"Thanks, but I think I'll come with you." Arena took a drink from a fresh water bottle. She'd already finished one on the chopper.
"Suit yourself. Just watch it as you come down. It gets pretty steep," cautioned Fredericks.
Morgan reached up to help Arena, but it was evident she didn't need or want his help. Seconds later, the debris of the jungle floor fell away from beneath her, Arena slipped a.nd fell with a thud, flat on her back. Morgan stepped over to her and without irony again offered his hand. This time, in need of a foothold, she took it. Fredericks led them down the embankment, which fell away at a deadly gradient into thick jungle. They were on the old connecting road that had once been the main route between the coast and the eastern highlands. While the high canopy of the jungle gave respite from the searing impact of the sun, down at ground level the air was still too hot to breathe, and their clothes were soaked with perspiration before they'd even moved 20 feet. They were about 30 kilometres from their destination, Pallarup - the Malfajiri headquarters of Alga Creek Mining and Chiltonford. The road had changed from bitumen to gravel, as it disappeared around a sharp corner into harsher, near impenetrable jungle.
The going was difficult for the entire 50 feet they had to descend to reach the vehicle and, although moving through thick secondary undergrowth was clearly a new experience for Arena, she was handling it.
'Tm sorry your first official duties couldn't have been under more agreeable circumstances," said Fredericks through laboured breaths, "but I believe this wreck might just tell us something about the rebels' intentions - if you know what I mean."
"Roger," replied Morgan, shaking his head as they finally arrived at the van's final resting place. "Bloody hell!"
"Oh, Jesus!" Arena exclaimed. She drew a hand immediately to her face to block the smell, gathering her shirt collar across her nose and mouth. "Is that the smell of the bodies?"
"Yeah,'' confirmed Fredericks. '"fraid so. It's been pretty warm over the past couple of days and, unfortunately, our friends are,'' he paused, "... on the turn."
Morgan eased past Fredericks and slid the last couple of feet down to the wreckage of the van. Both he and Fredericks began giving the area a thorough onceover. Arena self-consciously took another drink of water. The heat and stench were unbearable.
"What a mess!" said Morgan.
The wagon was on its side and clearly, by the amount of damage sustained, it had rolled all the way down the embankment before crashing to the position where it now lay. Normally fully laden with medical supplies, rations and the personal effects of the priest and nuns, the inside of the vehicle had been gutted; cleaned out by rebel soldiers, or possibly even local looters. Only the bodies remained. Despite her apprehensiveness, Arena joined them as they picked over the site, stopping occasionally to confer. There was an eerie silence as they all pondered the lay of the land, the perfectly chosen ambush site, and the innocence of the selfless, unsuspecting victims. The three of them variously moved about the site, looking off into the jungle, down at the wreckage, back to where the van had tumbled down the hill, each considering the enormity of the days, possibly even the hours that lay ahead.
Morgan was the first to break the quiet.
With an air of understanding and finality, he pushed himself back up through the scrub towards the road, and said, "Well, I guess we better get some shovels and bury these poor buggers."
"Good idea," Fredericks agreed. "Then we'll need to get back to Pallarup before dark so you can both meet everybody and we can start sorting out the evacuation plan. My guess is that we don't have much time at all before this country falls to Baptiste."
"I'd like to help, if I can." Arena offered. "Are you sure?" asked Morgan.
"I can handle it," she said, with a small emphatic nod of the head. Her tone was low, her features set. "Right then."
An hour later, they'd fulfilled their responsibilities to the dead and were back on the chopper.
Mason was a skilled pilot. Leaving the jungle behind, he flew with such effortlessness over the vast landscape, bathed in the blood red of the setting sun, that he might have been driving a car through a country town on an easy Saturday night. Fredericks took the opportunity to brief Morgan and Arena on who the key players were back in the mining town, and how they may, or may not, try to obstruct Morgan as he readied them all for the evacuation.
Pallarup would be Morgan's port of entry into the Chiltonford machine; it was there that the company had centered operations for the duration of their deployment in Malfajiri, supporting the massive Alga Creek Mining Corporation's remote African outpost. Morgan knew that when he finally arrived at Pallarup, he would likely be confronted by panic and confusion.