6°28'44.1"N 6°15'49.0"W

  Sa?oua, C?te d’Ivoire

  16.05.2024 - 13.00 UTC +00.00

  The mud below my boots mutes my steps. It had rained this morning, and the ground had been eager to collect the moisture. I took another step. And then another. Sweat concentrated on my forehead, unable to evaporate in that stinging heat. I looked up at the sky, pregnant with clouds and a possible afternoon downpour.

  And then back again in the direction of that beating heart.

  “How’s the buddy system looking now?” I mumbled.

  No one was around to hear me, but I was glad my jeered precaution was about to pay dividends. I walked behind one of the many Khaya trees lining the street, their trunk perfectly wide to hide a woman of my stature. I carefully leaned before I peeked from the side.

  Finally, there she was, crouching just like I was, holding a satchel in her left hand. An unknown woman with a grey tattoo of an arrow on her left cheek stealthily moved from one bush to another. Landing between twigs and roots without making a single sound, her feet betrayed her training. A thief of sorts, or rather a spy dressed in military camo. Her eyes were locked onto her target, as mine were on her. I did not dare let her out of my sight with such camouflage; I knew who she was spying on anyway.

  Guarin, one of the members of our unfortunate company. He was making an important call in the phone booth across the street. He insisted we use this specific one. At the edge of the town, far from anyone and surrounded by abandoned buildings and Khaya trees.

  There again, she moved. I observed. Again, the spy side-stepped quickly and jumped behind the next tree, not making a single sound. What was she trying to do? Surely, she could not eavesdrop on Guarin that far. Read lips, maybe? I tapped the silencer on my semi-automatic handgun. Maybe she was a simple beggar, waiting to jump in and startle Guarin; maybe she knew what mission the two of us were on. Maybe, most probably, she was like the other one.

  She was not eavesdropping. The spy, clueless she was spied on herself, picked up something from her satchel. She moved her lips, saying something I could not make out through the undergrowth she had for cover.

  I did not need a clean line of sight to make my shot; my Curse was enough.

  I breathed in and closed my eyes. Blood, rhythmically pumping. A clean beat, and centered at her heart. I raised my hands at the right angle and position, letting my Bloodsensing guide my handgun to point at her heart.

  I pulled the trigger.

  The silencer muffled the shot. Her heart burst as the bullet pierced her, and she dropped to the ground with a gentle thump.

  I counted to twenty, in case anyone else showed up. But my bloodsensing picked up no other heartbeat besides Guarin’s.

  Twenty. I rushed to her, curious to understand more about her. In Liberia, it was the authorities that hunted us – but she was not a soldier or a police officer. She was something else. The satchel, dropped next to her, was full of pebbles all marked with grey paint, matching the shade of her tattoo.

  With my foot, I pushed her right hand, and a single pebble rolled from her hand. She had picked it up from her stock, ready to do something. I looked at her chest, blood pouring from the surgically targeted hole. I could not be mistaken. Her heart. It was sparkless.

  “Another Cursed girl,” I said. Someone was sending Cursed spies our way, but I had no clue as to whom. She was the second one I had neutralized in days. The previous girl was lurking in the shadows of the rainforest during our hike two days ago. I simply shot from the vanguard, not saying a word to our company that we were being watched. I did not want more panic to settle in.

  But this was the first time I examined one up close. And I could not place the significance of those pebbles or this tattoo.

  Guarin’s heart rate spiked. Was the phone call going awry?

  I hid my handgun before I inconspicuously walked out of the Khaya trees. I left her body to rot behind them, and I stepped into the street. Looked left and right: empty, save for Guarin still in the phone booth.

  I tapped on the side of it. It was rusty, malformed, and in disrepair. Who used a payphone in the year 2024 anyway?

  “We might want to hurry,” I said to him.

  Guarin hung up.

  “So, did your Kanem friends pick up?” I asked.

  “They will wait for us in Kouétinfla,” he said, and stepped out of the phone booth. He put his beige hat on as he spoke, his voice shaking with worry. Or anticipation. We were so close to the finish line. He looked at me and spoke again. “They can… replace Marin.”

  I doubted that. But whatever Cursed reinforcements they could promise, we would need them.

  “Let’s go fast then. I bet Akissi is already getting excited thinking I died,” I said.

  “We will get there in no time,” said Guarin, not wasting a moment and starting to walk, “you worry too much, Demi.”

  I shot a glance behind my back. The dead Cursed girl’s hand was almost visible behind the trees.

  “You are right,” I lied, “all is under control.”

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  ? ? ?

  It took less than forty-eight hours, a long twenty kilometers of bushwacking and swamp-treading for him to change his attitude.

  “There is no way we can reach Kouétinfla by tonight if we go through the forest. And the hills. The trip would simply be too hard, even if the path were shorter. Which is not, let’s face it,” Guarin said. His forehead was drenched in sweat, as it was for all of us. While he had previously suggested that we stop and consider our options, he already had formed an opinion, and in typical Guarin fashion, he was gearing us up for a vote.

  As he spoke in French, Rox translated in Baoulé for the rest of our unfortunate company: Akissi and Kouadio, the two Ivorian mercenaries who were supposed to be the muscles of the group. Both stood in front of Guarin, their broad builds setting Rox and me aside from the conversation.

  Rox was currently the only one bridging the language barrier in this group, able to speak both French and a few other dialects. She was standing next to me, leaning against the trunk of a tree. She looked as dehydrated as Guarin, if not more.

