Blood Forest (Suspense thriller) (20 page)

She shrugged, not speaking. Although she didn’t want him to leave, she also didn’t want to give too much away. Or show much interest. She had already allowed him the victory of hearing her voice.

“There isn’t a lot I don’t already know. Your father, the brown-haired man, is he dead? I can tell by the age of the photograph. No picture of a mother. Did you know her at all? I’m guessing you did, but you were much, much closer to your father. I also saw a picture with two of your siblings. You’re a middle child I’m guessing. A sister and a brother, both with dark hair. But you insist on coloring your own hair. A habit I hope you’ll grow out of. Your hair is soft and strong now. I would hate to see it stripped by chemicals. It seems to me that you go through great lengths to keep it that way. You tell everyone it is natural, don’t you?”

She saw his amused grin and frowned.

“Tell me this, Samantha. Why does a woman like you dedicate herself so much to her profession? Perhaps there is an emptiness inside you’re trying to fill.”

My profession?

“Where did you study?” he pushed. “In the United States? How did you end up with H. Hurley International? They are Britain-based, correct? I see why Alfred would take you as an assistant. It has to do with more than your knowledge of pharmaceuticals, doesn’t it? Maybe you weren’t hiding your ring at all. Maybe you don’t even bother wearing it.”

Sam couldn’t control the blood rushing to her face. She furrowed her brow in anger. She wanted him to know that his statement was dead wrong.

“Samantha. Does your husband know—?”

“Sam. My name is Sam.”

He didn’t finish his question. Instead, he grinned widely and stood up. “You may call me Guy.”

Guy walked toward the doorway and leaned outside, calling in another language. Footsteps thumped on the porch and then an Mbuti man stepped inside, his hair frosted white, his face gaunt. Sam spotted a scar along the side of his naked abdomen. An old gunshot wound since healed. In his hands, he carried a wooden bowl and a cup. Sam could see the steam rising off the bowl and her stomach rumbled in response.

“This is Bokenga,” Guy introduced as he led the Mbuti man over to her.

On Guy’s insistence, Bokenga crouched down next to Sam. She got a good look at his black eyes, tired and sad. He held the cup out to her first and, after a wary glance up at Guy, she took it between her palms. The water inside sparkled crystal clear. She tilted the cup back and savored the liquid as it slid down her throat. Fearful of being drugged, she tried to taste anything unusual, but the water matched the flavor of the wooden cup.

She finished the water quickly and Bokenga held up the bowl next. A brown stew with tiny chunks of vegetables and meat steamed up at her. She took the bowl and drank at the hot broth eagerly. They didn’t provide her a spoon, but she was content to sip straight from the dish.

Bokenga grinned slightly as he watched her eat.

“I’m glad to see you like your dinner,” Guy said. “You’re making me hungry just watching you.” He dismissed Bokenga and Guy once again crouched beside Sam.

“You look tired as well. I am sure you’d like a soft bed to sleep on. There is only one bed in this whole village. You are welcome to it of course. All you need to do is ask.”

Sam heard the subtle suggestion in his voice. “I’m fine right here,” she said between gulps of stew.

As he watched her, it occurred to her that she was at his mercy. If he wanted her, he could do as he pleased.

“Where is Brandon now?”

She looked up, surprised at hearing her husband’s name. “That’s none of your business.”

“Well then, Sam. I suggest you start answering my questions so I’m not forced to guess. How long have you worked with Alfred?”

She paused and looked at the half-empty bowl of stew. “Four months.”

“Really? Alfred seems to think you’ve been working together for years.”

Why would Alfred say something like that?
Obviously he had lied and identified her as his partner. Was it to protect Nessa, or to protect her? Whatever the case, Alfred was her ally in this, so it was better to play along.

She shook her head. “We’ve known each other for that long, but I’ve only been his assistant for four months.”

Guy nodded. His eyes always held the same distant look. She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not.

“Why do those Mbuti listen to you?” she asked. Better to ask the questions than to answer them.

