Forty Acres

by Dwayne Alexander Smith

  Kwame shrugged when he noticed Martin staring. “You don’t get a chance to drink the most expensive tequila in the world every day.”

  Damon handed Martin his shot glass last. “It’s called Porfidio. It’s delicious, but it really packs a punch.”

  “Yeah, be careful,” Carver said, feigning concern. “You might wanna take itty-bitty sips.”

  “Bullshit! One quick swallow. That’s the only way,” Tobias bellowed.

  Solomon, still on his feet, raised his shot glass high. The other men, including Martin, stood up and joined him. “To Martin’s first ride. May there be plenty more in his future.” The men clinked their glasses, then tossed back the shots.

  “Whooo!” Tobias shouted. “Now that’s something!”

  The other men blurted out similar exclamations as 80 proof liquor hit their systems.

  Martin winced and issued a guttural sound that he had never heard himself make before as the velvety hot liquor oozed down his esophagus and branched through his chest like lava.

  Damon laughed and slapped Martin’s shoulder. “You did good. You okay?”

  “Great,” Martin replied, his voice hoarse.

  “I think he could use another,” Carver said.

  “Absolutely,” Tobias agreed. “One more.”

  Martin found it difficult to even utter the word no. He waved off the offer of another shot and flopped back into his chair.

  “No more,” Damon said to Carver and the others. “Looks like he’s had enough.”

  Martin heard the men chuckle, but strangely their voices seemed far away. Martin felt his head swim and thought it was odd that one shot could have such a quick and potent effect. They did say it was strong, but . . . He glanced out the window at the sun again. The fiery eye glared back—and began to wink and throb and grow dimmer and dimmer. It was as if someone were lowering an enormous shade over that gazillion-watt lightbulb in the sky. Before Martin passed out completely, he turned in his seat and tried to speak. He tried to tell them that he was feeling sick . . . but there were too many faces staring at him. Too many eyes. Then the world went black.

  CHAPTER 32

  Martin! Martin, wake up!”

  Martin peeled opened his heavy eyes and blinked at a blurred figure. His vision began to clear like a fog lifting. It was Damon hovering over him. Nudging him.

  “Wake up. We’re here.”

  “What?” Martin noticed how quiet it was. The constant vibration of speed was gone. The jet wasn’t moving. Martin shot up in his seat. The seats were all empty. He and Damon were the only two people left in the cabin.

  Damon grinned. “We landed ten minutes ago. You’re a real lightweight when it comes to drinking, huh?”

  Martin rubbed his eyes to wake himself up. He couldn’t believe that one drink had put him out for—how long? Over three hours? And why did he feel so weird? His senses had returned but there was still a residual fuzziness. It reminded him of the buzz he got from all the codeine he popped when his wisdom teeth were pulled out. After three hours of sleep, could he still be high from just that one drink? “Where is everybody?” Martin asked as he turned to the window. He noticed that the shade had been pulled.

  “They’re outside waiting for us,” Damon replied.

  Martin pulled up the window shade. What Martin expected to see outside his window was a picturesque little airport with a tiny control tower. Perhaps a dozen or so small planes parked outside a single hangar. A lonesome windsock flapping in the breeze. What Martin saw instead were trees. Just trees. An endless expanse of the tallest trees that he had ever laid eyes on, held back from the edge of the runway by a chain-link fence that ran its entire length. Martin glanced across the aisle at the other windows. All he could see were more humongous trees. He turned to Damon. “This sure doesn’t look like Seattle.”

  “We’re actually about a hundred and fifty miles east of Seattle.”

  “What airport?”

  Damon shook his head. “No airport. A private landing strip that serves just one jet—and you’re on it.”

  “You’re telling me that Solomon has his own landing strip?”

  Damon smiled like a man with a secret. “Not exactly.” Damon ignored the look on Martin’s face. “Listen, we got a long drive ahead. Last chance to use the john. We’re ready to go.”

