At first there didn't seem to be any problem. The other volunteers had ventured into town, backpacks only half full, never to return again before. Being possibly the only white worker that had no desire to leave the sanctuary of the farm meant that the only news received from the outside world had come from the volunteers. The locals either didn't know events outside their village, or didn't care, both of which, in the past, had suited Graham fine.
The Germans were the last to leave, guaranteeing their return with such basic supplies as fresh water (the well was running dry, also not uncommon) and chocolate, never to be seen again, before Lucas decided that something was definitely amiss. They had been new, they had only just begun their travels, but they were good to their word, too often proven in their short stay. Lucas swore to unseen deities in foreign languages and decided he'd had enough. It was time to leave for the town.
Graham had politely declined, arguing that someone needed to stay behind to tend their crops and gardens. Lucas seemed hesitant at first, but eventually accepted, if not a little crestfallen. It was only later, far too late, that Graham would admit he was simply too afraid to leave.
When Lucas had not returned there was no other decision left. Trekking through the humid jungle he had grown to love with his city boy heart, Graham trail blazed into town. He had expected civil unrest, possibly evacuation of western citizens, at worst an epidemic of which he would be quarantined. But at the least to be reacquainted with his dear friend Lucas.
What he found was nothing at all. Not a man, foreign or native, not a dog, not a bird, not an even an ant. It was as though the town foundations had up and left, taking every occupant with it. Either that or the opposite; the town had been leveled to dust, to cover every trace of something vial, and the perpetrator had only just left, and could possibly return.
The last thought Graham had before he lost his mind was; I will need more supplies.
The mourning was expressed on the first night into a harmless tree. The bruises on the knuckles turned the angry black of midnight before beginning to show signs of healing. He didn't mind, it was always a reminder of the worst decision of his life.