by Amber Hart
My stomach lurches. No. Though I’d anticipated this, I cannot seem to accept the fact that he will be killed coldheartedly.
“Let’s see who he is, shall we?” Mr. Tondjii rips the tape from the man’s mouth. “If you scream, I’ll cut your tongue right out, understand me?”
The man looks wild-eyed. He doesn’t understand English, I realize.
“Clovis,” Mr. Tondjii says. “Why don’t you translate for Raven? I wouldn’t want her to miss this.”
So I’ll be staying. My breath catches. Mr. Tondjii notices, and a hint of a smile crosses his face.
Clovis stands beside me, staring at the man who doesn’t stand a chance because of me.
He would have shot Clovis, I remind myself. Or maybe me.
The thought does nothing to help regulate my breathing. I’m losing my composure, and Mr. Tondjii will surely notice. Well, I never claimed to be a killer like him, anyway. Surely he will understand what this is doing to me. Or maybe that’s his point, to turn me into something like himself—someone who has no regard for life.
“What’s your name?” Clovis says into my ear, translating as Mr. Tondjii speaks.
The man says nothing.
“Are you a spy?”
I wish I could make Clovis stop. I don’t want to hear the dealings of this man’s life.
Mr. Tondjii rips the man’s shirt down the middle. Checks his skin.
“He’s looking for tribe tattoos,” Clovis explains. “Anything that will connect this man to another pack.”
I can see that the man has no markings. Clovis adds quietly, “We wear our tattoos in the middle of our chests.”
I’ve never seen Clovis’s chest, so I wouldn’t know. But I have seen Jospin’s chest, and he’s not marked. I want to ask Clovis what that means, but this is not the place.
“A wild,” Clovis says.
The man belongs to no pack. I see his face clearly under the harsh warehouse lights. He’s not young or old. Maybe early thirties. Dark Cameroonian skin, scraped and cut from his fight with Mattius, Clovis, and Hervé. His short hair glistens with sweat.
“Where are you from?” Clovis continues to translate, following Mr. Tondjii’s orders.
The man won’t answer anything. Mr. Tondjii finds a skinning knife and a dagger in the man’s pockets.
“Who did you come with?” Clovis’s breath is hot against my ear. “How many more men trespassed on my land? You were going to steal meat from my tribe?”
Mr. Tondjii spares the man no mercy. I watch. One punch. Two punches. Three, four, five. Blood spills from his mouth.
“I don’t let people steal from me and live,” Clovis translates.
Six, seven, eight. The man’s head snaps back. A sickening splat of blood lands on the floor.
“Where are they?” Clovis’s voice is calm. Mr. Tondjii’s voice is angry. “Tell me where the other wilds are, and I might let you live.”
We all know that’s a lie.
The man must know too, because he whispers only one thing. “Finish this already,” Clovis says in my ear. I want to grab his arm and hide my face, but I don’t. I want to scream and run from this place, but I don’t. I’m frightened of what Mr. Tondjii will do to me if I try to leave.
The wild knows his future. He knows what’s coming.
Mr. Tondjii pulls out a gun. Aims it.
“Do you want me to do it?” Simon asks, a cold look in his eyes as if the wild’s life is worth nothing.
“I will do it,” Mr. Tondjii answers him.
And I know, without a doubt, that I’m about to watch someone die. I’ve never seen anyone take his last breath. I don’t want to look on as the life spills out of him. I turn my head slightly so as to not witness a murder.
“Look at me,” Mr. Tondjii says in English.
He’s talking to me.
A deep breath, and I look.
“Watch, Raven,” Mr. Tondjii says. “I want you to watch.”
The bullet leaves the gun. Enters the man’s heart.
Stop.
Time.
I want to reach for the man. I want to run. I need to go. I fear that Mr. Tondjii will empty the gun’s chamber in me if I try. I feel my throat begin to burn as tears collect in my eyes. I try to blink out the horrific scene I just witnessed. I cannot help it—a small sob escapes me anyway. Clovis grabs my hand and squeezes it once. I am trying my best to not let out another cry.
