Charlotte stared at the body on the floor. More shadowy shapes trampled all around the camp. One bounded across the tent’s roof, causing her to duck. Howls and savage screams echoed everywhere. It sounded like hundreds of baboons had invaded the camp.

  She still did not understand this behavior. The presence of baboons was not unusual in the camp. Over the prior days, the occasional furry thief would bound in, steal food from tables, or root through their stores. The gray furred monkeys—Papio anubis, or olive baboons—were prevalent throughout the Congo. But so far, they had been no more than a nuisance. Not that they couldn’t be dangerous. She had read how baboons could swarm a leopard and kill it. Still, she had been assured that the shy monkeys posed little threat unless provoked, that thieves would scatter with a shout, which had proven true.

  But clearly no longer.

  “What do we do?” Jameson asked.

  A spatter of gunfire cut through the howling outside, coming from the other side of the camp. Charlotte shared a worried look with Ndaye. Another two of his teammates were out there. They had been guarding the last ICCN truck, readying it for the evacuation. Now they must be attempting to hold the line and protect the patients.

  She pictured the beleaguered truck, their only means of escape. Still, she knew the truth.

  We’d never make it that far on foot.

  Ndaye looked like he had come to the same conclusion. He snapped a radio from his hip and lifted it to his lips. He spoke rapidly in French, ordering the truck to leave while it could, to follow after the first one.

  Jameson overheard him and was fluent enough to understand. He grabbed Ndaye’s arm. “What’re you doing? Tell them to come here. To pick us up.”

  Ndaye shook free of his grip and remained unnervingly calm. “Non. They will be overrun before they could get here. It is better that they go. Plus, the noise, the motion, it might help us here.”

  “How?” Jameson demanded.

  A truck engine roared to life, accompanied by a loud grinding of gears. Then blasts of a horn sounded, bleating out in a fading Morse code as the vehicle headed for the jungle. The message of that horn was not meant for those in the tent, but for the trampling horde outside.

  Another baboon leaped to the top the tent, rattled across it, then leaped in the direction of the retreating truck. From the trail of hoots, screams, and fading howls, a majority of the troop chased after the truck.

  It’s trying to draw them off . . .

  “We’ll not have much time to seek a better shelter,” Ndaye whispered.

  Charlotte tightened her jaw and listened. A few shapes could still be heard scuffling about, past the front of the tent, grunting and toppling crates. Some of the baboons had remained behind.

  But how many?

  Charlotte shifted closer and pointed toward the back of the tent. “What about trying to reach the flooded village? Several of the structures out there have wooden walls, tin roofs.”

  She stared around at the others. She felt as if she had fallen into the story of “The Three Little Pigs,” urging their group to vacate this flimsy shelter and make for somewhere stronger.

  If only we had a brick house nearby . . .

  Benjie nodded. “It’s a good idea. Baboons can swim but prefer not to. Those floodwaters might discourage them from following us into the river.”

  “Then we hurry,” Ndaye said. “Go quietly.”

  He stepped toward the zippered flap, but Woko grabbed him and shook his head. “Hapana.”

  The shaman turned and headed the opposite way, to the rear of the tent. A long blade appeared in his fingers. He stabbed into the fabric and slashed downward, forming a new back door, away from the noises out front. He held the torn fabric open and waved to them.

  “Endelea,” he urged.

  Jameson obeyed, hurrying to the new door. He clearly wanted out—but he did not want to be the first one. He grabbed Byrne and pushed the Swiss nurse through the sliced opening. Byrne wormed his way out. Only once it appeared safe did Jameson follow.

  Charlotte paused long enough to grab a scalpel off a tray table, then helped Disanka and her boy squeeze through and followed them. She tried to move as silently as possible.

  Outside, Jameson and Byrne crouched near the tent. The rainswept camp lay dark, illuminated by pools of light from generator-powered lamp poles. Thunder rumbled, and distant flashes of lightning brightened the black clouds. At least, the rain had washed away the worst of the ants underfoot.

  Clutching her tiny blade, she searched ahead.

