by Nancy Burkey
“So it stands to reason that this is a long shot. And if it actually works, great—you get your friends out in a prisoner exchange and you’re a hero. But if not, then what? It’s certainly not going to just go away easily, not for you or for them. No, it’ll be a battle until the end, won’t it? You get taken prisoner, or killed, but either way”— she dismissed the difference with an airy wave—“you get the attention of the international press, and that’s the point. You may even be a heroic martyr to boot.”
Zuka stood up. Jane avoided looking at his face. She chose to watch his arms, his chest now moving rhythmically with his quickened breaths.
“I’m not interested in being a hero,” he said. “I’m not doing this for myself.”
“No, of course not.” She stepped back. “I suppose you’re just desperate.”
He was on her before she knew it. “Who says I’m desperate?” He tightly gripped her arm, pulled her body in.
He was braced for a struggle, had clearly expected her to pull away, to resist. She forced herself to relax, let her body stand effortless next to his. She glanced down at his hand wrapped completely around her upper arm, his fingers resting inadvertently against her breast, then looked up and into his eyes. She could taste his breath.
Zuka let go and stepped back.
Jane laughed. She turned toward the stove, where she’d left Jake’s water bottle. She might as well take it to him. She’d planted a seed, accomplished as much as she could for now, and—
Zuka grabbed her again. He twirled her around to face him, clutched her by both arms, and pulled her against him. His tongue entered her mouth.
It took her a minute to realize that she was being guided toward his hut. He stopped to kick the door where Japera slept.
“Your shift!” he yelled. He held her until they could hear movement inside, a grunt of acknowledgment. Then he nodded toward his own hut. She pulled him close and kept his attention away from her awkward gait. As they mounted the stairs to his hut she could feel the scalpel that lay just inside the sole of her right shoe.
“Michael, come out here.”
He popped his head out from inside his sleeping bag, scowling. The nerve of this guy. Japera banged on the door with something solid.
“Michael?” He waited a few minutes before opening the door. Japera stuck his head in and glanced around. “I need some help gathering wood.”
“Too bad.” Michael slipped back into the sleeping bag. He could hear Japera walk into the hut and stand over him. He waited. Nothing. Finally he reemerged. “What are you going to do? Shoot me?”
Japera’s brow furrowed. “No.”
“Why not? You’re the one with the gun.” He stared at Japera’s rifle.
Japera looked down at his side as if seeing the gun for the first time. He looked back at Michael.
Michael watched the sadness move across Japera’s face. He didn’t care. They had been friends—sort of, or so he thought. It all seemed crazy now. What could he have been thinking? He hated Japera for letting him think any such thing, hated himself more for believing it.
Japera glanced around the room. He seemed startled by Jake, who lay facing away from them on his bunk, curled up and holding his forehead with both hands.
Michael sat up. “Leave him alone.”
Japera walked over and sat on Jake’s bunk. Michael could see the perspiration on the back of Jake’s neck. Japera pulled down the top of his sleeping bag and grabbed the bottom of Jake’s shirt.
“I said, leave him alone.” Michael jumped up and stood in front of Japera. “Don’t you dare touch—”
Michael gasped when he saw Jake’s back. Japera had lifted his shirt to reveal a blotchy red rash extending all the way to Jake’s waist. Japera ran out of the room before Michael could stop him. He returned a minute later with Jake’s water bottle.
“Drink all of it.”
“It all just comes back up.”
“So take in twice as much as comes out.” Japera waited until Jake had finished half the bottle, then turned to leave. “I’ll boil more water,” he said. “But I’ve got to get wood first.” He started out the door.
“Japera?”
Japera stopped and waited, not facing him. Michael took a deep breath. He hated needing anything from Japera.
“Do you know…what’s wrong with him?”
“It’s dengue.” There was no uncertainty in his voice.
“What?”
“Dengue fever.”
