Nate crossed down the narrow trail toward the small Indian village, which consisted of a single large roundhouse, open to the sky in the middle. As he approached the structure, he heard none of the usual noises coming from the shabano. No arguing huyas, no women yelling for more plantains, no laughter of children. It was ghostly quiet and unnerving.
“The construction is definitely Yanomamo,” Nathan said softly to Kouwe and Anna Fong. “But small. It probably houses no more than thirty villagers.”
Behind them marched Private Carrera, her M-16 held in both hands, muzzle pointed at the ground. She was whispering into her radio’s microphone.
Anna stared wide-eyed at the shabano.
Nate stopped her from continuing through the roundhouse’s small doorway and into the village proper. “Have you ever been among the Yanomamo?”
Anna shook her head.
Nate cupped his mouth. “Klock, klock, klock,” he yelled. Then softer to Anna, he explained, “Whether it seems deserted or not, you never approach a Yanomamo village without first announcing yourself. It’s a good way to get an arrow in your back. They have the tendency to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Nothing wrong with that policy,” Carrera mumbled behind him.
They stood near the entrance for a full minute, then Kouwe spoke. “No one’s here.” He waved an arm behind him. “No canoes by the river, no nets or fishing gear either. No yebis squawking in alarm.”
“Yebis?” their Ranger escort asked.
“The gray-winged trumpeter,” Nate said. “Sort of an ugly chicken really. The Indians use them like feathered guard dogs. They raise a ruckus when anyone approaches.”
The Ranger nodded. “So no chickens, no Indians.” She turned in a slow circle, surveying the forest around them. The woman refused to let down her guard. “Let me go first.”
Lifting her weapon higher, she paused near the short entrance. Bowing low, she ducked her head through. After a moment, she slid through the bamboo-framed entrance, sticking close to the banana-leaf wall, then barked to them, “All clear. But stick behind me.”
Carrera moved toward the center of the circular structure. She kept her weapon ready, but as Nate had suggested, she kept the rifle’s muzzle pointing at the ground. Among the Yanomamo, an arrow nocked and aimed at a fellow tribesman was a call to war. Since Nate didn’t know how familiar these particular Indians were with modern weapons, he wanted no misinterpretations on this point.
As a group, Nate, Kouwe, and Anna entered the shabano.
Around them, the individual family units were sectioned off from their neighbors by drapes of tobacco leaves, water gourds, and baskets. Woven hammocks, all empty, hung from the roof beams. A pair of stone bowls lay toppled in the central clearing beside a grinding stone, manioc flour spilled onto the dirt.
A sudden burst of color startled them all as a parrot took wing. It had been roosting atop a pile of brown bananas.
“I don’t like this,” Kouwe said.
Nate knew what he meant and nodded.
“Why?” asked Carrera.
“When the Yanomamo migrate to a new site, they either burn the old shabano or at least strip it of all useful items.” Kouwe pointed around him. “Look at all these baskets, hammocks, and feather collections. They wouldn’t leave these behind.”
“What could make them leave so suddenly?” Anna asked.
Kouwe slowly shook his head. “Something must have panicked them.”
“Us?” Anna stared around her. “Do you think they knew we were coming?”
“If the Indians had been here, I’m sure they would’ve been well aware of our approach. They keep a keen watch on their forest. But I don’t think it was our party that made them abandon this shabano so quickly.”
“Why do you say that?” Nate asked.
Kouwe crossed around the edge of the living sites. “All the fires are cold.” He nudged the pile of bananas upon which the parrot had been feeding. “They’re half rotten. The Yanomamo would not have wasted food like this.”
Nate understood. “So you think the village was abandoned some time ago.”
“At least a week, I’d estimate.”
“Where did they go?” Anna asked.
Kouwe stood in place and turned in a slow circle. “It’s hard to say, but there’s one other detail that may be significant.” He glanced to Nate to see if he had noticed it, too.
Frowning, Nate studied the dwellings. Then it dawned on him. “All the weapons are gone.” Among the abandoned wares, there was not a single arrow, bow, club, or machete.
“Whatever spooked them to run,” Kouwe said, “they were scared for their lives.”
Private Carrera edged closer to them. “If you’re right, if this place is long deserted, I should call in my unit.”
Kouwe nodded.
She stepped away, mumbling into her radio.
Kouwe silently waved Nate aside so they could speak privately. Anna was busy examining an individual dwelling, picking through the goods left behind.
Kouwe whispered. “It was not these Yanomamo who were tracking our party.”
“Then who?”
“Some other group…I’m still not sure it was even Indians. I think it’s time we informed Frank and Captain Waxman.”
“Are you thinking that whatever spooked the Indians is what’s now on our trail?”
“I’m not sure, but whatever could frighten the Yanomamo from their homes is something we should be wary of.”
By now, the constant drizzle had stopped. The cloud banks began to break apart, allowing cracks of afternoon sunlight to pierce through in dazzling rays. After so long in the misty murk, the light was bright.
In the distance, Nate heard a single engine roar to life. Captain Waxman and his Rangers were coming.
“You’re certain we should tell them?” Nate asked.
Before Kouwe could answer, Anna had wandered over. She pointed to the skies off to the south. “Look at all those birds!”
Nate glanced to where she pointed. With the rains dying away, various birds were rising from the canopy to dry their wings and begin the hunt for food again. But a half mile away, a huge flock of black birds rose from the canopy like a dark mist. Thousands of them.
Oh, God. Nate crossed quickly to Private Carrera. “Let me have your binoculars.”
The Ranger’s eyes were on the strange dance of black birds, too. She unsnapped a compact set of binoculars from her field jacket and passed them to Nate. Holding his breath, he peered through the glasses. It took him a moment to focus on the birds. Through the lenses, the flock broke down to individuals, a mix of large and small birds. Many were fighting among themselves in the air, tearing at each other. But despite their differences, the various birds all shared one common trait.