Outbreak

by Chris Ryan

  'You can't leave it like that,' the smaller man said. 'It's even more dangerous when it's injured.'

  The tall man shrugged, then took aim again. The second bullet hit the gorilla in the head, and she lay still. He nodded with satisfaction that the danger they had encountered had been eliminated. 'Come on,' he told his colleague. 'We can't be far behind them.'

  He turned and left the body of the gorilla, the smaller man following reluctantly behind.

  'What was that?'

  Ben and Halima had both stopped in their tracks at the sound of the loud bang echoing through the forest. Ben found himself breathing heavily. 'It sounded like a gun.'

  'Suliman's men?' Halima asked.

  Ben nodded. 'Probably. Whoever it was, I don't think we want to bump into them. We need to keep moving.'

  They upped their pace, both of them casting the occasional nervous look behind them.

  As the day wore on and the two friends grew more tired, the trees became thicker, the foliage denser and greener. It was impossible to move silently through such terrain and Ben found himself becoming accustomed to the swishing sound as the leaves brushed past his ears, and the occasional crunch as dead wood broke underfoot. Soon, however, he became aware of something else. A different sound. 'Stop a minute,' he said to Halima. They stood still, then smiled at each other as they both realized that it was the sound of running water. And it was close.

  Their pace quickened, the prospect of quenching their thirst giving them a new energy. Suddenly they burst through the edge of the trees to find themselves on a wide river bank. Ben blinked as his eyes got used to the sudden light after the relative darkness under the rainforest canopy, his thirst forcing him to ignore everything around him other than the river ahead. The river itself was wide – too wide to cross, certainly – and fast-moving. Wild with thirst, Ben ran to the water's edge and bent down to scoop it up in his hands.

  'Wait!' he heard Halima calling behind him.

  Ben spun round to look at her. She was gesturing at him to walk back towards her; perplexed, he did as he was told. Suddenly he heard a sound behind him, and without knowing why he jumped away, further towards Halima. 'Attention! ' she shouted, lapsing momentarily into French. 'Be careful!'

  When he finally turned round to see what it was, he was very glad indeed that he had got out of the way.

  Half in the water, half out, was a crocodile. It was small, perhaps only half-grown, but even without seeing its whole body Ben could tell that it was at least as long as him, if not longer. It lay there, dead still. Ben's heart stopped, and he found himself paralysed by the terrifying presence of the lizard-like creature, which seemed to be grinning at him, staring with lifeless, flat eyes. Slowly, and without making any sudden movements, Halima bent down and picked up a long branch from the ground. She held it out towards the croc. 'If it attacks,' she whispered, 'we must go for the eyes. Or deep into the back of its throat, if that is what it comes to. They say that will make the jaws open.'

  'They say?'

  'Few people survive an attack from a crocodile.' Halima's voice was taut and tense. 'At least not from a full-grown one. This one is young. Maybe it is not so sure of itself. We are lucky.'

  Ben didn't feel very lucky. He saw one of the crocodile's front claws moving slowly.

  'The adults will not be far behind.' Halima scanned down the length of the river. A few hundred metres away, it curved to the right, but before it did so Ben could see with a squint that there was a herd of animals drinking from the waterside. From this distance Ben couldn't see what they were, but they looked from here not unlike young horses. 'See,' Halima stated. 'They come to drink where it is safe. We need to get there.'

  They stepped slowly backwards along the river bank, Halima still keeping the branch outstretched towards the crocodile. Once they were a good ten metres away, and much to Ben's relief, the reptile twisted its body round and disappeared smoothly below the water. There was something about the way it moved that filled Ben with revulsion, and he found himself praying that they would not encounter another of those terrifying and deadly beasts. He glanced glumly across the water: there was no way of knowing what it was hiding.

