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THE FIVE HOUR WALK still took the better part of an hour on the bike, as they were forced to slow down over the rugged and rapidly changing terrain. At first it was a hot, sandy ride across the level land, the breeze created by the speeding bike compensating for the intense heat of the sun as it climbed towards its zenith. Thirty minutes into the ride they reached the base of the first set of hills and began to climb, entering a stand of trees that brought blessed relief from the unrelenting rays. The trees were scattered and sparsely leafed, their hollowed trunks standing silent sentinel in a forest of dying green. Those few trees that lived on shivered with the passing of the bike, tossing curled yellow leaves its wake. Mitch could not determine the path that Pam sought. The forest looked the same to him.
“The biggest danger in these forests nowadays, is the threat of wild fire. Even the heat of the exhaust of this bike can spark a blaze. The wild fire risk is extreme, and this is one of the main reasons I walk everywhere. If the need wasn’t so urgent, I would have made us both walk.”
She winced as the bike backfired, craning her neck for a quick glance behind.
“Keep an eye on our back trail. Let me know if you spot any smoke,” she yelled, speeding up.
The invisible path crisscrossed the hillside, a snaking trail of rocks and fallen trees. Pam found a way around the barriers.
“You have been here before,” he yelled as she lurched to one side, to avoid a thick branch.
“How can you tell?” she yelled back, over her shoulder.
“You know where all the obstacles are. How did you memorize it so well?”
“I haven’t! These are all new!”
“What?” yelped Mitch, his grip tightening around her waist.
“The native residents who own this land have laid these traps. I am not worried about the ones I can see. It’s the ones I might miss!”
Pam steered the bike around a curve and suddenly there was no more trail.
“Shit!” she screamed as the bike spun out into empty space.
The chasm was not deep but it was steep and just wide enough. Mitch swore but his words were whipped away as bike and dual riders fell.
“Jump right!” Mitch yelled at the last second, and tossed himself off the back of the bike to the left as Pam rolled to the right.
They landed on the steep slope to a shower of rocks, quickly forming the center of the slide as the bike slid and flipped its way to the bottom of the incline. Somehow Mitch managed to keep his pack from being crushed but the angry humming increased in tempo with the jostling. He settled at the base of the ravine, half buried in scree, with Pam face down ten feet away.
“Pam! Are you ok?”
Pam pushed up out of the rocks. Her face was covered in grey dust and a trickle of blood ran from a long scratch down the side of her face. Her cheeks puffed out and with a groan, she pushed the rest of the way to a sitting position, testing her limbs.
“Yeah, nothing is broken. Just bruising. These old bones don’t bounce like they used to.”
Mitch groaned in sympathy as he pulled off a boot, emptying it of pebbles.
“I thought you knew these hills? How did you not know about the ravine?”
Pam glared at him and limped over to the bike, righting it.
“The ravine wasn’t here before, you dough head of a cop. Look up.”
Mitch followed her pointing arm and saw that the upper edge was freshly formed. Tree roots spilled out of the side, thin vegetative tentacles searching the air for sustenance. The ravine was not long. It ran for the length of a football field in the rough shape of the game ball.
“What could have caused this ravine? Better yet how are we going to get out?”
He tugged his boots back on and pushed to his feet, stamping them to settle them in place. He picked up the buzzing backpack and walked over to Pam, where she bent over the motorcycle, checking over the mechanics.
“How’s the bike?”
“Scratched,” she huffed, “but it will live. It’s operational. As to your first question, this is a dry sink hole. They have been popping up all over the region as the water table drops. First one I have driven into, though. As for your second question, look.”
She pointed to the rim of the crater on the opposite side from where they had fallen. There, crowding the bank, faces painted in fierce colours stared down at them. None of them looked friendly. Mitch groaned. “Those are warriors of the Seiko tribe” Pam said, as the twenty guardians glared at the intruders on their land. “They are mainly nomadic, roaming the abandoned hills of their ancestral lands and disregarding all government edicts. They are self-governing and proud. They alone know how to exist on the land, even while it dies around them. None of their people suffer. It is why outsiders have been searching for the tribes. Rumors have reached the cities that the tribes are not starving.”
