Gorilla Dawn

by Gill Lewis

  The police chief reached into a bag slung around his waist and pulled out some papers protected in a clear plastic envelope.

  The White Lioness took them from him and scanned the writing. “Good,” she said. She clicked her fingers for Clarkson to fetch a small briefcase from the helicopter. “Give him the money, and then let’s go.”

  Imara couldn’t take her eyes from the crate. She wanted to grab Kitwana and run, but it was impossible. The White Lioness had hold of Kitwana and she wasn’t going to let him go.

  Clarkson handed the briefcase to the police chief and turned to leave.

  “Wait,” said the police chief. “I need to check it’s all here.” He opened the case. The Black Mamba peered in to see it packed with dollar bills.

  Thunder rolled around the mountain.

  A bright white light lit the sky.

  But it wasn’t lightning.

  It was the automatic flash of a camera.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  imara

  The Black Mamba looked up and squinted into the tree. Rat was already running and pointing his gun into the canopy.

  “It’s the Batwa boy!” he cried. “He has a camera!”

  Imara watched to see Saka fumbling with the camera, trying to keep hold of the branch.

  “Come down before we shoot you down!” roared the Black Mamba.

  “Who is taking photos?” shouted the police chief. “You have spies among you!”

  “Come down!” shouted the Black Mamba, firing a warning shot into the tree.

  Imara watched as Saka scrambled down. She felt sick deep inside. I warned you! screamed the demon. I warned you what would happen!

  The Black Mamba pushed Saka to the ground. “What are you doing?”

  The police chief grabbed the camera and thrust it in Saka’s face. “Where did you get this? Who are you spying for?” He dropped the camera, swung his rifle butt and smashed it, bringing it down, blow after blow. Still not done, he picked up the pieces and threw them into the fire where they crackled and sparked in the heat. Imara watched the plastic melt and buckle. Bobo’s evidence was gone. She glanced at Bobo, but he was staring hard at the ground.

  “Get up,” roared the Black Mamba. He leveled his gun. “I knew I had a spy. Who set you up to this?”

  “No one,” mumbled Saka.

  “Liar!” shouted the Black Mamba, spit flying from his lips. He pushed his face close to Saka’s. “Who are you working with?”

  Rat sidled next to the Black Mamba. “Don’t forget it was Imara who said the boy should live. Maybe they are in this together.”

  The Black Mamba spun around.

  Imara took a step back.

  You fool! Rat knows your weakness. I can’t protect you now.

  “What do you know of this?” said the Black Mamba.

  “Nothing,” said Imara. “It is the powers of the spirits that let him be caught.”

  “She lies,” sneered Rat. “She cares for him.”

  “He is nothing to me,” snapped Imara.

  The Black Mamba narrowed his eyes and Imara bit her lip, sensing she had protested too much.

  Rat leaned closer to the Black Mamba. “Maybe if she chose to give him life, then she can be the one to end it.”

  The Black Mamba took a deep breath and nodded. He handed Imara his rifle. “Do it.”

  Imara stared at the gun.

  “DO IT,” shouted the Black Mamba.

  You see! screamed the demon in her ear. You are losing everything . . . Emmanuel, Kitwana, Saka, and Bobo, too. You have nothing. You are nothing. This is all your fault.

  “IMARA!” The Black Mamba pushed the rifle in her hand. “Kill the boy.”

  Imara lifted the rifle to her shoulder. The demon inside her squirmed and clawed. Do it, just do it. It makes no difference who pulls the trigger. Saka is dead already.

  Imara looked into Saka’s face. His eyes were wide, wide open, staring straight ahead. His teeth were clenched together and his cheeks puffed in and out with shallow quick breaths.

  Rat was sneering beside her. “Do it.”

  Imara lifted the gun higher. It felt heavy in her hands. She couldn’t stop trembling. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. When she opened them, she was looking down the barrel of the rifle at Saka, pointing it right in the middle of his chest.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  imara

  Do it. Do it now.

