remain still without bracing herself.
There came the clunk and grind of downshifting, and seconds later the truck was still. She heard the cab door open and close, then a lot of chatter at the roadside.
A ripple of panic hit her as she wondered whether the meat might be the sole reason the driver had stopped here. It wouldn’t sell for as much in the countryside as in the city, but he might be planning to unload some of it now, or maybe just show it off. The voices were coming from her side of the truck. They were still up near the cab, but she began to feel sure the tarp would be pulled away any second. They’d all get a rollicking good shock at the sight of her lying there, looking almost as bloody as the rest of the heap.
She breathed slowly, trying to relax her neck and limbs, keeping as still as possible. The slightest movement would rustle the tarp. People would think an animal had gotten in and was eating the meat. She pictured the driver whisking away the blue plastic and swinging a machete before even looking.
The chatter by the roadside dragged on and on while Amy waited, getting woozy from the lack of fresh air. She was almost dozing by the time the voices began to move toward the other side of the road.
A moment later she peeked out and saw no one. No activity at all, just a fallow field stretching a hundred yards to the edge of the forest. If there was a village nearby, it must have been on the other side of the highway, the sight of it blocked by the truck and its load of timber.
Amy slid to the ground. Her first thought was to head straight into the trees, but she hesitated. Bushmeat was the main reason she’d sent a spy to the logging operation in the first place, and the heap of it in front of her would surely make for better photos than the ones she’d taken of the hunter’s meager kill back at the camp. Here was proof that Sanderson Tropical Timber was not living up to its promise to stamp out poaching in its concessions.
She undid the twine that held down the tarp and pulled it back to expose the entire pile of dead things. The heap was about the size of a large home refrigerator tipped on its side.
Only about a third of the supply had been fully butchered, with a couple dozen limbs and several sets of ribs already smoked. The rest of the carcasses had been gutted, but remained otherwise intact. These were heaped in odd postures, the fur matted, the hollow torsos caved in. Amy managed to distinguish an assortment of small game: guenons and other monkeys, chevrotain deer, brush-tailed porcupine, assorted lizards, a few birds. Some of the monkeys were so squished that Amy could not tell if they were adults of one species or juveniles of another.
She rearranged a few carcasses so that they would be more recognizable, then freed her camera from the tangled pouch that had once been a pants pocket. Backing up a few yards, she got some wide shots that included Sanderson’s logo on the cab door. Then she switched to video mode and panned slowly, listing aloud the species she was sure of.
An odd change took place while she was creating the video clip. The smell of the raw meat had been overwhelming ly nauseating ever since she had climbed under the tarp, but suddenly the aroma of the smoked pieces drowned out all other odors. It was as though someone had a barbecue going right next to her, and – God help me , she thought , but it smells fantastic. She picked up a long rack of rather small smoked ribs and was ready to begin chewing the flesh off the bones, but fear of disease stayed her jaws at the last second. In her already weakened state, she might not be able to fight off any bacteria she ingested here. She let the rack fall back onto the pile.
There also seemed to be a faint echo of the awful smell that had briefly filled the truck cab right after something grabbed her the night before last, but it faded in and out and she couldn’t really tell whether or not it was the same.
After a moment
There came the clunk and grind of downshifting, and seconds later the truck was still. She heard the cab door open and close, then a lot of chatter at the roadside.
A ripple of panic hit her as she wondered whether the meat might be the sole reason the driver had stopped here. It wouldn’t sell for as much in the countryside as in the city, but he might be planning to unload some of it now, or maybe just show it off. The voices were coming from her side of the truck. They were still up near the cab, but she began to feel sure the tarp would be pulled away any second. They’d all get a rollicking good shock at the sight of her lying there, looking almost as bloody as the rest of the heap.
She breathed slowly, trying to relax her neck and limbs, keeping as still as possible. The slightest movement would rustle the tarp. People would think an animal had gotten in and was eating the meat. She pictured the driver whisking away the blue plastic and swinging a machete before even looking.
The chatter by the roadside dragged on and on while Amy waited, getting woozy from the lack of fresh air. She was almost dozing by the time the voices began to move toward the other side of the road.
A moment later she peeked out and saw no one. No activity at all, just a fallow field stretching a hundred yards to the edge of the forest. If there was a village nearby, it must have been on the other side of the highway, the sight of it blocked by the truck and its load of timber.
Amy slid to the ground. Her first thought was to head straight into the trees, but she hesitated. Bushmeat was the main reason she’d sent a spy to the logging operation in the first place, and the heap of it in front of her would surely make for better photos than the ones she’d taken of the hunter’s meager kill back at the camp. Here was proof that Sanderson Tropical Timber was not living up to its promise to stamp out poaching in its concessions.
She undid the twine that held down the tarp and pulled it back to expose the entire pile of dead things. The heap was about the size of a large home refrigerator tipped on its side.
Only about a third of the supply had been fully butchered, with a couple dozen limbs and several sets of ribs already smoked. The rest of the carcasses had been gutted, but remained otherwise intact. These were heaped in odd postures, the fur matted, the hollow torsos caved in. Amy managed to distinguish an assortment of small game: guenons and other monkeys, chevrotain deer, brush-tailed porcupine, assorted lizards, a few birds. Some of the monkeys were so squished that Amy could not tell if they were adults of one species or juveniles of another.
She rearranged a few carcasses so that they would be more recognizable, then freed her camera from the tangled pouch that had once been a pants pocket. Backing up a few yards, she got some wide shots that included Sanderson’s logo on the cab door. Then she switched to video mode and panned slowly, listing aloud the species she was sure of.
An odd change took place while she was creating the video clip. The smell of the raw meat had been overwhelming ly nauseating ever since she had climbed under the tarp, but suddenly the aroma of the smoked pieces drowned out all other odors. It was as though someone had a barbecue going right next to her, and – God help me , she thought , but it smells fantastic. She picked up a long rack of rather small smoked ribs and was ready to begin chewing the flesh off the bones, but fear of disease stayed her jaws at the last second. In her already weakened state, she might not be able to fight off any bacteria she ingested here. She let the rack fall back onto the pile.
There also seemed to be a faint echo of the awful smell that had briefly filled the truck cab right after something grabbed her the night before last, but it faded in and out and she couldn’t really tell whether or not it was the same.
After a moment
Similar Books
