Read Online Endangered by Eliot Schrefer - Free Book Online Page A

savage like that.
    â€œThe baby girl bonobo was the infant of Banalia, one of the Pink Ladies. When she saw it was dead, she got furious and attacked Pweto — and her allies joined in. Before Patrice and his staff could get in there with tranquilizer guns, he was almost dead.”
    â€œPoor Pweto,” I said. “All he did was make a mistake.”
    â€œThey kept him apart for a while, and once he’d healed they tried to slowly introduce him back. As soon as he was back near the females, they went after him as if no time had passed. So he has to stay by himself.”
    Otto and I watched Pweto until the sun set. Even when Otto would occasionally call a greeting, Pweto wouldn’t react. Only once did he look back at us, and when he did, his eyes were empty, empty, empty.
    Â 
    Otto and I went to my room to video chat with Dad before dinner, but I’d just established the connection when the satellite link went down. I went into the hall to find someone who might know anything, and found the building quiet. Finally I discovered where everyone was: huddled around a shortwave radio in my mother’s office. “What’s going on?” I asked, and was immediately shushed a dozen times over.
    The radio crackled and popped as a weak signal struggled to get through.
    â€œWhy aren’t we watching the television?” I asked, only to get shushed again. Intrigued, Otto made a bonobo version of a shushing sound back.
    Finally words came through: “… confirm that the gunfire this afternoon was indeed … seen emerging from the capitol building with the defaced body of … thought to be the actions of the TLA, or Trans Liberation Army, a militant group from the east, with links to Hutu groups in Rwanda and Burundi … fleeing the capital, where the army has been seen infighting and … those who are home, stay home …”
    The signal cut out for many seconds.
    â€œWhat’s happened?” I whispered to Mama Marie-France, seated next to me.
    Her face was severe. It had always been that way, but now it seemed like she’d been holding it tight in preparation for this moment, for the inevitability that everything would again fall to bits. “The president has been shot,” she said.
    â€œIs he dead?”
    She nodded gravely.
    The president is dead? Though I was in shock, I finally got out: “Does that mean the vice president’s in charge?”
    â€œNo,” she said. “It means no one is in charge.”
    I hugged Otto to me so tightly that he whimpered in protest.
    â€œI’m trying the UN station,” Patrice said, fiddling with the radio dial. The United Nations had been in Congo since war broke out in the 1990s, and had reserved a frequency for emergency communications.
    â€œWe have to get in touch with my mom,” I said as the radio whizzed through varieties of static.
    No one answered at first. Everyone was in a private, horrified zone.
    â€œWe can’t get in touch with your mother,” Clément said quietly. “The networks are down, and she is somewhere on the river with the bonobos.”
    â€œThen I have to call my dad in Miami,” I said.
    â€œShh!” one of the staff said. Of course — they were all worried about their families, too.
    Patrice found the UN station. It broadcast in Belgian French: “… imperative that no one be on the roads. Until a stable transition government is in place, avoid interaction with any military or police or anyone who identifies as such. To reiterate, as many as a thousand people in the capital are already dead in street rioting, with reports of many more. Counterattacks from loyalists have resulted in confusion and a spike in opportunistic violence, so being in the open is inadvisable, as most victims have died in the streets. Stay calm, but treat this situation with utmost caution. Many armed groups are on the main roads, with no affiliation or central