  Imara breathed slowly in and out, trying to slow time with each breath. She tried to allow her thoughts to settle and block out the demon screaming in her mind. She felt her blood pumping through the palms of her hands. A trickle of sweat traced a downward path along the length of the scar, dripping onto her neck from her chin. The world began to blur and distort. The air became thick and silent. Everything seemed slowed and slurred, as if trapped in time. The woman with the coffee-colored skin walked through her thoughts, between Saka and the end of the gun. Imara blinked. The woman turned and smiled before slipping into the forest and disappearing in the dark spaces between the trees.

  Imara lowered the rifle. “It is not right to do it here. His spirit will infect this land and bring bad luck.”

  “She lies,” said Rat.

  Imara turned to the Black Mamba. “It must be done outside the camp, far away from here.”

  The Black Mamba stared at her.

  Be careful. You have lost his trust.

  “It is the only way,” said Imara. “His ghost will not leave you unless you do.”

  The Black Mamba nodded. “Then do it.” He took back his rifle and turned to Rat. “Take Imara and the boy into the forest and do it there.”

  Imara looked around. The White Lioness was closing the lid on Kitwana in the crate. His arms stretched through the slats of the crate reaching out for her. Imara wanted to run and pull Kitwana away, but there was nothing she could do.

  Rat gave Imara a shove. “Move,” he ordered.

  She turned for one last view of Kitwana before Rat marched her and Saka deep into the forest.

  * * *

  As soon as they were out of sight of the camp, Rat pushed Imara ahead with Saka. “I don’t trust you, Spirit Child. I may as well kill you both. I’ll tell the Black Mamba that you tried to escape. I’ll say you are a spy, too.”

  Rat kept them moving through the forest path until they reached the clearing by the river.

  “Here will do. Now sit, both of you,” he barked. He aimed his gun. “Hands on your heads.”

  Imara sat down on the damp ground next to Saka, knocking her elbows against his as they raised their hands.

  “Good.” Rat smiled. He lowered his gun and leaned against a tree. “Now what I want to know . . . ,” he said, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with one hand, “. . . is who put you up to this?”

  Imara and Saka remained silent.

  “I’ll find out one way or another,” said Rat, breathing smoke into the air. “Who put you up to this?”

  “I did!”

  Rat spun around.

  Bobo stepped out into the light and aimed his rifle at Rat’s chest before Rat had a chance to lift his own.

  “Don’t,” warned Bobo.

  “You haven’t got the guts to shoot me,” taunted Rat. “You’re a coward. A boy pretending to be a man.”

  “Saka, take his gun away,” ordered Bobo.

  Rat reached for the gun, but Bobo fired a shot. It sank into the tree with a dull thunk of splintered wood.

  Saka lifted the rifle from Rat and joined Bobo, leaving Rat curled in fear on the ground.

  Bobo walked in a slow circle around him. “You are the coward. Now you have no gun to hide behind.” He looked across at Imara. “What about you, Imara? Are you going to come?”

  Imara thought about Kitwana. Had the White Lioness left already? Maybe she could get back in time. “My loyalties lie back at the camp,” she said.

  Bobo nodded.

  He turned to Saka. “Let’s go.”

&nb
sp; Imara watched as Bobo and Saka slipped into the forest and were gone. She wanted to run with them, away from Rat and the camp, but the thought of Kitwana held her.

  “You knew,” said Rat.

  “No,” said Imara. “Why didn’t I go with them?”

  “The Black Mamba will not protect you now,” he said.

  Imara glared at him. “And I will tell him how you let them get away. Maybe he will think you are a spy, too. He will not be pleased with you.”

  Imara marched ahead of Rat, desperate to find Kitwana. She hadn’t heard the helicopter yet. Maybe the White Lioness hadn’t left. She imagined Kitwana locked inside the crate, curled in a ball, trying to block out the world. Above, the sky had darkened and a sudden squall of wind whipped the branches, scattering the leaves and twigs. Thunder rumbled in the far distance, a forewarning of the coming storm. Imara broke into a run, her feet sliding on the mud, a living nightmare of three steps forward, and two steps back. Maybe she would be in time, but as she emerged from the trees, the downdraft from the helicopter rotor blades pushed her back, as it lifted up into the sky.