“BaMbuti have no chieftains or leaders,” Guy explained simply. “They only have one master. The Forest.”

She raised an eyebrow, earning a look of satisfaction from her captor.

“Je parle français,
” she said after a moment.

“I speak English,” he replied.

“Your English is miserable.”

“English is a miserable language.”

Sam noted with frustration how her attempt at hostility only seemed to amuse him. He leaned closer.

“At some point I might trust you enough to unbind your wrists,” he said. “For now I don’t.”

“I’ll only run away.”

“Into the jungle? You’ll die.”

“I can handle the jungle.”

“Can you handle it naked?”

“What?”

His hand fell to her knee. His fingers grazed the skin just above the scabbed flesh of her infected calf. “If you are going to insist on attempting an escape I could remove your clothes. I have a feeling you’d think twice about it. All those poisonous plants and insects. And the hot sun. Not at all pleasant.”

“I wouldn’t care,” she lied.

“Really? Then maybe I’ll just do it.”

The conversation made Sam uneasy. She changed the subject. “Why do you live in the middle of the jungle?”

“It’s my turn to ask a question. Now, where is Brandon?”

“In San Diego.”

“Then I guess Alfred was wrong about that as well.”

“If Alfred already told you, then why are you asking me?” she asked, frustrated.

“Because now I know how you lie, Sam.”

“Is Alfred okay? Can I see him?”

He paused, mulling over his answer. He chose his words carefully. “You’re better off forgetting about Alfred from now on.”

“What? Why?”

“I only need one scientist,” he replied. “That is why you’re still alive.”

It all made sense. Alfred had lied about her working for H. Hurley International in an attempt to spare her life. For some reason, Guy wanted a scientist.

She chilled. “The only reason?”

He grinned. The hand on her knee slid up her thigh. Fingers slipped under the fabric of her shorts. “Perhaps not the only reason.”

She yanked her leg away and dropped the nearly finished bowl to the floor. “Get away from me!”

He scooped up the bowl and threw it at her. The wooden dish struck her on the shoulder and bounced away as she cowered from the blow.

“There are others in the forest,” Sam heard herself say. “They’re going to come get me. And I don’t care how sneaky or . . . or resourceful your pygmies are. They can’t protect you from these people.”

“You mean Brandon?” he asked. “The poker player? Or perhaps the mercenaries? Those who aren’t killed by pygmy poison will succumb to the forest. No one survives the
Msitu wa Damu.
They will become lost and die. It is inevitable.”

She glared, summoning her haughtiest look. “Everyone except for you?”

“Everyone except for the pygmies,” Guy corrected. He stood up and turned toward the door to the
baraza
. “And me, because I am their friend.”

He collected his rifle on the way out the door.

The moment he was gone, Sam struggled against her bonds. The tight thong cut into her wrists and she banged her feet angrily against the floorboards. Finally, she curled against the post, defeated, and began to cry.

19

I
t has to be tighter, for God’s sake,” Nessa growled.

She yanked the rope away from Ike and pulled the knot tighter, pressing the bandage against her wound in the process. Even as she tugged, she winced from the increased pressure.

“Just didn’t want to hurt you, luv,” Ike explained defensively, letting go.

“Do you want me to bleed to death, Ike?”

He didn’t reply, deciding to let her temper play itself out.

Instead, he watched as Nessa tended to her own leg. Occasionally, she requested some medical supplies: bandages, alcohol, and pain medicine, which he retrieved from her bag.

Raoul sat nearby, legs crossed. Beside him, Kuntolo’s body stretched out, eyes closed. The Frenchman wore a plagued expression, although his tears were at an end. Gilles stood at the edge of the camp, staring into the forest, pink and blue in the morning light. Although he held no weapon, he kept a serious vigil for any sign of danger.

“I . . . I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Nessa said after fixing the bandages.

Ike placed a hand on her cheek and gave her a crocodile grin. This time she smiled back. The warmth surprised him.

Delani emerged from the jungle, moving quietly for a man his size. Only when he stepped up next to Ike did he tuck his pistol away. “I couldn’t find the others. But I found these.”

