Bobby had to pee, so he rolled to his side and drew his legs up.
“Hey! Are you there?”
Bobby sat up. “Mr. Darnell!”
Mrs. Darnell lifted her head. “Quentin?”
Bobby scrambled out of the cabin. The air was wet but it smelled fresh. Mrs. Darnell came out behind him, followed by Ashley and Carlos.
In a few minutes they spotted Mr. Darnell fighting his way through the jungle. He hugged Mrs. Darnell like he had been lost for weeks. He was soaked and covered with mud and streaks of blood from scratches. But he was back.
Mr. Darnell explained how hard it was to move through the forest, and that he’d slept under a tree. Then he got very serious. “How are Addison and Miranda?”
Mrs. Darnell frowned, and they both went into the plane. Ashley followed them, leaving Carlos and Bobby outside. Carlos just stood there, his normally brown skin looking pale. Bobby fidgeted in silence. He tried not to look, but his eyes kept moving to where the bodies of Russ and Roberto lay. He could see legs and feet, speckled with flies. Carlos was looking at the same spot.
“Sorry about Roberto,” Bobby said. “He was nice. Awesome guitar player.”
Carlos looked away “Yeah. Maybe I’ll get his stuff.”
Bobby didn’t know if he should laugh and decided not to. He imagined it must be awful to have a brother killed. Bobby had never lost anyone, unless you counted his dad moving out. He had never even had a dog that died.
“How’s your hand?” Bobby said.
“Hurts like a son of a bitch. My fingers are fucking smashed.”
Bobby changed the subject again. “I’m hungry. Aren’t you hungry?”
“Mostly thirsty.”
In the night they’d managed to drink some rainwater, but it hadn’t been enough. Bobby figured there must be rainwater sitting in pools in the leaves on the ground, maybe even in some of the pieces of the plane. He asked Carlos if he wanted to help collect it.
Carlos shrugged and nodded. “I just got one hand.”
They found two zip-lock bags and a plastic rain jacket of Miranda’s. Bobby tied knots in the ends of the sleeves so the sleeves could hold water. But finding water that looked clean enough to drink wasn’t easy. Water was pooled in the wrecked metal, and they poured what they could into the bags. But the water was brown with dirt and oil. Then they found a jagged piece of the cockpit filled with water that had turned red from hacked-up muscle and skin still stuck to the metal. After that they dumped out both of the bags.
Water was indeed trapped in leaves on the ground, but only small amounts. After tediously collecting nearly a half bag this way, Bobby could see that Carlos’s hand was killing him. “You want to take a break? I can do this for a while.”
Carlos held out another leaf. “Just hold the bag open.”
Leaf by leaf, drop by drop, they worked without saying much more. The first bag filled up and they sealed it and set it at the base of a tree. The clouds disappeared and the forest started to heat up. Water seemed to hang in the air, like rain that wasn’t falling.
As Bobby sealed the second full bag and set it next to the first, there was a sudden wave of pattering raindrops. At first he thought the rain had started again, but the pattering lasted only a few seconds, and it came from one place in the trees above them.
“Look at that.” Carlos pointed with his mummy-wrapped hand.
Bobby squinted. An animal jumped and sailed toward them to another tree. The branch shook, letting go another shower of rain. The creature eyed them for a second and then launched itself again. Now it was above them, clinging to a tree no fatter than a baseball bat.
Bobby realized it was a tree kangaroo. Its shape was similar to the larger ground kangaroos, but it was the size of a big house cat. Heavy haunches and an arched back made the front part of the animal, the forearms and head, seem small. Its rust-colored eyes were low on its face, just over a short snout, and although its body was mostly dark, its face was golden. Most impressive was its tail, longer than the whole body and mottled with brown and tan fur. The tail hung straight down, like its only purpose was to impress. The creature eyed them, its pointed ears cocked in their direction. Then, clinging to the tree with its forearms, the tree kangaroo pumped its back legs. The tree shook, bringing a shower of rain down on them.
“Hey!” Carlos said, drawing the word out as if scolding a toddler.
Without taking its eyes off them, the creature pumped its legs and showered them again.
