Chapter 2: The Price of a Wrong Call

Before dawn broke, Amadou was already standing at the mine entrance, his dew-soaked boots crushing through the wet grass. The three pickups of the re-inspection team fired up in sequence, their headlights slicing through the dense fog. Babola sat in the passenger seat of the first vehicle, window cracked open, her gaze fixed on the back of Amadou’s neck.

Enku wiped a streak of rainwater from his face and let out a cold snort. He leaned out from the rear vehicle, his voice piercing through the curtain of rain: "Babola, don't listen to him. I've been a hunter on these mountains for years. I know which rocks are alive and which are dead. The old path along the west bank is longer, sure, but the roadbed was reinforced a few years back. It's solid. Amadou says the mountainside is going to collapse? Tell him to grab a rope and try to tie the mountain down. That's not just superstition, it's a waste of everyone's time. If we don't move now, wait for the rain to ease up, the water level rises another two meters, and we're completely stuck."

The sneer on Enku's face froze for a split second, then morphed into an expression of surprise, though a shadow of gloom flashed deep in his eyes, nearly imperceptible: "Oh, I told you. Babola should always trust science and on-site surveys, not just run around like a scared cat every time the wind changes. Since you've decided to take the longer route, we need to re-plan. I remember there's an old, abandoned drainage culvert to the north that leads straight to the fork on the main highway. It's rough going, but much faster than getting bogged down in the mud."

"Time isn't your enemy, Enku. It's your ally." Amadou spoke softly. "You're pushing for that 'safe' culvert because you want us to walk into a trap. If it works and people die, you'll call it an accident. If it fails and we're trapped, you'll say it was for safety. Either way, you're 'right,' and I'm always just that rambling, crazy fool."

Babola didn't answer immediately. She stared at Amadou's back. The morning light had already faded; a gray, murky rain curtain engulfed the surroundings, visibility near zero. Amadou wasn't huddling from the rain like everyone else. He stood still by the flowing water, hands hanging loose at his sides, his breathing unnaturally steady. In his perception, the world wasn't made of raindrops and mud, but a transparent network of countless subtle air current vibrations and underground stress fields.

Enku noticed the stare, the corner of his mouth curving into a playful, amused arc. He shrugged: "Wow, did I hear an echo? Amadou, are you trying to scare me or the driver? I'm saying, I'm a professional. I've checked the survey maps. There are cracks there, yes, but they've all been reinforced with support piles. Very stable. Tell me, how does this 'void' trap us?"

He pressed the send button, a cold, sinister smile spreading across his face. He mentally calculated the timing. Babola had believed Amadou, choosing that seemingly safe but actually treacherous rocky path. This meant the convoy would spend more time on the rugged mountain road and couldn't use heavy equipment. Crucially, they had deviated from the location of the "safe zone."

"You're reading it wrong," Babola suddenly spoke up. Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the sound of the rain. "The wind isn't 'wrong.' The vibration frequency underground has changed. I listened to you describe 'loose rock layers,' but your breathing rhythm shows you're not actually sure that's where the collapse will happen, right? You just felt an abnormal sense of 'crowding.'"

Enku was laughing so hard he was bent double, rain splashing all over his face, but he didn't seem to care: "Did you hear that? Big Brother Amadou wants us to hike through the rainforest. Good lord, this isn't a re-inspection team, it's an expedition party. Babola, are you sure we listen to him? Or is he just deliberately stalling to make us miss the optimal window?"

The smile on Enku's face stiffened, but he quickly recovered his composure. He even straightened his wet collar, his tone shifting to something warm and sincere: "Amadou, you're worrying too much. I just want to finish the job. Who wants to watch the convoy sink into the mud and let the precious samples get wet and spoiled? We are a team here to uncover the truth."

And that "safe zone" was the key location in Enku's plan to eliminate Babola and Amadou. The downpour would trigger a small landslide, and while that path was hard, the slopes on either side were extremely unstable. Amadou could hear the solidity of the rock, but he couldn't hear the flow of the water. The rain was still falling; water from high up would seep into the lower areas.

"It's the rainy season, lots of water, which actually helps wash away the debris," Enku said casually, even with a hint of coaxing in his voice. "Plus, the exit of that culvert faces directly toward our target area. The time we save can get us into the restricted zone early. It's for mission efficiency, not to cause problems."

The intelligence Enku leaked wasn't accidental; it was a precisely calculated misdirection. He knew Babola would suspect his motives, and he knew the driver had an inertia and a desire for efficiency. He exploited the desire for "safety" and the anxiety about "time," packaging a fatal mistake as the optimal solution.

In the second pickup back, Enku didn't return to the driver's seat; he sat alone in the back. Through the rain-blurred window, he watched the vehicle Amadou was in up ahead. Raindrops collected on his glasses, distorting the view, but the coldness in his eyes was clearly visible.

Babola didn't say a word, just nodded at the driver. The convoy pulled out of the mining area, heading toward the abandoned mine pits along the red dirt road. Amadou leaned against the window, eyes closed, listening to the wind, a faint low grinding of underground rock layers echoing in his ears. The morning fog hadn't cleared; the distant mountains were blurred, and the rainy season's clouds were stacking up in the east.