Delani dropped three items onto the ground in front of Nessa and Ike. A shattered pair of glasses, a hook prosthesis, and a single sandal. “There was definitely a fight,” he went on. “But no sign of any bodies.”

Nessa picked up the bent frame that remained of Alfred’s glasses. She inspected them, noting the dried blood.

“How long do you suppose they were trailing us, waiting for us to split up?” Ike asked.

Delani shrugged.

“And now half of us are dead or gone.”

Delani shook his head. “Give Gilles his rifle back,” Delani suggested coolly.

Gilles looked up at his name. Ike stood up and unshouldered the rifle. He handed the weapon over as Gilles nodded in thanks.

Something rustled in the forest. Everyone looked into the green boughs. The sound had originated east along the river. Two pistols and one newly returned rifle raised and pointed in that direction.

Brandon stepped through the foliage. Tiny scratches covered his cheeks and his knees were bloodied, but otherwise he looked unharmed.

“Thank God. You scared the hell out of us, mate,” Ike said, lowering his pistol. He wrapped an arm around the exhausted man. Brandon leaned against him, grateful for the support. “He’s looking a little out of it. Get him some water.”

Gilles nodded and headed for the supplies. Meanwhile, Ike helped him sit down in the center of the camp.

“Where are the others?” Nessa asked him. “They were with you.”

Brandon shrugged weakly. “We were attacked. By pygmies.” His eyes glanced over Kuntolo’s corpse. “What happened?”

“Pygmies,” Ike replied.

Brandon closed his eyes. He ran a hand through his curly hair.

“Did you see what happened to the others?” Ike asked.

Brandon shook his head. “No. When they attacked we were separated. After that I heard Sam shouting in the forest.”

“So they might be alive.”

Brandon nodded.

“Still, we’re down four,” Nessa pointed out. “We need to head back to the village.”

“We
need
to go look for them,” Brandon argued.

“And get lost in the jungle?” Nessa asked. “If they’re out there, and Temba is with them, they’ll head back to the village. Our best chance is to go there.”

“That’s not true. We’re only a few hours away from the pond. Sam would lead them there.”

Nessa shook her head.

“Are you sure about that?” Ike asked. “Why would she lead them deeper into the jungle?”

“That’s just the way she is.” Brandon shrugged helplessly. “She’ll expect us to continue on. And after all of that, she’d still be thinking about the stupid plane.”

“Even if that’s true,” Nessa began. “She could be dead. And Temba would lead the—”

“Come on, Doc,” Ike interrupted. “None of that.” He made a slashing gesture across his throat.

“And what do you think Alfred would do?” Brandon asked. “Would he head back to the village? Or would he be out there looking for his flower?”

Nessa took a deep breath and acquiesced.

“Do we head to the pond then?” Ike asked. He looked around at a few tired nods, the last one belonging to Delani. “We better get moving fast. Who knows if those pygmy bastards are gonna come in for another attack? In the meantime, what do we do about Kuntolo?”

Several gazes turned to Raoul, who sat by the body. Delani walked over and knelt beside him, speaking to Raoul in French. “What should we do with the body?”

The Frenchman looked back at the mercenary for several seconds before responding. “The pygmies don’t care where they bury their dead. When they move on, the grave is forgotten.”

“Do you think we should bury him here?”

Raoul nodded.

They dug a shallow grave a few feet from the river. Ike and Delani carried Kuntolo’s body over and settled him in the earth. They covered him with a spare blanket. Then Gilles said a few words in French, an impromptu sermon. He led them in a prayer, again in French for Raoul’s benefit. He asked Raoul if he’d like to say anything. The Frenchman shook his head and remained silent. They covered the body, and Ike set a few stones on top. It made the grave seem less empty. Finally, Delani drove Kuntolo’s spear into the ground next to the upturned soil.

The whole thing stirred Ike’s heart. He felt the strain of loss, although not just Kuntolo’s. He almost imagined Kipwe lying in the ground next to the pygmy. He even remembered a few faces from Rwanda and placed them in the dirt too.

