Humanity Forbidden Island [Full Text] - 21

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Chapter 284: The Sand Dunes at Dusk

"That burly guy clearly looked down on me, Dumo. If he had said I couldn't take it, I would have put it among the looted valuables. But he deliberately played a trick on me. This wasn't just a matter of getting slapped a couple of times; that burly guy was the one who gave me forty lashes. He almost beat me to death; my skin was torn open."

Dumo, this dark-skinned young man, didn't shy away from talking about his dishonorable incident. His honesty was genuine. Of course, my laughter was also full of goodwill.

"After being whipped, that wasn't all. I was tied up and forced to kneel before Jason Jody. He was grinning, pipe in hand, clutching the little Walkman I'd stolen, and said with a smug grin, 'Look!' I looked up through my swollen eyes, and in my blurry vision, I saw a rough middle finger pointing straight at my forehead. I thought he didn't understand English and had mispronounced 'look' as 'fuck,' but it turned out he was showing me a dazzling diamond ring."

Dumo's comical account made me laugh again. At that moment, we both forgot our fatigue; as long as we kept moving, I hoped the gloom in my heart could dissipate a little.

"You stole a little music player, worth only a few dozen dollars, but his middle finger is worth millions. Hahaha..." I said with a laugh, but Dumo bared his white teeth angrily and cursed with wide eyes.

"He was laughing at me, calling me an idiot, mocking me, a poor kid from the African countryside, thinking I was so naive that I couldn't even tell the difference between a diamond ring and a small Walkman when I was embezzling. The pirates on the ship were laughing so hard they were doubled over. This old geezer was slapping my head and laughing. He thought he hadn't hit me hard, but his hand made my scalp tingle, and the ring was digging into my head and making it ache."

I stopped laughing. Dumo's description of this scene inadvertently resembled my own troubled childhood.

"Unfortunately, I couldn't beat that burly pirate. He was a special forces soldier, skilled and ruthless. If I were as strong as I am now, I would have definitely fought him. After that, these guys would call me 'little Walkman' whenever they saw me, and then laugh, discriminating against me, a little pirate from the African countryside."

Although Dumo talked about some of his past experiences, I also gained some understanding of the interpersonal dynamics on the Sea Demon. These pirates came from different continents and countries; they were only after a share of the looted wealth and had no real friendships. It was inevitable that Dumo would be ostracized and ignored among them.

"Later, I was transferred to a small nuclear submarine following the mother ship, working under First Officer Bolton. He was a good guy, often encouraging me to do my job well. Then, Jason Jodi heard I could speak Somali and suddenly his opinion of me improved considerably. Damn it! Now it seems that old man just wanted me to run this marathon for him."

"Hmph." I resumed my indifferent expression, my eyes continuing to scan the road ahead. Dumo's conversation with me allowed us to temporarily forget the boredom and exhaustion of our rapid journey.

He had just mentioned the burly pirate on the Sea Demon, whom I should have killed in the ravine. Therefore, Dumo had felt a strange sense of goodwill towards me when he first saw me; now it seemed his friendliness was more than just a matter of survival.

Before severing ties with these pirates, I had to be wary of everyone. I couldn't afford to make a mistake; the lives of the women on the pirate ship and the immense wealth hidden on the cliffs of the desert island were all at stake.

With that thought, I mustered my strength and continued my frantic run towards the endless desert.

The gloomy clouds had completely swept overhead, finally making the sky feel vast and the air feel clear, allowing me to breathe freely. The golden light peeking through the distant horizon illuminated our small figures.

It was nearing dusk. Although the vast desert showed no change in terrain or vegetation, our pursuers couldn't find us for the time being. They must be driving large numbers of armored vehicles, speeding northwest through the desert. The faster their wheels turned, the further away they got from Dumo and me. By the time they returned empty-handed and dejected, Dumo and I would have safely crossed the desert.

"Mr. Zhui Ma, it's getting dark soon, let's find a place to rest!" Du Mo, trying to be lazy, slung a sniper rifle across his neck, his two thick arms hooked at the ends of the rifle, walking with a leisurely gait.

"Okay, let's walk another kilometer, circle around to the back of those dunes, and then we'll stop to eat." Hearing about food, Du Mo seemed to think of the delicious sausages in his backpack, swallowing hard and letting out a silly grin.

The desert at dusk shimmered with golden light, as if we had entered a land of golden sands. A deep red sunset, looking like a soft, red yolk, was slowly sliding into the western side of the desert. Du Mo had already walked ahead of me, heading straight for the small dunes.

Tonight, the moon and stars would be bright; finally, I could lie down and get a good night's sleep. "Mr. Zhui Ma, hurry up, hurry up..." Du Mo, running ahead, was already standing on the top of a dune, cheering and waving at me excitedly.

I couldn't help but smile. This dark-skinned young man sometimes really did seem like a child.

Chapter 285: Strange Sounds in the Desert at Midnight

The night sky over the African desert resembled an inkstone diluted with clear water, gleaming with a dark, lustrous light. Countless bright stars blinked their yellow pupils. Dumo leaned against a sand dune, crossed his legs again, and picked at the cured meat stuck between his teeth with his tongue while humming a tribal tune as he gazed at the bright moon.

"Hehe, Mr. Chasing Horse, you said we've been traveling all day and it's really tiring, but now we're quite comfortable. Ah! If there were a decent city along the way where we could buy some necessities, that would be even better."

I ignored this talkative fellow, wrapped my camouflage net tighter around myself, and leaned against my backpack to fall asleep. Seeing that I stopped talking, Dumo chuckled to himself and soon began to snore.

After I and the Raven killed the Love Prisoner on the reef, Jason Jody must be actively recruiting new members. I must gain more leverage to blackmail him before another assassin takes his place. Thinking of this, I slowly turned to look at Dumo's face.

His snores rolled like musical notes, sometimes soaring, sometimes plunging. This shiny black kodo beast usually seemed carefree, with an easygoing expression that didn't seem to weigh him down, but he harbored a delicate and meticulous nature, and had many untold worries.

Lying under the humid sand dunes, I looked up at the night sky for a while, wondering where the Sea Demon was currently adrift, and whether Luya, Yiliang, and the others on board were safe. Exhaustion finally overwhelmed my worries, and a hazy dream enveloped me.

"Clatter, clatter..." At midnight, a series of strange noises entered my ears as I slept. I suddenly opened my eyes, my ears widening as I twisted my neck to search for the source of the sound.

Dumo hadn't dared to sleep soundly either. The sound interrupted his snoring. His eyes widened in terror in the dim light. Seeing me leaning in to listen intently, he also strained his ears to identify the source.

"Chase, chase, chase, a tank!" Dumo recognized the source of the noise from the timbre, and before he could even adjust his voice, he stammered in surprise. "Shh!" I quickly stopped him, then continued listening.

"We're doomed. They spotted us before we even settled in. This time they're coming in a tank. We're completely out of luck," Dumo said in a low voice, his voice filled with anxiety and fear.

My mind raced. Before setting up camp on the dunes for the night, I had thoroughly scouted the area within a two-kilometer radius, finding no combat vehicles or suspicious objects.

"Listen, it sounds like there are three tanks, about a hundred meters away. If they were coming for us, they wouldn't be this close. All they need to do is fire a signal flare into the desert sky, and the moment we're exposed, the machine guns will have blasted us to smithereens from three hundred meters away."

Du Mo, lying on the ground, quickly raised his chubby hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. "Boom!" A flash of red light followed, and a deafening explosion pierced his ears. Du Mo shuddered, his elbows flaring like fledgling wings, and he collapsed to the ground. At the same time, I also felt a jolt of fear in my shoulders.

Read the full-text novel online, updated faster, all at 16k Literature Network, PC site: www.16k.cn, mobile site: wap.16k.cn. Support literature, support 16k! "Hmph, hmph..." The shells didn't fly towards us, tearing our bodies apart and scattering them into the night sky. Du Mo grinned, his forehead pressed against the sand, trembling and gasping for breath, the air trapped in his chest making his back heave.

"Hmph... That scared me to death!" Du Mo slowly withdrew one hand, put it under his chest, and gently patted his heart, as if comforting himself and thanking God. I slowly exhaled, and my almost broken heartstrings relaxed.

"Boom! Boom!" Two more tank shells, like kilo-watt light bulbs thrown out, rushed towards the southwest with all their might. "Dumo, Dumo, they're exchanging fire, not at us." Dumo was much more awake now, and he craned his neck to look in the direction the shells were hitting.

"No! I didn't see the target." Dumo's mouth was half open, and he shook his big, round head from side to side, ready to duck at the first sign of danger. "The maximum range of the shells is over a hundred kilometers. Even if you're exchanging fire at a short range of ten kilometers, you couldn't see the target even if you snapped your neck."

While telling Dumo, she quickly packed her luggage. Dumo was still craning his neck, trying to see even higher, hoping to see something. "Stop looking, hurry up and pack your things. By daybreak, the shells won't just be scaring you." Dumo immediately snapped out of it and hurriedly rummaged through his pack.

We had only slept for less than three hours, and we were forced to run forward again. Dumo, clutching his sniper rifle, hunched his neck and staggered behind her. Whenever a flash of gunfire illuminated the night sky in the distance, we quickly dropped to the ground, lying prone on the sand to avoid attracting the attention of the tanks with our backpacks.