  “I thought we learned our lesson with the locals in Liberia,” I said, remaining still in my corner. Rox hesitantly translated what I said. Akissi did not deign to turn and look at me, but I could sense her tightening her muscles. “I mean no more than just stating the truth.”

  We had begun this trip as a group of six, but passing through a supposedly safe crossing of the Liberian border forced us to change plans. Plans that had already cost us one team member: Marin. He was the only one with a Curse besides me. And the only ally I trusted throughout the mission.

  Akissi eventually broke the awkward silence. She spoke in Baoulé, and the only thing I could tell was the hint of irony in her voice. Rox translated: “It would help if you were more forthcoming about your special …skills,” but it was obvious from her tone that the word “skills” was Rox’s more modest translation.

  I decided not to respond. They might have had mixed feelings about a Cursed walking by their side, but it should at least have crossed their minds that their chances of survival would decrease dramatically without me. Maybe a passing thought, but I could see it in Kouadio’s eyes. He did not like what I was, but I was necessary.

  I kept silent. I decided that the group would have to interpret what my silence meant, and I was not going to volunteer more explanations.

  “Demi,” Guarin said, “I will not ask you again. You seem to prefer the wilderness. If this is really the route you suggest, I will change my vote. I am with you. We avoid the road.”

  I gave him a short moment of longing for a reaction, so that I wouldn’t seem overeager, and I nodded, turning to the rest. Kouadio tensed his back and shrugged, before saying something explicit that needed no translation – he disagreed with us.

  Rox responded and briefly chatted with him. I wondered what she would vote: beyond Marin, she was the only one that I had shared some moments of respite with in the past weeks, and I felt she was the least prejudiced against Cursed. She listened to me. She was, however, the one directly managing the two Ivorian’s emotions, and there was a lot of anger to manage.

  They discussed briefly, and with Akissi commenting only once – clearly against my idea – Rox turned to our posse’s leader: “We three disagree, Guarin. We follow you, even if you want to lead through the forests, but if this is a vote, we cast it to stay on the well-walked path.”

  Kouadio crossed his arms, and his eyes locked on me. Was he trying to intimidate me? Or was he intimidated by me? if he felt my look drifting to him, he turned to Guarin, turning his back to me. In a perfect position to advertise his rifle. It did not matter. He could not threaten me, nor could his mundane weaponry.

  “I am sorry, Demi,” Rox added.

  I was sorry. A familiar sensation in my stomach tightened its hold through me. I was not worried about myself, but for them. Did I really care for them? No, I did not think so. But I hated being proven right, and I was sure I would be, soon.

  “Ok, good,” Guarin said, “taking the main road then. We should be there in a couple of hours, before sundown. Let’s keep going!”

  Akissi’s glare lingered on me before she followed the rest. I stayed at the vanguard of the pack. It would be a long walk.

  ? ? ?

  The wilderness would not have been beyond our capabilities. Parc national de Ta?, that had been a much greater challenge last week. But perhaps this was the reason their morale was low. Crossing through Ta?’s rainforest, where even authorities did not step in, we thought that was the best move at the time. But it exhausted us. It broke our vehicle, an otherwise reliable Ground Cruiser that we had to abandon right after in Issia. It was way beyond repair, which I guess had hurt the group’s confidence in going off-road.

  There I was again. Lingering. Brooding, as Marin would say. I scoffed even at the memory of his voice.

  Stop brooding, just go ahead and roll the dice, he would banter. Easy for him to say. He lay dead now. We had to avoid his fate.

  Haut-Sassandra was a relatively well-inhabited district with many villages and towns, but the path from Sa?oua to Kouétinfla had no other stops in between. Lots of cocoa plantations, old forest trees, and more than twenty-five kilometers of ankle-high wet clay road. Its last leg remained; every step we took was more and more uncertain as we hiked the muddied road. No one dared to speak or waste energy. We were under strict time pressure.

  And intense humidity. My sweat pooled on my skin, impossible to evaporate, and my breath felt drowning both in thirst and saliva, at the same time.

  Somewhere at the forefront of our company, Guarin slipped on the clay road, but Akissi caught him before he would dive headfirst into the ground. Even she seemed exhausted.

  They were all exhausted. That means I had to be ready.

  Stop brooding, Marin’s voice reminded me, but I did the opposite: I jumped right into contingency planning mode.

  On our right hand, there was a clear view of cocoa plantations, its savana impossible to provide cover. On our left hand, tall bushes led down the hillside – maybe if we needed to find refuge quickly, we would run down there. And if someone was shot, like Marin, then I…

  “Who do you think has it?” Rox asked me, her voice startling me. She had inched closer to where I hiked, at the back of our silent procession. “Who?”

  She was referring to the mission’s objective, the illegal contraband we carried across borders.

  Ι turned to look at her waist. A belt of durable cloth circled tight around her, matching in color and material with the long-sleeved beige blouse she wore. A pouch made of rough leather padding and sealed with an elaborate knot was resting, hung from her belt.

  Its contents were as unknown to me as to her.

  “I cannot see through enchantments, Rox,” I responded. My talents lie elsewhere. The contents of her pouch were impossible to discern and inaccessible. It was the same for all our pouches. I felt mine jiggling against my thigh as I kept walking.

  “Crossing that off the list,” she said and chuckled, “But… that is all that runs through my mind right now. Probability-wise, it could be Kouadio. He has two pouches. His and Marin’s.”

  Kouadio led the expedition behind Guarin and Akissi without talking much, only occasionally grunting. His rifle swung back and forth with every step he took, while on his right thigh, both his pouch and the one he had claimed from Marin’s dead body swayed ominously.

  “I guess you are right. Probability-wise.”