People’s Paradise of Africa
“What do you Mean you don’t have a reservation for me?” Michelle asked indignantly. She had been a supermodel once, and she did indignation very well.
The young clerk behind the reception desk looked very unhappy. “Miss,” he replied. “I do not see any reservation for a Michelle Pond.”
“This is your fault,” Michelle snapped at Joey. “I ask you to do one thing. One thing! And you can’t even manage that.” She turned back to the clerk. “I don’t suppose you could find us something? Anything. We’ve come such a long way and we’re both exhausted.” She gave him her very best oh-goodness-please-help-me look.
It worked.
“I think we might be able to arrange something,” he said.
Michelle breathed a sigh of relief. There was no way to make a reservation and then pop into the hotel a few hours later without arousing suspicion. She had hoped pretending that they had lost the reservation would cover her showing up out of the blue.
“I have a suite available,” he said after typing into his terminal for a few minutes.
That’s gonna be pricey. The interest rate on the big cash advance she had taken to finance this trip was going to be hell to pay, too. But it didn’t really matter to Michelle. What mattered was getting to Adesina.
“The suite would be perfect. Thank you so much for accommodating us this way.” Michelle gave him her very best you’re-just-the-nicest-person-in-the-world smile.
He beamed back at her and slid two room cards across the desk. “You know, you look very familiar to me.”
Michelle smiled at him. “Oh, I used to model,” she said. “I’m here on business now. I’ve decided to start my own clothing line. I’ve been told that the PPA has the best garment workers in the world.”
“That is true. The hotel has a wonderful tour of Kongoville. Would you like me to book you two seats? It will give you a very good feel for our city.”
“Oh, mostly I want to see the Congo River. I hear it’s beautiful. Can I get a taxi there?”
He gave her a shiny smile. “Certainly, but the bus tour also takes you to the river. And you will see many other wonderful places along the way.”
Michelle wanted to drag him across the desk and explain to him that a little girl was suffering in a goddamn pit of corpses and she really didn’t have the time to go sightseeing.
“My brother-in-law drives the bus,” the clerk continued. “He’s a very good driver.”
She nodded politely. His persistence about the tour became clear. But, in a group of tourists, perhaps she and Joey wouldn’t stand out quite as much. And she needed to figure out where to go next. “How long does it take?”
“Only two hours.”
“Two tickets,” she said.
Nyunzu, Congo
People’s Paradise of Africa
Wally was sitting on a pile of rubble near the smoldering lab, scrubbing fiercely at his body with steel wool, as if he could scrub away the memories as easily as the blood, soot, and rust. “Here,” Jerusha told him, picking up one of the S.O. S pads and crouching down behind him. The few pads left in his pack had all been well used and were starting to fall apart and rust themselves. The piece she held was tearing loose in her fingers even as she started scouring his back, cleaning away the rust spots there that he couldn’t reach.
The rust was deep there-not just on the surface of his skin. She worried about that. She worried about the bandage tied around his leg. “Feels good,” Wally grunted. “Thanks, Jerusha.”
“I’m scared, Wally,” she said. “How’s the leg?”
He shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “Just a scratch where the skin was thin. It’ll grow back quick.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t get here in time to help Lucien. I’m going to miss you. I’m going to miss you terribly, and I’m going to worry every second until I know you’re safe.”
“Me, too,” he said after a moment. “You’re gonna have your hands full with those kids. They ready? We can’t stay here; they’ll be coming back soon.”
Jerusha looked at the children. There were fifty-two of them; she counted. Twenty-nine had yet to be injected; eight had been given the virus but hadn’t yet turned their card. Fifteen were jokers who hadn’t yet been culled: the little girl whose body was studded with hundreds of fingers, complete with fingernails, like a porcupine made of severed hands; a boy whose lower half was a gigantic fish tail that needed to be kept constantly wet; a boy whose face was missing eyes, sockets, and nose, nothing but unbroken skin from his forehead to his mouth as if he were an unfinished sculpture; a girl whose skin pulsed and glowed a bright yellow…
Cesar had told her that sometimes they waited to make sure that the jokers didn’t have some power they’d missed. The children were all hungry, all abused, all frightened. They huddled in a group near a jungle trail leading away from the clearing, eating the breakfast she’d created for them, an amalgam of fruits from her seeds and some of the food in their kit. They’d stripped the mangoes from the were-leopard’s tree, all except those on the branch that held the Leopard Man’s head.
The children were watching the two of them uncertainly, as if they weren’t certain if they could trust their rescuers or if they might be led to something worse. She could hardly blame them. “Are we doing the right thing, Wally? Maybe… maybe we should stay together…”
Wally’s steam-shovel jaw clanged shut. “No,” he said. “I gotta do this, Jerusha. For Lucien.”
“Okay.” Jerusha put down the S.O. S pad and came around in front of him. She put her hands on either side of his face. Leaning in, she kissed him. The kiss was awkward, his mouth all cold iron under hers. His hands first went around her, then fell away, then came back again. “You stay alive for me, Wally,” she said. She had to stop, sniffing and wiping angrily at her eyes. She took his hand, pressing her small fingers against his. “And I’ll stay alive for you. Deal?”
“Okay,” he answered. He was staring down at her hand. “Jerusha, cripes, I…”
“Don’t say anything,” she told him. “It’ll just make this harder.” She leaned in toward him again. She kissed his forehead, then-again-his mouth. This time he responded, his arms going around her and hugging her. She held the embrace for several breaths, then pushed away from him. “It’s time,” she said.
Wally groaned to his feet. Jerusha looked at the kids. They were watching, but whatever they were thinking was hidden behind expressionless, hollow faces. She pulled the strap of the automatic weapon around her shoulder-one of the several abandoned by the child guards as they’d fled. A few of the older children had armed themselves as well. She wondered if she or any of the kids could actually use the weapons.
“It’s time to go,” she told the children in French. “We’ve got to get you out of here.” Cesar translated the French into Baluba. The children stood as Jerusha sighed. “This way,” she told them, and began walking toward the head of the trail leading east, toward Lake Tanganyika and-she hoped-Tanzania. As they passed the head of the trail, she tossed a handful of seeds onto the ground, bringing the new growth high enough to cover their tracks. Wally was watching her. She waved to him as the fronds lifted; he waved back to her as the lush greenery rose between them. When she could no longer see him, she turned eastward. The kids had gathered around her. She put her arms around the nearest of them.
“Come on,” she said. “We have a long walk ahead of us.”
16
Friday,
December 11
Kongoville, Congo
People’s Paradise of Africa
The bus tour took them to the Kongoville University. Michelle hadn’t expected it to be so large, or so pretty. There were new buildings going up, and the older buildings were settled into beautiful tropical landscaping.
“KU is the premier university in the PPA,” the guide said in French-accented English. “The Nshombos believe
