Blood Forest (Suspense thriller) Page 12

  And then she shuddered, her body trembling as she bit back a scream. Her eyes closed again, her hand lifting to grip his forearm. He felt a pinch as her nails dug into his flesh.

  Her pleasure subsided, her body becoming limp. Her head turned to the side, gazing at the wall of the hut, effectively breaking the moment that had passed between the two of them; although she refused to meet his gaze again.

  Movement from elsewhere in the hut brought Ike to attention. One of his fellow mercenaries was moving. He took one last look at Nessa, but her quiet disposition and inability to make eye contact told him little.

  He sighed and returned to his bedroll.

  12

  The girl collapsed heavily onto all fours, her fingers sinking into the mud. Wet dirt flew up, spattering her bare legs and arms. All around her, the boys laughed, closing in. As she climbed to her feet, her hand brushed a branch caught in the mud.

  The closest boy sprinted, meaning to tackle her. As she got up, she swung. She caught the boy by surprise, the branch cracking him under the chin. His feet slipped on the wet earth, and he fell hard on his back. The other boys laughed hysterically as their fallen friend rolled in pain.

  The girl stood, grunting out harsh gasps of air. She gritted her teeth in an excited grin.

  The boys circled her, crouched and ready to pounce. She flailed the branch menacingly in the air a few times, causing some of them to fall back. Then, when she thought she saw an opening, she cried out and began running for it. Her stick dropped into the mud. She bolted into a full sprint, but one of the boys moved to close the gap. He leapt, landing on top of her and pushing her roughly back down to the ground.

  The girl screamed in terror.

  The boy began to tickle her violently as his friends closed in. Her screams turned to shrill laughter, and she rolled away, wiping clumps of mud off her body. Once on her feet, she walked off casually, gasping for breath. The boys no longer chased her. The game was over.

  “The girls pretend to be the antelope and the boys pretend to be the hunter,” Temba explained. “Are you ready to play?”

  Sam had asked for this. She had been trying to get the Bantu boys to let her join in a game of soccer. But when they had refused, Temba slyly suggested she try an Mbuti game.

  Temba had taken her and Brandon to the stretch of ground that served as a temporary camp, with tiny leaf and branch huts and several blazing fire pits. The BaMbuti were suspicious of the Americans at first, but with Temba’s, and subsequently Kuntolo’s endorsements, they warmed up to the strangers.

  Brandon grinned at her and said, “Try not to like it too much.”

  She checked her hair to make sure it was tied tightly, and rolled her makeshift skirt so it didn’t hang so low that she’d trip over it.

  “You better run fast,” Temba warned her with a grin.

  “I’ll run so fast you won’t be able to see me.”

  The boys eyed her, already beginning to fan out. One of the boys sprinted at her. She reacted a moment too late, and he pounced. He grabbed onto her leg and tried to pull her to the ground. The boy was young, and with her height and weight she easily overpowered him. She pushed him off, watching him fall into the mud. In the next second, she bolted. She twisted her body, pumping her legs fast. Her sandaled feet connected with the mud, suctioning up clumps and tossing them into the air. She could feel the boys not far behind and that drove her faster.

  She had plotted her escape from the very beginning. Boughs of green maize closed in around her, providing concealment. She spun on her foot as she ran, twisting between the stalks. She heard cries of protest from her pursuers. Maybe this was considered cheating, she thought. The sun was hot and the air felt hotter in her gasping lungs.

  She ran until her calves and thighs burned, the skirt brushing about her legs. She felt the itch of her rash only distantly. Confident she had lost them, she slowed to a walk, moving through the geometrical forest. Tall stalks stood in even rows allowing clear views at right angles but obscuring everything in between. Her eyes searched for movement in the boughs and she listened for footsteps. Had they given up the chase already?

  She had to keep moving or someone would pass parallel to her and she would be discovered. She caught motion out of the corner of her eyes. Kuntolo closed fast, the dark skin of his chest standing out in the green maize. He was shorter than Sam, but packed with tense muscle.

  She took off running in the opposite direction, a shrill scream escaping her chest as the hunter closed on her heels. Adrenaline pushed her forward, her feet slamming hard in the mud. She could barely draw breath. Wind and maize smacked her face and chest.

  But still he closed. He was too fast. She looked back as Kuntolo’s feet lifted off the ground, his arms stretched out grasping at her. She tried to outrun his pounce, but she felt something tug her skirt. For a moment, she feared it would rip right off, but instead she stumbled. Her knees struck the soft ground with a slap. She felt Kuntolo grip her ankle tightly.

  As she struggled, she let out an instinctual scream. Blood pumped through her body. She felt numb to the rocks scraping her legs and the throbbing in her knees. She kicked out with her free foot and felt the sandal connect hard. Kuntolo cried out, gripping his nose in pain. He let go of Sam and she staggered to her feet. She didn’t stop to see if he was okay; she just ran. She ran directly away from him—and that was her mistake.

  She should have known. The BaMbuti hunted with nets, Temba had explained. The hunters would drive their prey through the forest—into the waiting nets of their friends.