“You know, the last time I saw dengue fever in San Francisco was—oh, I remember now—never. Because we don’t have these damn diseases that—”
“Michael.” Japera looked down at the ground before he spoke. “I’m sorry I can’t do what you want. I can’t help you.”
“Can’t? Can’t? Don’t you mean won’t? Your brother’s in jail and now mine’s going to die. How does that get either of us anywhere?” He was near tears and knew it. He sucked in a deep breath and held it. He didn’t want Japera to see him cry.
“He won’t die.”
“You know that?”
“He needs lots of water, clean water. We…” Japera swallowed hard. “I need to boil water.”
He reached for the door but didn’t open it. They both stood just a few feet away from each other, not speaking. Finally Michael turned to Jake.
“I’ll be right back. I’m going to get wood for the fire.”
Michael kept his distance, almost daring Japera to rein him in. He welcomed the confrontation that didn’t happen. On his second trip to the wilderness area outside camp, he leapt across a small creek and found a good supply of wood. He gathered a load into his arms and was about to head back when he spotted something—no, someone. No, a dead someone, lying just yards from where he stood. Curled up, half buried in leaves, was a body. Michael jumped back and dropped the wood.
It took only a few seconds before he recognized the clothes. He walked slowly forward and gagged. Lorenzo’s corpse lay at his feet. Michael looked quickly around. As far as he could tell, he was alone. He stood still, not moving, listening. He heard nothing. He backed away from the body and began picking up the wood he’d dropped.
He looked again at Lorenzo. The scarf—why did he have their mother’s scarf draped over his face? Her bandana, the one she’d used back at the beach to wrap Paul’s leg. The last time Michael had seen it was when they were hiking through the woods to the Safari Lodge. Had he seen it recently? He wracked his brain, couldn’t remember. If Paul had dropped it, Lorenzo couldn’t have picked it up. He was in front with Thabani for the entire distance. Zuka had taken up the rear, but it didn’t make sense that he would have picked it up and given it to Lorenzo.
He walked up to Lorenzo’s body, knelt down on one knee. The bandana was placed carefully across Lorenzo’s face. It was an act of respect, not likely to have been done by whoever killed him. Michael looked around the forest again, still silent.
CHAPTER 24
Jane reached over the side of the bed, swept the floor with her fingers, back and forth. She kept her breathing slow and steady, but Zuka sighed loudly next to her. She waited a few seconds before resuming her search, moving her arm methodically in the pattern of an imaginary grid. Where were her shoes? She’d placed them precisely within reach only hours ago.
Had Zuka inadvertently kicked them under the bed? She scooted her body to the edge and leaned over to look under it.
Just then Zuka sat up.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, I was just going to the bathroom.” She tried to calm the tremor in her voice.
He stared at her a moment, then at the door that would be her exit to the bathroom in the main lodge. He leaned down and picked up her sneakers from his side of the bed.
“You’ll need these.”
Could he feel the difference in weight of the left one? A faint smile crept across his face. Or was it a smile? It certainly wasn’t infectious, not the kind that pulls you in as if there’s a bond between two
people. No, this was more evaluative, like he knows something he’s not sharing—stop it. She was reading too much into it.
“Sorry, I tried to be quiet.”
“I have to get up anyway.” He pulled on his pants quickly and was out the door.
Jane lay back, acutely aware of the nakedness of her body that lay on top of the open sleeping bag. It was as if it were not her own, something just used for a purpose. By him? No, by her. And the risk to herself? She didn’t want to think about it, not now. Later. She closed her eyes. Now what? Had he figured out her plan and thwarted it? Doubtful. She took the scalpel out of the shoe. He wouldn’t knowingly have given it back to her. She looked at the blade. Could she really slit someone’s throat?
Not someone’s. His. She stared up at the ceiling, pictured Zuka that day on the beach, pictured him running on the sand to the western jetty after shooting Baruti, saw him raise his rifle as Rick tried to cross the river. That was the man she had to kill—not the man she’d had sex with last night.