"Mr. Chase, who are they fighting? Did the two patrol cars accidentally clash?" Dumo asked, panting heavily, his mind filled with curiosity. "Don't forget, we're very close to Gilib now." I moved with lightning speed, my military boots gliding across the sand like water. Even at my fastest pace, Dumo had to keep up without hesitation.

"Oh! Right, right, I almost forgot. The main force of the Haunted forces is in Kismayo port, currently locked in fierce fighting with Somali sailors. Pirates won't leave their advantage of the sea, so the tanks that just launched the raid are most likely from separatist forces in Central Juba."

"Ah," I responded casually, my internal deduction largely matching Dumo's. "Heh heh, Hampt's in trouble now!" Dumo muttered to himself, then silently sped off with me. He didn't want to become cannon fodder on the desert battlefield between the two warlords. So, no matter how fast I pedaled, he had to grit his teeth and keep up, without a trace of complaint.

Dumo was right. Divot was truly dragged into a quagmire of fighting. The Somali pirates' land forces were no match for the warlords. Their willingness to engage in fierce fighting in Kismayo Port indicated they had identified Hampt's weakness.

The warlords of Central Juba also saw an opportunity to weaken their neighboring rivals. By the time Hampt's forces had settled their scores with the pirates and were ready to retaliate against Central Juba, the enemy would be waiting in full force, eager to engage them in battle. It seemed Hampt had suffered a huge loss.

After running for two hours straight, Dumo and I finally dared to slow down and jog forward, also to avoid running out of energy if we encountered the enemy ahead. "Mr. Zhui Ma, the armed forces in Central Juba are better equipped than those of the Hampshire warlords!" Dumo said weakly.

"Yes, judging from the map, Central Juba has more green land and relatively abundant resources. But once we enter Central Juba, the strength of the warlord forces we might encounter will also increase. Hopefully, we won't be crossing flat grasslands again, otherwise we'll only be able to travel at night, and advancing during the day will be very risky," I said with some concern.

Chapter 286: The Third Biting Mouth

"All I see is dry yellow sand, my eyes ache from the monotony. I'd rather cut through vines in a dense forest than risk my life running like this in the desert. That was quite a shock. Jason Jody should experience this, instead of him lying on the Sea Demon all day, cuddling beautiful women and drinking fine wine while complaining to us about how boring his life is." After saying this, Du Mo pulled out the half-empty bottle of water stuck in the top of his backpack and took a swig to moisten his throat.

The desert became increasingly soft, and we couldn't help but feel a little panicked. But to avoid the enemy's armored vehicles, we had no choice but to grit our teeth and continue. Near Gilib was the lower reaches of the Juba River, and because we were heading towards the water, we felt more confident about crossing the desert.

"Hey, Mr. Chase, after the attack on the Haunt warlord by another warlord, will he soon make peace with the opposing pirates?" Dumo asked jokingly, seemingly showing some favoritism towards his fellow Somali sailors.

"If Haunt were rational, he wouldn't have provoked pirates so easily when his strength was equal to that of his neighboring warlord. Look at those emaciated girls blown to death on the grassy slope; it's not hard to imagine the face of a tyrant. The relationship between these two warlords is like that between the Sea Demon and the Somali sailors. So, you'd better take care of yourself. If the two pirate ships ever clash, think of a way to escape in advance."

Dumo chuckled sheepishly after hearing this. I intentionally helped him clear his head, preventing him from developing a blind emotional attachment to Jason Jody's pirates.

“Yes, you’re absolutely right. I just want to get to the point where I can stand up for Jason Jody and

take a bullet for him. Those covetous guys would probably kill me with their jealous looks, haha… Whether it’s a lot of money or a little, at least I won’t be that foolish!” I found his words very comforting. What I liked most about him was his independent consciousness and thinking. A sense of justice often protects such people, and Raven is a perfect example. Those treacherous villains who betray each other eventually forget who they are; how could I entrust them with anything substantial or seek their benevolent help?

“Alas! However, it’s possible that the Haunt warlord will first make peace with Central Juba State and join forces against the Somali sailors,” Dumo continued with a sense of relief.

“There’s no ‘however.’ If the other warlord seizes the opportunity, he’ll definitely crush the Hampshire militia. So, his only chance is the Somali pirates. However, it’s rather foolish of them to only realize this when they’re fighting tooth and nail.”

With that, I pulled two crumpled bananas from my backpack and tossed one to Dumo. “It’s on me. Have some carbohydrates. We still have to do a rapid run before dawn.”

Dumo was happy to see food. He caught it with a smile, peeled it, and put it in his mouth when he suddenly stopped, saying, “Damn it, remember when Jason Jody smacked me on the head? He even jokingly asked if I’d eaten too many bananas and my brain had turned into banana mush.” Dumo finished angrily, took a big bite of the banana flesh, and chewed it with a grin.

I slowly chewed the soft, sweet banana. Although my facial expression remained unchanged, I realized Dumo’s cunning. He had been intentionally trying to get closer to me, slowly and steadily putting himself against the Sea Demon.

I didn't mind. Regardless of his true intentions, if he made me feel any malice, the first thing I'd kill was that kodo beast. Dumo finished his banana, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and signaled that we could start running.

Now, he was even more anxious than I was, wishing he could sprout wings and fly into the night sky, leaving the battlefield of the tank battle far behind, like sitting on the moon watching a dog on Earth chasing its barking hound.

"Aha, hahaha..." After running for ten kilometers, scattered bushes began to appear on the dark desert surface ahead. From Dumo's joyful laughter, we could tell that the vegetation zone wasn't far away.

"I'm sure there will be baobab trees ahead." Dumo's excited expression spurred him to run even faster; he almost stretched out his arms to embrace the distant horizon.

"I'm also sure that even if baobab trees appear, you still won't be able to climb them," I said casually. Hearing my teasing, Dumo grinned, revealing even more of his white teeth.

"Haha, not every baobab tree is so thick and tall. Some are even as tall as me. Look at my robust physique, so much like a baobab tree! That's rare in the famine-stricken areas of Africa, a standard handsome man's physique!"

Dumo couldn't contain his joy at about to leave the desert and began to boast, but what he said made some sense. "If there were no guns or spears here, and we fought with only fists and feet, I'd be perfect chieftain material."

Seeing the low bushes gradually appearing densely ahead, I couldn't help but feel happy too. Dumo had already rushed ahead of me, leaping and bounding away like a big, fat monkey jumping down from a tree.

On the distant, pale indigo horizon, a few sparse baobab trees, like trees adorned with colorful lights at Christmas, gently beckoned to Dumo and me. I knew those weren't city lights, but countless stars teetering on the brink of collapse.

Chapter 287: Take Advantage of the Cool Weather and Run!

"Mr. Chasing Horse, there's a grassland ahead! Hurry up and catch up!" Dumo, who had run ahead, turned around and waved excitedly at me. A slight smile appeared on my lips, and I couldn't help but speed up again, hoping to see the lush green grass and trees soon.

The night sky ahead was like a curtain hung with twinkling lights. When I reached Dumo's position, the outlines of undulating black shadows appeared on the flat, single horizon in the distance. Dumo was right; we were already on the edge of the grassland.

"Mr. Chasing Horse, if brown hyenas follow us again this time, watch me smash their butts with my AKA rifle, hahaha..." Dumo patted the rifle lying across his backpack, his eyes full of pride.

"Hmph." I smiled faintly, picked up my binoculars, and scouted behind me. On the vast desert horizon, I couldn't see any moving dots. I figured the armed forces had changed their patrol status and had to abandon their pursuit of Dumo and me, focusing on resisting the tanks that were launching a cross-regional attack.

“Let those guys fight it out. We can finally travel for a few days in peace.” Dumo picked up his sniper rifle, carefully scouting the grassland ahead, and said confidently.

“Yeah, we’re lucky. At least we don’t have to be exposed in the desert and worry about the armored vehicles.” Putting away the binoculars, Dumo and I continued running forward. The sooner we could get into the dense, thorny grass, the safer we would be.

After running for another ten minutes or so, the sand under our feet began to thicken and harden. I knew my feet were now on living soil. All around us were dense bushes, mostly of the same size, with spiky stems, as if warning us not to step on them, or we would surely be cut and bleed.

Dumo and I ran a little further, then each squatted under a low acacia tree, quickly unpacking our backpacks and changing our camouflage. Drawing my sharp dagger, I got up and cut some branches from the treetop, quickly weaving them into a jungle camouflage net.

Dumo, standing beside me, had once again disguised himself as a plump, green porcupine, his face beaming with a grin that revealed his protruding white teeth. "Hehe, Mr. Chase, look at me, don't I look like a baobab tree?"

I glanced at him sideways, seeing his disguise was flawless, and ignored the clown. He chuckled to himself, turning around twice as if searching for a puddle to use as a mirror, curiously comparing himself to his surroundings.

"Look around, it's mostly just yellow earth. Isn't it a bit premature to change camouflage now?" Dumo, having failed to find a puddle, turned to me and said seriously.

"Not premature. After dawn, you and I will be fully within the grassland. Changing camouflage then might get us shot." Dumo chuckled after hearing this, preparing to stride forward again.

"You're running so hard, are you trying to feed the lions?" I said coldly, standing up, hunching over and adjusting my gear, making the straps as comfortable as possible. Dumo stared wide-eyed, assuming I'd sensed a wild beast ahead.

"You run behind me," Dumo said, realizing it was nothing, and smiled shyly, nodding to indicate he understood. "Even though we're carrying guns now, once we're on the grassland, we still need to avoid those wild beasts that attack pedestrians. It's best not to fire unless absolutely necessary; startling a flock of birds could cause unnecessary trouble." With that, I leaned forward slightly and glanced in the direction we were heading.

