Endangered by Eliot Schrefer Page A

sat. Igot the impression that they’d been traveling for a long time and now were settling in for a rest.
    I got the impression that they were here to stay.
    If that were true, how would I ever get out? My options were shifting: My best hope now was to stay put behind the electrified fence and wait for my parents to come through and rescue me. But I still needed food, which meant I needed the duffel.
    At least the enclosure’s gate was shaded, so I imagined I could get through the fence without them seeing. They probably didn’t even know yet there was a gate. But if I went more than twenty feet toward the main building, I’d be in the middle of them. If I were captured, the best I could hope for would be to die soon.
    But. There, flung at the base of a tree, its black nylon blending into the shadows, airline baggage sticker just visible, was the duffel. The men hadn’t discovered it yet, but it would be only a matter of time. It wasn’t more than twenty feet from the gate — even if the fighters did see me, I could get it and get back, unless they were quick with their guns.
    After humming to Otto for a minute to get him nice and calm, I approached the exit. Steadying myself, I input the code and disabled the electricity. I went through the gate, pausing at the far side until the electricity hummed back on.
    No one had noticed me. I had a few yards to go. The only problem was that I would be in full view of the soldiers sitting on the couch. They’d be facing me.
    I crept as slowly as my nerves would allow, keeping to the blind of the biggest trees. Otto squirmed under my shirt as I went, but mercifully didn’t make any noise. I inched closer and closer, the whole time keeping my focus trained on the men lounging on the couch. One had his eyes fully in my direction, but didn’t react. Now that I was closer I recognized him; he was one of thefour I’d seen in the driveway days ago. I inched closer to the bag, closer to him.
    Then I was on it. I reached from around the back side of the tree, hooked one strap, slung the bag over my shoulder, and started back to the enclosure, this time focusing only on the entrance and pretending the men no longer existed.
    When I heard a murp.
    At first I thought it was Otto. But the sound was coming from the nursery.
    One of the young bonobos was still there.
    I paused, torn: Head straight back to safety, or risk a detour to the nursery?
    The murp came again, a shriek hoarse from prolonged suffering. A call like Otto had made back when he was being sold on that dusty road. Like those two young bonobos had made on the back of the trafficker’s bike.
    Cursing my own foolishness, I dropped the duffel behind a bush by the enclosure gate and skirted the nursery wall. As of my earlier spying, the nearest rebels were on the other side, so I paused every few feet to listen for a sign that they were onto me. As long as I heard them still chattering away, I knew I was still undiscovered.
    There, on the far side, was Mama Brunelle’s body. A dead body, a thing and not a person. To keep myself going, I didn’t let my thoughts rest on that fact. She was facedown, her legs the only part of her that wasn’t covered in dried blood. Bits of her were missing; I couldn’t understand, or make myself understand, which ones. Inhale, exhale, inhale.
    Next to the dead surrogate mother was a young bonobo.
    She was murping, lifting Brunelle’s lifeless hand and patting herself with it. She put the hand down, and then picked it up and stroked herself with it again. Her movements were restricted, sincea piece of rope was around her wrist, leashing her to an iron stake in the ground.
    I whispered quiet nonsense to get the bonobo’s attention. When she looked at me, I recognized her: It was Songololo, Anastasia’s daughter, who’d been brought into the nursery to be looked after once her mother rejected her. She looked at me and then returned