  And so Temba was waiting for her. Like an antelope, she succumbed to their trap.

  Temba leapt from the maize. His arms wrapped around her waist, pushing hard on her diaphragm and knocking the wind out of her. Her legs slid forward as her top half fell backward. She landed hard on her back, pain spiraling out from her shoulder blade. She groaned in sudden agony.

  Temba crouched victoriously over her, shouting out to Kuntolo. Sam struggled to catch her breath. Her lungs ached, her muscles burned, and she still heard her blood pumping in her ears.

  “How do you like our game?” Temba asked with a grin. He extended a hand down to help her up.

  “It’s much better than tag,” she said with a laugh. Her chest heaved from the excitement and exertion.

  Temba lifted her to her feet. Without hesitating, she slipped her heel behind his and pushed on his chest. Temba fell hard on his back, taken by surprise. He looked up at her curiously, but when she extended her hand to help him up, he smiled and took it.

  “You are a sore loser,” he accused her.

  “Yes, I am.”

  Kuntolo walked out from behind the maize stalks. He cradled his nose in his palm, wiping blood from it.

  “I’m so sorry,” Sam cried when she saw him. “Does it hurt?”

  Kuntolo muttered a phrase that drew a laugh from Temba. “What did he say?” Sam asked Temba.

  He shook his head and held up a hand. “Never mind that.”

  “Tell me,” she insisted.

  He seemed to be weighing something in his head. “He said that he feels bad for your husband. He says you’re not worth it.”

  She turned a playful scowl on Kuntolo, who glared at Temba. BaMbuti had a fun sense of humor, Sam decided.

  “I want to show you something,” Temba said. He turned away, gesturing for her to follow. She ran after him through the maize. The green plants rustled around them. At times, he got so far ahead that she saw only patches of color from his clothes. Kuntolo hadn’t followed; Sam and Temba were alone in the fields.

  Temba burst into an open area, Sam following close behind. She halted quickly, nearly tripping in a thick tangle of plants. How had she missed the clearing? The maize crops towered on each side, but the opening formed a wide path, stretching
from one side of the village to the other. Broken stalks lay in a green carpet across the ground. It was so dense that her feet didn’t break through when she walked.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “It’s the secret runway,” he explained matter-of-fact.

  “A runway?”

  “Raoul uses it to bring special things to the village. He covers it like this so it is hidden from the sky.”

  Her mind raced at the possibilities. Why hadn’t Raoul mentioned this before?

  “You could use it if your plane is fixed,” he went on. “You could fly away from here. But you cannot tell anybody. It’s a secret.”

  She nodded in understanding, shocked that Temba might defy Raoul to show her this. “Thank you, Temba.”

  He nodded and smiled.

  When they finally walked out of the maize fields, Brandon was sitting in the middle of the BaMbuti encampment. Two girls sat to either side of him, smiling and giggling. Sam felt a twinge of jealousy. The girls were mainly naked and they looked half his age.

  As she walked over, Brandon stood up. She still felt the excitement of the chase throughout her body. She barely registered the pain in her shoulder. She would likely have a nasty bruise.

  She explained what Temba had shown her. Brandon listened, curious and interested.

  “Now if we can just find a way to get our plane fixed,” he said.

  The encampment hushed around them as a man with glasses and a hook arm approached. Sam could tell by his clothing that he was not Bantu.

  He spoke with a clear English accent: “Hello, Temba. Kuntolo.”

  Temba returned the greeting.

  “You must be Brandon and Sam,” the man guessed. “My name is Alfred Tabibu.” Alfred extended his good hand to Brandon. “I’m here with H. Hurley International on a research expedition.”

  She asked, “H. Hurley International?”

  “It’s a pharmaceutical company, based primarily out of London. I must say, it’s interesting to find Americans in such a remote place.”

  “We got here by accident.”

  “So I’ve heard. We’d like to talk to you. Marcel told us you’ve seen the swamps near here. We have a lot of questions about that.”

  Ike watched Nessa from a distance. She sat by herself at the Jeep as she often did, her legs dangling over the side. She bit into a chocolate bar—one that she and Alfred kept in reserve. Cadbury. Exposure to high temperatures had stuck the chocolate to the wrapping and she struggled to pull the messy pieces out.

  She hadn’t spoken to him since the night before. She ignored him, treating him as icily as she had always done, as if the previous night had never happened. Half of him thought he should never have gone in there; the other half insisted he should have gone all the way. She had liked it. He was positive of that. For those minutes, her icy exterior had melted away, as if he was looking at a warmer, softer Nessa.

  He remembered the way her hips moved under his palm.

  Ike felt a firm hand on his shoulder and turned to see Delani beside him. The South African looked like he had just swallowed a bad batch of palm wine.

  “Stay focused,” Delani ordered. “Don’t forget who you work for.”

  “It’s funny you say that, mate,” Ike replied. “What do you mean?”

  “When this is done, she’s going back to her husband. And we’ll still be here in the jungle.”