The eastern night sky gradually faded, and Dumo and I hopped and ran across the thin grass, careful not to slip and fall. "Coo-coo, coo-coo..." Several startled green doves flapped their wings and flew towards distant tree branches.

Dumo ran behind me for three kilometers, then suddenly said breathlessly, "Mr. Chase, I'm a little hungry. Let's eat something before we continue." Hearing Dumo say he was hungry, my stomach rumbled. I remembered that after being startled awake by the tank, I hadn't eaten much while running all the way here. The banana I'd eaten to fill my stomach had long been drained by the aerobic exercise of running.

"Okay, let's run to that area with more trees up ahead and sit down to eat. Plus, you can sleep for a few hours." Dumo was delighted to hear this, but looking in the direction I pointed, he seemed a little discouraged.

"That's so far! Won't we be running until dawn?" I smiled faintly and continued to increase my running speed. "We should run a little longer while it's cool. We're not solar-powered race cars; running under the scorching sun is too exhausting. We don't have much food and water left in our backpacks."

Dumo said "Oh," and stopped complaining about my demanding requirements. As dawn broke, Dumo and I finally reached the foot of the lush, towering tree. We were surrounded by verdant grass; if another armored vehicle passed by, we could simply lie down and disappear into the sea of plants.

"Ugh! Just one bag left. If we finish these, I, Dumo, will be in trouble!" Dumo sighed helplessly, holding the sausage up to his face.

"You still have a few packs of biscuits. We're far from being truly hungry yet. Save your emotions for later,"

I said coldly, tearing open a long tube of biscuits and starting to chew. “I’ve discovered that having money but nowhere to spend it is quite torturous. If only the euros in my boots could turn into a few packets of sausages, I really don’t want to eat these mushy biscuits.”

Every time Dumo eats sausage, it’s like a ritual. He always finds a suitable position, leans back against his backpack, crosses one thick leg over the other knee, and only after he’s completely relaxed does he hold the greasy sausage to his mouth, lick it a few times with his tongue, sniff it hard with his shiny black nose, and then take a big bite, chewing with endless relish, his crossed legs even trembling with each chew.

I ate a few biscuits, then picked up my binoculars to scout the surroundings, lest the smell of food attract dangerous animals.

“Back at the Beirut Hotel in Madagascar, there were plenty of sausage shops nearby, but you were completely bewitched by beauty, and now you’re sitting on the grass feeling melancholy. Humph, what a sight for you!”

I mocked Dumo’s complaints while placing the binoculars on my backpack. "Hehe, just kidding, just kidding." He sighed deeply as soon as he finished speaking, "Ah! Thinking back now, I really miss those days!" The guy had a grin on his face, and between his thick, twitching eyebrows, an air of boundless, intoxicated pleasure shone through.

I ignored him, drew my gleaming dagger again, stood under the tree, and chopped off branches. I then stuck them around my body and luggage, forming a green barrier to guard against distant lookouts.

Chapter 288: The Unseen Grass

"Don't sleep after you finish eating. You should do what I did and create a camouflage circle for yourself, otherwise, if you get shot, you can forget about anything good for the rest of your life. Also, bury the food scraps in the soil after you finish eating to prevent the smell from spreading." I said coldly, took out a green vest and covered my face, then started to sleep hugging my AK-47 rifle.

After finishing the last sausage, Dumo turned the greasy packaging over and licked it for a while before slowly digging a hole in the ground. "Dear sausage, I'll be eating vegetarian food next time. Goodbye," the

fat black kodo muttered to himself as he listlessly buried the hole.

After everything was ready, Dumo began his duty with his AK-47 rifle. He had to be constantly vigilant until I woke up; if a wild beast or poisonous insect approached now, it would be no better than encountering a tank.

After three hours of sleep, I opened my eyes in a drowsy dream. Dumo was sitting on the grass beside me, his head drooping and then lifting again, completely exhausted. "Shh, shh," I whispered to him. He lifted his sweat-drenched, dark face, strained to lift his dark eyelids, glanced at me, and then sprawled back on his pack. Within half a minute, he was snoring loudly.

I swallowed hard, realizing my throat was parched. I quickly pulled out half a bottle of water from my backpack to moisten it. A blazing sun hung high overhead, and the surrounding plants all drooped their leaves, as if seeking hibernation to escape the heat.

My shirt was soaked through, and my trousers clung stickily to my skin. Looking around through the binoculars again, I couldn't see a single bird of prey. In the distance, waves of hot, undulating heat billowed like ocean tides over the grass.

My throat, which had just been moistened, was quickly evaporated by the dry air I inhaled, so I had to grab my water bottle and take a small gulp. The situation was worrying. If a small river didn't appear ahead, the few bottles of water in my and Dumo's backpacks would be completely drained through our pores within fifteen minutes.

Thinking of this, I slowly stood up and tried to climb a nearby tree to see if I could find a river before our water ran out. I bit the back of my dagger, grabbed the tree, and began to climb. I had only climbed halfway when I saw a large, brightly colored caterpillar lying across the bark.

Its yellow back was covered with a few shiny golden hairs, and its head had two black, horn-like teeth. Although I had never seen this kind of insect before, its striking color told me it was probably poisonous.

Looking at the nauseatingly large caterpillar before me, goosebumps rose on my arms. I had seen many strange insects while living in the jungles of Southeast Asia, but this was my first time on the real African savanna, and seeing a caterpillar so large made me suspicious. I

gripped the tree trunk tightly with my legs, freeing one arm to grab the dagger I was holding in my mouth, and slowly pressed it down on the candle-thick caterpillar. The spiky creature made no attempt to dodge; after the dagger gently pressed down on its head, it darted away and disappeared into the dense grass.

I put away the dagger and continued climbing towards the top of the tree canopy. Seeing nothing else repulsive, I finally settled on a not-too-thick branch and swayed as I gazed into the distance.

Ahead lay another vast expanse of grassland. The crooked trees growing on the grassland, due to the vastness of the land, were not very close together, possessing some characteristics of a forest, yet undeniably too sparse.

Several tall, brown-spotted giraffes were leisurely grazing under a tree. Further on, countless wildebeest and antelopes could be seen. I knew these sights meant we weren't far from lions and cheetahs.

There must be a river nearby, otherwise these animals wouldn't be so densely gathered in this area. But neither Dumo nor I had their noses that could sniff out water sources. So, if we ran straight down, with a river standing to our left or right, it would be no different from running through a desert. In this situation, a bit of luck was all we could hope for.

Dumo didn't sleep for long; less than two hours later, he woke up, covered in beads of sweat. The first thing he did upon opening his eyes was to open his pack and look for water.

“Dumo, we need to hurry and look for water, otherwise it will be harder to spot rivers after dark, and wild animals will be able to attack from a shorter distance.” I jumped down from the tree, packing my backpack as I spoke to Dumo, who was shaking his head in a daze.

“My God, after all these years back in Africa, I’ve lost all my heat tolerance. Even taking a nap feels like lying on a hot plate. Let’s hurry, when we find a river, I’m going to lie down in its cool water and take a nap.”

Dumo wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm, packing his bags as he said angrily. “There are a lot of wildebeest and antelopes ahead. Can you tell which direction might have water? The map isn’t sharp enough; there are no river markers around.”

I wiped the sweat from my forehead as well, hoping that Dumo, who grew up in Africa, could come up with a better idea. “Lions and cheetahs usually guard the water's edge, waiting for the herbivores to become thirsty and daring enough to come and drink, then hunt them down. We have guns; we'll take over every freshwater spot we see on this grassland, and see which one dares to resist. If they don't let me have my way, they'll all be shot.”

Dumo was a bit irritable, furious about the dry, sweltering environment. He figured his backpack was almost empty of freshwater. “I asked you where the water is, not where the lions and cheetahs are.”

I stared at Dumo with a dark expression. He suddenly realized something and quickly said with a forced smile, “Just venting my emotions, Mr. Chase, don't mind me, hehehe, let's look as we go!”

After saying that, Dumo picked up his sniper rifle and strode ahead, as if he wanted to find a pride of lions, rush up and scare them all away with a single shot, then happily enjoy the freshwater the lions had guarded.

"Don't walk so far ahead. Lions are lurking prey, and if you're so disoriented, even carrying a missile, you could still get bitten and killed." My earlier expression must have frightened Dumo. Hearing my gentle reminder, he slowly circled around behind me.

The further we went, the denser and taller the grass became, some of it barely reaching Dumo's and my waists. "Mr. Chasing Horse, I'm not sure if we can keep going like this! If our lower bodies are completely submerged in the grass, what if there's a python or a predator crawling down and biting our toes?"

Dumo looked panicked, his eyes darting left and right. I understood his concerns, but we didn't need to move forward. Even if we veered to one side, the dense grass covering the ground was still terrifyingly tall, and we couldn't see any dangerous creatures under our feet.

Chapter 289: Chewing on Death's Last Words

Dumo and I picked up our rifles and cautiously moved forward into the tall grass ahead. The grass, scorched by the sun, was wilted and emitted a strong odor that seemed to choke us. It felt as if a dry blade of grass was stuck in our throats, unable to be pushed down or coughed up.

This indescribable discomfort made Dumo and I feel a chill of fear. "Cough cough..." Dumo, clutching his rifle, slowed down, the African sun shining brightly on his dark face, forcing him to grin and reveal his white teeth.