  Beyond the scatter of tents and crude lean-tos, shadowy outlines marked the village proper. The river reflected the growing battle in the skies, the waters briefly appearing and disappearing.

  Woko and Faraji joined them. The boy gripped the straps of his backpack and its precious cargo, the Kuba mask-box. Ndaye followed Benjie out and eyed the gathered group.

  Jameson shifted nervously, clearly anxious to get moving. He likely would’ve already taken off, except his gaze flicked to Ndaye’s rifle, the only gun among them. The pediatrician intended to stick close to that weapon.

  Ndaye waved them all into motion.

  They set off across the camp, avoiding pools of light and sidestepping deeper puddles lest any splashing draw the attention of the baboons. The outlines of the village slowly grew ahead of them, limned against the reflected flashes of lightning.

  Charlotte glanced back frequently. Her ears strained for any threat, but the constant rumble of thunder and patters of rain confounded her. She panted as silently as she could. Then a chain of lightning shattered directly overhead. The thunder pounded down at them, trembling the puddles.

  In that crackling flash, movement atop a tent drew her eye to the left. A large shape rose out of a crouch, briefly illuminated. It looked huge, far bigger than any baboon. Or maybe terror made it seem so. Another shift of shadows stirred, to her right, perched atop a netted pile of crates.

  Sentinels . . .

  She didn’t know if she and the others had been spotted in the lightning flash, but her worry became moot. A sharp cry rose from among them, rising from the tiniest throat. The blast of thunder must have frightened the child. Disanka huddled over the boy. Jameson lunged at her, his arms outstretched, looking ready to strangle the child to silence.

  Disanka retreated into Charlotte.

  But the damage was done.

  The sentinel to the left howled. The call was carried even louder by the second baboon. They both vanished, bounding off their roosts and into the darkness. Cries erupted behind them, rising from many throats.

  Too many . . .

  “Run!” Ndaye shouted.

  They fled, scattering apart. Charlotte stuck close to Disanka and her boy. She followed Jameson and Byrne. As they rounded a lean-to, a shape crashed into them. Byrne was struck in the side and flattened to the mud. A massive baboon battered and clawed at him. The nurse lifted a defensive arm, only to meet the beast’s fangs and powerful jaws. Wrist bones crunched. With a toss of the baboon’s head, the hand ripped away with a high arc of blood.

  Byrne screamed.

  Then two gunshots deafened Charlotte, firing past her ear. Fur flew, but the beast simply flung itself away, diving back into hiding. Charlotte glanced back around, expecting to see Ndaye, but it was another ICCN guard, a smaller man in similar attire. He ran past her. She realized the guard must have come from the truck, maybe hiding when the vehicle took off and making his way over to help them.

  The guard rushed to Byrne and pulled the nurse to his feet. Byrne cradled his arm, staggering as he was half-dragged onward.

  Jameson hadn’t waited and was a good distance ahead. He had already reached the village’s edge, but he didn’t slow until he hit the water, splashing into the flooded section.

  Charlotte headed after him with Disanka.

  Chattering and howling chased them, closing quickly upon them.

  Charlotte gasped and ran, her heart pounding.

  We have to make it . . .

  A terrified cry rose to her left. She glanced over. Fifteen meters away, Faraji lay facedown in the mud; two shadows tore at his form. The boy rolled and fought, more to keep his blue backpack in place than to protect himself.

  She pushed Disanka toward the ICCN guard. “Get her to safety. Follow the doctor.”

  She then clutched her scalpel and ran toward Faraji.

  Woko reached his apprentice first. The elderly shaman kicked one of the baboons away. The other rolled sideways, hissing with a baring of long fangs. More beasts closed in on the two of them, melting out of the shadows with ear-splitting howls.

  As she ran, she spotted Ndaye beyond them. He had his rifle raised, but he held off shooting, clearly fearful of hitting them. Benjie crouched behind the ICCN leader.

