I stared at the tracks on the road. Was the ivory from the poached elephants I had seen during my flight being picked up and driven into Namibia at night? Or was another turf battle about to unfold between the Nigerians and the witch doctor? I turned north and followed the tracks, soothing myself with the idea that Gidean and the other rangers might just be out fishing.
Eli wouldn’t want me poking around in any of their business, whether fishing for food or for bad guys. But I didn’t think the others would mind me tagging along.
After three miles, the tracks suddenly veered off onto the floodplain, heading toward the river. I turned to follow them. Whoever it was, they couldn’t have been far. The river was only about two hundred yards away.
I pulled off, checked my holster, and got out, continuing on foot until I could see a vehicle parked next to the river. It was the ministry vehicle.
I walked over to the vehicle, holding my hand on the butt of my revolver. There were no lights on. No signs of life.
I looked into the empty cab of the truck. No guns, either.
I stepped to the muddy river’s edge to see fresh scrapes from the bottom of a boat. Must have been a ministry boat used for their patrols. I listened for the noise of a motorboat engine in the distance, but there was nothing but the occasional snort and splash of a hippo down the river a ways. Gidean had mentioned that they kept a boat right next to the station. Perhaps they kept a second one stashed up here near the border.
Suddenly, my neck was pulled violently backward as a hand gripped my mouth and something was pulled over my head, knocking my night-vision headband to the ground. I struggled to break free, but whoever it was had an iron grip. My head was completely covered in a hessian bag that smelled like rotting meat.
“What are you doing here?” The low, taut voice was definitely Eli’s.
He turned my neck so sharply I wasn’t sure if he was trying to break it. “Who are you?”
He hadn’t recognized me. If he removed the bag, he’d see who I was. That was the easiest path forward.
I reached with my free hand to remove the bag, but my arm was snatched and twisted harshly behind my back. I stood frozen, stomach muscles tight.
“You Zambians think that our elephants are yours to kill?”
I shook my head and tried to scream the word no, but his hand was so tight on my mouth I couldn’t make but a muffled sound.
“You came across the border illegally, didn’t you?” He unholstered my pistol and threw it to the ground. “Tell your witch doctor we know what’s going on. We’ve got Ernest as hostage.”
I was paralyzed with fear and gagging from the wretched stench.
There were other footsteps. And another voice. “What’s happening?”
I was relieved to hear Gidean’s voice. Surely, he would sort this out.
The sound of a whaler approached and Eli cursed. “Pull the bag.”
Gidean pulled the bag off my face and took a step back. “Catherine!” He was flabbergasted. “What are you doing here?”
Unmoved, Eli gripped my neck and lifted me off the ground. “Yes, what are you doing here?” His teeth were in my face. His breath smelled of violence.
The boat slowed down and was about to land.
Gidean stepped forward and whispered, “Eli, keep an eye on the boat. Natembo needs backup. I’ll deal with Catherine.”
As Eli marched off, I rubbed my neck and mouth.
Gidean put a sympathetic hand on my shoulder and handed me my gun and night-vision goggles. “How did you get here?”
“I followed your tracks.” I caught my breath. “I’m so sorry.”
“Did you see anything?”
“No. Nothing. I just couldn’t help noticing the tracks.”
“Did you see any footprints?”
I shook my head.
“Damn.”
“What happened?”
“We lost the witch doctor’s henchman, Ernest.”
“You lost him? How?”
“Eli was interrogating him.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He was with the witch doctor the other night.”
“So, it was the witch doctor who killed those people?”
Gidean nodded. “He said someone else was with them. A driver. But when Eli pressed him to find out who it was, he jumped out of the boat.”
“And you think he’s trying to escape on foot?”
Gidean shook his head. “Natembo dropped Eli on the bank to look for him, but he couldn’t find him. We think he was taken by a croc.”
“What?”
“There’s a big crocodile that lives on that turn in the river. He wasn’t on the bank, and we saw the splash. We just wanted to confirm that there were no tracks on this side.”
I opened my mouth to ask more questions when the gunfire started.
“Go. You must leave quickly.” He pushed me urgently. “Now!”
I put my revolver back in its holster and ran, crouched, back to the car. I got in as my heart pounded inside my ears.
Dark shadows and quick movements preceded more gunshots. Then some muffled sounds. I fumbled with the night vision and took off in the dark, bumping down the dirt road.
After a torturous drive dodging spring hares on the road, I arrived at my dark barracks and stumbled up the stairs. I switched on my fluorescent light, put the kettle on, sprayed my arms with more repellent, and went out onto the porch.
I lit a candle and soothed myself by listening to the cacophony of frog calls surrounding me. I tried to focus on each kind of call until the shadows that the candle created became unnerving, making it impossible to see into the distance. I blew out the candle and my eyes adjusted to the night as the frogs continued to calm my jangled nerves. The kazoo calls stood out from the water droplet and chime calls at seemingly impossible volumes for such little tree frogs.
The kettle started to boil and I made tea, opened a can of vegetable curry, dumped it into the tiny pot from my mess kit, and walked back outside. Although this was one of the few canned meals that could be eaten cold, I needed something hot after consuming too many crackers and too much peanut butter over the last few days.
In between the frenzied bouts of frog calls, all I could hear was the insistent whine of mosquitoes as they approached my ear. I swatted them away as the frogs resumed their competition. I went inside to stir my food so it wouldn’t burn. When it was warm enough to be considered almost hot, I carried it outside along with a spoon. I ate the creamy curried peas and potato and carrot chunks with relish.
At a sudden rustling noise in the bush, I whipped my head around. But there was nothing but darkness. The frog chorus continued as I resumed eating. There was the noise again. This time, it was much louder, and I turned on my night-vision goggles and looked into the bushes. Nothing but damp vegetation. I turned the scope off and closed my eyes.
Another rustling sound in the bush right in front of me snapped me back to full attention. I stood on the end of the porch and looked back and forth through my green grainy goggles but couldn’t see anything.
Then something large and dark caught my eye at the edge of the drive, just behind the car. I panned over to see an enormous hippopotamus looking like a blimp held up by four short stumps. He was not happy to see me.
He flared his nostrils at me for some time before shuffling off. But he wasn’t the one making the noise in the bushes. I knew I was psyching myself out and needed to go to bed. But the last thing I wanted was to be cooped up in that horrible dank little room wrapped in a mosquito net. As I braced myself for the thought of an icy shower first, I heard a faint noise over the floodplain that grew louder and louder. It was an airplane.
I ran out into the open road and looked up through the goggles and zoomed in, but the plane was too far away and moving too quickly for me to see any numbers. It sounded like a Cessna 182, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw a symbol near the tail—the Red Cross symbol.