  CHAPTER 33

  The private landing strip was a six-thousand-foot stretch of blacktop surrounded by three hundred square miles of dense forest. Like a scar on the face of the earth. Landing lights flanked the length of the otherwise unmarked runway, and halogen lights were mounted atop the encompassing fence. Two steel-paneled structures were situated at one end of the landing strip. One was a garage big enough to shelter two safari-beige Land Rover Defenders and the other was a small guard shack. One hundred yards away from the two buildings stood an aboveground nine-thousand-gallon jet-fuel storage tank.

  As Martin stood at the bottom of the Gulfstream’s stairway taking in the scenery, he couldn’t help but be impressed with how organized everything appeared. How much, he wondered, did it cost to construct a landing strip out here in the middle of a forest? How much to keep it operational and employ two guards around the clock? And where did these guards come from? Martin couldn’t be certain, but the greenery in every direction seemed a good indication that the guards probably did not commute.

  The two landing-strip guards, both black men, young, and built like running backs, stood beside the nose of the jet talking to Solomon. Both guards wore khakis, green wilderness jackets, and what looked like good hiking boots. And despite the holstered sidearms that hung from their hips, Martin thought that they both looked pretty friendly. But why the firepower? What were the two NFL rejects guarding against? Bears? As far as Martin knew, jet fuel tasted nothing like honey. Trespassers maybe? Martin knew drug runners would kill for an isolated drop point like this.

  “There he is,” Tobias called to Martin. “You coming or not?” They were near the tail of the jet waiting beside one of the Land Rovers. The other truck remained parked in the garage. The rugged 4x4 vehicles were equipped with lifted suspensions, huge forty-four-inch off-road tires, and a raised air intake system for fording streams and shallow sections of rivers without stalling out.

  The rear of the Land Rover was open, and as Martin walked over to join the others, he spotted his knapsack in the back of the truck with the other bags and rafting gear.

  “You have a good nap?” Tobias asked.

  “Nap?” Martin laughed. “I feel like I was drugged.” Martin rubbed his eyes again. When he looked up, he caught the tail end of an odd look passing among the men. They appeared amused, but there was something else in their expressions that he was still too fuzzy to place.

  “Listen, Grey. You’re going to have to be able to hold your liquor better than that if you’re going to hang out with the big boys,” Carver said.

  Kwame pulled a small pouch from his jacket pocket, and from the pouch he removed a small twig. He handed the twig to Martin. “Chew on that. It’ll help you feel better.”

  Martin stared at the twig. It was about two inches long with neatly cut edges. “What is it?”

  “African chewing stick.” To demonstrate, Kwame removed another stick from his pouch and stuck it between his teeth. “It’s very soothing. Try it.”

  Martin shrugged and stuck the stick into his mouth. He gnashed on it and a light minty flavor flooded his mouth. It was soothing as Kwame had said.

  “Nice, right?”

  Kwame offered a chewing stick to the other men. Tobias and Damon each took one, but Carver declined, grumbling, “You know I’m not into that voodoo shit.”

  Martin gazed into the far distance at a jagged mountain range that rose above the treetops. The sight was breathtaking.

  “Looks like someone’s been trapped in the city too long,” Damon said to him.
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  Martin nodded. “It’s just so beautiful.”

  “My friend, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  “Not even close,” Solomon added as he ambled up beside Martin. “Hell, son, this is just a rusty old fence and some blacktop. Wait until you see what’s out there. Which reminds me—” The old billionaire turned to the others. “Why the hell are we still standing here?”

  “Move out!” Tobias bellowed like a drill sergeant. He slammed the rear hatch shut and began to maneuver his bulk into the driver’s seat. Solomon and Carver climbed into the front beside Tobias. Damon, Kwame, and Martin took the three middle seats.

  Martin watched the two guards jog across the runway to the fence, where they unlocked a heavy-duty padlock. Steel hinges groaned as both guards pulled open a wide double gate. Beyond the gate an overgrown dirt road receded into the dense woodland beyond. “How far to the river?” Martin asked.

  “Just a few miles,” Damon replied. “But we have to take it very slow. The road isn’t exactly paved.”

  Tobias keyed the ignition and stepped on the gas. The Land Rover sped through the gate and disappeared into the thick of the forest.

