Blood Forest (Suspense thriller) Read online

  She nodded. She had been working up to that, but she didn’t want to seem overly demanding to an already gracious host.

  Before she could ask, Raoul said, “I have an extra room the two of you may share if you please.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “I am sure you’ll find the bed more pleasing than the mud,” he said with a wink. “The walls are thick, and I sleep like the dead so you’ll have all the privacy you need.”

  “Merci,” she replied, nodding respectfully.

  “You can stay here as long as you like. I enjoy the company.”

  “That’s very nice, but we were hoping—”

  Raoul hushed her with an outstretched finger. He walked across the living room to another room and stepped inside. He looked back at Sam and Brandon. “I hope you enjoy it.”

  She stood up and followed. The first thing she saw was a small box spring and mattress. Although the bed was narrow and would be cramped for the two of them, the promise of a soft sleeping surface sounded like heaven. She felt her eyelids droop at the wonderful sight.

  Brandon was beside her. “That’s for us?”

  She nodded and he tossed his head back, overjoyed. “Merci, merci, merci.”

  Raoul laughed happily. “There is water in the tub in the kitchen if you want to make yourselves fresh. I promise not to peek.”

  With that, he wished them good night and retired to his bedroom, singing a lullaby.

  However tired Sam felt, she joined Brandon in the kitchen for a few moments and soaked a towel with cool water from the tub. She kicked her sandals off and washed her feet, making sure to get the spaces between her toes. She sponged up her legs, dripping droplets of water over the infected spots. She got her arms next and then scrubbed under her shirt and shorts, plunging the towel under the fabric of her clothes.

  “You didn’t ask him about the plane, did you?” Brandon said as he lathered water onto his stomach and chest. Droplets fell to the floor and slipped between the wooden planks.

  “We can ask him tomorrow.”

  He kissed her on the forehead. “Okay.”

  When he pulled his lips away, Sam stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him back softly on the lips. She whispered quietly. “You know what I like about you?”

  “What?”

  “You always put up with me.”

  “You know what I like about you? You can hold a conversation with a man you don’t know for hours and not talk about anything.”

  She could argue that she had talked about plenty of important things, just none of it happened to be about their plane or their predicament. She buried her forehead into the crook of his neck.

  “Tired?” he asked.

  She nodded wearily.

  “Let’s get some rest.”

  10

  Ike grabbed Temba by the feet and yanked. The young man slid across the floor scattering twigs and leaves across the hut. He had been sleeping in the nude and now Ike had a full view of the man’s body, with his corded torso and strong legs and arms. Even though he stood well under five feet, he was tightly packed with muscles. Unfortunately, those muscles were relaxed and lazy after a long night’s sleep and were no match for Ike’s iron grip.

  “Wake up, Temba!” he shouted.

  In the bed next to Temba’s, Kuntolo lifted his head to see what was going on. He blinked unconcerned.

  “Let me go!” Temba shouted as he twisted and writhed, attempting to free his ankles from Ike. He beat the floor with his fists as he was dragged toward the small entrance.

  “We had a deal,” Ike cried. He dragged Temba into the bright morning sunlight where Delani and Gilles waited.

  The mercenaries stood with their arms crossed and their weapons hanging from their hips. Delani had replaced his lost machine pistol with a semiautomatic .38 from their back-up store.

  Ike let Temba drop between the mercenaries.

  Kuntolo emerged sleepily from the hut, to see what the deadly mercenaries intended to do to his friend.

  Temba slumped to the ground. He lay there for a moment collecting his thoughts then crawled lazily back toward the hut.

  “Temba!” Ike shouted. “You want your money?”

  Temba froze mid-stride, one arm hovering off the ground. He looked back at Ike and nodded. “Yes, of course. But let me sleep a little longer so I will be awake and be able to get you there faster.”

  Ike grabbed him by the shoulders to pull him back. The two wrestled. Temba tried pulling Ike into the mud; but the Australian was too strong and too well balanced, and the pygmy didn’t have the will to fight that morning.

