Chapter 3: Trap of the Rain

The pickup truck ground its teeth like a dying beast, half its chassis buried in the red mud of the marsh. The engine wheezed in dull, guttural sobs. Rain didn't fall straight; it was whipped sideways by the gale, slapping against the windows in a relentless, rasping hiss. The comms were nothing but static. The signal had died thirty minutes ago. The backseat was stacked with muddy water bladders, their only water reserve, jolting violently with every bump, the sickening crash of plastic against plastic hammering in their ears. Babola sat behind the driver, her fingers white-knuckled on the grab handle. She turned her head to look at Amadou, who was resting with his eyes closed beside her. Rain dripped from the ends of his hair, blooming into dark stains on his shoulders. Amadou didn't open his eyes. His nostrils flared slightly, as if sniffing out some invisible scent in the air. The driver was drenched in sweat, wrestling the steering wheel in desperate circles to find traction, but the wheels just spun, churning up more muddy water.

Enku leaned against the door, his soaked shirt plastered to his frame, outlining a sinister silhouette. He let out a cold scoff. The sound wasn't loud, but it was enough to freeze the air in the cabin.

"Forty minutes off route. Now we're rolling around in the bog."

"What did you hear?" Babola asked without turning her head. Her voice was sharp.

"I heard your arrogance, Amadou." Enku stood up, smoothing his collar, his gaze sweeping over Amadou with open disdain. "Savanna rule: in the rainy season, you don't watch the road, you watch your life. You led us into a dead end, and you blame the wind?"

Amadou kept his eyes shut. Water beads clung to his lashes. He didn't answer. His hand tapped a slow, steady rhythm on his knee, like an ancient drumbeat.

The rain outside eased slightly, but the wind picked up. Amadou’s eyes snapped open. There was no reflection of the rain in the deeps of his pupils, only a bottomless, dark void. He turned his head, pressing his ear to the window glass, as if listening to the wind whispering. In his mind, a 3D model quietly unfolded. The Rock Layer manifested as layers of transparent ice, stacked one over another. To the southeast, a fractured vein pulsed with a faint golden light—that was where the dry shortcut lay.

"Two kilometers southeast. There’s a dry roadbed." Amadou spoke, his voice dry and cracked. "The wind is blowing the sound of breaking stone. The road hasn't collapsed there."

The driver paled, his grip on the wheel nearly slipping.

"That’s no man’s land. It’ll burn half our fuel." The driver shouted, his voice cracking with panic. "We turn back! We wait for rescue! We can’t go that way!"

Babola turned her head, her gaze cutting like a blade. She looked at the driver’s trembling hands, then at Amadou’s calm profile. In that moment, the scale in her heart tipped completely. In this chaotic rainy season, intuition was more reliable than any map, and Amadou’s intuition had never once let her down.

"Do what he says." Babola ordered, her tone brooking no argument. "Top up the tank. Go southeast."

The driver gritted his teeth and revved the engine. The wheels spun again, a shrieking screech tearing the air. Enku chuckled softly from the back. The sound was like a snake spitting.

Thirty minutes later, the truck finally broke free, but at a heavy cost. The front bumper was shredded, the right rear wheel had come off the axle, and the drill rig frame was severely warped. The team had to abandon the vehicle and walk. Red mud swallowed their legs. Every step felt like pulling roots out of the earth. Amina hauled a heavy equipment box, her face blank save for a quiet, stubborn resilience. Morale hit rock bottom. Rainwater ran down everyone’s hair into their collars, ice-cold and biting. Amadou led the way, a broken iron pipe in hand, tapping it against the wind-eroded Rock Layer on the roadside.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound was crisp, startlingly clear in the silent rainforest. Amadou stopped, tilting his head to listen.

"The frequency is wrong," he told Mbara, who was walking behind him. "Move ten steps to the right."

Mbara was a taciturn miner. He just nodded, silently adjusting their direction.

"This Golden Vein is vibrating," Amadou murmured, almost to himself. "It’s telling us the mine heart is calling."

Enku walked at the rear, his gaze icy. He flipped pages in a small notebook, recording every deviation in their direction. He was waiting for his chance. Waiting to prove Amadou was a fraud. Waiting for that moment to kick the pawn off the board entirely.

They walked for another twenty minutes. The ground sloped upward; the red mud gave way to hard, brittle gravel. The scent of dry grass mixed with earth hit them—smells of life. A roadbed appeared, a gray ribbon stretching into the depths of the savanna. The drill rig was dragged to the roadside. It was caked in mud, but the core components were intact. The crew collapsed on the side of the road, gasping for air. The rain had finally stopped. The dark clouds cleared, and sunlight pierced through, falling on their wet faces.

Babola stood up, brushing mud off her skirt. Her clothes were soaked through, clinging to her, outlining a frame that was tired but unbreakable. She looked at Amadou. For the first time, her eyes held a hint of dependency. It was the instinct of grabbing a piece of driftwood in a storm.

"What’s the next move?" she asked.

Amadou didn’t answer. He just pointed to the distant ridge, where mist coiled around it, and the cross-section of the Rock Layer was faintly visible.

