Thompson’s battered book out of his pack, opened it to a dog-eared page, and read. “Here it is. ‘A path that bisects a rock face, beside a small trickling waterfall.’ Should be easy enough to recognize. Keep an eye out.”

  They marched for hours, following the riverbank or wading in the river when they needed to cool down. AJ and Liz tried to sneak ahead, eager for a chance to plan their escape out of earshot, but whenever they believed Alex was too far back to hear, he surprised them by adding to the conversation.

  If they’d stopped to listen themselves, perhaps they wouldn’t have been so surprised. The waters of the Nburu did more than cure ills and fulfill the body’s basic needs; it sharpened the senses, amplifying their ability to interpret their surroundings. Tuned in, Alex was the first to hear the distant waterfall that marked the gateway to the Bambada kingdom.

  He barreled through Liz and AJ, nearly pushing them into the water. “This is it! Come on,” he called, impatiently waving them forward with the revolver.

  Driven more by curiosity than fear, they obeyed, following the river until it rounded a bend. There, it suddenly dead-ended in a crystal clear pool that collected at the base of a steep cliff. Water trickled down a smooth, worn section of the cliff, splashing into the pool below.

  All eyes were immediately drawn to the center of the rocky outcrop, where a crack the width of a linebacker divided it in two, creating a trail that burrowed deep into the cliff face, just as the book described.

  Alex whooped, dove into the pool, and swam swiftly across to the trailhead. Pulling himself out of the water, he peered down the path and looked back with a grin.

  “We’ve found it,” he shouted, giggling like a schoolgirl, waving for them to join him.

  “What do you think?” AJ whispered to Liz.

  She knew what he was asking. She considered the river behind them, then Alex.

  “He’ll kill us. He won’t think twice about it.”

  Alex noticed their hesitation. “I invite you to run, but I promise, you won’t get far.” To illustrate his point, he cocked his gun. “A bullet to the brain and even the Nburu can’t help you.”

  AJ shrugged and grabbed her hand. They dove in and swam across the pool, joining Alex on the far side. He pushed them ahead, and one by one, they inched their way down the dark, narrow path until it opened into a shimmering green wilderness.

  Strange, stout trees peppered the new landscape, their branches fat with chestnut-like orbs and fragrant purple flowers. Flowering blossoms replaced thorny vines, and cooing exotic birds and chirping insects provided a soothing, benevolent soundtrack. With Alex’s gun to their back, Liz and AJ could scarcely appreciate the surroundings.

  “Mustn’t linger. The Bambada are waiting,” he whispered, driving them forward.

  Liz and AJ remained guarded, anxiously anticipating a trap in the peaceful jungle. After experiencing the miracle waters of the Nburu, they’d started to believe that the warlike Bambada might, in fact, exist – a threat greater than any Alex posed.

  “Check this out,” AJ said, pointing to his watch. It had stopped, as had Liz’s.

  “Weird,” Liz commented, casting a careful glance around.

  “Smell that?” Alex asked, pushing his way between them once again.

  “Smoke.”

  “That’s right. And where there’s smoke, there’s people.”

  Liz’s first instinct was to turn around and run, but Alex caught her by the arm.

  “It’s the Bambada. Let’s go!” he ordered, motioning them forward as fast as they could go. They ducked under branches, leapt over fallen logs, and tripped over jutting stones, sharpened senses guiding them to the legendary tribe.

  CHAPTER 48

  The red light began flashing on Bill’s phone, catching up to the ring. He waited for Peggy to pick up, then remembered that it was nine o’clock at night and that she was most likely at the bar below, “celebrating” with the rest of the office. He suddenly wished he was with them, and had fortified himself with a few drinks before Tanya’s big finale.

  The phone continued to ring, and Bill stared at it. He’d have to face whoever it was sooner or later. His hand lingered over the receiver, then finally picked it up.

  “Bill Warner,” he mumbled.

  “Bill! Lee here,” the voice on the other end bellowed. Bill’s stomach dropped as he flipped through Lee’s unanswered messages. “Took a chance, thought you’d be there. I would have appreciated a call back.”

