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“As we’d expect in any isolated rural society,” Sam acknowledged. “We’re respectful of the traditions that fostered them, but still . . .”
“I’ve heard about giants ever since I was a toddler. I don’t even pay any attention to the stories anymore. I treat it sort of like religion—people are entitled to think what they think,” Vanya said.
“But he did say there’s been an increase in unexplained disappearances,” Remi reminded her.
“I’ve heard rumors that there are still pockets of militia in the mountains who are hiding out. I find that far more likely than the giant explanation.”
“Militia?”
“Ever since the social upheaval, when the Australians sent in an armed task force to keep the peace, there have been those who have agitated for a change in regime—who view foreign intervention as a disguised occupation of the country in order to control its natural resources. While the majority seems ambivalent about it, there are still groups of people who are angry, and some of them are militant. There have been clashes.”
“Then it actually is risky to go explore the caves?” said Sam.
She nodded. “Not because of giants. But does it matter what gets you if you’re never heard from again?”
Remi eyed Sam. “She has a point.”
“Thanks for taking the time to escort us to see Benji,” Sam said to Vanya. “What happened to the poor man is a tragedy.”
“My pleasure. Just take care that the same doesn’t happen to you. The island’s still largely wild, and, like I said, the crocs aren’t the only predators.”
“We’ll bear that in mind. Thanks again.”
Heat radiated off the parking lot as they walked to the Nissan, the equatorial sun already brutal in the late morning. This time, their drive east on the only paved road was fast and relatively easy until they passed the tiny village of Komunimboko and the road they’d had to quit the prior day. It wasn’t waist-deep in water any longer, but it was badly rutted and still mostly mud.
Sam dropped the drive train into four-wheel drive and they edged along, the car swaying and bouncing like an amusement park ride. The passage through the jungle narrowed until it more resembled a tunnel than a road. The canopy overhead blocked much of the sun, and the foliage framing the muddy track was dense and foreboding, brushing against the sides of the SUV as it rocked inland.
“And we don’t even know if this Rubo is still alive or living here?” Remi asked.
“There are no guarantees in life. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I think I left it back a mile ago, along with my sacroiliac and a few fillings.”
“We’ve been through worse.”
“I just hope I can keep breakfast down.”
Half an hour later, they rounded a particularly ugly switchback curve and entered a clearing by the river. A traditional thatch-roofed hut rested in the shade of a tall banyan tree, no evidence of power or phone lines to be found. They rolled to a stop in front, and Remi glanced at Sam.
“Nice. And you have me staying at that crappy hotel?”
“Every day brings new surprises, doesn’t it?”
“I think your quarry is peering out the doorway.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“Maybe I’ll stay in the car. That way, if you take a blowgun dart to the neck, I’ll be able to get help.”
“Always thinking of me, aren’t you? It has nothing to do with the AC . . .”
“If you can even call it AC. To me, it feels like it’s just blowing the hot air around.”
“Stay, if you want. I’m going to talk to our new friend. You sure you saw someone there?” Sam asked, squinting at the hut.
“I think so. Movement. Could have been a crocodile or a skink, though, so be careful.”
“That makes me feel . . . really good.”
