Five hours had passed since they arrived at Yantoto Hills, Zamfara State.
The sun was beginning to yawn its way toward the horizon.
The impatient bastard.
Deep inside the mountain, somewhere along Yantoto's eastern face, something groaned.
Not a normal sound.
It vibrated through the rock like something dying slowly.
Engines roared.
Chains screamed.
A metal frame dragged against stone, and the poor mountain seemed to remember something it had spent centuries trying to forget.
Then—
POP!
The loaders jerked forward.
Stopped.
Then they were violently yanked backward.
"Kill it, kill the machines!"
Lanre stood beneath the drifting dust, a backpack almost as large as his torso multiplied by six hanging from his shoulders. He leaned against a pickaxe and wiped sweat from his forehead. He Kinda looked like the hunchback man
Dust fell in thin sheets around him.
Endless.
Dancing.
Almost orderly.
And beneath it—
A shape emerged.
Rectangular, Long, Clean, deliberate, and definitely not natural.
Lanre saw it then greeted it with a grin.
According to the archeologist state laws, any unnatural phenomenon or findings should be handledd with the appropriate safety precautions.
An agreeable law, but not for someone who has been instructed to do the opposite, by a company which may or may not be working for the Olatunji clan.
Clan rule one: every order given by your superiors is irrefutable.
With a family to protect, he'd take full responsibility.
"GET THE DYNAMITE!"
It was going according to plan.
Everything was exactly how he imagined it.
Everything was—
.....
Wait.
Lanre looked around.
Nobody was moving.
The laborers stood scattered across the site, staring at him.
Why wasn't anyone working?
Why weren't—
A burst of laughter came from behind him.
"Omo."
Another voice cracked.
"You no fit throw bomb for here?"
Snickers erupted from every direction.
The workers tried hiding their mouths, but their laughter carried easily across the excavation site.
Lanre slowly turned.
Tony had one hand over his mouth, desperately trying to contain himself while waving the others into silence.
"The whole place will come..."
"... Oya, oya," Tony finally said, wiping his eyes. "Just put the explosives on standby."
He surrendered the last of his amusement with a long sigh.
Lanre stared at him.
Long enough to make Tony uncomfortable.
Then he slipped the backpack off his shoulders and searched inside.
The bag landed neatly against the bottom end of his pickaxe. Understand that the pick was vertically balanced.
The first miracle of the day.
"What is the difference between that and what I said?"
Tony frowned.
"What?"
"That." Lanre pointed toward the Labourers on their way to get the explosives. "You just said exactly what I said."
Tony blinked.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"I said get the dynamite"
"And I said put them on standby."
"Same thing."
"Not the same thing."
Lanre pulled out a can of Coke and stoned him with it.
Tony accepted it immediately.
"No, I saw your voice."
"My voice?"
"Yes. You wanted to strike a match."
Lanre stared at him.
"No, I didn't."
"You did."
"I said no."
"I said yes."
"I. Said. No."
"No?"
"Yes, no."
"Then... No."
Lanre stared at him for another second.
Then chuckled.
Just once.
Tony had somehow managed to sound exactly like Lanre's father.
Everything had to be his way.
Everything had to happen because he said so.
Lanre sometimes wondered what kind of person willingly carried the mountain that was being the head of a clan.
Who, with their own sanity intact, chose to inherit that burden?
Not him.
Definitely not him.
Lanre sighed.
The backpack slid from the pickaxe.
It hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Well, Tony was allowed some dreams, at least
Tony looked down.
"That bag contains our refreshments."
Tony opened another can.
"Which is a Fancy word for lunch"
"And lunch is another sweet one for food."
He crushed the empty can and tossed it aside.
Then immediately opened another.
Lanre stared.
"Slow down."
"Never."
Tony took several long gulps.
"I'm burning twice what goes in."
"Feels more like nine times."
Lanre crouched and began collecting the spilled contents from the backpack.
Tony was already opening another can.
"Seriously, though. Why are you carrying that thing?"
Lanre paused.
"Well..."
He fiddled with the backpack.
Not because he was fixing anything.
Mostly because he didn't have an answer.
The open bag stared back at him like a giant smile with tiny zipper teeths.
Inside, packets and cans sat beneath layers of supplies, their colorful labels looking like a collection of words waiting to be vomited directly onto his face.
"I'm already suffering," Lanre finally said. "What's another burden?"
Tony nodded thoughtfully.
"Fair."
A short, muscular man with a large belly suddenly appeared in front of them.
He was shirtless, wearing nothing but dirty jeans.
He approached carefully.
"Oga."
"Yes," Lanre and Tony answered almost simultaneously.
Tony answered faster.
Lanre noticed.
He didn't like that.
The man's expression had changed.
"We saw something."
Lanre straightened.
"Something?"
"Or someone."
Tony stopped drinking.
The man's eyes darted toward the trucks.
"They were inside the trucks."
Lanre's hand tightened around the strap of his backpack.
"Who?"
The man swallowed.
"They were asking for Oga Lanre."
Lanre looked at Tony.
Tony looked at Lanre.
For several seconds, neither man spoke.
The wind moved through the excavation site.
Somewhere behind them, one of the machines groaned.
And suddenly, the mountain didn't feel quite as empty as it had five minutes ago.