  “It’s been a long day, Lee.”

  “You don’t have to tell me about long days. I’ve had my sister on the line all day, asking me about her boy. Now if you have information about him and the rest of the crew that you’re holding back, if you’re playing some sort of game here with the media, I understand. I just need to know,” Lee said sternly.

  Bill rubbed his eyes and tried to think of something to say.

  “Bill? You still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your silence is leading me to believe that everything I saw on television is true. Unless you can give me reason to think otherwise.”

  Bill looked at the glittering awards on his shelf, the stacks of DVD’s containing show after show he’d created, the framed promotional posters designed for the launch of the Adventure Channel, and suddenly realized that he wasn’t ready to give in. He felt a strength welling up inside him, a renewed sense of fight. “It’s not as bad as it seems, Lee. This story has gone network. I bet NBC’s show pulled in ratings we only dream of. When our crew comes back with the tapes, we’re going to have a monster hit on our hands. No one will even-“

  “My nephew could be lying dead out there, and you’re still talking about ratings!” Bill was struck silent by Lee’s bark and the realization of his own insensitivity. Lee continued. “Kin aside, this is a nightmare, a media disaster of epic proportions. Someone’s gotta pay, Bill. Someone’s gotta pay.”

  ***

  Across the city, a champagne cork popped, and a cheer sounded from the crowd clustered in NBC’s studio 1A. Plastic champagne glasses passed from hand to hand, and Ned James squeezed between two burly cameramen to grab one.

  It was hard for him to believe it was over. They’d pulled it off. Less than three days ago, he’d had nothing but a lead. In a little over forty hours they’d produced an hour-long special involving half a dozen correspondents on three continents, and he was at the center of its success. While he’d scarcely slept in three days, adrenaline still surged through his veins. He wanted to celebrate, race through the streets, dance until dawn, but couldn’t find anyone to join him. The other interns simply saw it as more work, and begrudged Ned his success. Friends who didn’t work in the media could never comprehend the significance of the evening, and weren’t worth rousing. The free champagne would probably be the extent of his celebration that night, and sensing as much, he thrust out his nearly empty glass for a refill.

  He ended up with an associate producer credit on the show, not quite as illustrious as co-producer, and one that failed to convey his true contribution to the program. But it was a start. At least they knew what he was capable of, even if others took the cred
it.

  The executive producer silenced the crowd, preparing to make a speech, and Ned’s pulse quickened.

  “I want to thank you all for putting together such a powerful show on one of the tightest deadlines we’ve seen in some time. Each of your contributions was significant and deeply appreciated, and you should all feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment. We’ve produced much more than a top-rated program here – and by the way, they’ve already projected that we’ve won our time slot.” He paused as a cheer went up in the crowd. After a few beats, he held up his hands for quiet. “What’s most important is that we were able to open our audience’s eyes to the exploitive nature of Adventure’s type of programming, and for that you should all be proud. I’d especially like to thank the very lovely and talented Tanya McBride.” He paused as the crowd clapped and Tanya curtseyed. “And,” he continued, pausing as he struggled to retrieve the name, “Neil James.”

  Ned wasn’t sure he’d been complimented until he heard a chorus of voices correct Graham by calling out “Ned,” and felt several hands patting him on the back. Graham continued. “This young intern showed a lot of initiative by uncovering the key facts that made this program possible. He deserves our hearty congratulations.”

  The requisite applause followed, and Ned grinned, absorbing the adulation. He shook hands with a few colleagues, then turned to find Graham standing directly in front of him.

  “Neil,” Graham began, placing a hand on Ned’s shoulder.

  “N- Ned,” he corrected.

  “Right, Ned. Listen, I meant what I said. You did a great job on this project. I know we couldn’t give you the credit you wanted. You understand. It just wouldn’t look right to have an intern score that kind of credit so quickly. But I’ve got my eye on you. Keep up the good work, and it’ll only be a matter of time, I promise.”