The hands propelled him forward. The floor below him dropped away.
The air blistered past him, the feeling of weightlessness offering a tiny fragment of familiarity.
But this was different.
He wasn't flying. He was falling.
He tried to arrest his plunge. Tried to take control.
But he was helpless victim of gravity.
The air sliced through him.
He was going to die.
Alone.
No one would know how he had met his death.
He doubted anyone would care.
A few people at the Daily Planet might experience passing curiosity, but they would assume he had made good his intent to leave Metropolis.
They would think he had gone to a new life.
Perhaps he had.
The green blanket of trees rushed to meet him. Clark tensed in anticipation of impact.
It came.
He screamed.
With pain.
And anger.
And the utter devastation of facing death alone.
Something cannoned into the side of his head, the fuzzy edges of unconsciousness closed over his mind, and Clark Kent slipped into the world of blackness.
Part 2
"Maman! Maman! Come quickly!"
Lois Laka-Matymbou looked up from where she was trying to loosen the roots of a mature ginseng without disturbing the nearby immature plants. "Diddi!" she called. "Where are you?" She stood, turning towards the sound of the light, racing footsteps.
Her five-year-old son emerged from between the trees and ran up to her. He grabbed her ankle-length skirt with one hand and pointed behind him with the other. "Maman!" he said breathlessly. "There's a man. And he's green."
Lois crouched low. "Diddi," she said, sounding extra stern in her efforts not to smile at his earnestness. "We have talked about making up stories."
"I'm not making it up," he said indignantly. "There's a green man near the river."
"Stories are for the campfire at night," she said, tilting her digger towards him for emphasis. "Not for during the day while we are working."
"It's not a story," Diddi exclaimed. "There's a man by the river."
"Who is he? Romaric? Gaudrey? Tsumbu?"
"I don't know him. He's not Bangala."
"He's not Bangala?" Lois asked dubiously. "And he's green?"
"Yes! His clothes is all ripped, but -"
"His clothes are green?"
"No. Under his clothes is green. His skin."
Lois eyed the boy for a long moment as the first tentative buds of belief pushed through her scepticism. "What is he doing?" she asked.
"He's lying on his face on the ground."
"Then how can you tell his face is green?" she challenged.
"I can see his arms and legs. His clothes is torn."
"His arms and legs are green?"
Diddi nodded fervently. "Yes, Maman. It's not a story. There is a green man lying near the river."
The steadfast sincerity in Diddi's dark eyes butted against the reality that, in the past five years, only two strangers had entered Bangala land. They had been adventurers who, in attempting to follow the Big River, had inadvertently taken the tributary that formed the Bangala's southern boundary. They had been brought to the gates of the village to be met by Matymbou. Being unable to communicate with them, Matymbou had sent for Lois, who had managed to grasp a little of their broken English. Matymbou had directed they be given food and directions for finding their way back to the River, and they had continued their journey, leaving a ripple of excitement in their wake.
But Diddi hadn't had any contact with them, and anyway, it was almost three years ago. He would have been too young to remember.
Had he really seen a stranger? A green man? Or was this another invention of his burgeoning imagination?
Lois put her hand on her son's shoulder as she foraged through her mental catalogue of knowledge for a condition that caused green discolouration to the skin. "Was he hurt?" she asked. "Did you see a lot of blood?"
"No. He is not red. He is green."
"He was painted? Like ceremony paint?"
"No." Diddi curled his little hand around her wrist. "Come on, Maman. Come and see."
Lois hesitated. Should she go with Diddi now? Or should she go back to the village and get Romaric before investigating Diddi's claims? "Did he say anything to you?"
"No. He was sleeping."
Sleeping? Or dead? "Is his skin green all over?"
"No. He has spots. Like a giraffe."
"What colour is his skin?" Lois asked. "The bits that aren't green?"
"Like yours, Maman."
"He's white?" she gasped.
Diddi's vigorous nod was accompanied by a tug on her wrist. "Come on, Maman. He needs our help."
Lois straightened and took her son's hand in hers, but she didn't move forward.
