Blood Forest (Suspense thriller) (33 page)

The truck lurched, turning left at a sharp angle. Caught off guard, the man lost his balance and tumbled back into the passenger seat. His momentum didn’t stop there. Instead, he kept rolling, head over heels, to somersault out the still open passenger door.

Brandon squeezed back into the driver’s seat and took control of the truck as it stalled out and rolled to a stop. He stepped on the clutch and twisted the key, bringing the diesel engine roaring back to life. Raoul appeared in the open passenger door suddenly, talking in French.

He didn’t wait for Raoul to get in and the Frenchman got the hint, climbing into the passenger seat and shutting the door. He dropped the pistol in the front seat, having retrieved it from the passenger step. When Brandon looked over, Raoul pointed to the gun and asked a question. Brandon thought he understood so he shook his head. He’d never fired a gun in his life. Raoul nodded, picked up the pistol, and tucked it into his belt.

Gilles swung the rifle back and forth between his two opponents. The one lying on his stomach was nearly invisible from this angle, even when he fired his Glock. So Gilles locked an eye on the man with the assault rifle, who had to duck out from behind the tree to open fire.

He bided his time, firing only small bursts to keep the men on the defensive. Most of their shots went wide, but Gilles knew it was only a matter of time before one found its mark, even in the darkness and thick foliage.

Finally, a head peeked out from behind the trunk, as the soldier angled for a shot. Gilles took careful aim and emptied the remainder of his clip into the man’s chest. The mist that flew from his back looked black in the dim light.

At the same time, Gilles heard the second gunman go quiet, his Glock clicking uselessly. Both men needed to reload. This was Gilles’ chance. But a machine pistol was a lot easier to reload than an AK-47, especially in a cramped environment, so Gilles couldn’t stay to fight.

He got up and ran toward Delani’s position. They had to secure a position, Gilles realized. Either that, or organize a retreat and forget about the others.

He crashed through the trees until the plants gave way to the hacked trail. Gilles’ foot came down in a muddy tire track, marking the passage the tractor-trailer made when it came this way. At almost the same time, Delani emerged from the trees on the opposite side and the two stood face-to-face. Delani held a bloodied knife in one hand and his .38 in the other.

The glare of headlights lit the forest around them and melted the shadows. The diesel truck roared into view. The plan had called for the Jeep, but for some reason, Ike must not have secured that yet. The truck rolled to a stop between the two men.

Only Ike was left unaccounted for and if anyone could take care of himself, it was the Australian mercenary.

Maybe this crazy plan will work after all, Delani thought.

The corpse and his pack were a few feet away. He lifted both and carried them to the trailer where Brandon waited.

“We have to hurry,” the American called.

“Have you seen Ike?” Delani asked.

“No, but did you hear that explosion?”

Delani nodded as he plopped both items on the flat bed, next to one of the plane’s floats. “Get moving. You’ll need a good head start,” he told Brandon.

“You’re not getting in?”

Delani shook his head. “We’re waiting for the Jeep. Now get moving.”

Brandon hesitated, but stepped on the gas. The big truck slowly rolled forward.

But as Delani watched Gilles, a movement behind the Congolese mercenary attracted his attention.

Three rapid flashes lit up among the bushes. Three fountains of blood erupted from Gilles’ chest in a straight line.

Delani hopped up onto the trailer bed and rolled across it to fall to his feet on the other side. He caught Gilles with one shoulder as the man staggered. With Gilles leaning against him, Delani fired his .38 blindly. As he expended his clip, the weight of his friend drove him slowly to the mud.

Delani watched the silhouette helplessly from the ground as it darted out of the bushes and climbed onto the back of the trailer, speeding away into the night.

Ike abandoned the Jeeps and darted to the motorbikes. Just as he thought, they weren’t key operated. The approaching soldiers weren’t giving him enough time to sabotage these as he had originally planned. He would have to improvise.

Ike straddled one of the motorbikes, pausing to lift the grenade launcher for another shot. He didn’t pick a specific target, just aimed for the open ground between him and them. Another pop and then the clearing lit up once again. Hot air rushed past him as the ball of fire spread into the night.

The explosion caused more panic in the ranks of the
Askari Nahuru
and bought him a few more seconds to mount up and hit the kick-start. The engine rattled like a saw blade as Ike revved the gas. He spun the bike, shredding up dirt and grass behind him. The launcher lay over his lap as he sped across the clearing. The tires rumbled on the bumpy earth. Grasses whipped at the sides of the bike.

Automatic fire opened up behind him, but he didn’t look back. When he came to the edge of the clearing near the trail, he spun the bike to a stop.

Gilles groaned in pain and leaned heavily against Delani, but the truck had already sped off into the night.

“Where’s the Jeep?” Delani asked.

“Change of plan.”