  “We’ve waited for you an entire day,” Ike hollered. “You said you would bring us there yesterday.”

  “The village isn’t going anywhere,” Temba protested, half-heartedly swatting at Ike. “And the stupid magic flower isn’t either.”

  “We’re going to find this village whether you help us or not,” Ike reminded him. “We’re leaving in half an hour. If you’re not with us, you won’t get paid.”

  With that, Ike left Temba in the mud and stormed away, Delani and Gilles following closely behind him.

  Gilles asked, “Do you think he’ll come?”

  “He’ll come. He wants his money.”

  Alfred and Nessa had no intention of leaving without their pygmy guide, but Ike’s bluff worked. Temba showed up fully dressed, wearing a small bow over one shoulder. Kuntolo carried a spear and a bundle over his shoulder.

  The two pygmies climbed into the back of the Jeep without a word of greeting and Temba muttered quietly to Kuntolo, letting everyone know how upset he was.

  At Temba’s direction, the group set off, driving back down the dirt road they came from. Ike doubted the pygmy’s directions. They had come all the way down this road and not spotted any side roads or trails. But when he expressed his doubts to Temba, the young man just huffed and asked, “Do you want me to show you the way or not?”

  After twenty minutes Temba hollered for Delani to stop. Temba and Kuntolo hopped out and surveyed the tree line on the north side of the road.

  “What are they doing?” Nessa asked. No one answered.

  Ike watched curiously as Temba approached a patch of undergrowth and reached inside with both hands. He shook his arms, and as he did, the entire patch shuddered, leaves swaying about. Then he lifted the clump of leaves and vines into the air and carried it off to the side.

  An old muddy trail was revealed, partially overgrown and unused. Ike could see the imprints of tire tracks in the now hardened mud.

  “It’s a secret road,” Ike announced.

  “No wonder the village isn’t on the map,” Alfred replied.

  Delani glanced back from his spot in the driver’s seat. “It would seem the villagers come out on occasion.”

  “They would have to for supplies. It would be very difficult for a village to survive all on its own in the middle of the jungle. But why do you suppose they’ve hidden themselves?”

  “I think the militias might be a good enough reason,” Ike offered. “They didn’t feel like giving up their crops or their women.”

  “Or their lives,” Delani put in.

  “All that about a haunting,” Alfred began thoughtfully. “They could have started those stories to keep this place a secret.”

  Ike remembered what Temba had said. There is nothing in that forest for anyone. It is a bad place.

  Temba stepped down the trail and gestured to Delani. The South African put the Jeep in gear and pulled onto the muddy trail. The vehicle bucked and bounced on the uneven ground as shrubs scraped underneath. Once they were fully on the trail, Temba and Kuntolo hopped back into the Jeep.

  The trail was barely wide enough to accommodate the vehicle; the
shortest plants whacked the sides of the Jeep and pummeled its occupants. Their visibility was extremely poor, with walls of green rising up on both sides. To make matters worse, there were seven of them sitting in a vehicle originally meant for five and heavily loaded with supplies. Ike was wedged between Alfred and the now shirtless Kuntolo. He wished that he hadn’t given Nessa the front seat. He would much rather be wedged against her.

  The trail became so thick with foliage that the Jeep struggled to fight its way through. At one point, it stuck entirely and Ike, Temba, and Gilles hopped out to hack away the plants that twisted underneath.

  About two kilometers in, the undergrowth dropped back, allowing them an open view of the forest. A rapidly flowing stream twisted across the trail, forcing Delani to stop.

  “What’s this?” Delani asked Temba.

  The pygmy held up his hands. “No problem. I know how to get across.” He said something to Kuntolo and the two of them, once again, hopped out. They walked right up to the stream and looked across, whispering to each other.

  Delani silenced the engine. The sounds of the forest greeted them. Ike heard the distant cries of monkeys and birds echoing through the trees.

