child’s bite had injected into her. Her body was eating itself, slowly, burning away fat and muscle and tissue to keep itself going.
And she was tired. So tired.
She fumbled with the seeds left in her pouch and stared at the lake. There were thirty miles or more of deep water between them and Tanzania-she could not bridge that, not even if she had thousands of seeds. They could try to run back into the jungle again, but they would be found. There was no help for them, not here in the PPA.
Through the heated fog in her head, she tried to think of a solution, her fingers fumbling with the seeds. The last time she’d tried to cross the lake, with Wally, the patrol boat, leaving them clinging to the dying baobab…
A tree. A tree would float.
There were three baobab seeds left in her pouch. She plucked out one of them, tossing it as far as she could into the lake, opening the seed as it flew through the air: a massive trunk, but yes, bend the branches upward so that it made the skeleton of a hull, big enough that all of them could cling to the branches. A few of the branches she spread out flat and thick like pontoons, so that the strongest swimmers could hold on there and kick with their legs to move them. The roots and top she fanned out high and large, so that perhaps it would catch the east- flowing wind and help them.
It was an awkward boat, a terribly slow ark. But it would suffice. It would have to suffice.
The children watched, calling excitedly as she formed the baobab vessel for them. Some of them were even laughing, as if this were a new game. They seemed to sense how close they were to safety. “Okay,” she told Cesar. “Tell them to get aboard. Anyone who can swim, get on those longer branches so you can kick and push us. Hurry!”
She waded into the water-colder than she remembered, as if there was nothing on her body to keep away the chill-and helped them as much as she could with her injured and crudely bandaged arm, watching each of them clamber into the water-slick trunk, helping those who the wild card had rendered less mobile.
Finally, she pushed with what little strength she had left and pulled herself up. Cesar and several of the children were kicking, white water splashing around their legs, but their improvised craft was making little headway, and the water was now too deep for Jerusha to stand in.
“Bibbi Jerusha.” She heard the call: Eason, still in his stretcher. His fish tail flapped on the canvas. “You carried me,” he said in halting French, “now it’s my turn…”
Jerusha nodded to Cesar, to Gamila. They lifted the stretcher, let Eason tumble into the water.
Eason swam, his tail churning the water white behind him. He went to the rear of the baobab, grabbing the largest root with his hand, and his tail kicked.
Their baobab raft began to move steadily out into the deeper water.
Kisangani, Congo
People’s Paradise of Africa
“Those fuckers,” Joey muttered. “Those fuckers.”
Michelle didn’t reply. She’d stopped talking to Joey earlier in the day. Nothing she said helped. The closer they got to Kisangani, the angrier Hoodoo Mama became.
It had started with the first grave.
“They’re here,” Joey said. “They’re down there in the dark. The fuckers just left them there.”
“Show me where.”
Joey plunged through the forest. Michelle followed. They came upon a small clearing. To one side there was a large boxy trailer. In the center of the clearing was a large mound of newly turned dirt. Michelle stared at it, her stomach doing nauseated flip-flops. Then a strange coldness came over her. “Are they in there?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“A lot. I want whoever did this,” Joey said in a calm, soft voice.
“I do, too,” Michelle replied.
“I’m going to raise them.”
“No,” Michelle said. “Do you want to find whoever did this? Fast? We have to keep going.”
“God damn it!” Joey screamed, spittle flying from her mouth. “You’re just going to leave them down there in the dark? You fucking bitch.”
Michelle didn’t answer, but went to the trailer and carefully opened the door. She poked her head in, but the trailer was empty except for an old desk and a couple of stainless-steel medical tables. There was a medicinal odor inside. In the trash can in the corner she found empty bottles of disinfectant and rubbing alcohol.
Frustrated, she threw the empties back into the can. The disinfectant would have helped some with Joey’s leg, which was swollen and angry-looking. She looked around again, and noticed for the first time the colorful cutout pictures on the walls. Pictures from children’s books. They were full of smiling happy animals and smiling happy children.
Slowly, she made her way around the trailer. With the exception of the bottles in the trash and the pictures on the walls, it seemed to have been stripped clean. She sat at the desk and started opening drawers. They were empty except for paper clips. She felt under the desk, but there was nothing there.
Then she pulled the desk away from the wall, and she heard a snick as a file slid down to the floor. She reached behind the desk and grabbed it.
Unfortunately, it was written in French. Michelle’s French wasn’t good enough for her to translate it all, but she did see Alicia Nshombo’s name more than once as she paged through the paperwork. But in the bottom of the file there were photos.
The pictures were of dead children, each with a series of notes clipped to the photo. Most looked like jokers and had been shot in the head. The rest were black queens. Some hardly looked human anymore. Michelle thought she might throw up.
“What’s that?”
Michelle looked up. Joey was standing in the doorway. “I’m not sure. I don’t read French.”
“You talked to Gaetan and Kengo just fine.”
“That was simple conversation. This is reading. And it has all sorts of stuff that I just don’t understand.”
“Let me see.”
Michelle closed the file. “There’s nothing here.”
“Let me see the cocksucking file, Bubbles.” Her voice was smaller than usual.
Reluctantly, Michelle handed the file over. Joey opened it and glanced at the papers inside. She looked puzzled, then she saw the photos.
“I’ll kill them all,” she said, but there was little strength in her voice.
“I’ll help you,” Michelle said. “But first we need to find them.”
“I can do that. We’ll just follow the trail of dead.” Joey glowered at Michelle; her eyes were glassy and she was swaying a little. “Hoodoo Mama is handy.”
Lake Tanganyika
Tanzania
The Baobab Raft was spotted when they were halfway across, and Denys Finch was on the Tanzanian patrol boat that responded. “Hey!” The rhinoceros horn on his snouted face gleamed in the sun. He looked at the baobab boat, at the children filling its branches like dark human fruit. His eyebrows raised. “Need a ride?”
Jerusha hugged the joker as the crew brought her and the children aboard. “How…?” she asked, too exhausted to say more, her belly rumbling with hunger. She was famished; she burned with it.
“Been taking the plane up looking for you two since you left, couple times a day. Was about to give up on it, too, if you didn’t show in a day or two. I saw the baobab and radioed to these blokes. Where’s your metal fellow?”
“He’s not here.”
“Oh.” Finch looked as if he wanted to ask more, then evidently changed his mind. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week or eaten anything in a month.”
“We could all use food,” she told him. “It seems like so long since…” She stopped. Shook her head to rid it of the images of food rising in her. “Is there a satellite phone on this boat? One that works?”
Finch called out to one of the uniformed men. A few moments later, he was handing her a largish rectangle of