“Change of plan?” he cried.

“Sorry, mate,” Ike replied.

As his mind sorted out a new plan of action—they couldn’t all fit on the bike—he heard the sounds of motors revving into action and the voices of shouting soldiers as they came toward him.

Ike’s eyes fixed on the approaching motorbikes first. Three of them raced across the clearing at full speed, armed soldiers on their backs. Ike dismounted his bike, kicking the stand in place.

He knelt on one knee, lifting the launcher to aim. The approaching riders lifted their own guns and got ready to let loose a stream of bullets. But Ike fired first, lighting the clearing with a tremendous explosion. All three bikes wove around the blast, the treads of their tires tearing up grass and mud.

“Get on the bike!” Ike shouted to Delani.

Delani nodded and guided Gilles to the propped motorbike. The wounded man limped over, miraculously able to walk under his own power.

As Delani swung his legs over, the lead motorcyclist opened fire with his assault rifle. Ike paused from loading his next and final grenade when he saw the flashes and ducked his head instinctively.

Delani grunted as something struck him heavily under the armpit. Blood sprayed out from the wound and the South African fell forward onto the bike. He bit past the pain and crawled onto the seat, letting Gilles on behind him.

“Get moving,” Ike insisted. “Now.”

He finally fitted his last grenade and raised the launcher one more time, determined to make this shot count. As Delani and Gilles peeled out, Ike squeezed the trigger.

The air between the two leading bikes burst into flames. The concussive force blasted one of them apart and threw the second rider clean off his bike to crash headfirst onto the ground.

The third motorbike sped through the explosion’s wake, straight toward Ike.

Suddenly alone and out of ammo, Ike dropped the launcher to the ground and darted for the tree line. As the roaring bike bore down on him, he dove through the thick undergrowth and collapsed to the mud on the other side.

Rather than pursuing, the third rider continued right past him, darting off down the trail.

Brandon drove as fast as he dared along the winding trail. The truck rattled and bounced with every bump. Behind him, the trailer squealed and groaned on its shocks.

He noticed Raoul glancing in the rearview mirror, a concerned expression on his face. The Frenchman twisted in his seat to look out the back. In his own rearview mirror, Brandon glanced out at the black night. Only one working brake light lit the view in soft red. But, before he pulled his eyes away to look at where he was going, he spotted movement, a dark silhouette on the trailer by his Cessna.

“We have company,” he told Raoul.

Raoul said something in French in reply, and then, “Brandon.”

When he looked back over at Raoul, the Frenchman was watching him. He unclasped the buckle to his seat belt and moved a hand to the door handle. “
Soigneux.
”

“What are you doing?”

Raoul held a finger to his lips and opened the door. One foot at a time, he climbed out onto the passenger seat step, holding tight to the doorframe. The wind blew his hair back and as the truck hit a bump he clutched himself tight to the metal. Through it all, his expression was serene, as though he was back in his kitchen cooking hash and potatoes.

Brandon didn’t know what to make of it. As he glanced forward again, his eyes caught a light in his rearview mirror. He focused on driving, at first pushing down on the gas to outrun the light. He soon realized that trying to outrun it was useless and, a moment later, a small motorbike with two riders sped right up alongside him.

He breathed a small sigh of relief when he recognized Delani.

But then another, similar light appeared behind him.

Maybe that’s Ike?

The sound of gunshots jolted his nerves. His eyes went up at a series of flashes in his mirror as the silhouette opened fire from the trailer. Round spider webs appeared in the glass at the back of the cabin, right behind his head.

Then the gunshots ceased and a series of cracks issued from his right. Raoul clung to the side of the truck, slowly attempting to climb around the cabin, a pistol extended and firing at the silhouette.

He saw the intruder scramble for cover behind the Cessna, even as Raoul climbed toward the trailer.

The second motorbike pulled up alongside the trailer. Flashes erupted from where the driver should be, spraying bullets in Delani’s direction. Delani swerved to dodge them, but the mercenaries were in no position to return fire.

Brandon swerved to the left. But the truck was too cumbersome and the trailer barely fishtailed.

Raoul pounded on the window, clinging onto the side of the cab for dear life.

“Oh right,” Brandon yelled. “Sorry!”

The second motorbike swerved back and forth on the trail, then backed off and cut behind the trailer, out of Brandon’s view.

Meanwhile, Raoul made his way around to the trailer and hopped into the bed, gun drawn and ready. The Frenchman’s face glowed red in the truck’s brake light as he scanned for the intruder.

Jean waved to the soldier on the motorbike. Zadu’s lieutenant crouched behind the disassembled wing of the Cessna, using it as cover. He held his Glock ready for a shot at the driver or the gunman who had just climbed from the passenger seat. In the darkness and with the bulk of the Cessna’s fuselage in front of him, he could see neither.