  The riverside was covered with smooth pebbles that crunched lightly underfoot as they made their way towards the animals that were still drinking by the water's edge. Ben's eyes kept flicking to the river to check for sudden movements, but he was also becoming increasingly intrigued by these horse-like animals. The closer he got, the more he realized they were not like anything he had ever seen. They were shorter in length than horses, squatter, and their backs arched upwards to make them look more like miniature giraffes than anything else. They were brown in colour, all apart from their legs, which had the characteristic black and white markings of the zebra. 'What are they?' Ben asked hoarsely.

  'Okapi,' Halima replied, a mysterious smile on her face.

  'What?'

  'Okapi. It is rare to see them. Very rare. The men hunted them for bushmeat, and now there are very few left. But if they are drinking here, it is more likely to be safe for us.'

  They approached the okapi tentatively. There were eight of them, standing in pairs. Insects, unrecognizable to Ben, were buzzing around their heads, but it seemed not to worry them. As Ben and Halima came nearer, a couple of them stopped drinking and looked in their direction, inclining their heads slightly and displaying no fear. Clearly they were as unused to humans and the harm they could cause as humans were to them. Ben and Halima stood quietly, waiting for the animals to become accustomed to their presence, which they soon did, bending down once more to continue drinking. Halima nodded at Ben. 'You sure the crocs won't attack us here?' he asked her.

  Halima shrugged. 'Nothing is sure,' she said.

  Typical Halima, Ben thought. But his throat hurt from dryness and his whole body was screaming at him to drink, so he and Halima took their places by the waterside to begin slaking their desperate thirst.

  Ben cupped his hands and nervously dipped them into the water; it was cool and clear, and when he took his first gulps he could feel his body absorbing the precious liquid like a piece of blotting paper dipped into a bottle of ink. After that first taste, nothing could stop him and he abandoned caution as he drank deeply. It took at least ten handfuls of water before his thirst even began to be slaked, and he continued drinking for a long time after that, knowing full well that it could be some time before they found drinkable water again, and silently cursing that they had no means of carrying any with them.

  When he could physically drink no more, he stood back from the river bank. The okapi had wandered further down, and Halima was sitting on a boulder, her face and hair wet, her eyes lingering on Ben. It struck him for the first time how pretty she was. 'Best drink I ever had.' Ben smiled at her.

  Halima looked slightly bashful.

  'I'm starving now, though,' he continued. 'Perhaps we could try and catch some fish?'

  Halima's face became serious once more. 'I'm hungry too, Ben. Some fish would be good, and I know of berries we could collect; if we crush them and sprinkle them on the surface of the water, they will make oxygen and attract the fish. But I don't think we should risk it. I think we should get away from the river now. Crocodiles are not the only dangerous things that live here. And I have seen people being carried away just by the current near the village.'

  Ben raised an eyebrow. 'You mean the river passes by where we're headed?'

  'Of course. It is where the village gets its water.'

  'Then why don't we just follow the bank? I know it probably meanders a bit, but wouldn't that be safer than risking losing our sense of direction in the rainforest?'

  'No,' Halima replied shortly. 'I do not think that would be a good idea.'

  'Why not?' Ben started to feel a sudden anger rising in him. Why was it that every time he suggested something, Halima shot it down in flames?

  'Because I know the path the river takes, and our journey will be twice as long if we
follow it.'

  'But-'

  'And because the rains are coming soon. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. When they come, we do not want to be near the river. It will flood, and we will be carried away with it.'

  Ben fell silent.

  'Ben' – Halima looked honestly into his face – 'I am not at home here. But I think perhaps I know the ways of the forest better than you, and I know what it will be like when the rain falls. You have to trust me.'

  She lowered her eyelashes a little. 'If it were not for you, I would be dead. I understand that. But we have to get away from the river. It attracts all kinds of animals, not just peaceful ones like these okapi.'

  Ben knew she was right. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Come on, let's keep moving. We can't waste time getting back to the village.'