As Ike stared at the pygmy spear stuck out of the ground, Nessa stood beside him and he felt an arm around his back. He looked down at her shy expression.

With that out of the way, they walked along the river again. This time Brandon stood at the lead, eager to reach their destination. The American had a lot of faith in his wife’s abilities. Let him have that, Ike thought. At the very least, it would keep the man moving.

After a few hours, Brandon announced with certainty that they were almost to the plane.

They’d reach it before mid-day, Ike realized. Surely, the pygmies wouldn’t dare to attack while it was light.

Finally, the undergrowth thickened up ahead, and Ike spotted a hole in the canopy where light shone through. Brandon slowed to a steady pace, falling silent. He pointed through the undergrowth. They were at the pond.

Delani gestured for Brandon to fall back and, with his pistol ready, he led the way through the thick brush. Gilles followed close behind, leading Brandon, Nessa, and Raoul. Ike took the rear.

The tiny black pond rippled peacefully in the sunlight. Only at noon when the sun beat directly overhead did the rays reach the marshy water. A few logs floated scattered, torn asunder by recent storms.

The six of them walked out and stood along the muddy embankment.

No Cessna awaited them. The pond was empty.

Ike’s eyes scanned to the left where they fell upon a large open swath in the undergrowth. The plants and foliage had been hacked apart and run over by some type of vehicle. A wide corridor led off into the jungle.

“What?” Brandon ran right down to the pond, his toes splashing in the shallow water. “Where is it?”

He ran along the embankment and stopped at a gnarled tree. “Right here. This is where we tied it.” He stooped down and lifted a length of rope, sliced at the end. “Somebody came for it.”

“Pygmies?” Delani asked.

“Not unless they’re driving a semi,” Ike noted. He walked in the opposite direction around the pond to the giant gap in the foliage. “Was this here the last time you checked, mate?”

“The militia,” Brandon realized.

“I’d say so. By the look of it they came in here with chainsaws and a truck.”

“All to get some plane?” Nessa asked. “They cut through the jungle for a plane?”

Ike nodded, though the notion was hard to swallow. Cutting apart the jungle was no easy feat. It would have been a slow deliberate process. They must have wanted the plane intact.

“No sign of the others,” Delani noted.

“Not yet,” Ike agreed.

Brandon raised his hands to his mouth and yelled, “Sam!”

Delani moved quickly to hush him. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Gilles watched the foliage, gripping his rifle tightly.

Ike stood beside Delani. He spoke in a hushed voice. “Now we’ve got two groups in the jungle. I doubt the pygmies and the militia are working together.”

“We’d be in more trouble if they were.”

“True enough. But I still don’t like it.”

“No, not good,” Delani agreed. “We’ll turn around and head back right away.”

“While we’re here we should at least look for the flower,” Nessa suggested.

“It’s too dangerous,” Ike reasoned. “And we can’t afford to wait around here for the others either.”

“What are you talking about?” Brandon asked, joining them.

The three turned to him with guilt-ridden expressions.

“Come on. You can tell me.”

They hesitated, but Nessa spoke finally. “We can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous. The militia could be—”

Ike silenced Nessa with a raised hand. A tiny sound had reached his ears, a metallic scrape in the distance. Gilles held his rifle ready and stared at the forest.

Ike spun, eyes searching the green leaves.

A subtle movement caught his eye. Something thin and black peeked out between the leaves.

“
Get down!
”

Ike threw Nessa to the ground and spun, pistol raised. A series of cracks split across the peaceful pond. Bullets sliced through the air around them. Delani darted for the undergrowth. Brandon ran along the embankment, bullets pounding the mud behind him.

Ike fell to one knee, his body shielding Nessa. He opened fire with his Desert Eagle, placing his shots as close to the tiny barrel as he could. Explosion after explosion erupted in his hand and in the distance leaves tore apart and floated to the ground.

More muzzles flashed from within the foliage. Bullets splashed into the pond in a scattered formation.

