Blood Forest (Suspense thriller) Page 15

  “Don’t trust everything you see or hear,” Sam added.

  Streaks of blue light filtered through the canopy, lighting the twisting trail ahead of them. The ground sloped downward, becoming flatter and less hilly. They had passed the point where they originally encountered the BaMbuti girls. At such a rate they might reach the river before being forced to camp.

  Raoul whistled a tune as he strode off to the side. Delani and Gilles were at the rear, backs bowing under the weight of the packs. They kept their eyes as much on the procession as on the forest. Nessa and Alfred walked side-by-side, whispering to each other at times.

  They didn’t rest much. It surprised Brandon how little they stopped. But when he regarded the muscled frames of the mercenaries and the lithe bodies of Kuntolo and Temba, the only one who really surprised him was Raoul. For a drunk, he was in good shape.

  The sky darkened overhead, preparing for its customary rain. They continued their march unconcerned, even when the raindrops drummed the canopy overhead. After staying in the village so long, the forest rain felt mild and cool. The air refreshed him.

  Soon they passed the campsite they had used their final night in the jungle. Sam paused, recognizing the surrounding foliage and a light imprint on the ground made by their tent. As Brandon gazed at the dark soil, he felt a familiar presence return. His eyes scanned the nearby forest.

  “We should move off the trail soon,” Temba suggested.

  “I thought the trail led straight to the river,” Alfred replied.

  “It does,” Sam said.

  Temba put a hand to his chin. “The place ahead is not good.”

  “All right,” Alfred declared in frustration. “We didn’t ask you to come along. And I’ve had enough of your vague warnings. If there’s something out here for us to be concerned about, then you bloody better tell us now.”

  Temba and Kuntolo conversed briefly. Nearby, Raoul cocked his head, apparently catching snippets of conversation.

  “It’s because of the campsite, right?” Sam asked.

  “What’s this campsite?” Nessa asked.

  “Brandon and I found an old abandoned camp on the river. We’re pretty sure it was BaMbuti. The huts were burned down, and there was a grave.”

  “What kind of grave?” Alfred pressed.

  “An unmarked one,” Brandon explained. “Big enough for a lot of people.”

  “It is a bad place,” Temba insisted. “It is better to forget.”

  Brandon suggested, “We can press through the jungle and head straight to the river. If it doesn’t get too thick it might even save us some time.”

  “That sounds like a fine idea,” Ike replied.

  Alfred nodded in agreement.

  Temba guided them off the trail.

  15

  Gilles hummed under his breath. The last few notes hung in the air, unvoiced. Something startled the mercenary as he sat. He sensed they were not alone in these woods. Something nearby stalked them, dogged their trail, and waited to strike. He felt those eyes as certainly as the humid air.

  Behind him and several yards off, the campfire blazed, a sphere of soft light surrounded by thick blackness. Clouds blackened the sky so not even starlight shone through. The vegetation in front of him writhed with dark shadows, stirred to life by the movements of the trees and his imagination. He sat far enough away from the encampment so that the campfire didn’t obscure his night vision. That left him feeling alone on his watch, only the distant noise of chatter telling him otherwise.

  The log he sat on was saturated with rain from earlier in the night. The wetness soaked through his pants and into his backside. He barely registered it; everything was wet in the rain forest. He heard the raindrops trapped in the canopy overhead pattering their way to the jungle floor.

  A few vines hung like the black tendrils of a demonic beast, swaying slightly in the breeze.

  Somewhere behind him a pistol chamber clicked, echoing all around. Delani sat on the opposite side of camp, cleaning his .38. If Gilles hadn’t known that fact, the sound might have alarmed him. Gilles had long ago learned to trust his instincts. He reached down to where his assault rifle rested against the log and grabbed the leather harness, lifting it to his shoulder. The familiar weight made him feel less vulnerable.

  A light sprang to life up ahead. It shone with the bright white intensity of a flashlight, yet didn’t project an outward beam. Gilles blinked twice to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. The small sphere drifted as if on a breeze, bobbing between the branches of undergrowth. He could see where the dim light shone on the ground underneath and the nearby leaves. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make out the source. No flashlight, no string suspending it, nobody standing behind it. It was as if the light existed entirely on its own, floating three feet off the ground.

  I see you.

  Gilles sat up quickly. He lifted the rifle, holding it in front of his chest. He spun to the left and the right, glancing over his shoulder. He heard distant conversations carried on the breeze. To his rear, the campfire glowed, and on all other sides there was nothing save for the swirling shadows of the black forest. Straight ahead the ghost light danced and wavered.

  Gilles watched it with a heavy ounce of suspicion. What could cause such a strange light? The edges of the sphere faded into the surrounding darkness as if existing in a different place. The light moved suddenly through the vines directly toward him. Gilles tensed, pointing his rifle forward. The rough surface of the grip was coated in a fine layer of moisture from sweat and humidity. His fingers slipped a little.

  Would bullets affect such a thing?

  “Who’s there?” His voice trembled.

  Who’s there? I see you.

