Gregoire was frozen in place on his knees, his rifle held at the ready as a dozen people raced by him. None saw him, and he barely had time to register their presence. They were all running at full throttle. He heard them thudding through the jungle for almost a minute before the first person dashed through some nearby moonbeams, revealing himself to be a skinny light-skinned black man wearing raggedy clothing, a thin beard and carrying a homemade spear. The rest followed through in a disorganized retreat: every man for himself.
Gregoire watched the last pair run by him, both women. He didn’t know what to make of the fact that the women had either been left behind or were taking up the rear. He watched them follow along in the footsteps of the men, vanishing through the moonlit jungle into the darkness in the direction of the small village.
Gregoire returned his attention to the group he had been following and saw that they had already begun moving off, away from the glow in the jungle and back toward where they had come ashore on the beach. For a moment, he considered following them back to the boat, but he realized quickly that that was not where the action was. Wherever they had originally been headed was the place to be, and that place was glowing brightly in the jungle on an uncharted island in the Bermuda Triangle. He gripped his rifle and began picking his way through the underbrush and trees, making his way toward the light show.