Page 12 of Love in the Wild

“Phoenix.” Maggie plucked at her soaked tank top. “I’m used to the heat, but not so much the humidity.”

“Arkansas is humid, but nothing like this.” Eden pulled out a cute bright-red elastic headband and slid it on the top part of her forehead to catch sweat.

“Follow me,” the guide at the front called out. The second guide fell in behind the line of tourists as they started into the jungle.

As Eden and the others began their trek, a light rain began to fall. Her hair and clothes were soon soaked despite her rain slicker because of the humidity and sweat. She wore a long-sleeved T-shirt and hiking shorts and boots with tall socks past her ankles to protect her legs. The smell of bug spray and sweat seemed to follow them wherever they went. The light rain turned into a heavy downpour only a few minutes later.

“Welcome to the jungle!” one of the younger men ahead called back. Everyone laughed, and the tense excitement of the moment eased a bit.

“What made you come here, honey?” Maggie asked as they kept pace with each other. Harold was ahead of them, carefully pushing aside branches for them.

“I’m a photojournalist forNational Parkmagazine.” She paused, thinking over the real answer. “But honestly, I am just passionate about the jungle and conservation. Gorillas have been one of my favorite animals since I was a kid.”

It was hard to put into words what it was that Africa made her feel. The dark jungles, the sun-streaked savannas, and the majesty of a continent that refused to yield to human civilization. It called to something ancient inside Eden. Uganda was called the Pearl of Africa because of its lush jungles, which sheltered the wild gorilla population. The habitat was so ancient it had survived the last ice age intact, while the other forests of Africa had perished.

Their path toward the mountains continued, steep and slippery. Eden had been warned that finding the gorillas could take anywhere from thirty minutes to five hours. The jungle thickened after the second hour, forcing everyone to resume their single-file marching order. The guides and gorilla trackers cleared the path ahead as best they could with machetes. The higher they climbed, the heavier Eden’s breathing became, and her thighs grew tight and strained. She turned to hold out a hand to Maggie and Harold on the rougher parts of the ascent.

“Jesus, the kids won’t believe we did this,” Harold laughed, catching his breath.

Eden gripped Harold’s palm as he hoisted himself past a steep branch. “You have kids?”

“A son and a daughter. Both in their thirties. They bought us this trip since they knew Mags liked that Dian Fossey book,Gorillas in the Mist.”

“I love that book too.” Eden’s heart twinged when she thought of the conservationist Dian Fossey, who had been brutally murdered in the mountains. Wherever there were people determined to save something, it seemed there were even more ready to kill or destroy it for a profit.

The plant life around the tourists changed along with the elevation. Bamboo shot up in thick, towering stalks all around them, forcing them to squeeze between the tall stems. After another hour, the forest changed around them again. They entered the Hagenia Zone, named for the spectacular moss-covered trees that gave the jungle an enchanted feel. An ancient magic seemed to hang in the air, mixing with the wild birds’ chorusing. The branches above them were thicker than her body and stretched twenty or thirty feet on either side. It was easy to see how monkeys could jump between the trees here.

The rain suddenly stopped, yet you wouldn’t know it from the way the water continued to drip off the trees around them, the waxy emerald leaves of the plant life gleaming in the intermittent shafts of light slicing through the canopy. Eden and the others removed their rain slickers. She crushed hers into a ball and stuffed it back into its pouch before tucking it into her backpack.

The strong smell of damp and decaying vegetation overpowered her senses, masking the other aromas. Misty clouds hung low around the distant peaks and filled the valleys between the mountains ahead. Mist poured down toward their group, making the ground almost invisible. Eden tripped over a large root, but she caught herself and continued on. Maggie tripped behind her in the exact same spot, cursing the root as Harold helped her up.

“Everyone drop your bags, get your cameras out, and follow me,” the guide at the front announced quietly. “The gorillas are just up ahead.”

Eden held her breath as they moved together. Within a minute, the mist revealed a band of twelve gorillas. A young juvenile nearest them was lying back against the roots of a tree, a piece of fruit held lazily in one hand as he gazed at the intruders.

Eden was transfixed by the sight. His reddish-brown eyes were calm, a hint of caution mixed with curiosity. He was probably used to seeing humans, but no one here except the guides and trackers had ever had the chance to see a gorilla in the wild before. A gorilla shrouded in mist.

She raised her camera and framed the juvenile in her sights and snapped a dozen photos. The gorillas continued to eat and socialize. The juveniles wrestled, and a few of the mothers held tiny infants to their breasts.

It was moving to see how these creatures were like humans in so many ways, that they cared for and nursed their young, that their children played and the adults touched each other with gentle affection. She watched two mothers with infants who stood upright and toddled a little farther away, but it was the way one mother put her hand on the shoulder of the other, like friends, that stole Eden’s breath. She took a dozen pictures of that moment alone.

The tour group had an hour to watch. When they had only ten minutes left, the gorillas seemed to sense they were free to move, and as though summoned by the magic of another realm, they blended back into the jungle as silently as they had appeared.

“My God,” a woman whispered to Eden and the others. “Did you see them? They were just like us.”

“Did you see their hands? They were huge.” Another man held up his own hand, looking at it as he recalled the size of the hands of the dominant silverback who had prowled, not threateningly, but protectively, around the other gorillas.

“All right, everyone, we’re going to have a quick lunch and then head back down. Be sure to have your rain gear ready,” one of the guides warned.

Eden crouched down by a tree and unzipped her bag, but she paused when she sensed movement in the jungle near where the gorillas had gone. She got her camera ready again and waited, bringing the rustling plants into focus. But the face that emerged was not a gorilla, but a man. A man with a grizzled beard and flat eyes. He scanned the forest and spotted her, suddenly smiling.

Then came the screams, the shouts, the guns being fired in the air.

Poachers. Poachers had been tracking the gorillas.

Eden huddled next to Maggie and Harold as they were shoved into a jumbled group. They were forced to walk deeper into the jungle, well beyond the boundaries where any guides or trackers would come looking for them.

“Oh God, Harold,” Maggie whispered.

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