  CHAPTER 34

  The Land Rover trundled forward through the forest at an average speed of fifteen miles per hour. When they first left the landing strip, Martin could clearly make out the parallel ruts of dark soil on the forest floor that marked the road they traveled, but nearly an hour deep into the untamed terrain he could not spot a discernible path whatsoever. As Tobias wrestled the bouncing 4x4 around trees and outcroppings, it almost seemed as if the big man was following an invisible trail the same way a bloodhound follows a line of scent.

  As Martin watched the vast emerald nowhere scroll by outside his window, the surrounding forest was so breathtaking that it hardly seemed real. The dense canopy shrouded the forest floor in an almost mystical half-light. Wisps of fine mist crept across the mossy ground, nudged by the faintest breeze. Utopian scenery like this was something you saw on the cover of a fantasy novel, or maybe in an adventure flick created by CGI artists. But for Martin to see it right before his big brown eyes, to be smothered by nature’s raw beauty cranked up to full power . . . The experience was mesmerizing.

  “What the hell are they doing?” Tobias exclaimed, wrenching Martin out of his reverie.

  Tobias was pointing out the window at a mud-splattered forest-­green 4x4 stopped about fifty yards away and directly in their path. Two uniformed forest rangers were struggling to lift what looked like a huge, sagging sack of matted brown fur into the back of their truck.

  Solomon cocked his head as he squinted ahead. “Looks like they found a dead bear cub. Most likely they’re taking it in to figure out what killed it.”

  “That’s a cub?” Martin asked with some surprise. “That thing looks as big as both of them put together.”

  “Believe me, son,” Solomon said, “if that was mama bear, even four rangers couldn’t lift her.”

  The Land Rover drew closer and Martin could see that Solomon was correct. The huge fur ball that the rangers continued to wrestle with was the carcass of a young bear. Its flopping limbs and massive head made loading the creature’s bulk onto the tailgate something of a Sisyphean task. The two rangers, both Caucasian and stout as lumberjacks, paused to wipe the sweat from their brows and wave with a smile at the approaching Land Rover.

  Everyone waved back, but they did not stop. Martin expected Tobias to hit the breaks so that they could jump out and give the weary rangers a hand, but Tobias steered the vehicle around the two rangers and kept right on driving as if he had just circumvented a rotted tree stump. “Hey, maybe we should stop and give ’em a hand,” Martin said.

  For a moment there was an awkward silence in the truck. A few glances were exchanged. Finally Solomon spoke up. “Nah. Those boys are fine. It’s their job. Besides, it’s getting late. We need to keep moving if we’re going to reach the river before the sun goes down.”

  Martin tried to accept that. But still, how long could it really take to help the rangers if they all pitched in? Two minutes? Hell, Tobias could probably lift the cub all by himself. Martin glanced back at the rangers until finally he lost sight of them, then found Carver staring at him with that crooked smile of his.

  “Let me ask you something, Grey. If you and I were out there busting our humps and a truckload of good ol’ boys drove by on their way to go murder animals, you really think they would stop to help us?”

  Martin shrugged. “Maybe. Depends on who they are.”

  “Damn right,” Carver said. “They could also stop and shoot our black asses.”

  Everyone laughed, including Martin. Carver did have a point. The image of a black man alone in the woods with a bunch of armed white men had a scary connotation that could not be denied. And that got Martin wondering. Were any of his fellow travelers armed? Considering their status and how much they had to protect, it seemed only natural that some of them would bring along a little protection. Still, when Martin asked, at first he got no response, just the jostle and rattle of the advancing truck.

  By now it was clear to Martin that Damon and the others were keeping him in the dark about some aspect of the trip. But there was no point digging. He was already in with both feet and knew that sooner or later they’d let him in on the gag.

  When Solomon finally turned in his seat and answered Martin’s gun question, it was an answer that only gave rise to more questions. “Where we’re going,” Solomon said, “we don’t need guns.”