Ike cried out as something ripped across his bicep. His blood sprayed into the air, even as the bullet continued its course. His grip on his pistol faltered, and he collapsed to his other knee.

Behind him, Nessa lay on her stomach, her hands over her head. Mud splashed up from bullet impacts and fell over her back.

“
Move woman!
” Ike yelled. As he did, he kicked her in the thigh.

Nessa climbed to her feet, arms still raised above her head, and ran for the jungle’s edge. Ike followed after her in a full run. He gritted his teeth, ready for another impact at any moment.

Then his arms broke through the foliage, and he dove over a fallen log, landing heavily in the mud. Nessa tripped over the same log and crashed to the ground beside him. Through the trees, Ike made out Raoul cowering behind a stump. From this angle, Brandon was nowhere to be seen.

Delani’s hand grabbed his shoulder. Gilles was right beside the mercenary boss. “You’re hit,” Delani noticed.

“Yeah, they planned a little ambush for us,” Ike said.

The automatic fire continued. Bark flew up from the log and fell in shards around them. They had to fall back from the onslaught before the bullets tore through.

Between the sharp retorts of automatic fire, Ike heard a familiar popping sound.

“Oh hell,” he said. “Move!”

Delani and Gilles scattered in different directions, seeking better cover. Ike lifted Nessa to her feet and threw her over the log, where she hit the ground again. He didn’t have time to leap, so he just tumbled over after her.

Fire and mud blew into the air. The concussive sound assaulted Ike’s eardrums and sent shudders through his bones. For several seconds after, Ike was deaf to the world around him. He tried to see up through the foliage. If only he could spot the man holding the grenade launcher and end his life. But the leaves were too thick.

“We have to move now!” Ike yelled, although he knew Nessa was as deaf as he was. He grabbed her by the shoulder and lifted her again. She held her ears, in a state of total shock.

As used to danger as Ike was, he had never faced a direct assault like this before. He pushed Nessa back over the log and deeper into the jungle. She stumbled as she still held her arms about her head. Ike stayed right behind and, to his left and right, he saw the others running deeper into the jungle also. Raoul weaved between the trees in full flight.

Militia soldiers kept right on their heels. Ike caught glimpses of them racing through the jungle, away from the pond and along the river, keeping up short bursts of fire.

Delani slowed, his .38 pointed back toward the militia, looking for a clear shot. It gave Ike and Nessa a chance to catch up.

“They’ve got us on the run,” Ike shouted, his hearing returned. “We can’t get away from them like this. They’re gonna keep chasing until they wear us out and then they’ll mop us up.”

“I know,” Delani agreed. “But we can’t fight them.”

“You’re right. We can’t. But we can slow them down. Make them hesitate and lose their momentum.”

They fled along the river, the running water to their left behind a wall of foliage. The canopy blocked out the sun and the undergrowth lessened, providing less cover. Ike spotted the soldiers more frequently through the trees. Nessa was gasping for breath, stumbling on her wounded leg.

“Keep running along the river,” Ike yelled. “Don’t look back.”

Gilles slowed to stand beside the mercenary. He held his assault rifle out at arm’s length. “You are better with it then me,” he said with a grin.

Ike considered then took the rifle and handed over his Desert Eagle. “Be careful with it, mate. Once you get far enough ahead, lead them across the river. That’s the only way you’ll lose ’em.”

Gilles nodded.

Ike and Delani ran at the back, the other four ahead of them. As they wove through a copse of trees, Ike stepped to the right, breaking away from the procession. The Australian mercenary pressed his back against the trunk of a thick tree, hoping none of the soldiers saw his little detour. He hugged Gilles’ rifle to his chest.

A few feet ahead, Delani did the same, but to the left. He cocked his .38, at the ready.

The sound of the others’ footsteps slowly diminished as they ran off ahead. Ike struggled to control his breathing. Every muscle tensed. Blood trickled down his arm, hot and sticky. He shared a look with Delani, who glanced out of the corner of his eye.