"Wait for the wind to stop," he said.

Enku stepped forward, a false smile plastered on his face.

"Ms. Babola," he began, his voice smooth and dangerous. "The consultant’s mistakes shouldn't cost the team. I suggest replacing him with someone more stable. The rainy season is long. We can’t afford a second failure."

Babola didn’t look at Enku. She walked straight to Amadou, pulling a document and a pen from her backpack.

"Amadou," she said softly, reciting the name like a spell. "Sign."

Enku’s smile froze. The pen in his hand almost slipped.

"Amadou," Babola said, handing over the document. Her gaze was firm and sharp. "From now on, you are the Chief Exploration Consultant. Enku’s doubts are noted. But my trust goes only to the man who can hear the stone speak."

Amadou took the pen. No hesitation. He signed his name. The tip scraped against the paper, a soft rustling sound, like rain falling on the savanna.

"The rain remembers every seed," Amadou said quietly. His voice vanished into the wind.

Babola nodded and turned to look at the mine vein’s outline, now clearer in the distance. She knew that this rainy season’s trap had become the bridge to the Golden Vein. And that sinister shadow was being shut out of the light entirely.

The rain didn’t stop as Amadou had said. Instead, in the dropping low pressure, it became thicker, stickier. The mud wrapped around their boots like a living thing. Every step cost them precious strength. Babola led the group, her eyes locked tight on Amadou’s back. The man moved with light steps, barely touching the mud, as if there was an invisible film beneath his feet. This supernatural composure gave Babola a strange sense of security, even though that security was built on total unknown risk.

Enku trailed behind, his face as dark as the black sky above. He didn’t try to offer advice anymore. He just silently observed how every one of Babola’s decisions relied on Amadou. He noticed that even when checking the drill parameters, Babola no longer referred to the data sheets. Instead, she leaned in to listen to Amadou’s description of the Rock Layer’s echo. This shift sent a bone-deep chill through Enku. He understood he had been pushed out of the inner decision-making circle, replaced by a stranger from the wild whose identity remained a mystery.

"Bear three degrees left," Amadou said suddenly, without turning around.

Babola adjusted the drill angle as instructed. Instantly, that resistant feeling vanished. The sound of the drill biting into the Rock Layer changed from dull friction to a clear, bright tapping. Mud spurted out, mixed with shards of stone that gleamed with a faint golden luster. Babola’s heart hammered. She crouched and picked up a shard. Under the rain, the golden veins were clearly visible.

"The purity is extremely high." She murmured, her voice trembling with suppressed excitement.

Behind them, Enku scoffed. The sound was swallowed by the rain, but Babola’s sharp hearing caught the malice in it. "Just a high-purity trap. Amadou, you really know how to say what people want to hear."

Babola whipped her head around. Rain ran down her cheeks. Her eyes were ice. "Mr. Enku," she said, her voice not loud, but it cut through the rain curtain. "My trust does not need your doubts. If you can’t keep up with the pace of exploration, stay at the camp. The drill doesn't need complainers. It needs executors."

This blow was more humiliating for Enku than the mud. He opened his mouth, then bit down on his rage, silently retreating into the shadows. He knew Babola had fully sided with Amadou. And Amadou, who hadn’t looked back once, remained focused on the pulse of the earth deep below.

The team pushed on. Soon, a massive rock face appeared ahead. Its surface was wet, slick, and almost vertical. By standard exploration routes, they’d have to go around, wasting half a day. But Amadou stopped.

"There’s no road here. But there’s a road inside the wall," he said.

Babola frowned, but instinct made her look where Amadou pointed, to a fissure in the middle of the rock face. It was only the size of a fist, covered in thick moss.

"Are you sure?" she asked. Her tone had less doubt, more blind faith.

"Listen." Amadou closed his eyes and tapped the rock wall lightly with his finger.

At first, silence. Then, a low-frequency hum rose from the depths of the stone. The rhythm was slow and steady, like the heartbeat of a giant.

"Cavity. It’s hollow behind." Amadou opened his eyes. A nearly fanatical light sparkled in them. "It leads straight to the core of the Golden Vein."

Babola didn’t hesitate. She swung her tool, smashing the moss covering the fissure to reveal the rough rock beneath. She signaled the drill team to get into position. Following Amadou’s guidance, they angled the drill, boring into the depths of the seemingly impassable rock face.

The drill roared. Stone chips flew. To the shock of everyone watching, the rock face yielded easily. A rush of dry, warm air gushed from the opening, carrying the scent of sulfur and gold dust. It was the breath of an underground river, the entrance to the dry shortcut.

Babola stood at the mouth of the tunnel, feeling the warm breeze brush her cheeks. She looked back at Enku, soaked to the bone and caked in mud, and at the cheering crew members. She realized she hadn’t just found a shortcut. She’d found a guide who could never be replaced. And Enku, the man who had always tried to chain her with logic and procedure, looked so pale and superfluous.

The rain was still falling, but at this tunnel mouth, it felt like the rest of the world had been abandoned. Babola took a deep breath and stepped into the dry passage. Behind her, only Enku’s lonely, angry sigh remained, fading into the rain until it vanished completely.