"Because there's a void underneath," Amadou said, pointing toward the culvert. His finger trembled slightly, but he was unshakeable. "The wind blowing from there is an echo. It's not stone; it's emptiness. If you drive in now, the truck won't get stuck in the mud. It will just fall through."

The driver's fingers turned white gripping the steering wheel. Rainwater slid down his temple, joining the stream on his chin. He glanced at the wet Enku in the rearview mirror, then at Amadou standing outside, drenched, his eyes filled with barely concealed hesitation.

The convoy moved slowly, going against the direction Enku had suggested, heading toward that patch of land that looked abandoned but was actually solid rock. The rain intensified. The sheets of water on the windows distorted the outside world, everything swinging and swaying as if reality itself had become unreliable.

At the seventh kilometer, the heavy rain hit hard. Bean-sized drops hammered the windshield. The road quickly turned to mud. A low-lying section ahead was already flooded, murky water swirling with branches. The driver slammed on the brakes; the convoy stopped on the roadside.

"The old road... is indeed at a higher elevation," the driver said hesitantly. "But if the mountain really collapses, we're trapped on this dead end. There's another ten or so kilometers of cliff face behind us, and water levels rise shockingly fast in the rainy season."

"I won't say more," Amadou turned and walked toward the pickup, pulling open the door. "I just have one thing: go west, take that path hidden by the shrubs. There's no road there, but the rock layer is solid. I will guide you through."

"I'm not sure," Babola admitted. "But I trust your intuition more than the empiricism in that pickup. If the west-bank road is a trap, we take the main highway, even if it means an extra half-hour detour."

Babola looked at Amadou, waiting for his reaction. Amadou didn't look at Enku; he looked East. The cloud layer there was moving rapidly; the wind direction was undergoing a subtle shift.

Babola made her decision. She picked up the walkie-talkie and spoke into the channel, her voice cold: "All units stop advancing. Hold position. Enku, get back in your vehicle. Do not get out."

Amadou took the towel, his movements slightly slow. He looked at Babola, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes. It was the tacit understanding of comrades, and the weight of having entrusted their lives to her.

"The path?" the driver asked with a bitter laugh. "There aren't even tire tracks there. We can't drive the pickups in. Do you want us to get out and push? Or carry us?"

Enku scoffed: "Amadou, you've been 'listening to the wind for ore' for years, and now you can even hear a mountain collapse? What is this if not superstition?"

"Babola," he said in a low voice, "He is much crueler than you think. Under that culvert, it's not just a void. I smelled... rust. Very strong."

Enku blinked, then muttered a curse under his breath and turned back to the rear vehicle. The pickup engine roared back to life, sounding particularly grating in the rain.

Amadou turned his head, rain dripping from his eyelashes. He looked at Babola, his gaze clear and deep: "Babola, did you understand?"

He pulled out his phone. The screen lit up, displaying an unsent message. The recipient field was blank; the body contained only one line of text:

Enku walked over from the rear vehicle, braving the rain, wiping water from his face: "Take the old west-bank road. It's an extra hour, but the elevation is higher."

Amadou focused for a moment, his expression grave: "Do not take the west bank. The wind is wrong. The rock layer is loosening; that section of the mountain will collapse."

"The rain remembers every seed," Amadou said calmly. "The stones underground remember every downpour."

Enku put his phone away, leaned back against the seat, and closed his eyes. The rain pattered against the window outside, sounding like a countdown.

"The drainage culvert?" The driver frowned. "That place hasn't been used in ages. It's full of stagnant water and rubble."

The driver swallowed, looking at Babola: "So... which way? That path through the bushes?"

Babola looked at Amadou. Amadou closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly. He was feeling the wind.

The driver's face changed instantly. He stared at Amadou, then at Enku, his grip on the steering wheel tightening, then loosening.

"Let him go die." He thought quietly, the thought nearly drowned out by the sound of the rain.

Babola said nothing. Her eyes sharpened. She looked at Enku, her gaze like a blade.

She walked to Amadou and handed him a clean towel: "Dry off. Don't catch a cold."

Amadou opened the car door: "The wind is stronger than yesterday. We should head southeast."

Enku raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion: "Why? The culvert is the fastest."

"Not taking the culvert." Amadou suddenly opened his eyes, his voice cold as ice.

"Follow Amadou's instructions." Babola answered without hesitation.

*Path deviated. Estimated arrival time delayed by 40 minutes.*

Babola felt a chill in her heart, but she didn't ask. She just nodded.

The air froze for a second. The sound of the rain seemed to soften.

Babola looked at Amadou: "What do you think?"

"Did you sleep well last night?" she asked.

This was a carefully designed trap.

"The road is broken," the driver said.

He opened his eyes, his expression hollow and malicious, watching as the pickup carrying Amadou and Babola slowly disappeared into the fog formed by the storm and mud. He knew that when they