The Jungle

Chapter 6: Joto

At first, Warren didn’t know he was awake. He lay in what seemed to be a dark environment, but his eyes were closed. It was only when he heard the murmur of voices that he realized he was awake.

The wound in his thigh throbbed, but it was nowhere near the stabbing pain it had been. The main pain now was thirst. He smacked his lips slowly, wishing for something moist to be put through them. “Water,” he pleaded, slowly opening his eyes.

There was a flurry of movement and suddenly the face of a beautiful, blond woman filled his field of vision. She was incredibly beautiful with sparkling, green eyes. She had to be Kupata, just like the one who had helped him fight the wolves. Was that how he got here? He looked around and saw that he was lying on a makeshift cot made from palm trunks and lined with fur. Over his body was what seemed to be a blanket of buffalo hide and under his head was a pillow made of skins and stuffed with what felt like feathers.

The woman smiled and offered him some kind of horn-probably caprine in nature-filled with some kind of liquid. “Drink,” she ordered.

Warren took a sip. It was some kind of rich, whole milk. It was fresh and like nothing he had ever tasted. “What is it?” he asked.

“Goat’s milk and herbs,” she replied. “Drink it. You’ll find it makes you stronger.”

“Who are you?” Warren asked. He longed to reach his hand out and touch her magnificent face, but held back.

“She is my mate,” said a familiar voice. It was the native who had helped him fight wolves earlier.

The native kissed the woman gently on the lips as she got up from Warren’s bedside and allowed her husband to sit. “Her name is Joto. I am Bahati. The other is James Goodman. I trust you have a great many questions?”

“I do,” Warren replied. “Can you help me answer them?”

“In a moment,” Bahati replied as the man in the tree knelt down next to the native. This must be James. “First,” Bahati ordered, “you will tell us what happened with the wolves. Why were you out in the jungle? Your kind does not go out alone unless you have a large gun. Yours is too small to do much damage.” He held up Warren’s police-issue GLOCK 41. In his other hand was a pile of the .45 caliber rounds the gun required.

“Hey! Put that down!” Warren yelled, grabbing the gun from Bahati. “You have no idea how to use it! You’ll accidentally set it off!”

James laughed. “Don’t be afraid, Warren. I was in the Navy. I can handle a gun. I pulled the firing mechanism out so that none of the Kupata could use it even if they tried. Not even Bahati knows where it is.”

There was a braying outside. “Is that a…donkey?” Warren said slowly, still a bit in shock.

“Horse,” said Bahati.

“Zebra,” said James at the same time.

Joto’s musical laughter sounded through the cave. “No matter what it is, it is a four-legged, hooved animal that we ride. The one you heard just now is named Kilat. She belongs to Bahati. We are lucky to have her. Not all families own a horse.”

Warren looked over to the center of the cave where a fire burned. Joto knelt next to it, poking it gently with a rod of bone. Beside her on a flat frying rock were several pieces of meat. The sight of them made his mouth water. He handed the empty milk horn to Bahati as his stomach groaned.

“Later,” the native promised. “You may have food later. Now, you must speak to me. Tell me what you remember.”

“They…they came out of nowhere,” he recalled, his voice shaking. “I had just gone to find the person I’d seen in a tree the night before. I wanted to meet them and see if they were really as bad as everyone said. But then I heard a stick crack. It was one of them. My gun...it misfired. You’re him, aren’t you? You’re the one who was I the tree.”