  Gilles’ fist tightened. He stood up slowly, crouching near the log. His eyes remained fixed on the light, no longer daring to look away. He remembered the words of the American woman. Don’t trust everything you see or hear.

  Could he be imagining this?

  He dismissed the thought. He saw the light as plain as day. The detail was too perfect, too real. Even the way it illuminated the nearby branches, looking like a sparkler suspended in midair.

  Have a look.

  He took a step forward, placing his feet lightly between the roots and twigs. He knew how to move without being heard.

  Just a little look.

  As he approached, leaving the warmth of the fire behind him, the ghost light began to retreat. It wove through the vines, darting to the right and causing him to pause. Gilles considered calling back to Delani. But what would happen if this were in his head? Or if the light vanished? The others would doubt him. Better to see if it was real first.

  He moved again, following the light as it retreated into the jungle. He pressed his way through the undergrowth, pushing aside vines with the barrel of his rifle. Every so often his foot crunched on an unseen twig. He kept moving and as he did, the light moved faster.

  This is not good. Head back to the fire, he told himself.

  Just a little farther. See where it’s going.

  Gilles shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He stood for several moments, deciding which way to go. The light blinked out. He spun around, but the foliage had closed in around him, blocking out the glow of the campfire. What little light shone down from the sky only made the shadows deeper.

  They had set up camp when they reached the river. The night darkened quickly in the forest and it became impossible to navigate. They camped a short distance from the river, the line of undergrowth that hugged the embankment obscuring their view of the water. It didn’t matter because the firelight became the limits of their tiny bubble of existence. Everything else was unknown.

  Sam and Brandon invited Temba to their tent. He gladly obliged, leaving Kuntolo to
cook tomatoes and beans at the fire. Sam hoped that privacy would loosen Temba’s lips. She suspected that he wanted to tell them what took place at the abandoned campsite.

  They sat inside, Sam leaning against her husband. The tent flap hung open so that the warm light could find its way in. Temba’s face glistened, fiery orange on molasses brown.

  “I heard the tale from Kuntolo’s father. He is friends with Mbogo, the man whose camp you discovered,” he explained. “It happened during the dry season, right before the honey season. During the honey season, all hunting stops and the BaMbuti go on trips through the forest looking for honey. It is a very happy time when there is always plenty to eat. We always look forward to it, because it means we’ll be eating well.

  “As Mbogo and the other men were getting ready, they decided that it was a good time to organize one more hunt. That way they could have meat to eat with their honey and something to give to the villagers if they needed supplies. So the men gathered up and got ready to leave. Mbogo’s family hunts with spears and bows instead of nets. They poison the tips of their arrows to kill larger game. Because they don’t use nets, there is no reason for the women or children to hunt with them. When they go out on the hunt, they leave the oldest men behind to watch the camp.

  “While the men were gone, some of the women went to the river to clean and gather water. That was when the soldiers found them, men from one of the militias. There were a lot of them, and they were armed with guns and looked very strong. They pointed their guns at the women and told them to be quiet. Of course, they listened. Then the soldiers forced the women to have sex with them, telling them they would be killed if they did not.”

  Brandon’s arm slid around Sam. Her eyes stayed locked on Temba. The young man’s face showed intense sadness.

  “You see, the militias believe that they can be cured of their illnesses by having sex with a pygmy woman,” Temba explained.

  Sam chilled at the thought, snuggling closer to her husband. The men raped them to cure their diseases. In the process, what kinds of diseases were they passing onto their victims?

  “When they were done they told the women to take them back to the camp,” he continued. “When they got there they made everyone get together and they began to shoot them. Some of the women and children ran and hid, but most of them were killed right there.”

  “How many?” she had to ask.

  “I don’t know the number.”

  “How long ago was this?” Brandon asked.

  “Two years,” Temba replied. “I am not finished.”

  They apologized and fell silent, letting him continue.

  “The soldiers lit a giant fire made from the pieces of their houses. Then they chopped up some of the bodies and put them on sticks. They cooked them and ate them. They believed that eating the flesh of a pygmy would give them power over the forest. They think that they can steal the pygmy’s magic this way.”

  Sam cringed at the gruesome thought. Her mind drifted back to the small clearing with its gorgeous colors and trickling brook. It had seemed so peaceful and beautiful at the time. Now its memory unsettled her stomach. She remembered the patch of turned earth. She had walked right across it before she knew what it was.

  “I can see why the BaMbuti would want to move away from the villages,” Brandon said. “They have a very good reason to want to return to the forest.”

  Temba nodded. “In the forest they are safe. Out there, there are only the animals and the other BaMbuti. No villager, no soldier can find them.”

  At least for a while, Sam thought. If the fighting ended, there would be loggers. The BaMbuti could not hide forever. The world might sweep them away. She wondered if Temba feared the same thing.

  “Has anyone ever talked about going back there and giving them a proper burial?” Sam wondered what kind of funeral customs the BaMbuti had.

  Temba shook his head. “Why? What is the point? They are dead. Gone forever.”

  Temba’s face twisted in sudden confusion. He swatted the air near his ear with one hand, becoming animated. He rose up, glancing about at the corners of the tiny tent. His eyes searched for some invisible object.