  * * *

  The Land Rover finally ground to a stop at the top of a steep decline that descended to the banks of a rushing river. At this juncture, the roaring waterway was about forty yards across and three feet deep with only a few jutting rocks to impede its calm current. So crisp and clear was the water that Martin was able to catch wavering glimpses of its mossy and cobbled riverbed. The crowding trees and ramble of the forest slackened significantly along the riverbank, and Martin assumed that, with such a spectacular view, this would make a perfect campsite. So why, he wondered, wasn’t anyone reaching for the doors?

  “We have a regular spot on the other side,” Damon said. “This is where we drive across.”

  “Drive across?” Martin thought that the engine snorkel was just a piece of just in case gear, like the winch mounted on the front bumper or the spare tire bolted to the hood. It never occurred to him that to reach their destination they would actually have to drive across a charging river.

  “Relax,” Damon said. “This truck is built for it.”

  “Yeah. We cross here all the time,” Kwame added. “Actually, it’s kind of fun.”

  “I don’t know,” Carver said as he peered nervously out at the river. “The water looks a little angrier than normal. There’s a good chance we could flip.” Then he turned to face Martin. “You can swim, can’t you, Grey?”

  “Like a fish,” Martin answered. “Let’s do this.”

  Damon winked. “That’s the spirit!”

  “You heard the man, Tobias,” Solomon said. “Let’s do this.”

  Tobias shifted the Land Rover into gear. “Hold on.”

  Martin clenched the center column handle as the front end dropped sharply. The Land Rover ground down the steep embankment and plowed forward into the rushing river. Martin felt the vehicle sway sideways as the current grabbed the undercarriage. For a moment, it seemed as if they would be swept downriver, but then the whirling tires got a firm grip of the riverbed and the truck labored forward. The Land Rover bounced and rocked and slewed violently as it advanced deeper and deeper into the river. The water and the moist chill that filled the truck’s interior reminded Martin of the atmosphere at an indoor aquarium, that tangible sponginess of the air that came with being surrounded by an enormous volume of water. At the river’s midpoint, the deepest section, the groan of the engine dropped several octav
es as it strained to pull the three-ton truck forward. The water had risen halfway up the side windows, providing the occupants with sloshing glimpses beneath the waterline. Martin could see large fish wriggling away from the churning metallic invader, and the sight brought a smile to his face. Kwame was right. It was kind of fun.

  A moment later, the dripping truck was kicking up rooster tails of mud as it clawed its way up the steep bank of the opposite shore. “Everybody in one piece?” Tobias asked, to a round of exhilarated smiles. It was the first time since the trip had begun that Martin really felt like a member of the group.

  Tobias continued driving, guiding the Defender deeper and deeper into the wilderness toward what Martin presumed would be a campsite. Martin felt himself relax a little. He reclined more in his seat, and somehow the forest seemed just a little more welcoming. This camping stuff isn’t so bad, he thought. They like me and everything is going to be okay. Screw that, everything is going to be great.

  CHAPTER 35

  Anna sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the cell phone clenched in her hand. Should I call Martin and tell him or not? That was the question that kept looping through her mind. When she first found out, the moment that she was absolutely sure, she wanted to call Martin with every fiber of her being. In fact she was already punching his number into her cell when a little voice inside her head interrupted. You can’t tell Martin over the phone, the voice said. You have to tell him in person. Anna knew that the little voice was right: the little voice was annoying that way. The proper thing to do was just wait the four days and tell Martin when he got back. But four days could seem like a lifetime when you wanted to share the most important news of your entire life. And that was the other problem. Until Anna told Martin, she couldn’t tell anyone else. Martin had to be told first. Anna didn’t think that Martin would get mad if he wasn’t the first to know, especially since he was off on that stupid trip, but to tell anyone else first just wouldn’t feel right. She definitely had to wait until he got back. But four days? Four days was so damn long. Anna groaned and squeezed her cell phone tighter. Who was she kidding? There was no way that she could wait that long. She had to tell someone or she was going to burst. But who? Who could she trust? Her sister, Lorraine? Anna shook her head. No, Lorraine couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. The whole family would know in under an hour. Then the answer came to Anna. Mom. Of course. She’d make her mother swear on a stack of Bibles not to tell a soul. Well, not a stack really; one copy of the good book would do just fine.