Endangered (10 page)

Two in the nursery. Two by the shed. Four on the main steps.

Those were the soldiers.

One in the nursery. Seven by the shed. Two on the main steps.

Those were the bodies.

Mama Brunelle was closest, legs splayed, her corpse sprawled halfway into a ditch. I couldn't tell from here whether she still had a head, but judging from the amount of blood staining the ground around her throat I thought not.
Don't flip
, I told myself. I couldn't panic now, couldn't yell or make a sudden move.

I calmed myself by focusing on Otto. I kept him under my shirt, so he was both blinded and close to my body. I couldn't leave him behind, but also didn't want him to see what had happened out there.

The rebels had dragged the couch from my mom's office onto the back lawn, soda bottles and bits of paper and food scraps strewn around it. One of them, a kid who couldn't be much more than ten, was wearing a sanctuary gardener's uniform, the sleeves rolled up so they didn't swallow his arms. He was smoking with two other soldiers on the steps. Another, wearing a string of bullets over a bare chest, paced nearby.

They all had machetes. Two of them also had rusty automatic rifles dangling by shoulder straps of fraying twine.

Hidden behind foliage, I watched for a while. The soldiers didn't move much or even talk. They smoked and drank and sat. I
got the impression that they'd been traveling for a long time and now were settling in for a rest.

I got the impression that they were here to stay.

If that were true, how would I ever get out? My options were shifting: My best hope now was to stay put behind the electrified fence and wait for my parents to come through and rescue me. But I still needed food, which meant I needed the duffel.

At least the enclosure's gate was shaded, so I imagined I could get through the fence without them seeing. They probably didn't even know yet there was a gate. But if I went more than twenty feet toward the main building, I'd be in the middle of them. If I were captured, the best I could hope for would be to die soon.

But. There, flung at the base of a tree, its black nylon blending into the shadows, airline baggage sticker just visible, was the duffel. The men hadn't discovered it yet, but it would be only a matter of time. It wasn't more than twenty feet from the gate — even if the fighters did see me, I could get it and get back, unless they were quick with their guns.

After humming to Otto for a minute to get him nice and calm, I approached the exit. Steadying myself, I input the code and disabled the electricity. I went through the gate, pausing at the far side until the electricity hummed back on.

No one had noticed me. I had a few yards to go. The only problem was that I would be in full view of the soldiers sitting on the couch. They'd be facing me.

I crept as slowly as my nerves would allow, keeping to the blind of the biggest trees. Otto squirmed under my shirt as I went, but mercifully didn't make any noise. I inched closer and closer, the whole time keeping my focus trained on the men lounging on the couch. One had his eyes fully in my direction, but didn't react. Now that I was closer I recognized him; he was one of the
four I'd seen in the driveway days ago. I inched closer to the bag, closer to him.

Then I was on it. I reached from around the back side of the tree, hooked one strap, slung the bag over my shoulder, and started back to the enclosure, this time focusing only on the entrance and pretending the men no longer existed.

When I heard a murp.

At first I thought it was Otto. But the sound was coming from the nursery.

One of the young bonobos was still there.

I paused, torn: Head straight back to safety, or risk a detour to the nursery?

The murp came again, a shriek hoarse from prolonged suffering. A call like Otto had made back when he was being sold on that dusty road. Like those two young bonobos had made on the back of the trafficker's bike.

Cursing my own foolishness, I dropped the duffel behind a bush by the enclosure gate and skirted the nursery wall. As of my earlier spying, the nearest rebels were on the other side, so I paused every few feet to listen for a sign that they were onto me. As long as I heard them still chattering away, I knew I was still undiscovered.

There, on the far side, was Mama Brunelle's body. A dead body, a thing and not a person. To keep myself going, I didn't let my thoughts rest on that fact. She was facedown, her legs the only part of her that wasn't covered in dried blood. Bits of her were missing; I couldn't understand, or make myself understand, which ones.
Inhale, exhale, inhale.

Next to the dead surrogate mother was a young bonobo.

She was murping, lifting Brunelle's lifeless hand and patting herself with it. She put the hand down, and then picked it up and stroked herself with it again. Her movements were restricted, since
a piece of rope was around her wrist, leashing her to an iron stake in the ground.

I whispered quiet nonsense to get the bonobo's attention. When she looked at me, I recognized her: It was Songololo, Anastasia's daughter, who'd been brought into the nursery to be looked after once her mother rejected her. She looked at me and then returned her attention to Brunelle. I murped, or as close as I could come to it, and held my open hand out in greeting. She didn't take it.

I approached and examined the rope around Songololo's arm. It was knotted tightly, and her wrist was already bleeding from the chafing. I tried to untie it, but when Songololo cried out I had to stop for fear of alerting the soldiers.