  “What is it?” Sam asked, sitting up.

  “Do you hear that?”

  She listened and heard nothing. Brandon shook his head.

  “I hear a bee,” he said. He again swatted at his ears, growing more confused when he didn’t connect with anything. “It sounds like it is right by my ear.”

  “I don’t see anything,” she said.

  But Temba did not relent. He crawled quickly to the tent flap, drawing the zipper shut. Then he sat back down and listened again. With the tent flap closed they were left in darkness.

  “You can’t hear it?” Temba asked.

  She strained, searching for a noise. She heard the distant sound of running water and even faint whispering from the tent nearby.

  Something brushed against her leg. Leathery skin twisted against her ankle. Startled, she yanked her foot back, tucking her legs underneath her. An angry hiss rose up in the tent.

  In the darkness, a black, ropelike silhouette rose into the air between the three of them. It wavered, fully supported even as it reached a height of three feet. The serpent lunged and Sam tumbled backward over Brandon. Temba was up in a flash.

  The lunge proved to be no more than a warning. The snake was back up, hissing out a threat. Its eyes locked on Sam, and it moved toward her. She could not believe the strength in the muscles that held the creature’s head so high up, towering in the tall tent. It loomed over her, ready to strike.

  Brandon lifted a blanket and tossed it over the snake. The heavy wool crashed down on the serpent’s head, tugging the creature down. She could see the lump in the fabric where the snake pushed angrily, trying to escape.

  But before it could slip out the sides, Brandon threw his weight down on the blanket, pinning the corners with his knees and hands. The snake’s body whipped around underneath as it searched for a way out. The blanket was slack on the sides. It was only a matter of time before it found one of those holes.

  Temba jumped down, blocking off one exit with his arm and reaching out across with the other. Sam did the same. Moments later, the serpentine head crashed against her arm, her skin protected by the blanket.

  “Hit it with something!” Temba cried.

  Before anyone could act, the snake turned around and with incredible speed lunged out of the opposite side. Once free it twisted back, fangs bared. All three of them leapt back trying to keep away from its angry mouth. Sam’s feet twisted in the blankets, slowing her escape. She crashed down helplessly.

  The snake turned on Temba. As it lunged he leapt back, crashing into the side of the tent. Metal snapped, cracking loudly, and in the next instant the entire tent came down on their heads. Sam flailed her arms, drowning in a nylon sea. The snake’s hissing never ended, and as she struggled to get out, the tent tugged back, yanked by the struggles of the three others.

  Something struck Sam’s leg. Her heart leapt.

  She heard fabric ripping nearby. A hand squeezed her wrist. At first she tried pulling away. But the hand was too strong. She was yanked roughly, nearly tugging her arm from its socket, and soon she was sliding out across the muddy ground.

  When she looked up, Ike stood over her, one hand wrapped around her wrist and the other hand holding a long knife. Nessa stood to Ike’s right, looking bewildered. Ike looked back to the tent with cold determination.

  Sam propped herself up on her elbows and watched as Ike ran back to the pile of fabric that remained of the tent. Inside Brandon and Temba flailed and the snake hissed. Ike dug the knife into one side of the pile and tore the nylon in one broad stroke. Brandon rolled out of the opening and Ike pulled him roughly to his feet.

  Alfred, Raoul,
and Kuntolo appeared behind Sam. Alfred struggled to put on his glasses.

  Ike circled the tent, moving toward the last form. He jabbed the knife roughly into the tent and cut a third gash. Temba sprang free, crawling away with all haste. A green serpent slithered after him, gliding over the muddy ground. It lifted its head to strike Temba’s backside.

  But Ike proved faster. He swung the knife in a wide arc, the long blade connecting just under the serpent’s chin. The hissing stopped and something popped. The cordlike torso fell heavily onto the ground, twisting about aimlessly. The serpentine head bounced away, fangs snapping a few times before life faded completely.

  Brandon gasped, holding his chest. He wiped the mud from his body. Sam did the same as she climbed to her feet. She watched the ground cautiously, alert for another snake.

  “The snake’s dead,” Ike said.

  “That’s not a snake,” Temba protested. “Mamba.”

  Sam had heard stories of the black mamba, the most venomous snake in Africa. But this snake was green.

  Alfred walked over cautiously to inspect. He bent over and prodded the snake’s body with his hook. The serpent remained limp and headless. “Was anyone bitten?” he asked, looking up.

  Sam, Brandon, and Temba all shook their heads.

  The chemist breathed a sigh of relief. “Its venom kills in less than five minutes.”

  Sam chilled, remembering the feel of its leathery skin on her ankle. Around her, every stick and vine wanted to spring to life in the form of a green snake. The babbling of the nearby river even sounded serpentine.

  “I can still hear it,” Brandon said.

  “Hear what?” Alfred asked.

  “It’s a buzzing,” he replied. “It’s not a bee though. I’ve heard it before.”

  Alfred shook his head, confused. “I don’t hear it.”

  “I do,” Nessa said. “I hear it. I’ve heard it before, too. It’s not a bee. It’s in your head.”