Clean rainwater ran from Bobby’s hair down his face. “He’s trying to help us.”
“Probably trying to scare us off,” Carlos said.
The creature responded by shaking the tree again, dropping more water on them.
“I’m telling you, Carlos, he’s helping!” Bobby pulled out the plastic jacket he had tucked in his pants and spread it out. He didn’t have to wait long. The creature shook the tree again and water fell onto the jacket and ran into the knotted sleeves hanging below.
“The water here is gone,” Bobby said. “Let’s see if he’ll do another tree.” He moved to a different spot. Carlos grunted and followed. The tree kangaroo scuttled up the tree and leapt from one branch to another until it was above them. It then shook the branch hard, sending a drenching shower onto them and the open jacket. Bobby could now feel the weight of the water.
Bobby shouted back to the plane, “Mr. Darnell, you have to see this!”
Quentin watched the tree kangaroo. The creature’s fearless behavior could mean humans had influenced it, but perhaps that idea was a manifestation of his need for a connection between the animal and their survival. He pondered this as they stood watching the performance. Suddenly he remembered the figurine he’d found in the bowerbird’s nest. He pulled it from his pocket and studied it. The resemblance was unmistakable.
“There must be people around here,” he said. “Maybe it’s been trained to do this.”
“Then there must be a village nearby,” Lindsey exclaimed.
Silently, Quentin processed the implausibility of the creature being trained. The only animals domesticated by Papuans were pigs and dogs. Rats lived in close association with them, but even those were not so fearless. Tree kangaroos were marsupials, and he knew of no marsupials anywhere that were domesticated or trained to do any helpful tasks.
The tree kangaroo continued shaking water onto the waiting jacket. As Bobby moved from one spot to another, so did the kangaroo. The animal’s behavior was so methodical that Quentin finally allowed himself to believe humans had trained it.
The jacket sleeves filled with water, and Quentin insisted that they all take a generous drink. Astoundingly, the tree kangaroo stopped shaking the trees while they drank, and then promptly started again when Bobby held the jacket out for more.
After returning to the fuselage, Quentin held a bag of water open as Lindsey cleaned Addison’s face. His forehead was grotesquely swollen, with concentric circles of blue and black around the impact wound. He had not stirred since the crash, and Quentin feared brain damage. But a pulse could be felt in his neck and wrist, giving them hope.
Miranda, who was in a perpetual state of semiconsciousness, seemed to be faring better. Suddenly, as Lindsey wiped her face, Miranda opened her eyes. “Where are we?”
Lindsey exhaled loudly. “Thank God, honey! We’ve been so worried.”
Miranda tried lifting her head, but then dropped back, moaning.
Quentin said, “Our plane crashed on the flight to Jayapura, Miranda.”
“I remember.” She squeezed her eyes shut as if the memory hurt. “How long ago?”
“Yesterday,” Lindsey said. “We’re going to get you to a hospital soon.”
Her brows furrowed. “Only one day?” She lifted an arm, whimpering from the pain of movement, and pushed her fingers through her short blonde hair.
Lindsey continued washing Miranda’s skin, talking softly to her.
Quentin took one of the bags of water and a reas
onably clean portion of a shirt. He found Carlos slumped against a tree, weary from gathering water, and Quentin unwrapped his ruined hand. It was damaged beyond hope of repair, and infection was beginning to set in. Quentin knew that even in a modern hospital they would likely amputate his three crushed fingers. Carlos sobbed but didn’t complain as Quentin washed the hand.
“Mbaiso!” Bobby said. “That’s what we’ll call him.” He and Ashley, who had taken over for Carlos, now sat on the rotting trunk of a fallen tree. For some minutes they had been discussing the problem of finding the missing tail section of the plane, but Bobby had a hard time ignoring the tree kangaroo.
“Mbaiso?” Ashley said. “Where'd you get that?”
Bobby explained Mr. Darnell’s story about the legendary creature, the mbaiso.
Ashley snorted. “Mr. D always tells stories like that. Doesn’t mean they’re true.”
“So what about him, then?” Bobby pointed at the animal above them.