A white man. Here.
Coincidence?
Or was his presence somehow connected to her - the only other white person within a five-day trek across land or a two-day boat ride down the river?
If Diddi's story were true, why had the stranger come? Was he lost? Or had he been looking for someone?
How had he gotten so close to the village - located near the centre of Bangala land - without one of the hunters or foragers finding him?
"He's so much sick, Maman," Diddi said, his dark eyebrows drawing together with concern. "We need to help him."
Lois clutched the digger in her hand. It was made from the hard wood of the iroko tree, but she wasn't sure it would be enough to protect her and her son if the unknown man threatened them. Perhaps she should return to the village and find Romaric before investigating.
Diddi had said the man was asleep.
Perhaps if she approached quietly, she would be able to see him without being seen - even if he had awakened by now. Perhaps there would be something about him - something that would answer her questions and give her information to take back to Matymbou to help him decide if the stranger represented a danger to the people.
But there were other considerations. Medical considerations. According to the Bangala customs, no newcomer could enter the village until he had served five days in quarantine. Any tribe member who had contact with the outsider was also separated from the village for that period.
"We need to hurry, Maman," Diddi said insistently. "We can't let him die."
"Diddi," Lois said, crouching down to her son's height again. "Do you know about quarantine?"
"What's that?"
"When someone new comes, he can't go into the village until we're sure he's not sick."
"Why not? If he's sick, he needs help."
"Because he might be carrying disease. If he's sick, he could make us all sick."
"So he has to stay outside the village?"
"Yes. You know the hut behind the kola trees?"
"With the stick fence around it?"
"Yes. That's the quarantine area. He'll have to stay there until we're sure he's not sick. And if I help him now, I'll have to stay with him."
Diddi fingered the end of her braid where it sat on her shoulders. "I can look after him, too, Maman," he said. "We can both stay outside the village."
Lois smiled at her son. "Did you touch the strange man when you saw him? It's important that you tell me the truth."
"No."
"Did you go close to him?"
"No. I came back to get you."
"Diddi, I want you to show me where he is, but you mustn't go near him, OK?"
"But I want to be with you in koronteen," Diddi said, looking downcast. "I want to help you make him better. You said I know all the bestest medicines."
"Quarantine," Lois corrected. "And you're the best assistant a medicine woman could have. But we don't know this man, so you can't go near him until I say it's OK."
"How long will you have to stay away?" Diddi asked.
"Five days. Unless he's really sick, and then it will be longer."
Her son studied her with sadness pouring from his dark expressive eyes. "But I want to talk to him," he said. "I've never seen a green man before." His smile came suddenly, lighting his eyes. "Maybe he's from the moon. Maybe that's why he's green. Romaric said he heard a loud noise in the sky. He said it was an airplane, but I think it was the man's rocket. Maybe he fell out of the rocket and that's how he got so hurted."
Lois smiled at the prolific flow of his imagination. She was sure that, had he been born into another culture, Diddi would have a future as a best-selling author of fiction. "You will have the important job of carrying messages between Sylva and me," she said, bringing him back to the present before his mind could distract him with endless details for his story. "I'll need you to bring me medicines. And food."
Diddi's spurt of enthusiasm faded. "What if you get sick, Maman?"
Lois ran her hand over her son's closely cropped dark hair. "Yesterday, you told me I was the best medicine woman in the whole world," she said. "Do you think I'm going to let this man make me sick?"
Diddi's smile reappeared. "Can I stay in Romaric's hut while you're in quarantine?"
"You'll have to ask him," Lois said, smiling as she stood. "But first, we need to find this man. Do you think you can find your way back to him?"
"Of course, Maman. He's near the clearing where the river bends. We went there yesterday to get comfrey. Remember?"
Yes, Lois remembered. And the memory brought the chill of trepidation. What if the man had been covertly watching them? She'd almost forgotten what it felt like to fear another human.
Almost.
She took Diddi's hand in a firm grip and said in a low voice, "If I shout, be ready to run back to the village."
"Why, Maman?"
