The Reckoning

“Kleat,” she shouted. “Duncan.”

The rattle rose to a clashing of wood against hollow wood. She shouted again.

Thunder fell against the top of the canopy.

She yelled herself hoarse.

It was an American uniform. He had a rifle.

The breeze became a wind. The wind became a gale.

At last she saw a distant figure approaching from the outside, chopping with machinelike double strokes, a forehand from the right, a backhand from the left. A second man appeared behind him.

“Here,” she shouted.

Duncan was in front with the machete. “Are you hurt?” he called. “Can you get to us?”

“Just come,” she shouted. She didn’t tell them more. They had to see for themselves.

The closer Duncan got, the farther away he sounded. The toc-toc of the machete blade paled in the mounting racket.

Vin was not with them. She feared Kleat had done something to him. But she didn’t see the boy’s rifle, and Kleat would have taken that.

The rain began. It wasn’t like yesterday’s slow leak. Driven by the wind, the drops had real velocity. They stung her face. While the men worked closer, she tried once more to move nearer the skeleton. But the bamboo held her out like iron bars.

Finally, Duncan cut through to her. He laid one hand on her shoulder, as if to take her back from the forest.

“Where’s Vin?” She had to shout over the crash of bamboo and thunder.

“We sent him down for help. We thought you must have broken a leg. Or that a tiger was at you. He gave us his machete just in case.”

“Not his rifle, though,” Kleat shouted. He looked almost disappointed that she was in one piece. “What are you doing in here?”

“Samnang’s leg,” she said. “You didn’t see it?”

“See what?”

“His leg. The monkeys must have stolen it again.”

“Samnang’s in here?”

“I came to find him. And look.”

She pointed. The bones were all but invisible through the thrashing bamboo. It took them a minute to see.

“How did you know he was in here?” Kleat shouted.

“I didn’t.” And yet she’d come almost directly to the skeleton. Molly tried to remember the phases of her entry, her reasoning for this detour. The monkeys had gotten her attention, and there had been the music of the bamboo, and the light, and the dance. Now, with the bamboo smashing together and the rain whipping them, it seemed off the wall.

“We can’t stay in here,” Duncan said. “The wind is getting worse.”

“Give me that.” Kleat grabbed the machete from his hand.

Molly and Duncan stood back while Kleat attacked the bamboo. He threw his raw emotions at the barrier, grunting and cursing. The blade caught each time the stalks bent in the wind, pulling the handle from his grip.

In the movies, a single swipe would have opened a small highway. Here the bamboo fought them, knocking them sideways and backward. Caught at their tops, each severed stalk bucked and stabbed in wild directions, their bottoms like tubular knives. Each stem had to be yanked loose from the canopy and laid flat before the machete could be used again.

“This is no good,” Duncan shouted.

Kleat gave up. He’d gotten them closer. But the bamboo still kept them out. They could clearly see the soldier, wearing a tanker’s helmet with padded ears. His rifle was trussed to his ribs by vines, barrel up, the way it had fallen from his hands. The skeleton was amazingly whole. Green shoots had grown up between the long bones. Creepers held the ribs and spine in place. Like the city, the bones were both raided and preserved by the forest.

“He shot himself,” Duncan said. “Look at the back of his helmet, the hole. And see the way his rifle’s lying?”

“What?” The rain glanced off Kleat’s head.

“He ate his gun,” Duncan yelled. “Look. The recoil tore out his teeth.”

“What was he doing out here?” Molly said.

“It’s an old jungle fighter’s trick,” Kleat said. “E and E. Escape and evasion. Bamboo makes the perfect hiding place. It guards you in your sleep. The minute anything approaches, the bamboo wakes you up.”

Duncan scanned their sky of furious leaves and cane. It sounded like the clash of spears and the scream of men. His hair whipped like a mare’s tail. “The storm’s growing,” he said. “Listen.”

Molly listened. Deep beneath the clatter of bamboo, some monstrous entity was grinding its stone teeth together. The earth vibrated with it.

“It’s the wind,” he shouted. “There’s a sail effect on the canopy. The canopy rocks the trees. The trees rock the ruins. The wind is moving the whole city. We have to return to camp.”

“But this is my proof,” Kleat said. “I only need one of them. I need him.” His knuckles were white on the handle.

“It could take another hour to get in there.” Duncan pointed at the sky. “This is the big one.”

Mekkhala, Molly thought. The angel of thunder was here. But it would pass. The city could be theirs. This was their chance to be rid of Kleat.

“Let me try,” she said.

Duncan ignored her. “The bones aren’t going anywhere,” he said. “We can come back for them.”

“A typhoon could bring the whole forest down,” Kleat said.

She gave her camera bag to Duncan.

Kleat had brought them to within ten feet of the remains. She pressed her palms against the wall of bamboo, feeling for its tempo. Two towering stalks parted and clashed together. When they opened again, she was ready, slipping through with a skip. The stalks clapped shut. She waited again.

Her body swayed with the stand. She waited and stepped again, and waited. Like that, she insinuated herself all the way to the bones.

31.

She stood astride the skeleton, not sure what to do next. Here was this mortal thing in her keeping. The bamboo raged around her. The rain was coming down harder now.

The uniform was just threads held together with tendrils. Moss grew in the spaces of his remaining teeth. The barrel’s recoil had ripped most of his front teeth outward. Three stuck up at odd angles.

Bullied by the stand, she bent and unfastened the dog tag. They would need more, she knew. Teeth. The mandible. The whole skull.

Fastened together, the straps of the helmet would make a handle for the bucket. But when she tried to lift it, the helmet rolled away, exposing the upper face.

His jade eyes stared at her.

Molly barked and straightened bolt upright. The bamboo promptly clubbed her to her knees.

Someone had pressed the jade balls into his eye sockets years ago. Pale green, they bulged from the bones of his face. A skein of rootlets had grown across the skull and stone eyes, a mask of vegetation.

“Moll-lee.” They were calling her, though it came to her as a whisper.

The J school Ws crashed through her mind: who, what, when, where, why. The bamboo shoved at her. She couldn’t think. The typhoon was coming.

The helmet had preserved his blond hair. The skull, she told herself. It was wet. His hair was coarse.