  And so, slightly regretfully, they plunged back under the canopy of the forest and continued in what they hoped was an easterly direction.

  The afternoon wore on, and Ben soon forgot the delicious sensation of not being thirsty as his mouth started to dehydrate once more. And as time passed, the sense of panic he had felt as soon as they had entered the forest started to increase. It didn't take much soul-searching for him to realize what was causing it. Darkness was approaching once more, and he did not relish having to spend another night in the pitch blackness.

  Halima seemed to be more on edge too. 'Won't be long till dark,' Ben said to her, wondering if she was feeling nervous for the same reason.

  She barely responded.

  'What's the matter?' Ben asked.

  Halima stopped. 'You will think I'm foolish.'

  'No I won't,' Ben urged, unsure what she meant. 'I promise.'

  Halima looked around her. 'If we are where I think we are, we will soon be entering areas sacred to the ancestors.' The noise of the forest seem to subside a bit as she spoke. 'They say it is haunted. I am afraid to spend the night here, but we have no other choice.'

  Ben felt a coolness down his back, and he took Halima by the hand. 'We'll be all right,' he told her with a confidence he did not fully feel. 'We've been OK so far, haven't we?'

  Halima smiled weakly, and it was obvious she was putting a brave face on her worries. They stood hand in hand in silence for a moment, each trying to derive some comfort from the presence of the other.

  Suddenly there was a scream.

  It was the scream of a man, and it was not far away.

  Ben and Halima crouched down by the nearest tree. 'What was that?' Halima whispered, her voice wavering.

  Ben was lost in thought. The gunshot earlier, now a scream. This was not a populated area – it could only be one of Suliman's men, and from what they had heard, it meant that they must be incredibly close. Every instinct howled at him to stay still, hidden; but perhaps there was another way. Perhaps that scream meant that one of them at least had met some misfortune. If that was the case, they might be able to take one of the Kalashnikovs. He understood what Halima had meant about respecting the jungle, but he would feel a lot safer with a gun in his fist. 'Wait here,' he whispered to Halima. 'I'm going to go and see what it was.'

  'I don't want to stay by myself,' Halima breathed. 'I'm coming with you.'

  As silently as they could, they set off in what they thought was the direction of the scream.

  It only took a minute to discover what was going on. Hiding behind a lush thicket, they saw a clearing in the middle of which was a tall rubber tree. Daubed on the tree in orange dye was some kind of intricate symbol; and at the tree's foot, in a ramshackle pile, were the bones of an animal. In front of it, frozen with terror, was one of Suliman's men, unable to take his eyes off the symbol. His gun was strapped around his back.

  Ben and Halima stayed perfectly still, scarcely daring even to breathe. As they crouched behind their camouflage, the second man – taller and with a nasty scar on his face – burst into the clearing from the other side. He spoke harshly to his accomplice in Kikongo, and the smaller man responded by pointing at the symbol and the bones.

  The taller man gave him a look of disgust. He strode up to the tree, pulled a knife from his belt and hacked two savage cuts into the bark across the symbol. Then he kicked the pile of bones, scattering them around the forest floor, before speaking once more and dragging his friend away from the clearing and into the trees, unaware that their quarry was watching them only a few metres away. As he did so, Ben saw something fall to the ground.

  They remained still and silent for several minutes, until the sound of the men moving noisily through the bush had long faded away. Only then did they dare speak. 'What was all that about?' Ben asked, his voice hushed.

  Halima's face was shocked. 'It is a symbol of sacrifice.'

  'A what?'

  'Someone has performed a sacrifice to the ancestors here. A goat, probably.'

  'But who would come all this way into the forest just to do that?'

  'I told you,' Halima replied. 'This area is sacred to the ancestors. It would be a powerful spell to make a sacrifice here.'

  'Then why was he so scared? What made him scream?'

  Halima looked sombre. 'Perhaps because he knows that what he is involved in is an insult to the ancestors.'

