by Scott Bergin
Thomas picked up his knife and stuck it back in its sheath. Then he threw the shovel and hammer into the empty duffle bag and looked around again. "Pristine," he thought, "no one would ever know someone was even here." Thomas was not even bothering to think about the fact that no one ever went there anymore. Most of the natives believed that the lake was cursed. Some have even gone on to give it the nickname 'Lake Death'.
As Thomas started to walk back around the lake, strange thoughts began to fill his head. "Magic," he thought, "a fitting title for his bag. There certainly was some type of magic power held in the device it carried." He reached the top of the hill that would leave the lake out of sight, and he stopped. He looked back at the huge lake and thought how strange it was. That within a week, none of this would exist anymore. Then he turned and went over the hill toward the jeep.
Just before three in the afternoon Thomas reached the jeep. He threw his nearly empty duffle bag into the back and climbed into the driver's seat. In the passenger seat was a cooler, and it was full of water. Though not worn out too terribly from the trip, Thomas was glad to get a hold of the fresh quart of water. After a few huge gulps, he poured some on his face and let it run freely onto his light tan shirt. The water mixed with the dust and dirt on his shirt and turned it into mud. He finished off the bottle by dumping the last quarter of it on top of his head. The water ran through his grey hair to the brown roots then down the back of his sunburned neck. He threw the bottle into the back and relaxed. That is when he noticed the sunburn. As well tanned as he was, he always managed to get sunburned. It was as baffling to him as why he could never remember to bring any tanning lotion with him. He could not even remember to bring any tanning lotion with him to the beach, and it was only a few hundred yards from the back of his house. Every time he went to the beach he would forget it, but he would remember it once he got home. Either he would feel the burn, or see the bottle. Thomas wondered if it was the naked and topless women that frequented the beach that had kept his mind off the burn while it happened. None of them were here now, and nothing could take his mind of the burn. It would be a long drive back to civilization, and even longer now with the sunburn. Thomas started the jeep up, and turned it around. Then he drove off to the east, back the way he came. He began the journey that would take him through more than two hundred fifty miles of ruts and back roads. Over the next day he would creep along these ill used trails and snake his way across the countryside, back to civilization.
Chapter 3
April 5
3:30 p.m.
90 Miles Northwest of Yaoundé, Cameroon
Deep in the tropical rainforest of Cameroon, on an abandoned road a lone army truck rolled to a stop. Busanda took a quick look around then backed the truck off the road, toward an almost invisible warehouse. He navigated the truck easily between the huge trees and over the small bushes, as he had done many times before. The truck came to a stop just before a large camouflaged garage door, and Busanda killed the engine. Inside the door a man opened a peep slot. Busanda heard the loud metal clank and gave the proper signal, three taps of the brakes. The man inside saw the three flickers of red light, and signaled others to open the door. After several seconds the door was opened and Busanda was backing the truck through it. Then the door came down as silently as it had opened. Once again the entire establishment became nearly invisible, even though it was a mere two hundred meters off the dirt road that winded its way past. The warehouse was quite large incorporating nearly ten acres. It could remain undetected because it did not disrupt any of the jungle around it. There were huge trees that grew right up through the center of the warehouse. They provided part of the camouflage, by adding to the thick vegetation in the canopy above. Inside the warehouse there was also a series of catwalks, from which one could see almost any part of the warehouse. These catwalks contained snipers who carefully watched the only exit from different angles. The snipers also acted as police to insure that none of the workers tried to make off with any of the warehouse's precious commodities. It was from one of these catwalks ten feet overhead that Busanda could hear the operations manager, Charles Silthe, yelling at him.
"You're two hours late," came the deep booming voice from above. Charles Silthe didn't need the snipers on the catwalk to show his power. His towering height of six foot six and three hundred twenty pounds was more than enough to gain the respect of almost anyone. What was worse was that he didn't need to squash you with his size, he could do it with his voice. That voice was what truly frightened Busanda. He and the other local tribesmen would make jokes about Silthe when they were at home, and far from the warehouse. Some of them did not believe that Silthe was really the son of a tribal leader. How could this be, no one in all of Cameroon was even near his size. Busanda had started the rumor that Silthe was really an agent of the devil, and that his voice came straight from the devil himself.