“I don’t know. Can we focus on finding the rest of the plane? It sounds like your idea might actually work.”
Bobby had never talked to Ashley alone. He was fourteen, almost a freshman, and had hardly any friends. Ashley was seventeen, a senior, the kind of girl kids like Bobby dreamed about. She was pretty, and Bobby had always figured she was stuck up. But now things were different. Her sarcasm had mostly disappeared. In fact, she seemed impressed with his plan for finding the rest of their stuff. So they went back and convinced Mr. Darnell to give the plan a try. Soon Mr. Darnell, Bobby, Ashley, and Carlos headed into the forest in the most likely direction until they were out of sight of the plane but still within earshot of Mrs. Darnell. At that spot they posted Carlos, who would stay as a yelling link to Mrs. Darnell. They moved on and then posted Ashley as another link in their voice chain, within shouting distance of Carlos.
Ashley was willing to do this, but she seemed to be hiding some dread, perhaps of being left alone there.
“You gonna be okay?” Bobby asked her.
“Shut up, Bobby. Worry about yourself.”
His face flushed. Not willing to give up, he looked up at the tree kangaroo, which had followed them. “Mbaiso, stay here with Ashley, okay?” He pointed at Ashley. The tree kangaroo raised its head and stared, its forelimbs fidgeting while the thicker hind legs gripped a branch. To Bobby’s surprise, the creature stayed put as he pushed on after Mr. Darnell.
Over his shoulder Mr. Darnell said, “You call it Mbaiso?”
“I know your story was made up, but that’s what he is.”
“It’s a good name.” Mr. Darnell ducked under a vine and then held it up for Bobby. “But I’m hoping our Mbaiso acts the way he does from living with people. If we can find them, they can radio for help.” He paused to call to Ashley, who answered right away. Still too close to post another link in the chain.
Bobby glanced to his side and something caught his eye—splintered branches stood out like markers above a small clearing. He approached the spot and Mr. Darnell followed. When they were almost upon it, they froze.
Mr. Darnell whispered, “What the hell?”
The clearing was the size and shape of a Twin Otter wing. But only a small part of the wing was visible at the center of the clearing, protruding from a mound of freshly dug soil.
“It’s buried,” Bobby said. “Someone buried the wing.”
Mr. Darnell moved closer. “What is this?” He kneeled and touched the soil. It was red-brown, different from the black soil of the surrounding area. It was very fine, and the surface reminded Bobby of dark sifted flour.
“It looks like an anthill—like ants buried the wing,” Bobby said.
“Yeah, but where are the ants?” Mr. Darnell dug into the stuff with his hand, and Bobby watched, half-expecting the hand to come up covered with angry, swarming ants.
“And why would ants—wait a minute!” Mr. Darnell pushed aside some of the dirt. Then he used his forearm to shove aside an entire armload. Beneath it there was only the forest floor. Mr. Darnell moved to the protruding metal, felt for its edge under the soil, and then lifted the entire piece with one hand. “The wing isn’t buried. It’s gone.”
They stared at the chunk of wing in Mr. Darnell’s hand. The soil on the ground seemed dry, but the raw edges of the wreckage shined with wetness. He dropped it and jumped to the edge of the clearing. “Don’t touch anything, Bobby!” he wiped his hands on his pants. “The wing has decomposed—or something. Jesus, what is this stuff?” He rubbed his hands and arms like they had acid on them.
Bobby stared at what was left of a Twin Otter wing. It was now upside down, jagged edges turned upward. As he watched, a chunk the size of a penny sagged, dripped to the ground, and then disappeared into the soil.
Bobby and Mr. Darnell watched the last of the wing dissolve. The process reminded Bobby of a time-lapse video he’d seen once of a decomposing rat.
“Hey, you guys! Did you find something?” It was Ashley, calling from her station.
Mr. Darnell shouted, “Yeah, we did. Keep listening for us.” He hesitated, looking at his hands like he feared they might melt. Then he turned to Bobby. “The rest of the plane has to be nearby.” He pointed to a spot well clear of the disintegrated wing. “You stay there, and I’ll search the area within earshot.