"Don't jump around like that, focus on moving forward," I whispered, scolding Dumo. He turned his face, drenched in sweat, and stammered, "My legs won't obey me, they're shaking uncontrollably." I was also suffering from the heat, my lungs feeling like they were blocked with cotton.

From Dumo's shoulders, it was easy to see that his two fat legs, buried in the grass, were trembling. The thick grass tips were already swaying against our chests. "You have several guns. Weren't you just saying you wanted to shoot the lions' butts?" Dumo was genuinely scared. My constant urging probably wouldn't work, so I had to find another way to get him to come with me.

"Please, just leave me alone. I'm already incredibly grateful that they didn't hide under the grass and bite my butt." Dumo realized now that he had boasted earlier. Even with guns, venturing into the beast king's territory would come at a price. But he didn't care about being embarrassed now. His wet, dark forehead was bulging with worry.

"Mr. Chase, let's retreat back into the woods and find a detour. This way of traveling is too creepy." Dumo was finally frightened by the grassland in front of him. He stubbornly stood still, clutching his AK-47 rifle.

I glanced back at him, and a few thoughts of backing out began to creep into my mind. This desolate grassland stretched as far as the eye could see, and with each step forward, I felt myself sinking deeper, as if I were about to be swallowed up.

“Dumo, calm down. We have no choice right now. Behind us is a vast desert. Putting aside those armored vehicles, turning back will only lead to our death from thirst on the sand. Look at this boundless sea of grass. If we go around it to one side, the area we come into contact with will be even larger, which will not only waste time but also increase the danger. The only way to cross it is to grit our teeth and move forward, which may be the fastest way to get through and even find a water source.”

My calming words soothed Dumo’s panicked mind. He lowered his head and pondered for a while, then raised his slightly calmer face, glanced at the blazing sun, and was instantly shrugged by the light. He wiped the sweat from his forehead before speaking.

“Mr. Chase, if I get seriously injured by a lion or cheetah, or stung by a venomous snake, you'd better send me on my way quickly. In this godforsaken place, I'm going to die anyway, might as well finish it off. That bastard Jason Jody is probably drinking a cold beer right now, smacking his lips…”

Du Mo’s face was full of resentment, as if he were rehearsing his last words for the misfortune that was about to befall him. He pouted his thick, dark lips, and his rambling last words all turned into cursing Jason Jody.

“Do you want to get out of here alive?” I interrupted the resentful Du Mo. He wasn’t being dramatic this time, because I was also afraid, afraid that something would happen to me, and that the bond would be broken helplessly.

“Yes, I wish I could sprout wings and fly!” Du Mo stared at me with his wide, bull-like eyes in surprise. “Then keep your mouth shut, stay alert and keep moving forward. If you feel any soft, wet ground under your feet, stop immediately and let me know.”

Dumo nodded, focusing his attention as he and I moved forward. Our situation wasn't too bad; at least there was no wind. Otherwise, with the chest-high grass swaying back and forth, it would be difficult to detect a predator or two lurking nearby.

The surrounding environment was unusually hot. Even a puddle the size of a washbasin could harbor a predator. I was most worried about reptiles like pythons and crocodiles; they had a huge advantage in this environment when ambushing prey.

“It’s hot now, but much better than being in the dark at night. At least we can be alert and use our senses.” Dumo stared with his large, round eyes, his face serious as he walked a long way with me. His tense expression was completely different from when he ambushed the truck on the grassland earlier. This guy must have been injured by something on the African savanna when he was a child.

"Yes, Mr. Chase, stay alert. We're not out of the grassland yet," Dumo said to me seriously. I let out a long, light sigh and continued walking forward, rifle in hand.

"My God..." Dumo suddenly exclaimed. I quickly turned to face him, simultaneously aiming my rifle at the tall grass in front of him.

"You scared me to death! I crushed a nest of bird eggs." Dumo's frightened expression faded, and he took a deep breath, his eyelids drooping, before gripping his rifle firmly again and taking another step.

I poked the soil a few times with the toe of my right foot; it wasn't damp or soft at all, so I was relieved, ruling out that Dumo had crushed crocodile eggs.

“Mr. Zhui Ma, I’m feeling really suffocated. I wish I could fire a few shots around, partly to bolster my courage, and partly because if anything is lurking nearby, I could easily get shot dead.”

I dismissed Du Mo’s words. As I cautiously moved forward, I warned him in a low voice, “Don’t get any more delusions. If you fire randomly, you won’t scare away any wild animals; instead, you’ll attract their attention and draw real danger.”

A faint smell of mud mixed with grass roots drifted into my nostrils. Du Mo also smelled it, and a smile instantly spread across his sweat-covered, dark face.

“Water! There’s water ahead!” Du Mo exclaimed excitedly, calling out to me in a low voice. I didn’t look at him, but raised my right hand to signal him to be quiet, then steadied my rifle and cautiously moved forward.

The smell of mud grew stronger, and I could feel a slight coolness in the air. The soil beneath my feet gradually softened and became damp. Seeing me draw my pistol, and knowing that a longer rifle wouldn't be effective against a sudden, close-range attack from a wild beast, Dumo also drew his shorter weapon.

The barrel of the Aka rifle parted the last layer of grass, revealing a narrow, mirror-like river, as tranquil as a lake. Several red storks with curved necks were preening their feathers on the opposite bank. They were unusually cautious; even the sight of Dumo and me still hidden behind the grass startled them, causing them to take flight.

"Chirp, chirp..." Dumo chuckled at the birdsong. "Look, flamingos! Look at their red feathers, they look like roasted meat!" I looked up at the birds' movements, and seeing them swoop towards the right bank of the river, I quickly pulled out the damp map from my pocket, examined it, and then said to Dumo.

Chapter 290: The Vast Juba River

"This might be a tributary of the Juba River. If we walk east along the riverbank and see the main stream, we might find fishing boats. If we can hitch a ride upstream, whether to Gilib or Bilo, it will be dozens of times better than what we're doing now, and we can also resupply some food."

We eagerly squatted down, scooped up some water, and washed the sweat and grime from our faces, feeling incredibly refreshed.

Picking up the rifle we had placed on the ground while drinking water, I urged Dumo, who was frantically splashing river water down his neck,

"I don't want to hunt for wild game in this place teeming with lions and leopards. I might just feed the wild beasts I attract after I've just finished eating." After saying that, I walked eastward along the soft, damp bank.

Hearing that I might be able to catch a fishing boat and head north, avoiding this arduous journey, Dumo's dark face immediately puffed up, his white teeth gleaming with a smile. "Mr. Zhui Ma, wait for me! When we get to the deeper part of the river, how about we go for a swim?"

I gripped my rifle tightly and quickened my pace. The burly kodo beast, Dumo, had just drunk a few mouthfuls of water to catch his breath and was about to start nagging again. Although he said that, if he actually saw the backs of a few crocodiles and then had to swim across the river with me, his legs would probably tremble with fear.

Along the narrow riverbank, Dumo and I walked one after the other, our steps uneven, though our boots were covered in mud. The heat was much relieved, and we no longer had to worry about water.

The river widened ahead, and many birds of various sizes constantly moved between the grass and the water. They flew low close to the surface, sometimes suddenly swooping down, their sharp claws seizing a small fish about the thickness of a finger, then hurriedly flying back to the grass, probably feeding the mother bird guarding her eggs.

Several long, whip-like snakes swam over from the opposite bank,

their wakes rippled with their movements. Seeing that Dumo and I were too large to eat, they sheepishly circled aside and scurried into the bushes to steal bird eggs. "Mr. Chasing Horse, we're lucky we didn't go around it. Otherwise, if we had gone parallel to the river, we wouldn't have found water even by nightfall. Imagine dying of thirst, and then God telling us the river was right behind the bushes! How embarrassing would that be! Haha..."

Dumo was about to launch into another tirade. Now that he couldn't run along the riverbank, his mouth had a chance to catch his breath and chat. "God doesn't embarrass people unless you embarrass him first."

"Hehe, do you think we can see fishing boats?" Dumo took a few steps forward and leaned against the back of my bulging backpack, asking. “Once we get to the Juba River, you’ll understand. Before boarding the boat, you’d better be careful, or God might really embarrass you.”

The two stopped talking and focused on running forward again. Seeing the water ahead widening, I felt a sense of relief. According to the small map, the only major river nearby was the Juba River.

Walking along the bank between the grass and the river wasn't a smooth journey. Fortunately, we were careful, carefully navigating the muddy path. Although our eyes were tired and sore, we almost stepped into the mouth of an African crocodile disguised on the bank.

Dumo talked about his hometown in Burundi, saying it was very close to the Rutzi River, where a six-meter-long African crocodile had been spotted, three times larger than any freshwater crocodile the locals had ever seen.

Even more terrifying is that this crocodile has transcended the food chain of other crocodiles, specializing in feeding on slow-moving, easily caught mammals.

Every year during mating season, this ferocious beast comes to the riverbank to hunt humans, and many children playing on the shore, and even fishermen fishing in small boats, have become its victims.

Hearing this, I couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive. I've only heard rumors about saltwater crocodiles in the coastal areas of Southeast Asia, which can reach up to ten meters in length and weigh over a ton, but I've never seen one with my own eyes.

However, when I was searching for prey on a deserted island, I had experienced it firsthand; a crocodile over four meters long almost took my life.