"Because we don't know anything about his man."
"We know he's hurt. We know he needs our help."
Diddi's entire five years of life experience had never included fear or distrust of human beings. He knew animals could kill and maim. He knew snakes could bite. He knew some insects could sting. He knew the river held numerous dangers. He knew certain plants were poisonous to eat.
But every person in his life was kind, gentle, and protective of him.
Lois patted his shoulder. "I'm just trying to make sure we're both safe."
"Why would he want to hurt us, Maman?" Diddi said. "If he's hungry, we can give him food."
"Show me where he is."
Diddi led her forward, threading them between the trees with the assurance that seemed to be his people's birthright. "He's about four yards from the comfrey. Under the corkwood trees."
When the wide trunk of the old moabi tree came into view, Lois stopped. "I'm going to lead now," she said. "You are to stay behind me."
"Aw, Maman, do I have to?"
"Yes, you do," she replied firmly. "Quarantine is for medicine women, not children."
"What if he doesn’t wake up? What if he can't walk? What if he's too heavy for you to lift?"
"Then I guess I'll have to ask someone to help me."
"Who? Sylva's too old. She couldn't carry this man. He's very big."
"I'll ask one of the men to help."
"Romaric?"
"Maybe."
"Then he'll be in quarantine, too," Diddi concluded.
"Maybe I'll ask Gaudrey. Or Tsambu."
"Romaric will want to help. He likes helping you."
Lois chose not to respond to that comment. "No more talking, all right, Diddi?"
"Do you think we'll wake him up?"
She placed her forefinger on her mouth.
Diddi nodded his understanding.
Lois stepped up to the broad trunk of the moabi tree, her heart accelerating as tremors of tension tightened her stomach.
Who was this man, and why had he come?
At the very least, his presence was going to unsettle the peacefully constant life of the Bangala.
But if he had come seeking revenge ...
Or justice ...
Despite the uncomfortable prickle of her concerns, Lois couldn't help feeling a shimmer of anticipation, too.
This man would be the first non-Bangala person she had seen since her brief encounter with the adventurers. Perhaps he would be able to speak English. Some of the people had learned her language and spoke it with varying degrees of fluency, and she had taught Diddi from his babyhood, but the possibility of being able to communicate with someone from the big world outside …
Lois patted down the flares of excitement. Diddi had said the man wasn't moving. He could be dead already. She cautiously leaned around the tree.
Two feet came into view - one bare and one covered in a white Reebok tennis shoe.
Inside, her heart lurched with a little skip of recognition.
She leaned further. His calves were bare. His thighs were partially covered by the tattered remains of his jeans. He was lying on his stomach in the forest undergrowth.
And Diddi had been telling the truth - the stranger's skin was white, but it had a sickly hue from the numerous green spots dotted throughout his body.
Lois had never heard of a disease that caused an eruption of green spots. Perhaps Sylva would know something. Whatever the disease, it seemed likely that Matymbou would order a quarantine period of longer than five days.
"Is here still there, Maman?" Diddi whispered.
"Yes, Diddi."
"Has he moved?"
"No."
"Is he dead?"
"I don't know."
Lois returned to her visual exploration, idly wondering if the tattered condition of the jeans was a fashion statement or the result of damage.
Damage, she decided as her eyes travelled up the man's body. His cotton shirt was in worse condition - much of the back was shredded and the left sleeve was missing completely.
What had happened to him?
Lois quelled the barrage of questions that was threatening to overwhelm her mind.
If he were dead, she would never have any answers.
If he were alive, she was going to have to determine the best form of treatment to alleviate his discomfort and try to cure whatever had turned his skin green.
She needed to remember she was a medicine woman now. Not a reporter. Not an investigator. Not someone whose job it was to ferret out answers through hard work and persistence.
The stranger's head was facing towards the river, restricting her vision to his short dark hair and the slight rise of his left cheek.
He hadn't moved. Lois fixed her gaze on his back and held her breath.
The tattered ends of his shirt rose sluggishly.
"He's still alive, Diddi," Lois said quietly.