It’s crippling. To know that the man was just breathing and now is not.
Mr. Tondjii says, in parting, “This is what we do to those who wrong us.”
Chapter 14
Jospin
“Who is this?” I ask Chloe, pulling a folded picture out of my pocket. It’s one of the ones Raven painted of the gorilla—I removed it from her canvas book.
Chloe takes the painting. Unfolds it. Smiles.
“Leahcim.”
I noticed that the habitat does this, names the gorillas. It makes no sense to me, but I suppose it doesn’t need to.
“She paints this gorilla a lot,” I say.
I shouldn’t be worrying about this, but I can’t help it. Raven paints what she loves, what inspires her, she once told me. Which leaves me wondering: Why are there so many images of this one ape?
“He took to her,” Chloe says, as if that explains everything. We are sitting outside at a concrete table. No one else is around. “He doesn’t like to eat for us, though he’s improved since Raven began working with him. He’s sometimes aggressive toward volunteers.”
“You let Raven work with an aggressive gorilla after what happened to her?”
“No,” Chloe says. “I should have been clearer: He’s aggressive with most volunteers, but never with Raven.”
I think back to what Raven said to me in the last moments, right before Father came through the trees.
—
“I thought you didn’t like gorillas, anyway,” I say to her, eyeing her injured arm.
“Things change,” she replies.
—
I wonder if this is the gorilla that changed things for her.
“Do you want to meet him?” Chloe asks.
No. Absolutely not. “Yes.”
Because, for some reason, this matters to me. I need to see with my own eyes the thing that Raven loves. I don’t understand how she could or why she would. But she does.
Chloe’s mouth drops open, but she quickly regains her composure, grabs her glass of water, and tells me to follow her. Past other habitat workers. Past doors and windows and hallways. Into the sanctuary, which feels small compared to the real jungle, though for an enclosed structure it’s really quite big.
“He’s there,” Chloe says, pointing to a spot at the farthest corner of the enclosure.
The gorilla is sitting, back to us, looking out the glass wall at the forest.
“We’ll be releasing him in a couple of weeks, once he’s gained enough weight,” Chloe says.
“I can’t really see him from here,” I say.
“You want to see him up close?” There’s doubt in Chloe’s voice, a skepticism that questions my motives.
“I just need to know why Raven painted him. I need to see him nearby, that’s all,” I assure her.
I’m not here to hurt her precious apes, even though Chloe refuses to acknowledge how much money she could make off them if she would just be reasonable.
“Do you want to—” Pause. “Do you want to see him from inside?” she asks.
Line drawn.
“No,” I reply. “I want to see him from the outside.”
We make our way outside again, this time to the outer glass wall of the sanctuary.
And I see him. There’s something not right about this gorilla. The way he does nothing. Gorillas never do nothing. They feed their babies, groom themselves and one another. They play with things: pieces of grass, twigs, seeds. They swing from trees, and eat, and mate.
This gorilla does nothing.
He st
ares at the forest. He ignores his surroundings. He doesn’t interact socially with the other gorillas.
Disturbing.
Gorillas belong to troops, like a family. They are very social creatures by nature. Why, then, is this gorilla that Raven somehow loves sitting and doing nothing?
I approach him. He stares out as if he could not care less. Nut-brown eyes and dark fur. Not quite a silverback yet. Not old or mature enough for that, but close.
“They share ninety-eight percent of our genetic makeup,” Chloe says.
As though I am interested.
“I think he’s depressed,” she says.
Maybe true.
I look through five inches of glass to see the scar on his arm. Perfectly circular. He was shot, for sure. And he got away.
I position myself directly in front of him. He moves just slightly, as if to leave.
I quickly reach into my pocket—where I keep Raven’s picture of us—and unfold it. Slap it against the glass for this gorilla to see. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if it will make any difference at all.
It does.
The gorilla stops. Eyes blink. Fingers go to his mouth as if to wet them. Then he does the oddest thing. He reaches for the drawing. He reaches until he touches glass.
