Blood Forest (Suspense thriller) Page 17

  “How are you holding up?” he asked.

  “Just lovely.”

  A few moments of awkward silence passed, until she looked up at Ike. “How well do you know him?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Nessa nodded to Gilles. The sullen mercenary walked with his arms at his sides, looking more like a captive than a party member.

  “I’d say I know him pretty well,” he replied. “Why? You think he has a screw loose?”

  “I’m just curious as to how prone to superstition he might be.”

  “Well, it’s pretty common out here.”

  “Maybe superstition is the wrong word,” she replied. “Imagination.”

  “Look, I’m not sure if I’m ready to go believing in ghosts or anything either, but if you’re asking if I think he made it all up, I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Hm.”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Ike spat accusingly. “Delani, Gilles, and me. We’re just a bunch of meatheads. Or Muppets or whatever it is you like to say. We’re not smart thinkers like you and Alfred. We believe in crazy things like aliens and goblins.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but you meant it,” he replied. “Well, good for you and your college education. I’m glad you’re here to sort it all out for us drongos.”

  “Don’t think you know me,” she protested. “Just because—”

  “Just because what?” Ike asked. “Because we shagged a few times?”

  She stopped walking, glancing nervously at the others. Luckily they were too far away to hear the conversation.

  “Does your fiancé even know you?” Ike went on. “Poor bloke has no idea what he’s getting into.”

  “Every time I think I know what level of stupidity you can sink to, you find another one,” Nessa hissed.

  She walked faster, moving ahead of him. Ike tried to follow at first, but if he pursued her further, he would end up making a scene. As the moments passed he felt shame setting in. He ran both hands over his scalp.

  “Nessa, wait,” he called. He cleared his throat. “Ms. Singer.”

  She stopped and looked over her shoulder. She let him catch up to her. “What is it?”

  “I’m sorry. I should apologize.”

  Nessa narrowed her eyes. “You want to apologize to me?”

  He nodded, feeling every part the dumb oaf. “I’ve got no right to talk to you like that.”

  She stared at him in disbelief.

  “You’re right. I don’t really know you all that much.” Ike swallowed hard, wondering why this was so goddamned difficult. He was acting like he’d never talked to a woman before. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to get to know you more.”

  Nessa seemed taken off guard. She looked away at the darkening forest. When she turned back, the coldness returned. “Be serious, Ike. You don’t want to get to know me. You’re just horny.”

  Ike felt like he’d been slapped in the face. She didn’t give him a chance to respond, moving up to walk beside Alfred.

  The Australian adjusted the rifle on his back, feeling comfort in its weight.

  “This is the tree,” Sam confirmed. “You can still see where the flare hit.”

  “You’re sure?” Alfred asked. “Baboons are highly territorial.”

  She nodded, circling the base of the tree. She stepped carefully between the twisted roots. They had moved away from the campsite to investigate, using only Brandon’s flashlight to see in the darkness. With night around them, the noises of the forest multiplied tenfold. Every insect sang in their ears. Every animal call sounded crisp as a gunshot.

  “How close are we to your plane?” the chemist asked as he examined the surrounding canopy.

  “Probably a five-hour hike,” Brandon offered.

  “Do you think we can see the swamp from here?”

  Brandon and Sam exchanged glances. Alfred had a hopeful look in his eyes. Sam shrugged.

  “I wish I could get up there,” Alfred said thoughtfully, following the tall trunk with his eyes.

  Temba, the fourth and last of the group to leave the campsite, spoke up. “I can climb that.”

  Alfred turned to the pygmy in surprise. “You really think so?”

  Temba nodded, giving the chemist a cocky grin. “It is not so hard.”

  “Could you climb up there and see if you can find a place where the ground dips?”

  Temba shrugged and nodded. He moved straight up to the big, thick trunk and grabbed the twisted bark. The branches didn’t begin for quite a ways up, but he found grooves and bumps in the bark.

  Brandon shone the light up the tree, hoping to give him a good view of where he was going.

  “Be careful, Temba,” Sam called.

  “Listen to her, please,” Alfred echoed. “I’ll feel terrible if you kill yourself because of me.”

  Temba’s voice echoed down. “Don’t worry. It is not hard.”

  As he spoke, bark exploded under one of his feet and his whole body slipped. Sam took a helpless step forward as if she meant to catch him, but the agile man held on with his strong arms. He glanced down to see their worried looks and laughed.