At this moment, there was dense grass on my left and the dark river water on my right, and I couldn't see anything in either direction. If a huge and agile crocodile were to suddenly appear, Dumo and I would have a hard time getting out of the way.

So far, Dumo's rifle had taught several men a lesson. Those freshwater crocodiles, some over two meters long, that blocked the way and wouldn't budge, each had been shot in the tail, writhing in pain as they sank to the bottom of the water.

I had reminded Dumo not to leave any of the dead animals exposed to the air, as that would invite more danger. These freshwater crocodiles, having suffered the consequences, would return to the river and send warning signals to their companions, prompting other crocodiles in the area to avoid us.

As evening approached, Dumo and I finally reached the tributary's inlet. A vast river, shimmering with golden ripples, with glimpses of tree branches visible through the water, stretched out before us.

Dumo ran excitedly to the bank, eager to see a passing fishing boat.

Chapter 291: The Little Black Boy Fishing
"Mr. Chasing Horse, it seems we won't encounter any more wild beasts now. Please cover me while I climb that big tree and look around to see if any fishing boats are coming upstream."

Dumo's eyes gleamed with joy. He threw his backpack and rifle on the ground and ran towards a tall tree on the left bank of the Juba River, a tree that stretched out like a hand.

I scouted the river and the opposite bank from behind the trees, but didn't see any armed personnel. The golden light of dusk bathed the world in a dim, dark red glow. The obese Dumo was already clinging to the crooked tree, his legs gripping the trunk as he strained to look up.

"Ha, ha, ha ha..." Perched on the tree, Dumo shook his large head, using his right hand to flatten his eyebrows, laughing heartily with delight.

I guessed he might have actually seen a fishing boat, so I quickly turned my head to look to the right. The river, still shimmering in the dim light, showed no trace of a boat, not even the size of a willow leaf.

"I see it, Mr. Chase, a fishing boat is really coming!" Dumo shouted excitedly as he jumped down from the tree. After waiting for more than ten minutes, a small patch of dark light, bathed in the setting sun, appeared at the eastern end of the river, slowly drifting upstream.

"What kind of boat is that? It can't even go a hundred meters in half a day." I put away my binoculars and handed them to Dumo, who was standing behind me, flashing a mouthful of white teeth. He happily took them and peered at the small boat.

"A fishing boat from an African village. You know, they can't afford those motorized boats. They mostly find a thick tree, split it open, and hollow it out. Basically, it's a long wooden tub, used as a small carrying vessel on the water."

I squatted down beside my backpack and started reloading my rifle. Dumo stood on tiptoe, watching the small boat approach through his binoculars. “ Dumo

, if the small boat can't fit both of us, try to trick them into coming ashore, then rob their fishing boat when they're off guard. Of course, don't just take their supplies; slip ten euros into their pockets. Remember, don't hurt them unless absolutely necessary.”

I said to Dumo, who was grinning foolishly as he looked into the distance, while I packed my bags and waited for the boat. “Okay, I got it. They're really lucky to have met such a good person like you.” After a while, the small wooden boat drew closer.

“Heh heh! A bunch of little brats, I can slap them all down.” Dumo grinned, showing his white teeth. “If you think you're full of energy, go find someone your size to slap, like the Iron-Faced Demon. Don't be arrogant in front of a bunch of hungry kids who can't even stand or run.” I said casually, tightening the closure of my backpack and standing up.

“Heh heh, look at you, I was just venting, just saying whatever came to mind.” I took the binoculars from Dumo and looked at the small boat that was gradually approaching. The wooden boat appeared to be eight or nine meters long, pointed at the front and wide at the back, presumably carved from a tall, thick tree.

A little girl, her skin glossy black, sat listlessly on the crossbeam at the stern. She looked no more than ten years old, with beautiful, dark Asian eyes.

The other three were dark-skinned boys, two around thirteen or fourteen, the youngest no more than seven or eight, sitting on the bottom of the boat, leaning against the little girl's dangling legs.

It seemed to be a family of four. The mother had dressed her youngest daughter in the only red vest they owned; the straps, worn over her thin shoulders, had small holes and were beginning to curl up. Several larger holes, revealing her dark skin, were also visible around the waist. Even in its tattered state, it at least provided some cover for the little girl.

The two slightly older, dark-skinned boys, each wearing a pair of shorts common in the tropics to protect their genitals from scratches or mosquito bites, stood in the middle of the wooden boat, their thin arms waving incessantly.

"Hey...kids, come here, I have some good food!" The passing boat drew closer, and Dumo emerged from behind the trees on the riverbank, holding a bag of biscuits high in his left hand, waving it enthusiastically towards the boat.

I remained hidden behind the tree, watching them through my binoculars. "Kids, come here, I have some good food, come on over!" Dumo shouted loudly in Somali, his excitement barely contained.

Several black children on the boat looked towards our bank. They stopped what they were doing, staring at the waving Dumo for a long time. Finally, the two slightly older boys picked up the oars and slowly approached Dumo.

I remained hidden behind the branches, afraid that Dumo would scare the children away, which would mean we'd be stuck on the big tree by the river all night feeding on mosquitoes.

The boat drew closer, and Dumo continued waving a bag of biscuits. He paced anxiously back and forth on the bank, wishing he could just reach out and pull the boat over.

As it neared the shore, two slightly older Black boys gave the oars a few jerks, propelling the boat closer. At the same time, they bent down, each picking up an AK-47 rifle, and grinned as they pointed it at Dumo.

Dumo shuddered instantly, frozen on the water's edge, as if under a spell, turning into a stone statue holding aloft his biscuits. He knew that if he turned and ran back into the woods, his back would be riddled with holes, and he'd die instantly.

So, he could only stand there like a statue, praying to God that the children were acting in self-defense and not intending to shoot him for his belongings.

My heart skipped a beat. I quickly grabbed my sniper rifle from my backpack, pulled the bolt back, and aimed at a boy's small, dark head.

If they dared to raise their rifles even slightly higher, making their eyes level with the sights, I would have blown their skulls off without hesitation.

No shots were fired from the boat. The two boys, carrying rifles, approached with innocent, bright smiles, their white teeth, like Dumo's, gleaming even more in the twilight. The boat

thudded, its pointed tip poking out of the water onto the shore. Although his back was to Dumo, I guessed he was terrified. To prevent a tragedy, he had to be even more proactive in showing friendliness.

To prevent the boys from misunderstanding Dumo's actions and firing, he tore open the bag of long biscuits above his head with both hands, then showed a few pieces to the children.

"Come on, come on, one for each of you, have a taste! Have a taste! Chocolate flavor, ah! It's so sweet!"

Four black children stepped off the wooden boat, wading through the shallow muddy water on the bank to surround Dumo.

"Is it good? How about another one? Hehehe... When I was your age, I often fished in the river. Back then, I didn't even know what a biscuit looked like, let alone eat this. Ah! You guys are really lucky."

Chapter 292:

Seeing that the children were not hostile, Dumo's dark face puffed up, his five gleaming white teeth floating in the twilight on the riverbank. "Come on, two more for each of you, chew slowly and savor it."

This fat kodo beast stood on the bank with a grin, like he was feeding a flock of hungry chicks. The four black children took the biscuits again, looked at each other happily, and then ate them with smiles.

Seeing his chance, Du Mo generously stuffed the remaining half-pack of biscuits into the hand of the eldest boy.

"I want to cross the river to the other side. Could you give me a ride in your wooden boat? If I can't cross before dark, even sleeping under a big tree at night might get me bitten on the butt by a leopard!" Du Mo joked, making the children, who were only focused on

eating biscuits, giggle. The little girl in the red vest with her dark skin kept tiptoeing to grab biscuits from the eldest boy's hand; it was clear she was starving. Even so, she didn't forget to share a biscuit with the youngest and shortest boy.

"Gentlemen, ladies, please do me a favor! Give Du Mo a ride, okay?" The comical Du Mo knew how to amuse children, and in no time, he had become very friendly with the four children.

The four dark-skinned fishermen's children all smiled and nodded, very willing to help Du Mo cross the river. I knew in my heart that this fat kodo beast was lying again, fooling these kids, just like he had tricked me in the shack village a few days ago.

Dumo laughed and joked with the children for a while longer, then turned to me and called out, "Mr. Chase, come out! These little brats have agreed to let us take the boat." Hearing Dumo's confident tone, I slung my sniper rifle over my shoulder and emerged from behind the woods with my luggage.

The children were instantly surprised to see me. Perhaps it was the first time they had seen someone with yellow skin. In the eyes of these naive children, any skin color other than black must have been visually overwhelming, perhaps even making them think light skin was ugly and causing some aversion.

I approached them with gentle eyes. The two boys who had been eating biscuits while holding their guns looked slightly bewildered when they saw me carrying a long cloth bag and a bulging backpack.

Unbeknownst to them, I carried an FN57 pistol in my back pocket. If I sensed any hostility, I could draw it and shoot them dead in the blink of an eye. A few pairs of surprised eyes flashed across my face, then they gave me innocent smiles.

Although I didn't understand Somali, and these indigenous-looking children didn't understand English, at least my sweet smile conveyed friendliness.

As I approached the little black children, they instinctively took a few steps back. The youngest boy hid behind his sister, peeking at me with bright eyes.

"Hmm!" I responded softly, offering a package of unopened long-tube biscuits in my right hand to the little girl's face. She tilted her thin, dark face up, her slightly parted lips revealing her lower, pink gums.

The three little boys' eyes lit up, all looking at the little girl, eagerly awaiting her acceptance of the sweet treat.