"Is he very sick?"
"I think so."
"Is he going to die?"
"I don't know."
Lois lifted her gaze above the unmoving figure of the man. The trail of snapped-off branches through the corkwood tree told the story. He had fallen - probably from the top of a tree, judging by the damage to the highest branches.
Was that how his clothes had become so tattered? Their condition seemed to indicate something more violent.
Lois returned her attention to his body. There were so many green eruptions on his legs, his uncovered lower back, his left arm and shoulder, and his right forearm that she feared the disease was well-advanced. It was remarkable that he had been able to climb so far up the tree. And a miracle that he hadn't died when falling from such a height.
Perhaps the branches had broken his fall. Although … Lois leaned forward, looking for scratches and cuts amid the green spots.
From thirty yards away, all she could see was general redness and swelling and a few trickles of drying blood.
Had he sustained any broken bones? His position didn't immediately suggest fractured limbs, but he could have broken ribs.
Did he have internal injuries?
Lois swallowed down her rising disappointment. There was every chance he was so sick or badly injured that he would never regain consciousness.
"What are we going to do, Maman?"
Whoever he was and whatever his reason for being here, the stranger wasn't going to be a physical threat to anyone for some considerable time. Lois retreated behind the trunk. "Diddi," she said. "You did very well to bring me to this man. He does need our help."
Diddi beamed at her approval. "You can make him better, Maman," he said. "He'll be well as soon as he's out of the quarantine. Then he can come and live in the village. Perhaps he'll tell me about what it's like to live on the moon. Perhaps his rocket 'sploded and -"
"I want you to stay here while I go and check on him," Lois said. "When I come back, I'll know what I need from the village."
"Are we going to take him to the quarantine hut?"
"Not yet. Moving could hurt him more."
"When you do move him, I can help," Diddi said. "I'm very strong."
Lois laid her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "I know you're strong, Diddi, but I can't let you go near him."
"Maman, I -"
"Who else knows enough about the medicines to run messages between Sylva and me?" Lois asked. "If I have to rely on Romaric, he'll probably bring henna when I need goldenseal."
Diddi's little spray of laughter echoed through the trees.
Lois stepped out from behind the trunk, the flurry of questions guiding her eyes as they darted over the motionless body in her quest for information. Why had he climbed the tree? To try to ascertain his location? Had he been looking for the Bangala village specifically?
She moved cautiously towards him, noting that there was no sign of a bag or food or equipment such as a map or compass. Only a fool would enter the African rainforest without proper preparation. How had he lost everything? How long since he had eaten? Was he dehydrated?
She fixed her attention on his right calf, the closest part of him.
Her breath stopped; her feet stalled.
The green colour of his skin was not due to eruptions or his body's reaction to some terrible disease. Various-sized pieces of green matter were lodged in his flesh.
Lois glanced up the tree and frowned. The corkwood had soft leaves that were never going to perforate human skin. She quickly reviewed her knowledge of local plants. There were some that had thistles sharp enough to draw blood, but nothing that would cause the dotted mass of small green chunks.
Had someone done this to him deliberately? Had he been attempting to escape? Lois crept to within touching distance of his leg and crouched beside him. She stretched forward and lightly ran the pad of her finger over one of the green spots in his lower calf.
It was hard. Like …
Appalling realisation swamped her mind.
Pieces of green stone were embedded in his flesh.
Lois swallowed down her horror as she skimmed his body. There were dozens of chunks, splinters, and shards, and each one was going to have to be dug out, resulting in significant wounds, possible infection, and hideous scarring.
She rose and went to the riverbank, squatting low to wash her hands in the swiftly flowing water. She dried them on her skirt as she returned to the man, kneeling behind his head and leaning forward to look into his face. He was youngish - probably no older than his early thirties. He was Caucasian with light olive skin. She rested her hand on his neck and felt for a pulse.
It was weak, but it was there.
He was still alive. Lois looked up the tree again and shook her head. How had he survived a fall of at least fifty feet?