Busanda looked up and saw the huge black figure making his way down a staircase out of the catwalk.
"I said you're two hours late and you'd better have a damned good excuse," the voice thundered as Silthe walked toward him. Silthe looked around both sides of Busanda, which was easy since Busanda was as thin as a rail.
"Where the hell is Kinnari," he continued, "still hiding in the truck?"
"No, he's dead sir," Busanda muttered.
"Dead, what do you mean dead?" Came the instant response.
"It wasn't the police," Silthe roared. "Tell me you didn't lead the police here."
"It wasn't the police," Busanda said
"Well, what then?" Silthe bellowed.
"An elephant killed him." Busanda replied.
"For god sakes man, don't make me pull it out of you piece by piece. Just tell me what happened out there." Silthe finally hollered.
"Well," Busanda began, "we were out in the bush tracking a bull. It was right where you said you said it would be. We got out of the truck. I handed Kinnari the chainsaw and I took the gun. Kinnari hid in the bushes to the left of the elephant while I lined up the shot. The sight on the gun must have been off or something because," Busanda paused.
"You missed," Silthe interrupted. "And you spooked the elephant into trampling Kinnari."
"No sir," Busanda pleaded. "It wasn't like that at all. Yes, the elephant was spooked, but not by me. Kinnari thought that I had hit him, and he started the chainsaw. That is what made the elephant charge him."
"Why didn't you just shoot the elephant then?" Silthe questioned.
"I only had the one bullet." Busanda said. "I had Kinnari load the gun for me while we were driving there. I guess he thought that I would not miss. So, I had to run back to the truck to get more bullets. By the time I had reloaded the gun the elephant had already reached Kinnari."
"Then he was already trampled?" Silthe asked.
"No," Busanda replied, "he was never trampled."
"Then what happened?" Silthe asked. "You didn't miss and shoot Kinnari, did you?"
"No," Busanda replied. "Please, just let me explain sir."
"Well get on with it." Silthe roared, now growing impatient with Busanda's story.
"Like I was saying," Busanda continued, "by the time I had returned with the loaded gun the elephant had already reached Kinnari, but he had not trampled him. Kinnari was going crazy with the chainsaw, swinging it wildly back and forth trying to fend off the elephant. I couldn't get a clean shot off with him going crazy like that, so I ran closer. When the elephant charged Kinnari, he hit it in the trunk with the chainsaw. He cut through the trunk at the base, and the trunk fell off. I could not believe how insane the elephant became, with its huge severed trunk writhing on the ground like a snake. Before I knew it, the elephant had Kinnari pinned up against a tree. It had stuck its tusks right through his arms. Kinnari let go of the chainsaw and it cut his own leg open before hitting a rock. The chain apparent broke off and hit the elephant in the front leg. The elephant lunged forward, placing one tusk on either side of the tree. It looked like
Kinnari's arms would be torn off behind him, but they didn't."
"What happened next?" Silthe asked in anticipation. Sure it was disgusting, he knew that. It was also the most fascinating story he could recall hearing in months.
"The tusks continued to slide through Kinnari's arms. Kinnari was screaming in unbearable pain as he slid down toward the elephant's stump of a trunk. There was so much blood." Busanda stopped. He didn't feel very well after recalling all that.
"So he bled to death," Silthe said, "What a horrible way to go."
"No sir," Busanda interrupted. He was now leaning on the truck, because he felt like he might throw up again. "The blood was not from Kinnari, it was from the elephant. When Kinnari went sliding down the tusks with his mouth open, the elephant filled it with blood from its stump. By the time Kinnari hit the stump, he had stopped screaming. He drowned on the elephants blood. That is when I shot the elephant."
Silthe was speechless. That was by far the most fantastic story he had ever heard.