  After a brief conversation, Kuntolo backed away from the stream. He gripped his spear and tossed his bundle to the ground. He said a final word to Temba and then took off running. He sprinted right up to the stream, leaping off of a rock embedded on the water’s edge and sailed across, legs extended wide.

  He crashed heavily into the stream, the water taking his legs out from under him. He slipped in the water, splashing about as Temba stood on the shoreline laughing. Kuntolo crawled toward the opposite bank and out on the shore, dripping wet. Once there, he hollered to his friend.

  Temba’s back stiffened, and he straightened his polo shirt, making sure his bow was tight around his midsection. He glanced back and when he saw Ike and the others watching him, he smiled wide and took off running. He sprinted to the water’s edge and leapt at the same point Kuntolo had. He couldn’t make the distance either and crashed into the river. Ready for failure, he landed solidly on his feet and sloshed toward the shoreline.

  Kuntolo laughed, unconcerned that he was the wetter of the two.

  Once on the opposite side, they talked as they scanned the surrounding area. Temba kicked the dirt and Kuntolo prodded the ground with his spear. After some searching, Kuntolo struck something hollow and called him over. They both dug into the dirt.

  They lifted a thick wooden plank out of the topsoil. Grassy roots and gobs of mud rolled off as they tilted it into the air. The plank looked heavy and extremely long, at least four times as long as Temba stood tall.

  Together they dragged the plank toward the stream.

  “Will it hold the Jeep?” Alfred asked.

  “I’m guessing it was left there for a reason,” Ike said.

  Kuntolo froze, looking past Temba. Kuntolo pointed into the jungle whispering. Temba glanced over his shoulder.

  “What is it?” Alfred asked, but Delani hushed him, following the pygmies’ gaze into the trees.

  Temba and Kuntolo lowered the plank into the mud, setting it down. Kuntolo raised his spear, and Temba pulled his bow off his shoulder. He tugged a small arrow from a quiver at his hip and nocked it.

  Ike heard and turned to see Delani tug his .38 from his belt. Ike’s hand wandered to his Desert Eagle under his shirt.

  Temba crouched and crept forward, his eyes watching the undergrowth. He raised his bow and pulled back on the bowstring until it looked ready to snap. He released the string and the arrow vanished into the branches. A squawk and a crash were heard among the leaves, and Kuntolo threw his hands up, shouting in triumph.

  Delani relaxed and returned the .38 to its holster.

  Temba leapt into the bushes and, a moment later, climbed out dragging the carcass of a chicken-sized bird. It looked like some type of pheasant with long dark feathers. Temba held the bird up triumphantly by the neck.

  Alfred half-grinned. “Fresh meat for dinner?”

  “I’ve been craving a little barbecue chicken. How about you, Doc?” Ike replied.

  Alfred laughed at first, but his face hardened with one glance at Nessa. Ike had not noticed a change in her demeanor, the expression too subtle.

  “I wonder if they’re done fooling around yet,” Nessa said, her voice flat and quiet.

  Alfred stood up in the backseat. “Could we get moving, gentlemen?” he hollered.

  Temba nodded and handed the pheasant to Kuntolo. Then he grabbed the plank and dragged it. He wrestled with it, as the plank was more cumbersome to move alone, but he eventually splashed across the stream.

  Temba gave Delani a thumbs-up. “Ready.”

  Delani set the Jeep’s engine thrumming and shifted it into gear. The mechanisms lurched. They rolled forward and made their way across the plank, the thick wood groaning. They rose up onto the opposite bank, all four tires finding solid ground.

  “How much farther is it?” Alfred asked Temba as the pygmy climbed back in.

  “Not far,” Temba promised with a grin. “Ten more minutes.”