The little Black girl seemed to feel a sense of mission under these gazes. She smiled, her two white front teeth trembling slightly as she bit her pink tongue, and shyly accepted the biscuit.

The three little boys immediately surrounded the girl's hand that had received the biscuit, eager to share it.

Dumo, a rifle slung over one arm and a backpack dragging the other, ran out from behind the trees.

"Hey, let's hurry across the river! You guys eat on the boat, it'll be dark soon." The four dark-skinned boys splashed into the shallow water and jumped onto the wooden boat.

The boat was larger than I had seen through my binoculars. Dumo and I placed our backpacks in the middle of the boat, sitting evenly apart. The little girl and the youngest boy sat on our laps, and we each took a paddle and rowed towards the center of the Juba River.

The boat was drafted deep; the water level was less than twenty centimeters below the hull. Dumo let out a long sigh, nodded triumphantly at me, and hummed a tribal tune that only he understood.

Two older Black boys squatted on either side of the luggage, each still holding half a bag of biscuits. They laughed at each other's chewing mouths, their carefree joy making them forget the danger. Two gleaming AK-47 rifles were exposed beneath the gunwale of the fishing boat.

If I wanted to retrieve those biscuits now, I could simply reach out with two rough, large hands, grab the two boys by the neck, and throw them overboard. They would be sent flying twenty or thirty meters, floating on the water, yelling and screaming.

Even without pulling over the AK-47 rifles and firing at them, alligators would quickly swim over, taking advantage of the ripples, and devour them.

This would lighten the boat's load and increase its speed, but they were just innocent, carefree children, like me and Dumo when we were kids.

"Isn't the other side of the river Bilo City? I'll come back after I get there, and next time I'll bring more biscuits for you to share," Dumo said, feigning seriousness.

The four children stared wide-eyed at Dumo in astonishment. The little girl quickly waved her hand, telling him that the place they were going to wasn't on the other side, but upstream.

Dumo immediately feigned disappointment, almost to the point of tears, trying to gain the sympathy of the little black children. I couldn't help but scoff inwardly; this guy even made lying to children look so contrived.

Two little black boys squatting in the middle of the wooden boat began to haul in the net. Behind their boat, a fifty-meter-long gillnet was towed, its end tied to a piece of driftwood. The fish, no bigger than fingers, swimming in schools to the surface, couldn't see this fine-threaded, densely meshed net. If they bumped into it, their fins would get caught, like cars stuck in a narrow alley, unable to back out or move forward.

The youngest boy and girl helped their two older brothers, who were slowly hauling in the net, remove the small fish caught in it and happily put them into their baskets. "Wow! Your food is pretty good!" Dumo exclaimed excitedly upon seeing the lively white-scaled fish.

The girl told us that they didn't catch fish to eat themselves. After three days, they would fill two baskets and then take them to Bilo City to sell, exchanging them for necessities or more filling food to take home.

"Then why don't we go to Bilo City?" Dumo asked the girl excitedly. The little girl blinked, glanced at her two older brothers, and hesitated for a moment before saying that there weren't enough fish upstream, and the baskets wouldn't be full. They wouldn't be able to get any money in Bilo City.

Dumo translated the girl's words to me, and a smile immediately appeared on my lips. "Tell them to take us straight to Bilo City. I have a lot of biscuits in my bag, and we can continue to share them along the way. Also, once we get to Bilo City, they don't need to sell fish for money. If they want to buy any necessities, you and I will pay for them."

Chapter 293: Entering Bilo City

The four black children stared at each other with eyes full of excitement and some doubt after hearing Dumo's words. I didn't speak, continuing to paddle hard, hoping to travel safely under the cover of night and reach Bilo City as soon as possible.

"How much money can you get by selling two baskets of little fish?" Dumo asked, seeing the children hesitating, trying to persuade them. The oldest black boy pondered for a moment, then told Dumo that he could get at least 100 shillings.

Dumo laughed heartily after hearing this, took off one of his boots, and pulled out the roll of bright green euros. "Look! What's this? Never seen it before, have you? Let me tell you, this green banknote is worth five million shillings. I have that much money, what are you worried about?"

The children had never seen European currency before, so they weren't particularly interested. Their hearts were filled with curiosity and longing, and they grinned, revealing their pearly white teeth, continuing to tend to their fishing nets.

"Hehe, it seems only when I stuff a whole backpack full of shillings, and make each of you hug it until your eyes almost pop out of their sockets, will you understand what a green euro means." Dumo finished speaking with a smug grin, humming a little tune as he stuffed the roll of euros back into his boot.

The golden sunset was already half-hidden behind the trees on the riverbank, the light extremely soft, like an egg cracked into a white porcelain bowl, rippling gently. The waterbirds on both banks gradually flew back to their nests, and Dumo and I no longer had to worry about the dangers on land; darkness was about to conceal our little wooden boat.

Around midnight, the children had caught half a basket of small fish. They were getting tired, so they shared another bag of biscuits I had given them and began to doze off back to back. The Juba River was cool with the night air. Dumo and I rowed vigorously, our long, pointed boat moving upstream quietly and swiftly like a pike.

In the latter half of the night, the weather became a bit chilly, so I told Dumo to get a jacket from his bag and cover the children with it. "These little rascals are tough! They're not afraid of the sun during the day, nor the cold at night, just like I was when I was a kid," Dumo muttered, but did as I asked.

To increase our speed, we didn't sleep all night, until the eastern end of the river showed a faint glimmer of color again, at which point Dumo finally yawned with a wide grin. “Sigh, I thought it would be one of those big fishing boats where I could sleep in the cabin until dawn, but I ended up working hard all night.”

I didn’t say anything, letting Dumo slowly stand up and look upstream through binoculars. He was a little excited, nudging the slightly older boy awake with his toe and asking if Bilo City was ahead. The black boy was a little dazed, rubbing his sleepy eyes and saying that Bilo City was ahead.

“Wake up, wake up, we’ve arrived at Bilo City. Hurry up and haul in the nets, or I won’t wait for you.” The oldest black child shook his younger siblings awake, who were still asleep, and urged them to quickly retrieve the fishing nets they had cast out during the night so they could go shopping with Dumo and me.

The small boat rowed for another half hour, and the densely packed shacks along the riverbank gradually came into view. Dumo rubbed his swollen eyes, his excitement mixed with a touch of disappointment. "This isn't a city! It's just a run-down fishing village. Damn it, where are we going to buy sausages?"

The children, however, became excited. In their eyes, this bustling little town, resembling a fishing village, was enough to excite them, just like when Dumo first saw the coastal cities of Madagascar.

Dumo and I removed our camouflage nets, changing only our sweatshirts. The residents of this kind of place weren't sensitive to armed individuals; it was like a chef standing at a chopping board with a cleaver, or a soldier standing beside a sentry post with a rifle.

The children, barefoot, tied the wooden boat to a tree on the shore and began leading Dumo and me into the town of Bilo.

It was still early; in this small African town on the banks of the Juba River, the residents were just getting dressed, and wisps of smoke rose from the distant rooftops. We

walked along the paths through the woods for less than half an hour towards the center of Bilo, and we could already see the town in its entirety. "Wow! We can even see lights and buildings in this small place!" A hint of surprise flashed across Dumo's dejected face.

On the flat grassland, a cluster of houses emerged, interspersed with white or pale yellow buildings, but the tallest no more than three stories high. Most were single-function apartments, some still under construction, their red brick plaster showing. With the help of scattered lights, they initially resembled the outskirts of a city, yet a sense of desolation lingered.

For us, who had been traveling through deserts and grasslands for days, this scene felt both novel and familiar. A few black children told Dumo that they needed to sell fish first, so they had to head east of Bilo.

Dumo and I wanted to find a hotel, get a good night's sleep, and then hire a car to go straight to Buale. Since none of the houses were open yet, approaching them so early risked getting us shot, so we decided to accompany the children for a while; we might find a hotel sometime.

Emerging from the woods, we found ourselves on reddish-brown earth, half sand and half loam. Two older, dark-skinned boys carried rifles, their sister a half-filled basket of small fish, and the youngest carried a bundled white fishing net. Dumo and I followed behind them.

"Mr. Chase, if we abandon these little guys and run, those two up ahead will definitely shoot us, hehe." The glimpses of Bilo City brought a smile back to Dumo's face as he chuckled.

"Hmph, you haven't kept your promise. If you run now, they won't be able to buy necessities. How will they explain it when they get home? Those two brothers will definitely shoot you." I replied with a slight smirk.

"Hehe, exactly, exactly." Dumo spoke to me in English. The four dark-skinned children ahead walked excitedly, completely convinced that Dumo and I would pay for their purchases—a stroke of good fortune for them.

A strong, fishy stench, mingled with the morning chill, filled the air. The street was lined with low houses, each with its own fish stall, suggesting the street must be quite lively during the day.

We continued walking. A thin, black woman, wrapped in a brightly colored dress, pushed open a door to empty her chamber pot. She wore white collars around her neck and ankles, her round head a deep black, her slightly raised forehead seemingly reaching the top of her head, with a few strands of hair growing at the back.

Seeing us approach, the woman stood there curiously. I knew her eyes were drawn to my unusual skin color. A few black children approached her, asking if she bought river fish. She then snapped out of her daze, put down the earthenware pot she was carrying, reached into her basket, grabbed a few fish, and began talking to the little black girls in a language she didn't understand.

Chapter 294: An Unprecedented stroke of luck.