  “You didn’t hear anything, did you?”

  “I heard her last night. Just remember who you work for.”

  “Know my role, is that right?”

  “I don’t trust her, not at all.”

  H. Hurley International, as Alfred called them, made camp in a Bantu hut in the center of the village. Temba remained firmly next to Sam and Brandon, showing everyone whose side he was on.

  “They call it Uya Kivali,” Alfred explained. “The name means ‘shadow flower.’ It grows deep under the canopy in the darkest, wettest areas of the rain forest. I’ve been looking for this plant for three years. I thought I found it once, but I was wrong. Now I hope we’ll find it in the swamps near here—the swamps your plane landed in.”

  “What’s so special about this flower?” Brandon asked, sipping tea from a cup.

  “It has curative properties. I have reason to suspect that it contains a phytochemical which may prevent viral protease from—”

  “It’s complicated,” Nessa interrupted.

  “Why don’t you tell them what it looks like?” the Australian suggested. “Maybe they’ve seen it.”

  Nessa looked at the Australian, and Sam sensed the air thicken with tension. The two regarded each other with contempt.

  Alfred described the flower: a species of orchid, ten overlapping petals, each of them white with a blue star. Sam didn’t recognize it. For her, flowers were beautiful things, but she didn’t trust herself to recall one in every detail.

  “Actually, I have a picture of the one I found two years ago. It’s not the same exact species, but I believe it’s a close cousin.” Alfred pulled a glossy photograph out of his pocket and handed it to Brandon. Brandon glanced at it, and then handed it to Sam.

  The vine-like flower matched Alfred’s description except this one had solid white stars on its petals instead of tiny blue ones.

  Sam shook her head and handed the photograph back to Alfred.

  “You haven’t seen it?” he asked.

  Brandon shrugged. “It’s hard to say. We saw a lot of new things out there. We weren’t exactly admiring the plant life.”

  Alfred nodded, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe as you were flying over, you noticed a particularly dense region; a thick area of canopy over a depression in the floor. Maybe somewhere the flower might grow.”

  Sam remembered the rapidly passing foliage as the plane dropped toward the black river. “Actually . . .”

  Alfred’s eyes lit up.

  “Now that you mention it, I might’ve seen something. It was near the river, near where we came down.”

  Alfred leaned forward in rapt attention.

  “I can’t really say for sure,” she warned. “I was trying to land a plane deadstick in the middle of a forest. I didn’t have a lot of time to look around.”

  “Granted,” he agreed with an easy smile. “Still, if there’s a possibility. There might be some drainage into it, but the floor wouldn’t be submerged entirely.”

  “Right,” she said with a nod. “I think I saw it.” She blinked as if the notion took her by surprise. “Actually, if you took me to that pond, I might be able to figure out a way to get there.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded.

  “Would you be willing to take us there?” he asked, glancing at them both in turn. “We would compensate you.”

  Brandon turned to Alfred. “Well. Here’s the thing . . .”

  Sam skipped lightly onto the porch. She turned to Brandon and wrapped him in a hug. The mud from her clothes got on his shirt. He lifted her so her feet dangled above the wood.

  Already, the heat of the afternoon looked on the verge of cracking. The sky would darken any moment and pour rainwater on their heads. The rhythm had begun to feel natural. Sun during the day, rain in the afternoon. It made the heat and the dust more bearable.

  She pulled away and pushed through the screen door into the house. “Oh, Raoul?” she called.

  The Frenchman stood by a window, looking out at the green jungle on the other side. He started, as if shaken from a waking dream.

  “How can I help you today?” he asked graciously.

  “I have a favor to ask of you.”

  He looked at her warily. “Ask.”

  “Will you come into the forest with us?” Alfred had agreed to take them to th
eir plane and get it back to the village. But they needed to know if Raoul could fix it.

  “I’m not a débroussailleur. I don’t go walking through jungles.”

  “I know that,” she replied. “But you must have come here for some reason. Why would you live all the way out here if you didn’t like the forest?”

  Raoul leveled a sober gaze at her. For the first time, she couldn’t see the glaze of palm wine over his eyes. “Because for five hundred Euros, I can live like a king. I even have my own pygmies. Isn’t that right, Temba?”

  “I am going with Sam,” Temba replied, unabashed.

  Raoul’s face soured. Sam glanced at Temba in surprise. He hadn’t mentioned his intentions before.

  “Please. We need your help if we’re going to get out of here. Can you at least come and see if the plane is fixable?”

  “I’m very busy.”

  “We have money, you know. We could pay you. Just tell me what it takes.”

  A slow smile formed on his lips. “I see that this is very important to you.”

  “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”

  “All I want from you is a kiss,” Raoul purred.

  “A kiss?”

  “Oui.” He thumped a finger against his cheek, turning his head.

  She stepped closer, up on the tips of her toes. “I can do that.” She pecked him softly on the cheek. The sour scent on his breath made her feel dizzy

  He opened his eyes and straightened. “It looks like I’m headed into the forest.”