  Before Charlotte could reach the shaman, Woko flung his arm wide and spun. A yellowish powder flew from his fingertips, as if by magic. But she knew the source, picturing the tiny vial removed from the Kuba Box. Before the rain could wash the powder out of the air, a fine mist circled the pair.

  The baboons tried to attack through it—only to suddenly balk and retreat, screaming even louder. Several fled fully away.

  One raced straight at Charlotte. She flinched and skidded sideways, only to have it lope past her, hooting in panic and alarm.

  Ahead, Woko used the momentary break to grab the back of Faraji’s collar. He hauled the boy to his feet and shoved him toward Ndaye. The boy fled, still clutching the remaining strap of his pack, the other ripped to shreds.

  The motion of his frantic flight drew a few strays to chase after him.

  Ndaye fired, keeping the closest from the boy’s heels.

  Woko waited too long. The rains had cleared the powder too quickly. The surrounding baboons sniffed the air, noses high, then as if acting as one, they bounded at the shaman. The pack hit his body from all sides, climbing his torso.

  A burst of lightning revealed a flash of fangs. They buried into the shaman’s throat. For a moment, Woko’s eyes shone at her, reflecting the storm light.

  Then darkness wiped away the worst of the sight.

  Without a single cry, Woko’s body collapsed under the weight, under the onslaught. Something glinted in the air, passing through a pool of lamplight. It landed in the mud near Charlotte.

  She snatched it up, knowing what it was.

  She clutched the glass vial in one hand and her scalpel in the other. Beyond the shaman’s ravaged body, Faraji crashed into Ndaye. The eco-guard caught the boy and pushed him toward Benjie. Ndaye then fired once into the air as he retreated away from Charlotte, the noise and flight drawing the baboons after him.

  He shouted back to her, “Run!”

  As the world thundered and howled around her, she turned and fled the other way, chasing after Jameson’s group. She hated to split up, but they had no choice.

  6

  April 23, 11:28 P.M. CAT

  Tshopo Province, Democratic Republic of the Congo

  Benjie was never happier to be proven right.

  Panting hard, he waded and pawed his way through dark waters. Ndaye and the boy flanked him, splashing fiercely to get deeper into the flooded village. Behind them, a troop of baboons screamed from the shoreline, reluctant to enter the storm-swollen river.

  And for good reason.

  The current was strong. It threatened to rip Benjie’s legs out from under him with every step. To keep his footing, he propped one arm along the side of a wooden hovel. He reached the door but passed it by.

  Not the best spot.

  The small hut only had a thatched roof made of palm leaves. It would offer little protection should they be attacked. He continued onward, having already picked out his target. Ahead stood an abode with a corrugated steel roof and walls. It rose from waist-deep waters.

  Perfect . . .

  He hurried toward the shelter, keeping a wary watch on the river.

  The strong current and riptides were not the only dangers out here. He searched for crocodiles and hippos, both equally dangerous. He prayed the storm had driven such beasts to higher ground or deeper waters.

  Still, he studied the river, trying to read it like a book, watching for any telltale ripples, any blasts of expelled air.

  Nothing.

  Maybe my prayers were heard.

  Benjie’s mother certainly placed much stock on her faith, on the weekly masses at St. James Church. She swore that anything could be granted if one prayed hard enough.

  Unfortunately, Benjie had not been clear enough about his wishes this night.

  The howling behind him grew louder.

  He glanced over a shoulder. A line of dark shapes leapt from rooftop to rooftop, crossing above the floodwaters. Clearly the baboons had devised a way to continue their pursuit without entering the river.

  Ndaye realized the same. “Faster!”

  Benjie kicked and batted at the river, fighting the current and his own panic. The steel-roofed structure was only a few yards ahead. He shoved and fought his body through the deepening waters.

  Screams echoed across the village behind him.

  He finally reached the home and edged around its side. A black doorway opened in the wall ahead. He lunged toward it, leading the others. As he reached the threshold, he noted two disappointments. The home had no door and was open to the river. And worst of all, it was already occupied. Others had sought shelter from the storm.