Soon after Mr. Darnell left, though, he cried out. As Bobby rushed to his side, Mr. Darnell grabbed his arm, a silent warning to be careful. Before them lay the tail of the plane, in several pieces. And like the wing each piece was only a small chunk in the middle of a mound of perfect red-brown anthill dirt. To one side was a heap of travel bags, clothing, and other things. Someone had gathered up their stuff.
Mr. Darnell released Bobby’s arm and moved away. Bobby followed. Before them was a seat from the plane. It lay on its side—what was left of it. The rest was just soil. Next to the seat, formed to its curves, was another pile of soil. Bobby stared, and then suddenly he inhaled sharply. The soil had the shape of a human body.
“What is that?” Bobby whispered.
“It must have been the Indonesian girl. And I can only assume that was her companion.” He pointed. Near the dirt figure, as if someone had curled up to fall asleep and then turned to dust, was another mound of soil in the shape of a human body.
Quentin felt ready to burst. He had no answers, but the questions still came.
“I can maybe understand the bodies,” Lindsey said. “It’s a tropical forest. Things decompose quickly. But the plane wreckage? Where did that go?”
“Not that quickly,” he said, after taking several gulps of rainwater. “We’ve been here less than two days, Linds. Bodies don’t decompose that quickly. Besides, the other bodies are still there.” Upon returning from their search, he’d inspected the bodies of the pilot, Roberto, and Russ. They’d shown early signs of decomposition, but they were still there.
“Then what could have happened? Are you sure they were bodies? Maybe the guy found his wife alive and they left together to find a village.”
“I don’t know!” His voice had an edge that he hadn’t intended. “I suppose that’s possible.” He rubbed his forehead and then glanced at the others. The only conscious person who had not asked the same confounding questions was Miranda. Lying in her makeshift bed, her body broken and weak, she watched the conversation silently.
They sorted through the recovered items. It was mostly clothing and their field supplies: notebooks, binoculars, and wildlife identification guides. Most valuable were Lindsey’s first aid supplies and two bottles of Aqua mineral water. Her stash of snacks was mostly gone except for some cereal bars. After setting aside a portion for Addison in hopes that he would wake up, they divided these up and ate them.
There was no medical kit. Perhaps it had turned to dirt with the rest of the wreckage. Lindsey spread out her own first aid supplies. There were bandages, motion-sickness tablets, q-tips, antihistamines, alcohol wipes, two tubes of antibiotic cream, scissors, gauze, tape, a needle and thread,
and insect repellant. It was absurdly inadequate, but they decided to use the supplies at once in case they might be able to prevent infection in at least some of their wounds.
As Quentin worked on Carlos’s hand, the strange condition of the wreckage gnawed at his consciousness. Their lives were at risk from dehydration, hyperthermia, infection, disease, and blunt trauma. And now, even if they somehow could overcome these threats, an unknown force was at work in this forest, causing people and solid objects to disintegrate overnight.
And then there was the raw and simple fact that they had not seen or heard a single plane or helicopter that might be searching for them.
After depleting the limited supplies, Quentin collapsed and folded himself up against the fuselage wall. He sat there and quietly stared at Addison’s limp form.
Bobby figured that if Mbaiso had been trained to help collect water, he could probably help do other things. Like getting food. Bobby’s hunger was starting to hurt. His small portion of the food they had found only made it worse. And after their success getting water and finding the plane’s tail, he was starting to feel he could be useful. Besides, he liked impressing Ashley with his ideas, and she’d been hanging around him all afternoon.
They stood together now in the fading afternoon light, eyeing Mbaiso, who was a few meters away clinging to a tree. A termite trail ran up the tree’s trunk, from the ground to somewhere far above. Bobby had seen trails like this before. It was actually a tunnel, a covered highway made on the tree by termites out of chewed wood and saliva. Within the tunnel the termites were protected as they traveled up and down the tree. But Mbaiso had smashed part of the tunnel and now the termites swarmed the area. The tree kangaroo was watching the angry termites and keeping an eye on Bobby and Ashley at the same time.
Diffusion Box Set Page 6