She carefully checked the man's neck. Finding no obvious injury, she gently lifted his head and turned it a few degrees, moving the edge of his mouth and his right nostril out of the coarse jungle grass.
She slipped her forefinger into his mouth. His slack jaw gave easy access, and she probed deeper, searching for anything that could compromise his airway. It seemed clear, so she withdrew her finger and lowered her cheek to his mouth. His breath whispered across her skin.
Lois stood, surveying his whole body and forcing herself to think in the clinical terms of a medicine woman instead of letting her mind chase after possible explanations.
First, she needed to try to gauge the extent of any possible internal injuries or bone fractures. Then, she had to remove the green pebbles. It was imperative that she get out as many as possible before he regained consciousness.
Lois scurried away from the stranger, stopping a few yards before the moabi tree. "Diddi?" she called.
"Yes, Maman?"
"Go back twenty steps. Big steps." Lois heard the movement of his feet in the undergrowth.
"OK, Maman." She rounded the tree and saw Diddi looking at her anxiously. "Is it a really bad disease?" he asked in awe. "Could he have got it on the moon?"
Lois didn't want to tell her son that she suspected someone had deliberately hurt the man. "I don't know yet," she said. "Maybe he'll tell us if he wakes up."
"What do you need from Sylva?"
"I need my sharpest knife - the one with the pointed tip. I need horsetail and goldenseal salve, calendula oil, honey, willow bark tea, a pan to heat water, and some containers."
"You're going to make a fire?"
"Yes. I'll do that now," Lois said. "Get Sylva to put everything in a bag. Bring it to where you're standing now. Then move away and call me."
"I'll run the whole way," Diddi said as he lifted his hand in a little gesture of farewell.
Back at her patient, Lois settled beside him and began her initial examination - starting with his head, moving down his neck to his spine, detouring across his shoulders, and returning to the middle of his back, brushing aside the scraps of material to travel down to his waist. When she reached his hips, she felt through his jeans, before continuing down his legs and to his feet.
She lifted his foot, undid the laces, and eased the solitary Reebok shoe and grey sock from his foot.
To her surprise, she detected no obvious fractures. She slid her hands along his ribs, carefully tracing their curve until they disappeared into the ground. She dipped low, her head turned and her ear less than an inch from his back as she listened for the sound that would indicate impaired lung function.
His breathing was a little irregular, but there was no ominous crackle.
As far as Lois could tell, the man had suffered no breaks. She glanced up at the broken branches again, marvelling that the tree had suffered so much destruction, but the man was, apparently, mostly intact.
He could have internal injuries, she reminded herself. And internal injuries were more serious than broken bones. Bones could be immobilised and would heal. In Lois's opinion, Sylva performed miracles almost daily with her knowledge of herbal remedies and handed-down treatments, but her expertise didn't extend to surgery.
If the stranger had sustained significant internal injuries, their care was going to be limited to trying to ease his suffering.
Lois sighed. He was too young to die. And too much of a mystery to slip from her life without answering her questions.
Lois had never liked unanswered questions.
The stranger's physique pointed to a commitment to fitness and good health. His back was a landscape of sculpted muscle. Under his jeans, his butt was firm and shapely. His legs were strong and powerful. His forearms were sinewy and his biceps well-developed.
He hadn't even twitched as she had examined him, suggesting a deep level of unconsciousness. Lois knelt next to his head and checked his skull again, more thoroughly this time. Her fingers slid easily through his silky black hair. She detected no injury - not even a bump - but that didn't guarantee he hadn't suffered a brain injury.
It was possible he would never regain consciousness.
Lois examined the green specks on his back, gliding her fingertips over one of them. It was raised a little and stuck fast. The surrounding skin had turned angry red in protest at the invasion.
If he lived, he was going to be in agony for days.
But before that, the rock fragments had to be prised from his body.
It was going to be a long and tedious task, even if he were unconscious.
If he were awake, not even Sylva's medicines would dull pain of Lois's knife burrowing into his already afflicted flesh.
Lois brushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead. "Poor guy," she muttered. "It's going to be a long road back."
