Almost an hour into the rough, unused road, we were surprised to find it joining a wider track that appeared to have only recently been gouged out of the mountainside. Nonoy screeched to a stop, his brows furrowing.
“Loggers,” he said simply.
“They’re not supposed to have reached here,” said Fil as he craned his neck out one side of the jeep.
Nonoy said something in the dialect as he drove forward and swung the Willys towards the right fork, following the freshly dug-up road marked with heavy truck tires.
“He says it’s the new company, Pardner,” offered Fil. “They have protection from the soldiers.”
In less than another hour, during which we slogged along no more than five miles past a couple of dried-up streambeds, we reached a scenic plateau ringed by low hills. A small road branche