  11

  You’re so beautiful,” Brandon whispered under his breath. He stood on Raoul’s porch, gazing over the rows of maize. Sam’s white tank top shone brilliantly in the midday light. She wore a bright red cloth, tied at the waist, so it became a long skirt rather than a full body garment as it was intended. She must have gotten it from one of the Bantu women who she now followed about as they tore at vine-like weeds.

  He could barely hear their conversation, Sam’s words in English and the women speaking the Bantu language. Neither language nor cultural barriers could keep her from making friends. She’d almost fit in if it weren’t for the tank top and the bundle of blonde hair.

  A gravelly voice belted out a tune behind him. The screen door swung open and banged shut.

  “Bonjour mon ami.”

  “Bonjour.”

  Brandon turned to see Raoul step up beside him. He still wore his nightshirt from the night before, but he had thrown on some slacks. He held a bottle of palm wine in one hand, his eyes circled with dark lines. The sweet and sour odor wafted off him.

  Raoul held up the bottle. Brandon shook his head. “No thank you.”

  He shrugged and sipped from the bottle. The liquid bubbled as he tilted it back. When he finally came up for air, he wiped the back of his hand across his lips, exhaling breathily. He raised his bottle at the fields in front of him and spoke amiably in French. Brandon caught two words: “tres belle.” Very beautiful.

  Brandon wasn’t certain if he meant Sam or just the general view. He just nodded and grinned. They stood in silence, watching the villagers at work.

  Raoul turned to him and uttered a single word in English: “Breakfast?”

  He glanced at his watch. It was well past noon. He nodded.

  Raoul headed back inside, the door clattering behind him. Brandon gazed back out, easily spotting the bright white and the yellow of her hair. Sam stooped among the tomato plants, her now scabrous leg bent behind her, pink on brown.

  A cloud of dust rose up out of the jungle. Many villagers stopped to see what was coming down the road. He noticed a Bantu man slipping quietly through the shadows of huts until he reached Marcel’s. The village chief stepped into the town’s center. Several men stood behind him, tense and alert.

  A jungle green Jeep burst from the tree line, plumes of brown smoke trailing behind. The cab was packed tight, and two of the occupants looked white. When the vehicle stopped, a well-dressed pygmy hopped out and strode quickly toward Marcel. The two recognized each other and began talking.

  Brandon felt uneasy. An intimidating African man sat in the driver’s seat with a woman beside him. His eyes met Sam’s, even from halfway across the vil
lage. She pointed in the direction of the newcomers in case he hadn’t noticed. Whoever those people were, he didn’t want to draw their attention to him and Sam.

  He gestured for Sam to come over. Then, he turned and headed inside. He found Raoul in the kitchen, chopping up a potato. There was an open can of corned beef hash on the counter. The Frenchman hummed to himself as he swayed back and forth.

  “Visitors,” Brandon tried in English. “New people.”

  Raoul quieted his humming and slowed his swaying, making Brandon think he had been heard. But when he spun around he wore an unconcerned grin and gestured to the chopped potatoes on his cutting board. “Bon?”

  The screen door swung open and closed. Sam hurried into the kitchen.

  “Did you get a good look at them?” she asked.

  “Not really. Did you?”

  “One of them had a machine gun.”

  Raoul asked her a question in French. He guessed it had something to do with breakfast. She nodded and turned back to him.

  “Do you think they’re a militia?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. The pygmies led them here. They wouldn’t do that if these people were dangerous.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Besides, they had a woman with them.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that.”

  She turned and rose on the balls of her feet. “I smell something. Is that ham?”

  “Why don’t you ask Monsieur Devereaux?” he suggested, gesturing to their absent-minded host.

  She did so and then translated. “He says that he is already tending to guests so he doesn’t care about these new people. But he’s sure he’ll hear all about them before they leave anyway.”

  He nodded, feeling glad that Raoul wasn’t worried. The smell of salty hash and cooking oil filled his nostrils. He relaxed as he and Sam watched Raoul dance around his little kitchen. He was not the least bit surprised when Raoul went to the cupboard for another bottle of palm wine.