Dumo translated for me, saying that they were haggling. The woman complained that the fish were too small and suggested they buy a larger net to catch more tilapia or tilapia; she was only willing to pay twenty-five shillings for these small fish.

The little black girl tried to bargain, saying at least twenty-eight shillings, but the black woman twitched her short, sunken, round nose and shook her head stubbornly. "Hiss!" Seeing my helplessness, Dumo quickly went to the little black girl, picked up her basket, and handed it to the woman.

"Sell it, money's no object." After saying this, Dumo patted his thigh, indicating to the girl that he understood what was inside his boot. The little black girl lowered her head and didn't say anything more. The woman carried the basket back to the small house, and a moment later returned with the empty basket, while also slipping the little girl some colorful banknotes.

The eldest brother stuffed the money from selling fish into his shorts pocket, then grinned at Dumo. They were going shopping, and Dumo and I had to keep our promise and be the big spenders.

Dumo raised his hands, bulged his eyes helplessly, and had no choice but to follow them to the end of the street. The four little black boys walked happily ahead, and Dumo said to me with some worry, "Mr. Chase, won't these little brats buy the whole boatload of food? That would cost us a lot of our savings."

I chuckled and comforted Dumo, "No, although they are hungry and poor, every child is honest and kind, unlike you, Dumo, who has millions of shillings stuffed in his boots, but is a liar and opportunist at heart."

Dumo laughed awkwardly again after hearing my sarcasm. It was around eight o'clock in the morning, and the African sun was high in the sky over the east of Bilo. Every household had its doors open, and the noise and commotion were endless.

Four little black children led us into an open-air market stall where various sundries were piled on small boards. They bought a bag of salt, a bag of dried cornbread and banana chips, and a small spool of white thread for repairing their fishing nets. Then, the little black girl turned around with a giggle and looked at Dumo and me. The three dark-skinned boys also stared wide-eyed at Dumo, their four bright eyes filled with expectation and pleading.

"What? You only bought this much?" The little girl blinked and told Dumo that their twenty-five shillings were only enough for a spool of thread, and they needed our help to pay for the salt, banana chips, and cornbread.

Seeing that the children had only bought such a small amount, Dumo was very happy. I gave Dumo a twenty-euro note and told him to exchange it for shillings at a nearby large store. Dumo took the light blue banknote and excitedly ran out of the market stall.

A moment later, Dumo came running back excitedly, muttering, "Damn it, I really wanted to beat that bastard up." It was obvious that a twenty-euro note could be exchanged for one million shillings, but in this place, there were no decent financial institutions, and the exchanger, after imposing harsh conditions, only gave Dumo five hundred thousand shillings.

Although the numbers were vastly different, the value was only ten euros less, but Dumo was quite bothered, muttering to himself for a while before finally shutting up.

I took a stack of thousand-shilling notes, pulled one out, and handed it to the grocer. He happily gave me nine hundred shillings in change.

The four children stared wide-eyed, their eyes gleaming with ecstatic joy at the scene. Now they finally understood what what Dumo had taken out of his boot meant.

“Mr. Chase, put those bundles of shillings in my backpack!” I nodded without speaking. Dumo slung his bag over his shoulder, patted the four children’s heads, and said with a smug look, “How about that? How about that? I didn’t lie to you, did I? Look how happy you are.”

We left the market and started walking back. The four children, carrying their purchases, jumped and skipped happily ahead of us; they were overjoyed. All the shops on both sides of the street were open, and there were twice as many pedestrians as when we came.

Not only some passersby, but even the vendors from the market stalls were carrying rifles. So, Dumo was still very cautious, making sure no one saw the bundles of shillings we had exchanged. Otherwise, we outsiders would definitely get into trouble.

After leaving the east side of Bilo, we reached a fork in the road. Dumo and I should head towards the city center to find a hotel to rest in, while the four black children should go to the riverbank to find their wooden boat and head back to their village along the Juba River.

Before we left, the four children, their bellies bulging, stood there watching us go. Dumo waved with a smile, signaling them to hurry back and not follow us anymore.

Now that we were alone, I told Dumo to ask the black boy how many shillings it would cost to buy the largest fishing net. Dumo knew what I was going to do, and though reluctant, he had to ask truthfully

. "Mr. Chase, he needs seven thousand shillings for a large net," Dumo said truthfully, though he didn't want to translate.

I pulled the stout Dumo over, unpacked the bundle on his back, quickly pulled out seven thousand-shilling bills, walked to the little girl, pried open her withered little black hand, and gently placed the shillings on it.

The four children were stunned. Dumo quickly translated, "This isn't a dream! You wouldn't earn this much even after a year of fishing! Aren't you shocked? Haha, I told you, you little brats are incredibly lucky to have met someone as generous as us."

"Chase them away! Tell them not to tell anyone about meeting us, or they won't get any cookies next time!" Dumo quickly translated, then shouted, chasing the four little black children away.

Next, Dumo and I, carrying our luggage, headed towards the center of Bilo, looking for the best inn to get a good night's sleep, then gather supplies. Tomorrow evening, we'd hire a bus or truck to get to Buale as quickly as possible.

As I carried my heavy luggage, I started calculating the location of the crows and how Dumo could help me retrieve one of them once we arrived in Buale. If we did manage to retrieve one, given the harsh environment, where would we put the person so I wouldn't have to worry about them during the fierce battle?

"Sigh, these little brats, they're incredibly lucky! Imagine how excited and moved they are to touch seven thousand shillings! They ate three packs of our chocolate biscuits; in a Madagascar supermarket, just one pack of those biscuits costs over four thousand shillings!"

Dumo started rambling again, his tone a mix of lament and elation. I was interrupted; the earlier incident was long forgotten, but this smug Dumo was still chattering on and on.

"You're the one who's incredibly far away. If it weren't for that wooden boat, you'd still be lying on a tree downstream donating blood."

Chapter 295: An Alien Who Stumbled into a City-State

. The ground in the center of Bilo City was still half sand and half loam. The city's streets, like well fields, were formed by the constant movement of vehicles and pedestrians. To avoid drawing attention to my yellow skin, Dumo walked ahead of me, providing some cover, and the two of us quickly made our way through the crowd.

Passing a beige warehouse, I saw a group of thin, dark-skinned men in short-sleeved shirts gathered by the roadside. They seemed to be chatting idly, unsure of what to do, or perhaps preparing to attend an Islamic sermon.

Each time I brushed past a group of Bilo citizens, I would see four or five men in green or yellow camouflage trousers. Some men without camouflage trousers wore green camouflage vests over their civilian short-sleeved shirts, exposing their thin, dark arms. Even in the heat, this wearer

's presence spoke of a certain identity. Each of them carried an AK-47 rifle slung over their shoulder. Their gaunt, dark faces grinned in the glaring sun, revealing gleaming white teeth. Their expressions showed they had nothing to do, like characters waiting for Godot in a play, or like old shepherds, clutching their long whips, huddled in a corner, basking in the sun.

I moved closer to Dumo's back to avoid attracting the attention of these gunmen with my conspicuous skin color. Although I had painted my cheeks, neck, and the backs of my hands black as we approached the city center, my sharply defined features and robust, tall physique still drew some eyes to Dumo and me as we passed by.

Dumo's skin color was the same as theirs, but his fat, kodo-like build made the natives of Bilo City realize that we were complete outsiders, hurrying off to who-knows-where.

"Hehe, Mr. Chase, look, these guys with guns are all wearing slippers, their dirty toes sticking out, it's really ridiculous. Our outfit will definitely make them green with envy!"

Dumo was right; in this place of scarcity, even a single camouflage uniform had to be shared between two people. The residents here, even barefoot, gain an air of superiority simply by wearing a camouflage vest, much like someone in an expensive suit strolling the streets of a wealthy metropolis.

But Dumo and I, despite our ordinary attire, physical attributes, and overall appearance, stole the show from everyone around us. Dumo was quite pleased with himself, reveling in this sense of superiority.

"You'd better not hope they get jealous. If they shoot you just because they saw your boots, you'll be crying your eyes out," I coldly reminded Dumo, warning him not to flaunt

his wealth or display a condescending, mercenary attitude. Dumo fell silent, his playful expression vanishing, replaced by profound sorrow. I knew he was feigning an expression, subtly implying to those around him that while he ate well and dressed more extravagantly than them, he was unhappy, hoping to appease those who might be envious.

Although I was following behind Dumo, I could clearly see out of the corner of my eye that several men with sleazy faces were scrutinizing us. Their dry, dull eyes gleamed with an indescribable unease.

I understood that sleazy, calculating look—like a poacher eyeing two rare animals that were valuable from head to toe. "Mr. Chase, the atmosphere around us feels increasingly off. Look at those men with guns in tattered shoes; they seem to be following us,"

Dumo said. I had already sensed this and urged him in a low voice to walk faster, but not to run, as that would only provoke them to shoot. The pleasant thought of finding a hotel for a good night's sleep vanished instantly.

This was the first city we had entered since Dumo and I smuggled ourselves into Somalia, and I now fully realized that the situation in Bilo was completely different from the coastal cities of Madagascar. It seemed that Dumo wasn't just hoping to get some sausages; he himself could become a sausage at any moment.

“Dumo, see that truck up ahead? Use the shillings in your backpack to tell the driver to take us to Buale as fast as possible.”

