The Dig (39 page)

After another count, it became clear that the other two killed were Dit’s brothers, Pwint and Dyngit. Five others were missing, though, and in the still-bright sky, with people moving about, it was hard to keep track of who had been counted and who had not.

Weeping faces surrounded Irin, asking what they would do next. The sun would soon set, but where would they go? Back to the caves, as Gwilt had wanted? Should they have listened to him?

Irin took a deep breath and tried to answer their questions, but he quickly found that he had many of his own that he could no sooner answer than theirs. Better to remain calm; better to behave as if all were going as planned—just a small tragedy here that they must overcome.

“Hear me!” he shouted over them, and the voices died down. “We must repair the n’wips. Protect your eyes as best you can until the night comes again. We must be ready to move quickly. Fighters watch for any more of those things approaching, Mothers, calm your new, and everyone stay close.”

Wil came and spoke in his ear.

“Wil is right!” Irin continued. “These beasts move very slowly. Guards will keep watch, as I said, and will have plenty of warning if another approaches us. They don’t seem interested in people—it came only for water.”

A hundred questions came back at him, but Irin raised his hands and gestured for them to go quickly and repair the damage. He followed to the chaos of overturned and smashed n’wips. Beneath one, a grisly scene awaited them. The five missing were there, broken and pulverized, held together only by the blankets that had covered them. Two had been clothes makers whom Irin knew; the other three he barely knew. The tears began to flow again, and everyone longed for the safety and darkness of their houses.

By sunset, all the n’wips but two were repaired and repacked. The travelers gathered around Irin, lightstick held high over his head.

“We won’t forget those who have lost their lives along our journey to find a safe new home,” he shouted loud enough for all to hear. “Our destination is the hills beyond the field of walking giants. Scouts have gone out and surveyed the path we’ll take, and it appears that the giant creatures have left the area to sleep somewhere else. There are other, smaller creatures running about on two legs. Like the giant, they don’t appear interested in us. We’ll walk quietly until we reach the hills.”

Many people murmured among themselves, but no one spoke against the plan, perhaps for fear of Irin’s violent wrath. The line reformed and began to move, splashing through the stream.

After they had traveled some distance, the small animals that the scouts had reported could be seen scampering about. They were perhaps half the size of a man, but had powerful legs that enabled them to run with long, bounding strides. They had pointy mouths, and their eyes glowed when looking in the direction of the moon.

Wil walked beside Irin and pointed at one that stood crouched behind a bush, watching them as they passed. It had tiny little arms with clawed hands and made soft clicking noises, rocking its head from side to side on its long neck. They continued to walk past it, but Irin had a few fighters stop and stand side by side between the creature and the line of people, in case it was looking to snatch a small new. Irin glanced back at that side of the line a few times as they progressed, and felt relieved when at last he saw it running off in the other direction.

Irin asked for three new scouts to run ahead and check what lay before them.

Far above them, Irin and the others nearby heard a screech. They looked up, unable to find the source at first, but then Pwig spotted it: an enormous flyer circling above. Though quite high in the air, it still appeared massive.

They continued walking, wary of everything around them, as the flyer still circled above, screeching periodically.

“Irin!” Wil shouted to him.

Turning Irin saw his friend pointing above and behind them. The flyer was swooping down, directly toward him, descending along the line of travelers, its broad, dark wings spanning the length of six houses built side by side. As it came close, they could feel the wind from its huge, flapping wings and saw the two legs swing up, bearing hooked, shiny claws many times longer than a screamer’s. As the creature approached, the people ducked to the ground and covered their faces. One last gust from the wingbeats pounded them, and Irin looked up to see it sail overhead and pass them to the open ground ahead. He popped his head up and saw it glide just above the ground, then rise up with something writhing in its talons. A loud squeal drifted back to him, and he saw that the flyer had caught one of the small two-legged runners and was carrying its squirming prey toward the same hills that Irin sought.

Irin got his fighters on their feet again and set a faster pace. The hills were well within reach, though they did not appear so inviting as from afar. Even as he pressed on, Irin grew uneasy about these new flyers—it had been nothing for one to snatch the small runner and vanish up in the air with it. What would keep one from taking a person? Worse, it attacked at night—the time when his people had always known peace before. Would this new threat force them to keep hidden in moonlight as well as by day?

He could hear the talking behind him: doubt, fear, even anger.

“Life grows more dangerous with every step”… “We’ll soon be food for them”… “Not even Irin can protect us from creatures so large”… “Go back.”

He and Wil flinched at the same time as they saw two small runners charging for them from directly ahead. Irin reached for his cutter just as he realized that it was only the returning scouts. Breathing a sigh of relief, he looked to Wil, amused that they had both thought the same thing.

But why were there only
two
scouts?

“Irin!” they shouted as they approached.

“Where is Oten?” a scout behind Irin asked.

The two returning scouts panted for breath, barely holding back their sobs.

“He was taken!” one of them gasped.

“It was a giant flyer, but dark… so much bigger… it took him.”

Irin reeled inside. They would have to move close together—appear as one giant beast. No new would be allowed to play along the edges of the column. He sent his instructions back. Must
everything
go wrong this night?

Irin closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally. He heard the screech echo across the mountains. The flyers were calling for them to enter their land.

T
HE
L
EARJET’S TWIN TURBINES HUMMED BEHIND
Tuni. Beside her, Matt lay motionless, bound to a stretcher. When they rolled him on four hours ago, the wheels had dropped into four slots in the floor and locked with a loud click.

