Free Lethal Misconduct by C. G. Cooper Page B

correct location.
    “How do you know?” asked Sheila.
    Antonio just shrugged and took a long drink from a bottle of orange soda.
    They got their answer just as the sun was setting three hours later. The first warriors, if you could call them that, sauntered into camp, unperturbed by the presence of strangers, wearing an assortment of tattered rags, all barefoot, bare-chested and a full foot shorter than the Americans. The tribe scattered to their chores as Antonio struck up a conversation with the fattest man of the bunch who wore what looked like the large teeth of some predator in each ear.
    He gestured with his hands and jabbered on in a dialect that Price couldn’t pinpoint. Spanish? Portuguese? The man kept pointing to the jungle, back the way they’d come.
    Antonio came back to join his charges. “He says the medicine man that way.” He pointed the same way the chieftain had.
    “Why isn’t he with the rest of the tribe?” asked Price.
    “Gathering,” answered Antonio, already picking up his belongings and heading for the skinny dirt path.
    They found the stick thin medicine man no more than thirty minutes later, the tinkling of small bones and hollow sticks knocking against a walking stick he used as he headed toward them. He had a sack slung over his shoulder, the leaves of his harvest peaking out over the lip.
    He stopped when he noticed the strangers approaching. Squinting as if getting confirmation of something he’d just seen, the medicine man’s eyes went wide and his cragged finger pointed directly at Dr. Price. The tribe elder muttered something Price didn’t understand.
    “What did he say?” Price asked their guide.
    Antonio shook his head and asked the man to repeat himself. Their guide’s face twisted in confusion.
    “What did he say?” Price asked again.
    “He say you finally come.”
    “Who? Us?”
    “No, Doctor. He say you.”
    The medicine man moved closer, shuffling with a slight limp as he made his way to Price, who could smell him well before the native stood in front of him. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, more of a mixture of unknown herbs and earth.
    Stepping right up to Price, the man reached up and traced half circles under Price’s eyes, muttering something again. Price looked to Antonio for the translation.
    “He say you The Traveler , señor.”
     
     
     
     

    Chapter 15
    Charlottesville, Virginia
    11:14am, April 6 th
     
    It was like someone had sucked all the air of the room. Not a man moved, latched onto Price’s story.
    The good doctor knew his skill as an orator, something years of forced practice as a kid molded without much thought. It felt good to tell someone what he knew. For some reason he believed with all his heart that he could trust these men. The looks in their eyes told of goodness and heroism. Just as they were sucked in by his retelling, he too was relaxing after months on the run.
    “Next thing I knew the old native grabbed me by the hand and led me further down the path, motioning for the others to stay put. I didn’t come out for two days.”
    “Where did he take you?” asked Gaucho.
    “He had a little hut deeper in the jungle. From our rudimentary communication I picked up that he never brought anyone else. It was weird and I don’t really know how to explain it, but he treated me like an equal, open with his basic instruction. Kinda like he was training a pupil to take over for him.”
    “And he showed you his secret?” asked Jonas.
    “He did. The cure was made out of some kind of root. He never showed me where he got it. I think that maybe it was a seasonal thing. Anyway, he’d make a sort of a poultice out of it, grinding it up and making it into paste then setting it out in the sun. All the villagers ate it as part of their diet because it took a constant active supply to suppress the cancer,” Price explained.
    “How does it work?” asked Neil, obviously intrigued by the potential.
    “Most people don’t know that there are