"Do you know what the worst part was?" Busanda asked.
"What?" Silthe asked.
"I had to pry my friend off the elephant's tusks." Busanda replied, as he fell to his knees. He felt both saddened and sickened by the whole retelling. Silthe felt sorry for him. He didn't know what to say. If he had said something comforting, it would have been the only time Busanda had heard any kind words come out of the large man's mouth. Silthe lost his urge to be kind when Busanda lost his lunch, right on Silthe's freshly polished leather shoes.
"What did you do with the body?" Silthe asked, shaking the vomit off his shoe.
"I carried it over into the tall grass and burned it." Busanda answered.
"Did you strip him first?" Silthe asked. He wanted to make it as hard as possible for the police to identify the body.
"Yes." Busanda said. "And I covered him in gasoline."
"That is why it took so long," Busanda continued. "Besides, I had to cut off the elephant's tusks with only my pocket knife."
"Your pocket knife?" Silthe looked puzzled.
"Yes," Busanda said. "Kinnari broke the chainsaw when he dropped it, and we had no machete with us today. So I had to do it with my pocket knife. You can bet that I won't forget my machete again."
"We cannot afford to fall behind schedule." Silthe said as he lifted Busanda to his feet again.
"Yes, I know that sir." Busanda responded.
"Good." Silthe said with a nasty looking grin on his face. "Then you will make up for the lost time and lost manpower by doing all of Kinnari's work, and your own."
"Yes sir." Busanda replied humbly.
"And you will repair that chainsaw before tomorrow's hunt." Silthe added.
"Yes sir." Busanda replied, sounding like an obedient dog.
"Eight sets of tusks," Silthe said, and Busanda's eyes widened. Busanda knew that it was impossible to get eight set of tusks in one night, even if Kinnari was still alive.
"No," Silthe said, as he let out a huge belly laugh. He could see by the concern on Busanda's face that he had the wrong idea.
"Eight sets of tusks by the time the shipment leaves, in four days." Silthe said. "But I don't want to see you showing up with those tusks all covered in blood just before we have to move them. I want those tusks here by noon, the day before. That still gives you three full days to get eight sets. Do you think you can handle that?"
"I can sir." Busanda said. It wouldn't be easy, but it could be done. Now Busanda was really beginning to regret throwing up on the bosses fine leather shoes.
"That is exactly what I wanted to hear," Silthe bellowed. "Now get back there and unload your truck. You've got a lot of work ahead of you."
Silthe moved a half step to the side and Busanda turned sideways, sliding between Silthe and the side of the truck. Busanda looked around the warehouse as he walked to the back of the truck. He saw the place for what it was, a factory of death. All around him were people scraping the tusks and cleaning the blood off them. For the first time the place sickened him. The lure of easy money no longer seemed to excite him like it had when he started two years ago. As he began to unload his cargo of blood and bone, he decided that he had to get out of the business. Telling Silthe this would be a nightmare. Busanda decided that he would get Silthe his eight sets of tusks, and that would be it. That would be when he would tell Silthe that he was quitting. Three days and he would be free of this business altogether. "Well," he thought, "maybe four days, Silthe may require help moving the shipment. Four days, then freedom."
Chapter 4
April 6
6:10 p.m.
Waza National Park, Cameroon
"You know we cannot afford that." Alex said as he walked across the bedroom. Gabrielle sat on top of the covers on her bed with her back against the headboard. She threw her head back against the wall, and sighed.
"But, I just have to know how they turned out." She whined.
"And you will." Alex said. Then he tossed a handful of spent rolls of film onto his bed.
"Just as soon as we get back to London," he added.
"Can't we just develop on itty bitty little roll?" Gabrielle held up her hand and pinched her forefinger and thumb together. She was begging again, and Alex hated it when she begged. Not that he hated all the attention and the sucking up. He hated it because he knew he usually caved in. What made it worse was that Gabrielle knew it as well.
