Death Through collaboration from the Last Grain of Rice

 

Death Through Collaboration

The jungle did not sleep, it never does.  Ernest Masters followed his guide Talan through a tunnel of giant ferns, higher than a man, as insects hummed around them like a thousand whispers of warning.  Every snapped twig made Masters flinch.  Every shadow looked like a rifle barrel.

“Keep low,” Talan murmured without turning.  His voice blended into the night, as if the forest itself were speaking. “They move fast when they smell fear.”

“I’m not afraid,” Masters lied.

Talan didn’t pause to correct him.

The guide moved with the precision of someone who had walked these trails his entire life, feet finding grips in roots.  A pale bruise of moonlight filtered through the canopy, giving just enough light to show the damp sheen on Talan’s back.

Masters wiped his hands on his shirt.  “Are you sure this route is safe?”

“No place is safe,”  Talan said as branches cracked far behind them, too deliberate to be an animal.

Masters swallowed hard. “Must be Tan’s people.”

“Yes,” Talan slowed, head tilted.  “Tan Security force.  Five, maybe six.  Spread wide.”

“I thought we lost them at the river.”

Talan gave a thin, humourless smile.  “They know this place but not as well as I do.”

They reached the mangrove shelf along the river as the tide began to rise.  The air smelled of salt and rot, a thick, choking odour that coated the tongue.

The canoe waited exactly where Talan had promised, wedged between the roots that coiled like fingers of a buried giant.

Masters paused.  “Why are you helping me Talan?  You don’t even know me.”

“The forest knows you,”  Talan said” It knows when a man comes with truth.  And when he leaves in fear.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Talan looked at him fully then, eyes reflecting a sadness deeper than the riverbed.  “My brother worked for Tan.  The same men you are exposing. He died on the job and they left his body in the jungle, is that answer enough?”

“They killed him,” Talan said simply.  “So I help you because the dead do not get justice.  Only the living can take it for them.  You can do that.”

Masters felt a raw ache inside him.  Before he could speak, Talan angled the canoe toward him.

“Go now, be safe.  Your boat and escorts wait past the inlet.”

Masters climbed in.  The current tugged instantly.

“Talan, thank you.”

Talan stepped back into shadows.  “Do not thank me just do what you promised.”

The canoe drifted quickly into darkness as the first droplets of rain pattered on the water’s surface, forming circles that grew, merged and vanished.

*****

Two hours later, Tan Security Force arrived at the water’s edge with the ruthlessness of wolves denied their kill.  Captain Juro scanned the mud, flashlight beam slicing through the heavy air.

“He passed here,”  one soldier said, pointing to disturbed roots.  “And his guide with him.”

Juro crouched, finger tips brushing a foot print. “We missed them by minutes.” His voice carried no anger, only calculation.

“Fan out,” he ordered.  “They won’t have gotten far.”

The forest gave way beneath their boots, and soon enough they ran down Talan, sitting on a log, beside a stagnant pool, shoulders straight, face unreadable.

“You took the foreigner out, tell us where?”

Talan did not move.  “Forest takes many things.”

Juro, stepped close, the barrel of his rifle inches from Talan’s cheek.  “Answer.”

No response.

“You’re a smart man,”  Juro continued. “Smart enough to know what happens to those who protect our enemies.”

Talan turned his head, slowly, deliberately.  “I know.”

Juro’s expression changed, not to anger, but to something colder.  Acceptance.

“Bind him,” he said.

The guards grabbed Talan, forcing his wrists behind his back.  He didn’t resist, only looked up at the canopy with a strange calmness, as if summoning the spirit of his brother.

As they pulled him to his feet, Juro leaned in.  You can still walk out of this.  Just tell me where Masters went.”

Talan met his gaze.  “He is gone.  And so are you.”

Juro frowned in puzzlement, “what does that mean?”

Talan’s mouth curled faintly.  “The forest remembers the harm you do.  And it always gives it back.”

Juro’s face hardened.  “Take him.”

They forced marched him into the mangrove swamp where the tide was rising high and dark, lapping against the gnarled trunks.  No one spoke.  Even the insects had gone silent.

A rope was looped firmly around Talan’s wrists tethering him to a root that jutted upward like a broken bone.  Juro looked at him one last time.  “Last chance my friend.”

Talan closed his eyes.  My brother’s name was Kelan.”

Juro said nothing.

“And now,” Talan whispered, you will remember him too.”

The captain abruptly turned away.  “Leave him.”

The soldiers trudged away through the mud, their footprints vanishing under the soft roar of the rising water.

Talan didn’t struggle.  The tide crept higher, relentlessly and inevitably pulling him down inch by inch until the swamp swallowed him completely.

His body was discovered the next day.