Roused by the activity, Otto crawled out from under my shirt, hopped to the ground, and approached the other bonobo. They stared at each other. Otto was intensely curious about the rope, and Songololo let him examine it until he got to her wrist. When Otto put pressure on it, she bared her teeth at him. He retreated to a spot behind me, holding on to my calves like protective bars.

I couldn't linger here. I was already farther from the enclosure exit than I'd ever planned to be, and one of the soldiers could wander by any minute. At the same time I couldn't leave Songololo — who knew why they'd tied her up or what they had planned for her? But I couldn't untie the rope without her crying out and alerting them.

Brunelle was naked — I'd only just realized it. As far as shock went, nudity lagged far behind blood. Her
pagne
— a lavishly cheerful yellow wrap that I'd always admired — was wadded up a few feet away. I picked it up, at first thinking I would cover her body. Then I realized the militiamen would eventually take it, and I wanted the fabric as a memory of her. It would also be useful; a
pagne
could be worn as clothing, tied to bundle a baby — or a bonobo — onto your back, or serve as a ground cloth for sleeping.
Hers was especially durable, covered in a layer of supple wax. When I picked it up I found her cloth bag beneath. I plucked it up — it might have some of her personal possessions inside, and I wanted to keep some memory of her in case I found her family.

Otto and Songololo stared at me, wide-eyed, as I placed both hands on the stake. When I braced my arms against my thighs and pulled, it came away in my hands. I figured once I got Songololo and Otto back into the enclosure I could worry about getting the rope off.

As I started back toward the fence, Otto bounded up and assumed his favored jockey position on my back. Songololo lagged behind. What a sight we must have been, me running with an ape on my back, trailing another bonobo attached by a leash.

I input the code, and the buzzing of the electricity stopped.

I grabbed the duffel, dropping the stake as I did, and passed through the gate with Otto and the duffel. I turned just in time to watch Songololo hobble through. We'd made it.

But the long stake hadn't. It hit the opening crosswise and held. Songololo jerked backward when the rope yanked on her bleeding wrist, shrieking in full voice at the pain. After a few seconds the sanctuary was alive with shouts. Men's shouts. I dropped the duffel and grabbed at the stake. Songololo kept pulling on it and screaming, yanking her leash taut, which made it impossible to turn the stake so it would pass through.

Two of the
kata-kata
were running toward me, machetes at their sides. I had both hands on the stake and was still fiddling with it when I realized another danger: At any second electricity would start surging through the fence.

Straight through the iron stake. Straight through me.

I was tempted to drop it, but I screamed and wrenched the stake. It dented the fencepost and came free. I fell away with it as the fence started humming.

The two soldiers were running at me, only a short way away.

With the enclosure gate still open.

I knew I couldn't touch it now that it was live, so I looked for a branch on the ground. There weren't any, so I swung the duffel against the gate. A burst of sparks splattered as it impacted the metal, then the gate was closed, with the soldiers stuck on the other side. They shook their machetes and shouted at me. If they'd been the other soldiers, the ones with the guns, I'd have been dead by now. Even so, I could see movement at the main building and knew the men with the guns were on their way. I dragged the duffel, now sizzling and smoking, toward the jungle line. Otto bounced against my back as Songololo followed us, the stake in her hand so it wouldn't tug on her wrist anymore. We crossed the black border of the jungle and disappeared.

That lunchtime we ate like kings. Well, kings in a land of granola. I figured I'd ration the bars later, but for now we were going to enjoy them. Otto preferred his mashed into milk and I had mine as is, gulping down three cinnamon-flavored bars in as many minutes. Songololo looked longingly at us while we ate, but refused to come near. She'd cried in torment while I'd removed the rope from her wrist and sat rocking for a few minutes by the edge of the pond, one hand in the other, staring into the water. Once he'd eaten, Otto sat beside her, his feet against hers. He delicately took her hand and traced his finger over the red wound. She winced, but tolerated the attention.

When Otto returned to me, Songololo trailed him. She picked at the bits of granola left in the cup I'd fashioned from half a water bottle that must have blown into the enclosure long ago, and when I poured some more milk in, she drank it willingly. Once finished, Songololo moved a few feet away, sitting on her haunches and staring at us.

She didn't remain there for long. As I was dozing off, I heard a rustling and sat bolt upright. Songololo had rummaged through my pack, grabbed a handful of granola bars and a pair of socks, and was now running across the clearing. I stood, but knew she would be long gone before I'd ever catch her. She was probably off to find her mother.

My stomach had felt a little off ever since we'd drunk the pond water. I had no idea where to go next, and had equally no idea
whether anyone had managed to follow me. I spent the afternoon in the same spot, alert to every noise, every possible threat. Staying still felt as exhausting as moving.