Pam straightened and waved at the warriors and then spoke to them in their native tongue. Mitch didn’t understand a word of it. After an exchange that lasted a couple of minutes the faces disappeared. When they reappeared, ropes were tossed down into the pit. Pam rolled the bike over, chattering away as she tied ropes around the bike, securing it to be hauled up the slope. Once it was secure, the ropes tightened and the heavy bike began to move, inching its way up the steep incline. It disappeared over the edge and silence descended. Mitch shifted his feet, sweating under the sun that now beat down mercilessly, perfectly aligned to roast them alive.
Pam chattered again at the ridge, and was greeted with silence. Her voice sharpened and a face appeared over the edge, speaking just as sharply. Two ropes were tossed over the edge and Mitch caught his, grateful for the escape. He gripped the thick twine in his hands and began to climb the slope, relying more on his strength of arms than his legs as the sides crumbled away at the touch of his feet. Pam climbed beside him, and as they reached the edge, arms reached over and hauled them the rest of the way and onto firm ground. With a sigh of relief Mitch tried to push to his feet but was met with a spear at his throat. Swallowing carefully, he froze as a blade, sharp as any knife he had face in the alleys, pressed against his jugular.
Pam snapped a few words and the blade lifted from Mitch’s throat.
“Thanks,” he croaked.
Pam laughed. “For what? I told him that slaying a cop was bad karma, and he didn’t want to befoul the sacred soil beneath his feet. I think he is more worried about offending the land, than spilling your heathen blood.”
Mitch glared at his sister but held his tongue.
He was hauled to his feet by two burly youths that easily topped his height by a foot. He didn’t need any urging to follow the direction of the warriors away from the cliff face, limping slightly with the new rocks that had settled into the heel of his boot.
They trudged along a well-worn path for about an hour, the sun setting at their backs. Just as the sun hit the horizon in the west, a village came into view. Tan tents embroidered with wildlife met his gaze. The figures were so life-like he had to look twice to realize they were stitched. An eagle in flight soared over wolves couching in tall grasses. Bison grazed nearby while an inquisitive prairie dog stood sentinel. Amazing scenes that had disappeared from the landscape. “Mitch looked around, bewildered. ‘How long have these people lived here? Why are they living like this?’
Pam glanced sideways at him. ‘The Seiko Tribe have lived here for generations. They’re nomadic and fiercely independent. They have roamed these abandoned hills of their ancestral lands for years, disregarding the government’s edicts. Because of their indigenous heritage, they are self-governing and proud. They know how to exist on the land, even while it died around them, and so none of their people suffered. That was a problem reserved for the cities.’ Mitch looked closely at the people as they watched them walk past. ‘Some of these people aren’t indigenous. I see lighter skin, and some much darker.’ Pam shrugged. ‘As people left the cities, some found their way here, and the Seiko welcomed them. They wanted a simpler lifestyle, free of government control, and the Seiko offered that. Not everyone can live like this, but those who can, become part of the tribe.”
Mitch felt a pang for what was already lost, for what they still had to lose. When he looked away from the artwork, he did not find a defeated people, however, but one that stood proud. A bustling community greeted the returning warriors, children running to meet their fathers, and young women running to hug lovers. Mitch was astonished that such a large community existed so far from civilization. It was obvious that this was a large, extended family that had worked hard to create such a feeling of solidarity and cooperative effort. Mitch couldn’t remember the last time he was part of an extended family, working towards a common goal.
Pam clucked and whooped and two children ran out from a nearby tent to greet her, glad cries filling the air. Twins, a boy and girl crowded into her arms as she crouched down to greet them, then she fell onto her back, bowled over by the force of their charge. Pam laughed and the years fell away from her face. She hugged and kissed them, then tickled their ribs while the warriors laughed and dispersed into the village, leaving them there with the motorbike, propped on its kickstand.
“What is this, Pam?”
“Welcome to Wapatipae. Welcome to the Village of Love. These are my adopted children. Come meet your niece and nephew.”
Nonplussed, Mitch crouched down by his sister, as giggles rent the air. They frolicked on the ground, shouting and pulling faces. The people passing by smiled at the trio. A bemused grin crept across his face as he observed their obvious affection for each other.