  Imara could see the White Lioness’s pale face staring down at her.

  “Kitwana!” she screamed. She ran through the mud, reaching upward, clawing the air, but the helicopter disappeared into the clouds, taking Kitwana from Imara and the forest, to the Land of Money, far, far away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  imara

  The Black Mamba smashed his fist against a tree. “Bobo and the Batwa boy escaped?” he spat. “There are spies everywhere. We must send men out to hunt them down.”

  Imara thought of Saka. If Bobo stayed with him, they would both be safe. Saka knew the forests; he could slip into the spaces no one else could see. The Mambas wouldn’t be able to find them.

  The police chief paced in circles. “I know the tall boy,” he said. “I remember him now. He is a ranger’s son. His father was the one you killed.” He stopped and pressed his finger on the Black Mamba’s chest. “He knows me. That boy must not get back to the town. At any cost.”

  “Rat,” ordered the Black Mamba, “take men into the forest and don’t come back until Bobo and the Batwa boy have been found and shot.”

  The police chief glanced at his watch. “I need to get back,” he said.

  One of his bodyguards leaned closer. “It is too late to travel, sir. Too risky with the money.”

  The police chief nodded. “We will leave at first light tomorrow.” He turned to the Black Mamba. “We’ll stay in camp tonight.”

  Imara watched the police chief take a seat and settle in the Black Mamba’s cabin. The Black Mamba raged about the camp, kicking pots and pans looking for a quarrel.

  “Bundi,” he bellowed, “why are there no men in the mines?”

  “There is too much water in the mine,” said Bundi.

  The Black Mamba turned on him. “Did I say there is too much water? Get the men back in there.”

  The Black Mamba stormed up to his viewing platform, watching men scrambling down the slopes into the mine.

  Imara slipped away and crept into her hut, half expecting to see Kitwana curled up on her blanket chewing on strips of bark. But her hut was empty. Only the crumpled red dress remained, a reminder of the White Lioness’s promises. Imara picked it up and tore the silk, ripping it with her hands. She didn’t stop until the dress was in shreds of fabric on the floor.

  Imara curled up into a tight ball, bringing her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around herself. She longed to feel Kitwana’s hand grip hers and feel his small body curled up against her. She felt his loss like a deep pain, as if part of her had been torn apart.

  The demon settled inside her. I told you not to let them in, but you did, didn’t you! You didn’t listen. And now they’ve all left you. Why would they stay for you? You have nothing, Imara. You are nothing. No one could love you.

  Thunder rumbled over the mountains, the deep echoes bouncing across the valleys. The storm was getting closer. Imara could feel it through the ground. She willed it to get louder and louder, to drown out the demon and the sound of the scream building up inside her. She wanted the thunder to tear apart the mountain. She wanted it to swallow up the mine, the Black Mamba and everything in it, even her. She wanted to bury it all deep beneath the earth.

  Above the sound of thunder, someone was hammering at Imara’s door. She pulled the blanket from her head to see Rat enter the room.

  He kicked her sleeping mat. “Didn’t you hear the Black Mamba? The White Lioness is coming back.”

  Imara sat up. “Coming back? Why?”

  “There’s bad weather over the mountains, and it’s coming this way. The mzungus will have to stay the night. The Black Mamba said you are to make up some beds in his hut and get food ready for them.”

  Imara pulled on her boots and glanced at Rat. “You are back so soon from the forest. Did you find Bobo and Saka?”

  Rat kicked the door, but avoided Imara’s eyes. “Of course,” he spat. “I killed them both.”

  He lies, whispered the demon.

  Imara smiled inwardly. I know.

  She stood up. “That’s good news,” she said. “The Black Mamba wouldn’t want to hear of their escape.”

  Rat stood in the doorway, grinding his teeth together.

  Imara pushed past him. “Close the door after you. Don’t let the rain in my hut.”