“What does it mean?” I ask, taken aback by his reaction.
She’s smiling. “It means that he recognizes Raven in the drawing.”
The gorilla removes his hand. Makes a weird movement. Chloe sucks in a breath.
“He’s signing,” she whispers. “He’s signing for you.”
“Signing?”
“He’s talking to you.”
“A gorilla is talking to me?”
Impossible. I look from Chloe back to the ape, trying to make sense of what she’s saying.
“They can do that, you know.” A triumphant grin fills Chloe’s face.
She’s knocked me down a peg, and she knows it. She’s informed me that gorillas can communicate on a level I never knew. It feels strange, to know this side of them.
Would they have something to say when they’re looking down the barrel of my gun?
The thought hits me out of nowhere.
“What is he saying?” I ask.
“He said painting.”
“That’s it?” I ask. “He doesn’t actually talk, then? He just says random words?”
I’m not holding a painting, anyway; it’s a drawing. So I’m not sure why he’d sign the word painting.
“He can’t form coherent sentences or complete thoughts yet, because he only knows a few words,” Chloe replies. “Raven was teaching him more. He would, with time, probably be able to sign many words and ideas.
“He paints with Raven,” Chloe adds. “It’s his favorite thing to do with her.”
I’m shocked by this detail too.
Chloe observes the gorilla with a scientific eye. “I’m guessing he’s referring to Raven as painting because he doesn’t actually know how to sign her name.”
The gorilla makes more movements with his hands.
“Sun,” Chloe says, brows furrowed. “I don’t understand. He keeps signing the word sun.”
She looks at me. I have no answers for her.
“Hair,” she says. “He’s saying sun hair.”
The gorilla hits the glass. Acts more alive now. Signs something else.
“My God,” Chloe says. A hand flies to her mouth. There’s a look of awe on her face. “Girl.”
“Sun-hair girl,” I say. I take a moment to fit the pieces together.
“Sun-hair girl,” I repeat, “is Raven.”
This gorilla doesn’t know her name, so he made one for her. He recognized her, remembered that her hair is like bleached sunshine, and gave her a name.
Just like a human would.
Chapter 15
Raven
“Hurry,” Clovis whispers.
I’m already running as fast as I can. The poacher following us, the one Mr. Tondjii assigned to keep an eye on Clovis and me, didn’t expect our sudden escape. He isn’t as ready as he should be. His mistake.
Clovis and I move quickly. Over tree roots, around holes, atop plush moss. Clovis makes a break for a clearing. It’s dangerous. The poacher, if he’s anywhere close, will see us here, away from the cover of the trees. But it’s our only chance to get away.
We’re heading directly for a waterfall.
We’ll cut off our tracks at the edge of the cliff with a jump into the water below. The pack member chasing us will have to go back to the compound for backup. Admit defeat. Face Mr. Tondjii’s wrath. More will come for us, most likely, but we’ll have a long head start by then.
Clovis wanted me to be free for a day. To talk about Jospin. To swim in the pool by the cave. Especially after what I—we—saw. I can’t stop thinking about the wild. I need a day to be free from the pack’s scheming, from them watching my every move.
We reach the edge of the cliff. I take deep gulps of air to sate my burning lungs, but I don’t stop. I don’t pause to look down. I don’t stare in awe at the rushing water flowing beneath. I simply run until my feet hit air and I’m falling.
I hold my breath and try not to smile as the plummet sends my stomach into a tailspin. My eyes squeeze tight and a smile bursts and I feel like I’m being flipped upside down.
Whoosh.
The water hits me fast and warm. Pain erupts in my scarred arm. Though the arm is healed, a fall this far, with water slamming into my newly generated skin, is excruciating. I shoot down, down, down. But one thrust of my feet and I’m flying back up through the water like a cork from a bottle.
My head breaks the surface. I wait for the throb in my arm to dull to a manageable ache. We did it. We lost him.
Clovis treads water, reaching the edge of the pool with me.