The feet of another man faced Matt’s; his stretcher, too, was secured in the floor panels. The other patient had an oxygen line to his nose, several IV bags hanging above him, and a stack of electronic devices behind his head. He was conscious, though, and his drooping eyes roved over every inch of Tuni’s body before moving on to the two nurses.

Tuni watched the black accordion rise up and drop down in opposite sync with the man’s chest. Tired of his ogling, she gave him a goggle-eyed stare to embarrass him, and after a slow blink, he moved his expressionless gaze elsewhere.

In front of her sat two other men she did not know. One, clearly the son of the gawking man on life support, appeared terribly inconvenienced by the whole affair. He also seemed to think that the nurses were his personal flight attendants.

The other passenger, sitting in the front seat, just behind the cockpit, was a skinny African man with smooth shiny skin, who had started reading his copy of
Town & Country
for the third time. Tuni had noticed him right away at the airport and wondered if he was getting free transport via a relative in the company—why else would anyone tag along on a medical flight? He wore a cream-colored silk shirt tucked into expensive black slacks, Gucci loafers with no socks.
How eighties,
Tuni thought—like the thick gold bracelet dangling from his wrist.

Tuni decided not to bother trying to sleep. Peter had arranged for a hotel room near Matt’s hospital so she could start getting some real sleep. She had decided that it was okay to leave him alone with people she trusted, but she would stay with him at least the first night to make sure the staff understood his special needs. The big paycheck Jon Meier had promised her would post to her checking account at midnight, so she could get some new clothes and other essentials, and she looked forward to a long, hot shower in a clean, private room. With a tired sigh, she nestled into the seat and closed her eyes.

“Hello—Sharma,” Peter answered into the sat phone.

“Mr. Sharma, Detective Chitundu,” said the deep voice on the other end.

“Yes, Detective, how are you?”

“Me? Well… I suppose I am a bit blue,” Chitundu replied in a tone of exaggerated melancholy.

“Oh?” Peter rolled his eyes to Collette, who stood beside him in the RV.

“Oh, yes. It doesn’t matter, though. You’ve decided to answer the phone this time, so I will have to find some happiness in that small act.”

“Um, yeah—sorry about that. I guess you’ve tried calling before and no one answered?” The man’s melodrama was beginning to pall.

“No, no one answered. I believe this is eleventh attempt, but we needn’t dwell on that. My perturbation will no doubt pass.”

“Okay, great. So, um, tell me what this is about.”

“Ha-ha-ha… yes,
cut to the chase,
as they say. I suppose I have a tendency to ramble on. Yes, let us.”

Peter waited in silence.

“Mr. Sharma, are you still there?”

“Yes, Detective, right here—go ahead.” Peter mouthed
HO-LY CRAP
to Collette, who looked at him questioningly.

“Ah, there you are. I was wondering if someone would like to know what time we would be arriving. No one has called or anything to check on your friend’s status. He has not said so, but I’m sure he is quite shaken inside, as I would be in his position.”

“Friend? What friend… ?” He looked out the window and realized that the Jeep was gone and that he hadn’t seen Rheese all morning. “Is Dr. Rheese there with you?”

Silence on the other end. When Chitundu finally spoke again, the slow, dramatic affect was gone and he sounded like an entirely different person.

“What are you talking about, Mr. Sharma?” he barked. “Dr. Rheese is not there?”

Peter had had enough. “No! He isn’t—and if you’re not talking about him,
who
is with you? Did you—did you find Hank?”

“Of course. Mr. Felch is in the office beside mine. You were not told? I informed Dr. Rheese late yesterday. Have you seen him since then?”

“What! Hank’s alive! Jesus!” He paused. “But… Rheese was at dinner—he never said a bloody
thing
!” Peter looked around the RV, then stepped quickly down the hall, and checked in the closet—no clothes, no bags. “Yeah, he’s gone. All of his things, too. But is Hank
okay
? I mean, where did you find him? Is he okay?”

“You asked that twice, Mr. Sharma,” Chitundu replied. “If not for your Dr. Rheese further incriminating himself, I would normally have found that suspect. I’ll be there with Mr. Felch in under four hours. And yes, he is okay. Yes, he is okay.”

“They found Hank!” Peter shouted to Collette. “He’s alive and fine!” As she bounced out the door to spread the joyous news, he put the phone back to his ear. It sounded as if it was still connected. “Detective, are you still there?”

“You shouted in my ear, Mr. Sharma.”

“Oh… um, sorry. So, are you coming or what?”

Silence. The call had ended.

Rheese swung the Jeep into the small car park beside a farmers’ market. Nakuru looked fairly well maintained and tidy, he thought. Indeed, one might forget one was in the heart of the third world. He blended well with the other white tourists—only the oversize camera swinging from his neck was missing. He threw a dirty tarp over his bags in the back—one couldn’t be too careful.

He walked along between the mounds of corn, melons, and bananas, ignoring the calling, waving merchants. Beyond the market, he spotted a canopy and, beneath it, a bank of telephones. How pleasantly modern, he thought, inspecting one. Credit card scanner, digital display, a small port for some electronic device or other. He dialed the number, and the display requested one shilling, which he dropped in the slot. A moment later a woman answered in Swahili.

“The Gray,” Rheese said behind a cupped hand. He heard the phone drop, and the woman shout. The phone clattered, and another woman’s voice came on.

“Who is these?” she said.

“
These
is looking for the Gray. No one else.”

“We no hear of no Gray. Who is these?”

“Bloody brilliant!” Rheese spat. “Look, I’ve used this number before. Is there another number, perhaps?”

“These number?”

“No, another phone that I can call. A mobile? Cellular? Cellie?”

“Cellie phone?” she answered as if that had clicked.