  Lightning flashed in the sky, bright enough to reveal a layer of slithering bodies, squirming across the water’s flat surface. The long coiling lengths filled the flooded single-room structure.

  Snakes . . .

  11:31 P.M.

  On the other side of the village, Charlotte snugged the belt around Byrne’s forearm. She hoped the makeshift tourniquet would be enough to stop the blood flowing from the nurse’s severed wrist.

  Byrne sat leadenly atop a stool that she had found in the flooded home. His weight held it in place. His entire body shivered. His eyes showed too much white. He was in shock, close to passing out from pain and blood loss.

  The ICCN guard—a man named Kendi—manned the door, which he had left cracked open enough to spy upon the shoreline. Baboons still howled out there, but the darkness and row of riverside homes kept them out of direct sight.

  Jameson hovered at Kendi’s shoulder. The pediatrician’s hands were balled into fists. He also shook in the knee-deep water, but not from shock.

  Disanka stood stiffly in the far corner. She nursed her son. But Charlotte knew the effort was less about feeding the boy than keeping him quiet.

  They were still too close to the shoreline for her liking. Jameson had led them to the first structure with plank walls and a door framed in tin. She glanced up to the thatch roof, knowing it would offer little protection against a baboon’s strength to rip and tear.

  Still, she could not fault Jameson for his panicked pick of shelters. She kept a hand on Byrne’s shoulder, which trembled under her palm. She doubted the injured nurse would’ve made it much farther out into the river.

  She could only hope this spot was far enough.

  A loud yowl rose from the shoreline. It was picked up and passed by others. It was punctuated by hooting barks. The chorus rang out for a full minute—then suddenly fell silent.

  Charlotte straightened.

  Disanka stared unblinking at her, her eyes glassy with terror.

  Then Charlotte heard a faint pounding and slapping, along with a few grunts. The noise quickly approached. She understood, picturing shapes bounding through the air, crossing from roof to roof.

  Kendi whispered from the doorway, “They’re coming.”

  11:32 P.M.

  No, no, no, no . . .

  As the hunters closed in, Benjie stood at the threshold of the snake-infested chamber. He could not get himself to enter. He hated the slithering creatures. In the Congo, tens of thousands died each year from snake bites. Standing there, a list already ran through his head: bush vipers, boomslangs, black mambas, puff adders, twig and stiletto snakes. But what especially set his bollocks to icing was the thought of Naja christyi, the deadly Congo water cobra, which could grow to be seven feet long.

  Still, it wasn’t the fear of venom or fangs that kept him rooted in place. He simply could not tolerate the feel of slick scales across his skin. His university herpetology class had nearly unmanned him, badly enough that he had considered leaving school, abandoning his degree. Especially the practical labs, where he had to handle such creatures.

  While his ASD was at the lower end of the spectrum, certain noises and sensations could set him off. The crinkle of cellophane made him want to claw at his ears. He would vomit at the smell of frying onions. And the slide of a snake over his palm—its scales somehow both bone-dry and oily—left him shaking all over.

  Standing now, staring at the slithering roil, his legs refused to move.

  Then he was struck from behind. “Get inside!” Ndaye shouted and shoved him into the room.

  Benjie gasped and wailed. He fought to keep his footing, lifting both arms high. Snakes writhed around his waist. His vision narrowed. A ringing rose in his ears.

  Ndaye waded in with his rifle, followed by the small kid with a backpack; Benjie didn’t yet know his name.

  “No be scared,” the boy scolded him. He picked up one of the snakes, which coiled in his grip, and threw it aside. “Chatu.”

  “Faraji’s right,” Ndaye assured him, crossing through the roiling mass. “They’re Calabaria reinhardtii. The Calabar python. Nonvenomous.”

  Benjie didn’t care and kept his hands high. He squeezed his eyes closed and fought against his terror with facts. He pulled up what he knew about the species, relying on his memory. Calabar pythons rarely grew longer than a meter. Named after a Danish herpetologist, Johannes Reinhardt. They were found throughout the rain forest and were fossorial, which meant they lived in burrows, usually in leaf litter . . .