"We just can't afford it," Alex paused. "Because Dana would kill us for it." Gabrielle was stumped. There was no denying it. Alex was right. Dana Barlow was the tightest penny pincher either of them had ever worked for. In fact, that was the only down side to working for World Portraits. Dana had been the one to insist that they share a bedroom in a rundown bungalow. She had also been the one to buy them their coach seats on the cheapest airline around. Gabrielle remembered how Dana had specifically stated that they were not to develop any pictures there, because the expense would just be too high. They could not afford to buy the supplies once they got to Africa, and they could not afford to carry the extra luggage either. Dana simply saw these as unnecessary expenses.
"Well then," Gabrielle said "I'll pay for it myself. I just have to know how those pictures came out."
"You should have thought about that before we came here." Alex said, now starting to grin.
"Why? What's the matter?" She asked.
"We can't afford to do that either." Alex said. "We can't exactly go traipsing off to the nearest developing center, that could waste more than a day. We also can't have the equipment brought here, we'd be gone by the time it arrived." Alex was satisfied, because she was beginning to give up hope.
"I know." Gabrielle confessed. She slid her feet down the bed until she was lying on her back starring at the ceiling. Alex sat down on his bed, next to the rolls of film. His full weight made the mattress sag heavily and the film rolled up against his jeans. He looked over at Gabrielle's bed to see if it was sagging as much, that is when he noticed she was pouting. He liked her pouting a lot more than her begging. It was far more entertaining to watch, and when it was over he didn't feel like he had lost anything. In fact, he often gained from it. It gave him the opportunity to do two things that he had enjoyed very much, to pick on her and to cheer her up. His reward was most often in the form of a friendly hug. Alex got back up off his bed and walked the few steps across the room.
"I just wanted to be sure they we're really good, that's all." Gabrielle complained. Alex sat on the bed beside her. Her bed was far more firm than his. It barely sagged at all with his weight on it, and hers. He wondered how he could get her to switch beds, or if she would notice if he was to switch mattresses while she was in the shower.
"Are you going to pout for the rest of the time we're here?" He asked sarcastically.
"Sure," came the quick, and equally sarcastic, reply. "I can pout for four more days."
"Can I be serious with you for a minute?" Alex asked cautiously.
"Sure," Gabrielle
replied. "I'll time you." She held up her arm and poised her hand next to the narrow watch that dangled on her thin wrist. She positioned her arm so that Alex couldn't see her starting to smile.
"You know," Gabrielle continued. "If you can last for ninety seconds it will be a new record for you." Then she started to laugh. She couldn't hold it in any longer.
"I'm sure the photos turned out wonderful." Alex said, sensing her lightening up. "I've seen your work a hundred times, you've got nothing to worry about." That was far from true. Dana Barlow stinginess made her a danger to anyone's career that worked for her. If there was something wrong with those photos, the trip would be worthless. If that were true, then her career could be in the toilet. However, Dana Barlow didn't know the first thing about photography, she only knew what she liked. They had both wondered what made her start a magazine in a field she knew so little about. They could take a hundred excellent photos, and she could hate them all. Or they could be embarrassed to show her one that she would end up loving. Once Gabrielle had double exposed a roll of film. The result was a bobcat more than three times the normal size walking in front of Buckingham Palace. While they were deciding what to tell Dana, she unexpectedly walked in. To the surprise of both of them, she loved the photo. They tried to explain that such cheap antics could not possibly be put into any respectable magazine, and they begged her not to print it. A couple of weeks later, the photo appeared in the tabloids with the headline "Mutant Stray Seeks Revenge on Queen." The worst part was that they were given credit for the photography. Alex and Gabrielle were outraged. Dana simply stated that it paid a lot of the bills, and got free publicity for the magazine. They hated being sold out like that. They also hated the fact that they now had people buying their magazine in the hopes of seeing other equally bizarre photographs. Gabrielle feared that she would only be known for her flawed work. As a result, she was planning not to let Dana see anything that was not of the high standard she hoped to become known for. This led to Dana insisting that all the developing be performed in London, under her staff's supervision.