  The two of them looked at the ramshackle pile of bones for a few silent moments.

  'He dropped something,' Ben remembered. Gingerly, the two of them stood up and crept to the centre of the clearing. On the ground, just where the man had been standing, was a small pocket compass. Ben picked it up and used it to get his bearings. 'I think we've been going in the right direction,' he murmured, almost to himself. He flashed a momentary grin at Halima. 'Maybe your ancestors aren't such tricky customers after all.' He smiled. 'Maybe they've been giving us a helping hand.'

  But Halima did not smile back. Her eyes were fixed on the symbol and the sacrifice. 'They should not have done what they did,' she intoned. 'Terrible things will happen to them. And to us, perhaps, for failing to stop them.' Ben instantly regretted his flippant remark.

  She turned to him. 'Night is falling,' she said. 'I have no wish to remain here. Let us find somewhere else.'

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Having already spent one night in the jungle, Ben was used to certain things: the increased activity just before nightfall, the sudden and relative silence once the light had faded. But nothing, he thought, would ever make him get used to the complete and utter blackness.

  He was hungry too, he realized once they halted for the night. Achingly hungry. But he knew better than to suggest to Halima that they forage for food; if she had seen anything edible, she would no doubt have pointed it out. And Ben wasn't likely to start eating strange berries and vegetation out here without knowing what they were. He'd just have to get used to the constant clamours of his stomach for food.

  As soon as the blackness descended, his ears became superbly sensitive to every sound, and the dangers near and far became magnified in his mind a hundredfold. Every rustle was a silverback gorilla; every slither a black mamba rearing up to attack. He found himself unable to lie down, remaining instead in a sitting position, his arms held firmly around his knees.

  'Are you awake?' Halima's voice was close and comforting.

  'Yeah.'

  Silence.

  'Halima?' Ben said after a while. 'What was it like when your parents died?' As soon as he asked the question, he realized that it might have been somewhat insensitive. 'I mean… you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just wondered.'

  Halima thought before answering. 'It was like a nighttime that did not end,' she said quietly. 'They suffered very much. You are thinking of your father, yes?'

  'A bit,' Ben said in a small voice.

  'He is not African,' Halima said with sympathy. 'My parents were thin and often ill. He is stronger. Maybe he will survive.'

  'Maybe.' Ben had seen the desperate state his dad had been in before he left. He wasn't convinced. 'Do you think Abele will be OK?' he asked, to change the subject.

  'If what
you say is true, Ben, I do not think anybody will be OK.'

  She was right. Even if they succeeded in raising the alarm – and that was a big if – the village would have to be isolated. Nobody would be allowed in or out until the virus had run its course, killing those who were susceptible to it, sparing those who weren't.

  Aside from being jungle-weary, Ben felt well enough; but he knew that that didn't mean a great deal.

  'Abele can take care of himself,' he stated. Of that, at least, he was reasonably confident.

  Abele was cold. He didn't understand why, as it was such a warm night. He watched his hand shaking in the dim light.

  The wooden hut with its corrugated-iron roof in which he found himself would have been as dark as the rainforest had it not been for the smoky yellow light of a single candle. As night fell, Abele had thought it strange that he was being given this small creature comfort, but he soon understood that it was not out of concern for his well-being; it was so that, if they needed to check on him in the night, he would not be able to attack them under the cloak of darkness. If the glow of the candle from beneath the door disappeared, they told him, they would open up and fire randomly into the hut. And they said it like they meant it.

  The door was locked – he knew that because he had heard the clunking of the padlock after he had been shut in – and he had heard the Kalashnikov-toting guard being relieved of his duty and replaced by someone else. How long ago that was, he couldn't tell. He knew there was no point calling out – down here, on the outskirts of the mine, there was no one to hear him – so he stood still, his brow furrowed in silent fury. Occasionally he would pace up and down the room to stop his limbs from becoming stiff. But only occasionally.