She looked around the room, bare except for the clothes thrown in a pile in the corner—her own mixed with his. How quickly the repartee, the disdain, the contempt had turned around. At first it had been a challenge to play the part of the seductress to this man she so loathed. She’d had to deny so much, take herself out of her own reality. She had to see him as passionate rather than brutal, intriguing rather than terrifying. This role called for her to match his strength, his power, his forcefulness.
But it was herself, not Zuka, she’d found most confusing. With him she had been something different—her own performance so foreign, so dissociated from her sense of self. Maybe even exotic at times. She shuddered. Nobody had ever used ‘exotic’ to describe Jane. Balanced, capable, bright, maybe. But never exotic.
A slight breeze entered the cracked window, mixing the fresh jungle aromas with his smell, their smell. She took in a deep breath before stopping herself—what was she doing? She pulled the sleeping bag over her body and put her hands over her face. This man was a murderer. He’d killed Rick and now held her and her sons hostage. Had she let herself get so swept up by whatever Zuka stirred in her to have forgotten why she was there? Or worse, had she delayed too long, allowed him to wake up before she carried out her plan? No. She was trying to find the shoes when he sat up…She clawed at her scalp.
She turned, grabbed the blade, and brought her thumb sideways down the edge so as to assess the sharpness without cutting. She pictured the act, forced herself to walk through it one more time in her head. The incision would need to be deep. Cutting the jugular vein would be easier, the carotid artery more decisive. Zuka’s obvious ability to overpower her if given the smallest chance required her to be quick and thorough, no room for hesitation. It had to be over immediately.
She focused on the last moments. In the time it took for him to bleed out, his hands would be on her, his grip struggling for his life, or at least struggling to end hers. She looked back at the blade. Was it sharp enough to penetrate the trachea? Hard to tell, it was a short blade.
She flashed on the instruction she’d received as a med student. Palpate the trachea, feel for the soft spaces between those hard, impenetrable bands, and stab quickly for a life-saving tracheotomy. The casing of a ballpoint pen could do it, or so the story went. She never knew anyone who’d actually tried. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t have time to palpate his throat. If the blade didn’t glide through his trachea with one quick movement as she passed through the artery, she’d need to reenter the other side of his throat to get the second carotid—and by that time he’d have her.
Maybe one would be enough.
She slipped the scalpel back inside her shoe and began to get dressed. She tried to reassure herself that she hadn’t blown her best opportunity. It was a hard sell. Returning had not been part of her plan, but—
The door swung open. Zuka stood poised to enter, which he did not. He watched. Jane instinctively turned away to button her blouse. He laughed. She turned to face him, glaring. It was not her intention to challenge his right to be there, his right to take whatever he wanted at any time—after all, it wasn’t his anger she was pulling for.
But she had to work at it. The moment he saw her as easy or sleazy, if he thought she wanted him, that was the moment he’d lose interest. Her role was clear—strong, challenging, and slightly defiant. She needed him to want her again, and soon.
Zuka tilted his head back, standing with one leg up on the threshold, his rifle slung over one shoulder. In the cat and mouse game of sexual interest, he clearly saw himself as the catch. Given his physique and natural poise, it was likely a role he was used to.
She tried not to see beyond this as she slipped on her shoes—tried to ignore all the other thoughts about him that had occupied her mind before that night. The sun was coming over the eastern horizon, and the others would be out soon. There was something about their unspoken pledge of secrecy that heightened the tension and, she hoped, the desire.
He brushed past her to the one remaining piece of furniture in the room other than the bed. It was a nightstand with a single drawer and large open space underneath. He took out matches to start the morning fire in the stove. It was then that she noticed her medical bag, barely visible in the back of the nightstand.
Zuka motioned for her to walk out in front of him, not so much from politeness as necessity given the tight quarters. She stepped back out of his way and allowed him to pass instead. He frowned. Quickly she reached under her shirt as if to readjust her bra before venturing outside. He hesitated a moment, then took the hint.
