Anthology - A Thousand Doors by Various

Author:Various [Various]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Two Tales Press
Published: 2018-09-18T21:31:12+00:00

The Primatologist

Heather Gudenkauf

It’s my last day in the Congo, and a rare sound catches my attention. It’s not Matthieu, who has had his fill of kfumo leaves and now has turned his attention to Kibibi and Odette, an adult female bonobo and her two-year-old daughter who are searching for grubs.

It’s not the familiar chatter of the other rescued bonobos talking to one another, nor the buzz of mosquitoes dancing past my ears. It’s not the whoosh of a flying squirrel gliding from tree to tree, and it’s not the crash of juvenile bonobos tumbling around the undergrowth in play, but something much more substantial, unsettling. I hold my breath.

Someone not familiar with the area might think it’s a troop of gorillas. Rarely confrontational, Lowland gorillas’ aggressive display of tearing branches, hooting, and pounding their chests is terrifying, not to mention they can weigh up to four hundred pounds.

But lowland gorillas don’t live on this side of the river, and that can only mean a predator of a different sort is nearby.

I stay low, out of sight. Matthieu hears it, too. His body tenses, his eyes dart from side to side. Kibibi and Odette appear oblivious. Four men come into sight, and the bonobos skitter off into the forest. I fight the urge to join them.

Two of the men appear to be from a nearby village. Guides, I’m guessing. They are young, barely in their teens and wary looking. They know they aren’t supposed to be here.

The other two men, dressed in what look to be brand-new, expensive outdoor gear, whisper to each other in French. I can’t catch what they are saying, but they don’t look happy.

The reserve isn’t supposed to be open to visitors, and my first thought is they are up to no good. They could be big-game hunters or mixed up in the illegal wildlife trade.

I hear the metallic click of a gun being cocked. Through a wall of lacy leaves I see the gun being raised and pressed to the temple of one of the young guides. His friend begins to protest but is met with a backhanded crack to the cheek.

Suddenly, a loud pop fills the air, rousing a flock of rosy bee-eaters, their scarlet breasts bared as if in warning. One of the guides crumples to the ground, and the other cowers in terror. I stifle a scream. Smoke curls from the barrel of the gun.

It’s barely 10 a.m., and little sunlight reaches my skin through the thick foliage, so I pray I’m invisible to the men. But even in the shade of towering African oaks, red cedar, and mahogany trees, the heat presses down on me. Sweat rolls down my temple and tickles my ear. The vegetation is thick and dense, and umbrella trees loom over me like thousands of lurking beasts.

The man with the gun yanks the surviving guide to his feet, and they move more deeply along the path into the forest. The man on the ground is still.

As a doctor

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