He leaned in a little farther, peering through a tiny gap between them and into the bright sunlight beyond. The men that he’d heard talking came into view a few seconds later, walking along the steep slope about fifteen feet below. As expected, they were definitely not Ugandan army. One was wearing what could pass as fatigues, though they looked like they were about to rot off his body. The other was clad in jeans and a T-shirt silk-screened with a flaking Van Halen logo. His only nod to military chic was the assault rifle slung casually over his shoulder.

Neither was calling his name anymore. Those creepy, heavily accented wails had gone silent a couple of days ago. Whether that was due to strategy, hoarseness, or just boredom, he wasn’t sure. What he was sure of, though, was that Auma hadn’t given up his search and that there was still no sign of a cavalry charging to the rescue.

He followed the two men’s movements obsessively, one hand on the living screen in front of him and knees sunk into the soft dirt. If they turned toward him to investigate the improbable wall of foliage, the plan was simple. He’d wait until they got within five feet, burst from cover, and charge. The slope was steep enough that if he could knock them over with enough force, they’d go careening down it without getting off a shot. Maybe a few shouts before they dropped over the forty-foot cliff into the jagged rocks below, but those would likely be absorbed by the forest before reaching the ears of their comrades.

What could possibly go wrong?

He managed to get some air into his lungs after they passed by but didn’t get the rhythm of his breathing back until they were completely out of sight. Still lucky. For now, anyway.

The situation had changed significantly since their first night in what they’d dubbed the rat hole. Liu had stepped up beyond his wildest dreams. It turned out she hadn’t grown up the privileged child of wealthy Beijing academics like he’d always assumed. Instead, she’d spent much of her youth living in a remote farmhouse, surviving on what her family could grow or raise. Once she’d accepted their new reality, her old survival skills had kicked in and she was quickly becoming his own personal ninety-seven-pound Rambo.

Thanks to her nocturnal expeditions, the ground was now largely covered with fronds and there was a well-camouflaged latrine about twenty yards to the east. Another—thankfully as yet unused—emergency latrine had been dug inside the cave in case their shaky water purification protocols failed them.