As soon as he was gone she knelt next to the nightstand and riffled quickly through the bag. It took her a few moments to find the bottle she needed.
Jane wiped down Jake’s forehead with a damp rag. He didn’t have any energy. He had a relentless fever and hadn’t been out of bed all day. She smiled at him, his eyes weren’t completely glazed over.
“Here, just a little more.” She lifted the spoon.
He shook his head and lay back down.
“You’re keeping it down better today,” she said. He’d told her he still felt nauseated, that his head still pounded, but at least he hadn’t thrown up.
Jake whispered something inaudible and turned over.
“Japera says it’s dengue fever,” Michael said. Jane hadn’t seen him come in. “But he’s not a doctor, what does he know?”
She nodded. Maybe. The Africans would have seen a lot of it. She got up and sat over on Michael’s bed. She decided to leave Jake alone, let him get some rest.
“I know you’re angry with him, but you need to stay close. Pick up any information.”
Michael shrugged. He sat down next to her. “Mom, whatever happened to that blue bandana of yours?”
She glanced over at her bag, then remembered. “I used it on Paul’s leg back at the beach. If he still has it, it’s probably all bloody. If you want a bandana, I’ve got two others in my bag. One’s red, one’s yellow. Take your pick.”
“If he had dropped it on the hike to here, would Lorenzo have picked it up? Could he have it?”
Jane got up, rummaged through her bag, held up the yellow bandana. “Just take this one.”
He took it but seemed reluctant.
Why on earth? Michael had never cared much about style or color. If he closed his eyes ten minutes after dressing, he probably couldn’t tell you what he was wearing. Jake, on the other hand—
“Thanks, Mom. But if Paul dropped it, the blue one—wasn’t Lorenzo in front of us the whole time? And he had no more contact with Paul, right? He stayed in that hut until he escaped.”
“Right.” She’d decided not to tell the boys what Shelly had said about Lorenzo. It was better that they hold on to the hope that he might bring help. “I’m not sure how long it will take him—”
“I was thinking about that. Thought we’d better keep working on things here.” Michael got up to leave, then turned back. “Mom, I think
you should stay away from Zuka.”
She swallowed hard—some decisions aren’t made by committee. “Michael, I have to—”
“Not with him.” He wouldn’t look at her. “We have to come up with a better plan. If you don’t, I will.” He was out the door.
Jane watched him walk up to Japera. They sat on the picnic table talking for a few minutes before Japera got up to make his rounds of the periphery. Michael shook his head and motioned toward Paul’s hut. He rose and walked in that direction, but as soon as Japera was out of sight, Michael turned back to the stove. He kicked at the smoldering embers, bringing on a sudden flare of sparks. Then he picked up a stack of wood and ran with it behind Paul’s hut. He came back for more, reducing the pile to less than a quarter of what it had been.
Strange. She’d ask him about it later.
CHAPTER 25
Katura retreated to her room. She told Changa she had some reading to do. The truth was she found it hard to think while he was around. She shut the door and flopped on the bed. If Japera wasn’t trying to enlist help at the Mana Pools hideout, then where was he? Zuka obviously knew they weren’t going there, but did Japera? He had seemed willing to follow that guy anywhere.
A week ago all she knew of Zuka Sibanda was that he’d been arrested with Tafadzwa. In fact, she and Japera had thought he was still locked up with their brother when they went to find Zuka’s father for help. Everything changed after that.
That’s it. She grabbed her soccer ball, but was jolted by the loud sound of drilling. She listened for a few minutes, then opened the top drawer of her dresser—
Where was it?
She emptied her clothes from each drawer onto her bed—useless, she knew she’d stuffed the money Japera had left her in the top drawer, but it gave her time to think. She replaced the clothes neatly, then ventured out into the living room. Changa sat in the entry with the front door open. He’d removed the door latch and was installing another.