Page 5 of Soul on Fire
A smell like death bloomed, a copper and shit and decay smell. Rot and putrescence and a wave of flies escaping the bucket and buzzing into her face.
She looked down and shrieked.
Dropping the bucket, she backed away, scrambling as fast as she could away from what lay within. Majambu raised his rifle to her, forcing her to stop, to keep her distance. Blood slashed across her face in a diagonal stripe, covering her eye and soaking into her lips, dripping down her chin.
The bucket lay on its side. Black fluid oozed out slowly and soaked the earth. Flies continued to buzz, a dark swarm louder than her frenzied, panicked breaths.
“Pick it back up,” Idrissa told her. He pointed to what had spilled. “Put everything back in.”
She shook her head, small tremors, her refusal born of primal, pure instinct:flee.
Majambu shifted his rifle to the center of her forehead. “Do it.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks and slid through the bloody slush covering half her face. But she didn’t whimper, not this time. Instead, she stared at Idrissa and clenched her jaw. He saw it in her eyes. She finally understood: no one would touch her anymore because she was infected.
Pride made her crawl back to the bucket and right it. Made her reach for the severed hands, the hacked-off feet, the decaying arms, and put them back. There was a sludge at the bottom of the bucket, sloughed skin and blood and decay mixed with diarrhea, the detritus thrown off a person dying of Ebola. It wasn’t enough to fully cover the head. Red, sightless eyes stared up at her, what once was a face half-submerged in the filth.
She grabbed the lid and pounded it back on with a closed fist, bellowing with each slam. Bloody handprints coated the bucket, streaks from her soaked hands.
“Satisfied?” Idrissa rumbled.
The buyers nodded. One threw her a body bag. “Put it in there.”
She rolled the body bag inside and zipped it closed. Thick, rubber canvas hid the bucket, but she’d transferred infected blood over the zipper and on the outside of the bag.
The second buyer took another body bag, and, after gloving himself and wrapping his face in a checkered scarf, carefully folded the first into the second. He didn’t touch anywhere she had, and when he was finished, his gloves were clean and free of any blood. He flicked them off and tossed them away.
Maybe it was enough. Maybe not. Idrissa didn’t care. “I have given you your proof. Now where is my payment?”
The main man studied him. “Your payment will come in two parts—”
“This is not what we agreed!”
“But it’s what you get. You’re unproven, just rebels in some jungle. What victories do you have? You want a weapon worthy of greatness, but how do we know you even know how to use it? That you won’t simply destroy yourselves in your blundering?”
Idrissa fumed. “You came tome. You wanted what I had and that was whatyouoffered to pay.”
“And it still is our offer. You only need to complete another mission first. Call it a test.”
“I am not to be tested.”
“If you want what we have, you will agree.”
Silence. Idrissa shared a long look with Majambu. Majambu’s finger took up the slack in his trigger. In a breath, he could order these men dead. Majambu wouldn’t hesitate, not one second. No, he’d enjoy it.
But their offer was too seductive. He craved it so much he could taste victory already, dreamed about the way the world would change, and how he, Idrissa, would be the one to change it. “What is this mission?”
“The Americans have a presence in Kisangani. One of several undercover CIA stations, posing as a harmless research organization. You’ll take this—” He held out a backpack, something heavy weighing it down. “—and destroy their station in one week. That’s all.”
“You want us to bomb the CIA? In Kisangani?”
“After you’ve destroyed their station in Kisangani, we will meet again. We’ll deliver both the final payment and you to your target.”
Idrissahmmed, pacing to Majambu’s side. He leaned in, speaking softly. “If we agree, you are the only one I trust to do this.”
Majambu held Idrissa’s stare. He nodded. “It’s worth it. And it will be a privilege to slaughter the Americans.”
Idrissa grinned, like a lion smiling at an antelope, and clapped Majambu on the shoulder. “We accept,” he said, holding out his hand for the backpack.
