Natalie stood in the center of the empty village and squeezed her arms around her waist. When she and Joseph had arrived at the tranquil scene, she’d braced herself for the emotional impact of seeing firsthand what the Ghost Soldiers had left behind. Instead there was nothing pointing to the chaos of yesterday. No signs of the struggle Joseph had described. Only a compound of empty huts sitting in the morning sunshine.
“I do not understand.” Joseph’s voice cracked beside her. “They are gone. Their bodies…my grandfather…There is nothing left.”
Natalie’s lungs contracted. “Joseph—”
“They shot my grandfather here. I saw it. And Aina…they took her…I never saw my mother…” He stumbled away from her toward the edge of the compound. “I must find the camera.”
While Joseph searched for the camera, Natalie gazed across the familiar compound. Eleven months ago, she’d visited this village. Women had welcomed her in their bright dresses made from fabric they’d managed to secure from the city. She had given free vaccinations to the children and taught classes on the practice of good hygiene in an effort to thwart diseases such as hepatitis that could run rampant in a village.
Lifting her camera, she started snapping photos of the quiet scene. Today no women chatted around the cooking pots; no laughing children played beneath the shady mango trees. Gone were the old men playing an unending game of kari at the edge of the compound while shooing away squawking chickens and lazy dogs.
But where were the bodies Joseph had glimpsed, laying on the damp African soil? All that remained was an eerie quiet that seemed to reverberate louder than the forest itself. Had someone come in and whisked away all signs of life? Or were Chad’s gut instincts on target, and there was nothing more to the story than a young boy’s vivid imagination?
“Don’t get involved in this, Natalie. Tell Stephen, leave it to the local authorities to investigate. Call your senator back home if you have to, or forget about it for all I care. But don’t get involved.”
Don’t get involved.
Chad’s words played over and over in her mind. He was right. She shouldn’t even be here. If Joseph was wrong, she’d done nothing more than plop herself in the middle of the jungle where she could be attacked by mysterious soldiers who kidnapped and killed villagers or bitten by a venomous snake. Neither sounded very smart.
And if Joseph was right? How in the world could she deal with such brutal realities in a corrupt third-world country? She’d signed up to bring relief to the people, not to get involved in the political arena.
Natalie held up her hand to block the sun that cast rays of light across the brown earth. Two dozen mud huts, with their neatly thatched roofs, surrounded her. Pathways between them had been swept, grass cleared, and firewood piled along the sides of the huts. Crossing the soft ground, still damp from the rain the day before, she searched for signs of a struggle. Dozens of random footprints scattered out before her, but she couldn’t be sure whose they were. The rains could have washed away the villagers’ footprints.
But not a group of soldiers who had returned to cover up their handiwork.
Trying to ignore the lump of fear swelling inside her, she glanced beyond the eastern edges of the village to where neat rows of corn and manioc had been planted during the first rains. Beside them bamboo, tied together with homemade rope, formed bins to keep stalks of dried maize from last year’s harvest out of the reach of animals. Pulling out one of the yellowed stocks, Natalie crumbled the dry husk between her fingers. How many hours of work had been put into planting, watering, and cultivating this vital crop? Without constant care, the crop would be ravaged by animals or burnt by the midday sun. Why would the villagers leave all this work unless it was under force?
Natalie made her way past one of the huts, its mud walls decorated by a band of dark brown around the bottom, and snapped another photo. Twelve feet away sat an open smoke-stained kitchen. Clay water pots lay in one corner beside a stack of rusty plates. Nearby, a hollowed-out gourd was filled with dried cassava. She crouched down in front of the fat, black pot and lifted the wooden spoon to reveal a sauce that smelled of tomatoes and piquant peppers. The embers below had long since grown cold, leaving behind nothing but a mound of gray ash.
She stood and rested her hands against her hips. Something wasn’t right. While it might be true that Joseph’s tribe migrated when food sources like wild game dissipated, leaving healthy crops behind or a pot full of sauce untended wasn’t normal.
A flash of pink caught her eye. Skirting a pile of firewood, she leaned down and pulled out a worn cloth doll from the edge of the sticks. Two tiny black-beaded eyes stared back at her. The mouth had been made from red thread stitched in a zigzag pattern. One shoe was gone, and the dark face was streaked with mud.
Natalie squeezed her eyes shut. She remembered the young girl and her doll as if it were only yesterday. Her faded red dress had barely reached to her thighs, and her dusty brown feet had dug their toes into the soft earth as she’d grasped the cloth treasure and stared up at Natalie. Around them, the village had stirred with life. The tangy smell of sauces being cooked in their black pots for the evening meal drifted across the compound with the afternoon breeze. Mothers nursed their babies. Children sauntered back from the dusty trails with water held high on their heads. It had been her job to help them improve their lives.
The little girl had tugged on the skirt of her dress as Natalie knelt down and greeted her in Dha. “Eh fo banda.”
“Eh fa.”
Natalie had taken the ragged doll and smiled at the girl, wishing she had something to give her.
Something snapped in the brush. Natalie opened her eyes, pulled away from the vivid memories. She ducked against the frame of a low doorway and stared into the bush. Another twig cracked and a pig rushed by, squealing as it disappeared behind one of the huts.
She pressed her hand against her heart and let out a slow breath of relief. Clasping the doll between her fingers, she peeked inside one of the dim huts. A mattress covered with a frayed pink sheet sat in the corner of the room. A table and chair on the other side. Even without the photos for proof, it didn’t take much for her to believe Joseph’s story.
Outside the dark living areas, the bright sunlight blinded her. A family of monkeys howled in the distance, and Natalie shivered at their jabbering. She skirted the perimeter of the village, stopping at the empty clotheslines.
Three feet in front of her was a patch of blood.
Natalie pressed the doll to her chest and swallowed the tears that threatened to erupt. Maybe if she brought Chad up here he would have some ideas of what to do, who to talk to. Something had to be done.
“I found it! Now you’ll believe me.”
Natalie spun around at the sound of Joseph’s voice.
The young man bounded across the level ground with the camera, stopping in front of her when he saw the doll. For a moment the significance of the camera was forgotten.
“Where did you get that?”
Natalie shrugged and pointed toward one of the huts. “It was laying on the ground.”
“It’s Aina’s.”
His sister. Natalie felt her stomach clench. “I’m sorry. I—”
“What if I never see them again?” He grabbed the doll and crushed it against his chest.
“I don’t know, Joseph. I don’t know.”
There was nothing she could say. No words that could erase the emptiness she knew he was feeling. Except for one thing.
“They’re not rumors, are they?” she whispered.
“No.”
He handed her the camera. She flipped open the small square screen and scanned the photos one by one. A man in black with a rifle in his hands jabbed an older woman…A villager grasped a child’s hand…A group of women, their hands raised to the heavens, were prodded toward the forest…An old man lay motionless on the ground…A solider gestured with a grin on his face…
“You were right about all of this, Joseph. The Ghost Soldiers are real.” Natalie swallowed hard. No longer did they have only the word of a local village boy. “Now we’ve just got to get someone else to believe us.”
Something rustled in the bushes. Natalie turned and saw a flash of light.
Joseph grasped her arm. “They’ve returned.”
Why would they return? There was no reason, unless someone had followed them here. She tried to push away the fear. “There was a pig running around a few minutes ago. It’s probably just an animal.”
He didn’t look convinced. But neither was she.
“We’ve got what we need. Let’s go.” Natalie shoved the camera in her backpack, grabbed Joseph’s hand, and started running.