The lullaby continued, sweet and horrifying, as the team stood frozen in the tomb of drums. Lena looked at the mural one last time. The condor-woman seemed to be watching them, her scale forever unbalanced.
Dr. Hartman, the lead geologist, wiped his fogged-up glasses. “A nature preserve?” The lullaby continued, sweet and horrifying, as the
Lena laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “No, doctor. A cage. Thirty years ago, this valley was a war zone. Cartels, paramilitaries, the army—they all dug in here. They say the ground is more bullet than soil. After the peace accords, the government declared the whole valley a URAP. They cordoned it off. No logging, no farming, no mining.” “No, doctor
“It’s both,” Lena said. She shone the light on a wall. Among the chemical warnings and faded cartel tags, someone had painted a mural. A woman with the wings of a condor, holding a scale. In one balance pan was a handful of green leaves. In the other, a tiny, perfect human heart. The caption was scrawled beneath in faded red paint: URAP – Unidad de Restauración del Alma. The Unit for the Restoration of the Soul. In the other