  Above, the sky was coltan gray; the dark clouds sagged closer to the earth. Imara collected charcoal and built up a fire. There was no bush-meat now that Saka had left, so Imara set up a pot boiling with rice and beans.

  All the time, Imara kept her eyes and ears to the sky, waiting for the helicopter. She heard it before she saw it, the low thudding shaking the air, the rotor blades fanning the flames of the fire. She watched it come in to land, swinging in the swirling winds. It landed with a hard bump, the landing skids sliding in the mud.

  Imara left the fire and moved closer. The pilot opened the door for the White Lioness and Clarkson. The White Lioness carefully picked her way across the mud.

  “We will have to stay overnight and leave at dawn,” she said to the Black Mamba. She fiddled with an earring and glanced between the helicopter and the makeshift camp.

  She is scared, whispered the demon. She is stuck here and that frightens her.

  “Where is Kitwana?” said Imara. “I’ll give him his feed.”

  The White Lioness brushed her away. “He’ll be fine in the crate until tomorrow.”

  “He will need his feed,” insisted Imara. “He will get sick otherwise.”

  The White Lioness wiped at the rain on her face and pushed back her hair. Her eye-paint ran in thick black streaks down her cheeks. “Very well,” she snapped. She pulled her coat tighter around her. “It seems I’m going to be stuck here for the night, so where am I expected to sleep?”

  “This way,” said the Black Mamba.

  The wind chased the White Lioness and the Black Mamba into his hut. Imara hurried back to the helicopter. She could see the wooden crate inside, beside the sacks of coltan. The pilot was busy in the cockpit, so Imara hauled herself up into the belly of the helicopter. She scrambled over sacks of coltan to the crate and untied the thick nylon straps holding down the lid. She reached into the crate as Kitwana reached up for her. He pulled himself close to her, curling his fingers around her neck, giving small hoots and groans of relief, trying to press himself into her as if he could become part of her. Imara buried her face into his fur and breathed in the smell of him. He belonged here, to the forest, not to the Land of Money. Whatever happened, she would never let him go again.

  She wrapped him in a blanket and carried him close to her, tying the ends of the blanket around her chest. She walked with him across the cleared ground, the wide puddles, sticky and red with mud. The clouds had sunk lower, pressing down on the camp. It was late afternoon, but the sky was dark. It glowed with deep violet light. The air was charged with electricity and the
promise of a storm. Despite the Black Mamba’s orders, men were leaving the mines for the safety of their makeshift shelters and tented camps. She could see the miners securing their tarpaulins with heavy rocks. Even the Mambas had taken to their shelters. Imara was the only person to be standing outside in the open, with Kitwana clinging to her.

  Above, bolts of lightning chased each other across the sky. Thunder rocked the ground beneath Imara’s feet. She looked across into the Black Mamba’s hut where the White Lioness was hiding from the storm, watching her. Maybe the people in the Land of Money could hide from storms like this. But not here. No one could hide here. Its power made equals of men.

  Imara felt the storm rage within her too. Rain began to fall, hard bullets of water hammering the ground and pummeling her skin. The wind roared through the canopy of leaves. It surged like a vast river of air, the trees bending and groaning beneath its weight.

  Imara knew the whole camp was watching her.

  She stood fast in the middle of the clearing, a lone figure lit up by strobes of lightning.

  Imara threw her head back and raised her arms up to the sky.

  She spread her fingertips out wide and willed the storm to show its power.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  bobo

  Saka didn’t stop until he had led Bobo across two deep ravines to the east side of the mountain. Bobo had heard the shots from the soldiers following them, but the gunshots were always far away. He’d found it hard to keep up with Saka’s steady jog, scrambling over tree roots and ducking beneath vines and branches.

  But Saka knew the animal tracks and the river crossings from his hunting trips into the forests. He had kept up a fast pace even as the light faded and the storm raged above them. The storm had become their protection, allowing them to get away. When it became too dark to see anything at all, Saka pulled Bobo beneath an overhang of rock. The ground was damp, but it was sheltered from the wind and rain. Bobo pressed himself against the rock and wrapped his arms around his knees. Neither of them had spoken since their escape.