We perched on a large rock beside the pond to watch night fall, wrapped up in layers of my clothing. Otto figured out how to work the duffel's zipper and seized on a vest I'd bought in Florida. The adorableness of the little black ape wrapped up in fuzzy white cashmere almost distracted me from my anxiety. The last time I'd worn that now-ruined sweater had been to go mall shopping with friends. A couple months ago I'd been arguing over food court bourbon chicken that colored denim was a sin. Now what I wanted most in the world was to manage to fall asleep on a rock with an ape snoring in my face.

Come morning, I marched with Otto to uncramp my legs, and when I returned to the pond I found a handful of bonobos on the opposite edge, sipping at the water. Anastasia was at their center, flanked by the Pink Ladies. Songololo must have located her during the night, and now kept near her side, her grip on whatever tuft of Anastasia's hair she could reach at any given moment. Occasionally Anastasia would bark at her daughter in irritation and Songololo would run away, only returning once her mother had calmed down.

They stared for a while, but once they got back to their foraging none of the bonobos seemed at all interested in Otto and me. Otto played in the dirt by himself and shot occasional longing glances at Songololo. I sat on our sleeping rock, watching the bonobos forage while I puzzled how to get out of my predicament. The granola bars would soon be gone, and I'd have to find another way to feed us.

I made mental notes of everything the bonobos put into their mouths. A lot of shoots, and the occasional hard purple-green fruit plucked from the trees. One graying bonobo had a rock with
him, which he brought crashing down on nuts, occasionally breaking their shells, but more often than not just making a big mess or slamming a finger.

Anastasia waded through the pond, pulling shoots up from the muddy bed and eating them. Songololo followed until the water went over her waist, then shrieked and climbed her mother, clinging to her skull. Anastasia suffered the indignity, slapping Songololo only when her fingers went into her eyes. They made it to the far side, where Otto and I were. Anastasia continued foraging, but Songololo broke off and joined us.

She squealed and rubbed her body against Otto's, the way young bonobos will when they're anxious and want reassurance. Otto rubbed back, something I'd never seen him do. Songololo climbed a nearby tree and murped at Otto until he joined her. Soon they were playing in the branches. I watched them like I'd seen mothers do at playgrounds, with the same mixture of pride and loneliness.

Anastasia started picking fruit off a nearby bush. I worked my way over, keeping my eyes downcast. She noisily turned her back on me. I tried a plum-berry. Tart, but not too bad. I ate another and made a pouch out of my T-shirt to place some inside for Otto to share.

I called his name to get his attention, in case he was hungry. He stood on two feet to locate me, then went back to playing with Songololo. They were on a low tree branch, taking turns leaping onto each other's heads. Songololo was playing rough and Otto, though smaller, was giving plenty of rough right back. After one particularly fierce Songololo dropkick, Otto countered with a swipe at Songololo's ear that knocked her off the branch. She fell to the ground and squealed in shock.

Anastasia came bounding over, barking. Songololo watched her mother with astonishment. Anastasia was up to Otto's branch
within two fierce arm-pulls. He cowered, murping in fear. Before I could do anything, Anastasia had snatched him from the branch and bitten his foot. Then she threw him down and watched him fall.

Otto tumbled through the air, arms pinwheeling. I couldn't react in time to catch him before he crashed into a bush.

He was still for a moment, and then groggily raised his head and called for help. I reached him as Anastasia dropped from the tree. I turned on her, out of my mind with fury. She had her teeth bared and arms out to strike, and I bared mine right back. Before I knew what I was doing, I'd pushed her. She rocked back an inch, surprised, then shrieked back right into my face.

It hit me how dumb I was being. Though no more than four feet tall, Anastasia was much stronger than I was, and I could see out of the sides of my vision that the other females were closing in to back her up.
Do not cross the Pink Ladies.
I turned defensive, plucking Otto into my arms and backing away. When my heels struck the edge of the big rock, I whirled around.

I was surrounded. Anastasia feinted at me, hurling sticks and leaves and dirt and whatever else she could manage to grab. Songololo stood a few feet behind her, looking shocked and more than a little pleased at the commotion she'd created.

One direct swipe from Anastasia would be enough to do me or Otto in. Shielding him with one arm, I backed up a few feet. Anastasia advanced on me as I retreated. I worked my way toward our stuff and leaned back with one hand to grasp the metal stake. I swung it in a wide arc, glancing Anastasia's shoulder. She shrieked, outraged. One of the other females reached for the stake, and I tapped her on the head as her hand came near. She staggered and recoiled; I hadn't hit her hard, but the metal — its hardness or smell — had her spooked. All but Anastasia backed away. She advanced on me, lunging for the weapon, but with a new wariness.
Twice she grabbed, and twice I dodged her. The third time, she connected. The stake was knocked out of my hand, into the pond.