Ahead of the street, in front of a grocery store, a small pickup truck with its paint almost completely peeling off was parked

, its rear facing the store. A thin, black man, about thirty years old, with a red checkered towel wrapped around his head, was unloading goods into the store, sweating profusely. Dumo and I strode quickly to the store entrance and glanced inside. The man unloading the goods, wearing a light blue short-sleeved shirt, immediately recognized us as not being locals. He cautiously, yet with a slightly arrogant air, put down a box he was about to lift and approached us.

Inside, a black woman carrying a child hurriedly grabbed a rifle from the man's counter, ready to raise it and aim it at Dumo and me at any moment.

"What do you need? Are you just passing through and want to buy some food?" The man, seeing that we were both quite tall and strong, but taking advantage of his local status, asked us with a half-smile, seemingly unconcerned.

"No, we want to go to Buale, and we need your truck to give us a ride," Dumo said, glancing back at the armed black men who had been following us, a hint of pleading on his face.

The man unloading the goods, hearing that we weren't buying anything from him, craned his neck to look behind us, as if understanding something, then suddenly his thin face hardened, and he said fiercely to Dumo, "Get lost!"

Even without Dumo translating, I could tell from the shopkeeper's tone that this was an insult. I figured Dumo must have forgotten to mention paying in shillings, leading the shopkeeper to mistakenly believe we were outsiders seeking help.

Dumo, even now, was still thinking about getting things done for the least amount of money. He'd been ripped off by a euro exchange shop owner in eastern Bilo earlier and was still wary, unwilling to let the shopkeeper see through him, lest the shopkeeper take advantage of him and overcharge us for shipping.

My biggest worry was whether the shopkeeper was afraid of the guys following us and wouldn't help us.

"Dumo!" I urged him in a low but stern voice. Dumo quickly put on a smile, took a few steps into the shop, and waved to the shopkeeper, signaling him to come in. The shopkeeper's wife, carrying a child, had already pointed the dark muzzle of her rifle at Dumo's fat belly.

"No, don't misunderstand, ah! Please don't misunderstand. I have shillings. Come and take a look. If you're willing to give us a ride, you'll earn more than you would if you didn't open your shop for a day."

Du Mo mentioned shillings, and the black shopkeeper immediately exchanged a glance with his wife, then strode over to Du Mo. A hint of expectant smile appeared on his hard, dark face.

Du Mo took off his backpack, hugged it to his chest, and turned around. One chubby leg supported the bottom of the bag, while the other arm reached inside, feeling around by feel. He hunched over, his neck hunched, looking like he was struggling. Under the couple's watchful eyes, Du Mo finally pulled out a thick wad of shillings.

Chapter 296: The Greedy Grocery Store
I stood outside the grocery store, carrying heavy luggage on my back. Du Mo was inside, talking to the shopkeeper, whose head was wrapped in a red checkered towel. They couldn't reach an agreement. Unable to understand their language, I turned to look at the black men who had been following us, to prevent them from suddenly lunging at me, snatching my bags, or even stabbing me.

There were five Black men in total. The other four were wearing slippers, but one of them wore high-top canvas shoes with holes worn through. Of course, he hadn't bought these shoes to wear them so tattered; heaven knows where he found them or scavenged them. Even so, he looked much more presentable than his companions in slippers.

Seeing Dumo and me stop in front of a grocery store, they assumed we were going to buy a large bag of food and continue our journey west of Bilo.

The five thin, dark men, their deep gray eyes gleaming with a long-dormant light, stood among the passersby in the distance, no longer approaching, maintaining a certain distance from me for the time being.

These guys didn't shy away from looking at me. I smiled slightly at them, offering a friendly smile.

My smile contained many things; it mostly hoped they would be friendly and not easily shoot Dumo and me, but it also implicitly warned that if they insisted on holding us captive, I would shoot them once we left Bilo and entered the wilderness.

Five skinny, armed Black men didn't return my smile. They were more focused on my clothes and the military boots I was wearing. My bulging backpack looked incredibly tempting to them, each imagining what they might be hoping to get inside.

Dumo excitedly walked out of the grocery store, shoved his backpack into the back of the car, and hopped in. "Mr. Zhuima, get in! He agreed to take us to Buale!"

Hearing Dumo's shout, I knew he'd been ripped off by the shopkeeper again. I took off my backpack, shoved it into the back of the car, and hopped in.

The shopkeeper, his head wrapped in a red checkered towel, cheerfully ran out of the shop. His wife, carrying a child on her back, stood smiling at the door to see us off—of course, she was seeing off her husband, not Dumo and me.

The shop owner opened the car door, stepped onto the seat with his left foot, and instead of driving, he gripped the roof with his left hand and held the AK-47 rifle his wife had been holding in his right. He straightened up and glanced at the men who had been

following us. His muscular chest revealed that this shop owner was no pushover; he was signaling to the men to abandon their prey. Now, Dumo and I, the two outsiders, were his business.

“Damn it, those two are really ruthless. They insisted on opening my backpack to look inside, and then they took all those stacks of shillings before they'd even agree to give us a ride. They said we were being watched by some thugs in town and would be dead before nightfall. The reason they took so many shillings was to bribe them when we got back, to avoid future grudges,”

Dumo said angrily, his face full of reluctance. I knew what he was thinking. If those five black men who were following us dared to act so brazenly in the desert or grasslands, he could have blown their heads off with just five sniper rifle bullets.

Although the shopkeeper told Dumo this, in reality, he just wanted to extort more money, not use it to settle those trivial matters. I didn't say anything more. At least we still had euros. In a slightly larger city-state like Buale, perhaps the social order would be better, and we could exchange some more.

It wasn't worth shooting someone for a few euros. The black people in Bilo also had their own difficulties and helplessness; after all, we had stepped on their land. Moreover, shooting is no substitute for tolerance.

The shop owner drove his small pickup truck very fast, the horn blaring like a deflated frog, and pedestrians on both sides of the street gave way, showing that this guy had some influence in Bilo City. Once the car left the west side of the city and entered the wilderness, it sped off like a bird towards Buale.

Dumo tore a piece of paper from the back of his cargo bed and held it across his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. The surrounding area was wide open, and as far as the eye could see, it was still the same dark red earth, half sand and half loam. Dumo gazed at the distant city of Bilo, gradually fading from view, and couldn't help but sigh a few times. His anticipated overnight stay and meal were completely ruined.

"Mr. Chase, can you drive?" Dumo asked, his brow furrowed from the sun. "You have an idea?" I asked, holding up my binoculars and observing the dust trails swirling in the sand.

"Yes, I do," Dumo said decisively. The shop owner and his wife had been very rude to me in the shop earlier, and they even wanted the sniper rifle I was carrying. I told them to give me the money and we'd hire another truck, and only then did they smile and say, "Alright, alright, we'll take care of you since you're a stranger."

Dumo can be quite petty at times. In his eyes, these civilians carrying rifles, possessing only the fighting capabilities of militiamen, are utterly vulnerable. Their harassment of him naturally breeds resentment.

Seeing that there was only a few clumps of low grass and no one else around in the wilderness, he considered pulling out his pistol to kill the shop owner in the driver's seat, or beat him up and dump him on the roadside while I drove to Buale.

"Dumo," I said, "you need to broaden your perspective. If you lived in an environment like Bilo City, you'd be just like them. Environment shapes people; don't be too critical. After all, we're just passing through, and we won't have any further connection with these people. Besides, he has a wife and children. Supporting a shop is also supporting Bilo City's nascent economy. If Bilo City collapses, the surrounding villages will suffer even more."

I put down my binoculars, paused slightly, and then spoke to Dumo. “Do you remember those fishing children on the wooden boat by the Juba River? Don’t shatter their dreams. Life is hard enough; don’t let your personal emotions kill any hope in their lives.”

Although I was exhausted, I spoke a lot to Dumo. While guiding him, I was also subtly enlightening him. This was beneficial to both of us, because on the scorching African land, Dumo was the only person I felt truly close to.

“Mr. Chase, look! Look!” Dumo suddenly exclaimed. Following his finger, a faster pickup truck appeared on the horizon behind the small pickup. Four or five black men, armed with rifles, stood in the back of the truck, all peering over the roof at us.

A chill ran down my spine. I felt the pickup truck beneath me slowing down, seemingly unintentionally. A suspicion immediately arose in my mind: had the shop owner's wife, after we left, secretly gathered his friends to chase us down in a truck, intending to kill us in this desolate place, take our belongings, strip us naked, and bury us alive?

Dumo, who had been reaching for his pistol, suddenly pulled it from behind his seat. He smashed the right-side window of the pickup truck, pointed it at the shop owner clinging to the steering wheel, and said, "Quick, speed up, or I'll smash your head in. You're even greedier than me, Dumo, but you've messed with the wrong person."

Dumo was furious, forcing the shop owner to give him a chance, cursing viciously. "Dumo, warn him not to damage the truck. If he forces it to stop or damages the vehicle, shoot him in the arm or leg immediately. There's no need to kill him. Those thugs chasing us are nothing!"

Dumo yelled at the shop owner driving the truck, sounding annoyed. "Mr. Chase, these guys are too arrogant. Why don't we make him stop and snipe their pursuers?"

I picked up my binoculars, looked at the approaching truck, and seeing no signs of warlord forces, assumed they were just local thugs trying to rob outsiders. I casually said to Dumo,

"No need. Just shake them off. They look like they're in their thirties or forties. They probably all have wives and children. Killing one of them is just asking for trouble, destroying a family and harming innocent wives and children."

"Hmm!" Dumo reluctantly grunted, but not at me, but at the guys who annoyed him.

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