He smiles. “Nice jump.”
I return his smile. “Nice plan.”
Though the water is refreshing, we need to make it to a different waterfall, a mile north of here, where the cave is.
This time, the run through the forest is fun. No one following. Just Clovis and me, trying to buy ourselves as much time as possible. I don’t want to think about what will happen when we get back. Clovis has decided he’ll explain to Mr. Tondjii that we wanted time alone in the jungle, without anyone watching. Passion might be excusable, Clovis thinks. It’s a risk. But what isn’t a risk here?
A mile later, we reach the cave and collapse in laughter and tiredness.
“We’re gonna have hell to pay,” I say. I don’t honestly know if I care.
“Is it worth it?” Clovis asks.
He knows it is. “Of course.”
I look out of the cave, which is off to the side of the waterfall. This waterfall is smaller than the one we jumped from. The sparkling water beneath is churning a current like a lazy river. I don’t bother removing my cargo shorts or my plain purple shirt. The only things I actually take off are my boots and socks, which are waterlogged from the first jump. I set them on a rock to dry. Clovis does the same, then removes his shirt too, giving me a perfect view of his tattoo.
It’s a beautiful tribal design. Lines that crisscross. Some with wide borders, some with thin. In the center of each line is something different. Dots in one. Notched lines in another. Swirls, arrows—there isn’t a theme. Just a particular design, assigned to their tribe. All the lines meet in the middle in a black star.
“Each man in our pack has the same one,” Clovis says, catching me looking.
My eyes find Clovis’s stomach—ripped like Jospin’s. Broad, strong shoulders like Jospin’s. I turn away and dive in. The water helps me exercise my bad arm. I stay under for a minute until I get my bearings. I don’t want to see Clovis and think of Jospin. It makes everything that much harder.
Clovis dives in next to me and opens his eyes. I stare back. The water is like glass. I see his face perfectly. Dreads float up around his head. He swims to me. Takes my good hand. Pulls me ov
er to a bend in the pool. We dive a little deeper, to an opening underwater.
I want to inspect the opening, but I need to go up for air. I break the surface, my lungs burning.
“What is that?” I ask Clovis as he comes up too.
“How long can you hold your breath?” is his response.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
Clovis wipes water from his face. “I discovered this when I was a kid. I didn’t tell anyone. Sometimes when I needed to get away from my father—” He stops abruptly, as if he didn’t mean to say the words. Or maybe it’s just painful for Clovis to talk about his relationship with his father. “Sometimes,” he continues, “I would come here. I’ll take you in, but keep it between us, okay?”
“I promise.” It’s not my right to share his sacred spot.
“You need to hold your breath for a bit, though. Can you?”
I nod. Calm my heart. Inhale as much air as I can and dive down, using my feet to shoot off. I enter the tunnel, and as I do, the light dims. It continues to dim the deeper I go. There’s not enough space for us to swim side by side, so Clovis swims behind me.
A minute in and I feel the ache, the pressure in my lungs. I move my arms faster. Churn the water with powerful kicks. All I see is tunnel. I can’t hold my breath much longer. But then I spot it. A blue light like an aurora rippling in front of me. The tunnel opens up and I swim faster, desperate for air. I inhale before I’ve completely surfaced, choking on water. Clovis surfaces beside me and pats my back.
“You okay?” he asks.
I can’t even answer him, because I’m desperately sucking in air, but also because I can’t believe my eyes. A bumpy wall surrounds me. There is a small hole in the ceiling, about the size of a golf ball, letting in fresh air and streaming blue light. I catch my breath.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“In a cave,” Clovis replies.
The cave is gorgeous.
I step out of the water. Feel the stone beneath my feet. I can’t stand up straight—there’s not enough height for that—so I crawl along the edge. Touch the slightly moist walls. The air is cool here; it reminds me of the moments after the sun sets.
“This place is beautiful,” I say.
Rippling light flickers on the rocky walls. I sit. Take it all in. The fresh air and gray stones. The clear water and echo of my voice.