It hit the water's surface with a loud splash. Startled, the bonobos leaped and ran around, climbing over one another and shrieking. They crowded the edge of the pond, slapping at the ripples. Having lost the focus of her audience, Anastasia retreated.

I turned to Otto.

He had his foot cupped in both hands, groaning. I lifted him and tried to move his fingers so I could see how bad the bite was, but he refused and struggled to get down from my arms. I tenderly lowered him to his feet. As soon as he put weight on it, the injured foot buckled and he crumpled.

The other bonobos remained fixated on the pond, but Songololo came over. She put her hand on Otto's ankle, and he released his hands to let her see his foot. I felt strangely jealous.
She's the one who caused all of this!
There was no blood, but Otto's toes had curled up and refused to straighten. She tugged at them, and though Otto scrunched his eyes up at the pain, he allowed her.

They stared curiously at his injured foot. She kissed his heel.

I knew Otto had to be in pain, but he wasn't whimpering anymore. After a few minutes, Otto was able to uncurl his long toes and teeter to his feet.

He was going to be all right.

By then the rest of the bonobos had given up on the mystery of the missing stake and returned to foraging. Songololo went to join her mother, but when Anastasia refused her pleas to be picked up, she walked a few paces back toward me. Then she changed her mind and returned to Anastasia. She climbed onto her mother's back, only to be pushed off. Songololo tried again, and this time Anastasia let her stay. Being someone's child was always tough, always in its own way.

I foraged along with the bonobos, making sure to keep clear of Anastasia. Most of what they were eating they found in the trees, but since I couldn't get up there easily I joined two bonobos on the ground, the teenage male I first met and the nervous female. When I approached, she made room for me to sit with them. I copied their technique of pulling up yellow-green stalks, removing the outer layer, and crunching on surprisingly tasty chives. I looked at my new bonobo companions, puzzled. They wouldn't let me forage with them before. Something had changed, and I suspected it had to do with swinging that stake. Without ever quite meaning to, I'd entered the troop's pecking order.

When the bonobos wandered out of the clearing, I would have been happy to let them go and stay a duo with Otto. But he'd started playing with Songololo again, and I didn't know how to break up their budding friendship. So I wandered into the jungle with the group, staying a ways back and foraging whichever berries and plums and shoots I recognized. Otto broke off from Songololo and joined me after a while, copying my movements and eating whatever I ate.

When the sun got its hottest in the midafternoon, the bonobos sprawled in the grass and relaxed. When Anastasia lay down, Songololo tried to curl up beside her, only to be pushed away. After Songololo gave up, she came over to Otto and rubbed her body against his to make herself feel better. Then she curled up with him. He looked at me, confused about what to do. I shrugged.
You're on your own, kid.

I reclined on the rock and closed my eyes. I was nowhere near sleep, though. Much as I tried to drag them away, my thoughts slid to the bodies I'd seen in the sanctuary. Had my friends suffered before they died? Were the soldiers ever going to bury the bodies, or leave them to rot in the open?

I still had Mama Brunelle's cloth bag around my shoulders. I
pulled it off, placed it in my lap, and stared at it. It smelled like her, and like bonobo, and like blood. I opened it and pulled out the contents. Of course the soldiers had taken any money, but there were still precious things inside: an almost-finished lipstick whose color I could easily remember on Brunelle's lips, and a pen wedged into a beat-up spiral notebook. Inside were pages of notes with photos stapled alongside. The bonobos. Names and histories. She'd been observing them and noting when they ate, who they interacted with. She'd never mentioned a word of it, and none of that was officially part of her job. She'd just been interested.

The friendly teenage male was Mushie. The nervous and nearly bald female was Banalia. The old one who did a terrible job of opening nuts and occasionally bumped into things was Ikwa.

I recognized Anastasia's photo from years before, and everything clicked together. She was the first bonobo my mom had ever met, but it had taken years for her to arrive at the sanctuary. Some family friends had rescued her from a market years ago and had decided to raise her in their house. Anastasia had her own bedroom and the run of the whole place, including full permission to get herself a soda from the fridge or use the toilet. Whenever I'd go over to their house as a kid, I had to leave the bathroom door open after I'd used it so that Anastasia could get in — she wasn't good with doorknobs. Eventually she stopped being cute and started being strong, and had to be kept outside because she kept breaking things. When my mom founded the sanctuary, she finally convinced Anastasia's owners to let her live there.

She hadn't been around other bonobos for years. When Anastasia had first arrived, she'd sat by the fence and cried, wondering why she'd been locked away with stinky apes. Slowly she'd adapted, though, and had become part of the bonobo society. Her time with people might have explained her hostility to me, how she seemed to look right through me and find me lacking. She
was deeply familiar with humans, those creatures who had once accepted her and then locked her outside in the jungle. But she was in charge now.

I read and reread, finding out more about this place I would have to make myself think of as my home. At least for a little while.