  Alfred, Sam, and Brandon waited at the base of the tree. It was not long before Temba’s body disappeared into the shadowy upper branches. He climbed halfway up the tree, not bothering to get close to the canopy. Whatever he saw from that height seemed to be enough, because he reversed direction and climbed down.

  A few minutes later, he hopped down, landing expertly between the roots. Brown chips of bark colored his white polo shirt.

  “Well, did you see anything?” Alfred asked.

  He nodded. “The whole forest goes down over there.”

  “Excellent work!”

  “How far away is it?” Sam asked.

  “Not far,” he replied. “We can get there in no time at all.”

  Brandon looked in the direction Temba indicated. It would take them straight away from the river and any landmarks that would lead them back to the campsite. “Are you sure you can find it in the dark?”

  “Of course,” the Mbuti replied with confidence.

  “Please, let’s head that way,” Alfred insisted anxiously.

  “It will still be there in the morning,” Brandon argued.

  “If you’d like to head back to camp, then by all means do so.”

  Brandon looked to his wife. She knelt to tug a loose root free from the soil. The stick looked thick and strong, and she held it like a club. She smiled at him, an adventurous look in her eyes.

  He said, “All right. Why don’t you lead the way. Temba?”

  Temba walked quickly through the forest, his small bow draped across his back. Brandon kept the light pointed straight ahead. The white beam caused shadows to creep and dance across their vision. Sam and Alfred walked on either side of him.

  They tripped on roots and branches. Except for Temba, who seemed to have an uncanny sense of where every obstacle would be, even in the darkness. As time went on, Brandon sensed that they were getting far away from camp. He wondered if the mercenaries would be able to hear their shouts from such a distance.

  Temba stopped suddenly and gazed ahead into the darkness. As Brandon and the others moved up to join him, Brandon’s light revealed a gradual slope in the jungle floor. The descent continued beyond the range of his light.

  Alfred bent down, feeling the soil with his fingers. He pulled up some of the black dirt and held it in his palm. “This is perfect,” he whispered. “Cheers, Temba.”

  “You think the flower can grow here?” Temba asked.

  “It’s possible. The environment is right so far. But we need to see what’s at the bottom.”

  Temba nodded and
walked further. Brandon got ready to follow, but the Mbuti only made it three steps before freezing.

  “Did you hear that?” Sam whispered.

  A subtle sound rang in Brandon’s ears. It was somewhere close by.

  Temba spun around searching the forest, his arms out to the sides. Brandon pointed his flashlight into the darkness, watching the shadows dance between the leaves.

  “We’re not alone,” Alfred whispered.

  Temba took a few steps back. “We need to go back.”

  Ike heard footsteps move up behind him. He half-expected to see Delani, until he remembered that the South African had already retired to his tent. One skill Delani possessed was to fall asleep on command. It made keeping watch cycles easier because Delani got the rest he needed so he could take the odd watch.

  A feminine form appeared beside Ike, leaning up against the same tree he used as a resting post. He looked over to see Nessa smile weakly at him.

  “You weren’t in your tent,” she explained.

  “Taking watch with Kuntolo. Didn’t mean to disappoint you, luv.”

  He gave her a smirk, which she returned. Her unusual candor made him grow wary.

  “I wanted to talk to you.” Her brown eyes belied her nervousness.

  “About what?”

  She took a deep breath. “About our conversation before.”

  Ike nodded in understanding. “I see.”

  He turned to face her, leaning his shoulder against the trunk. The moisture from the wood soaked through his sleeve. Nessa turned similarly to face him. Although she had to look up, their faces were only inches apart.

  “I’m not used to talking to people,” she admitted. “About personal things.”

  “I can tell,” he replied with a grin. “Not that I blame you. You don’t know me all that well after all.”

  Nessa shrugged a shoulder. “I shouldn’t have pegged you like I did.”

  “No worries.” He found himself forgiving her already. Maybe he had melted her icy crust at least a little bit.

  “It’s just, it’s funny,” she said, shaking her head.

  “What’s funny?”

  As Nessa searched for words to explain what she meant, something caught her attention. She turned her gaze away from Ike, out at the black forest.

  Ike expected the shadows of tree trunks, the constant swirl of darkness with a few shafts of moonlight breaking through the canopy. But instead, an eerie bright light approached through the darkness. The incandescent orb flittered between the leaves, joined a moment later by a twin. The second orb flickered into existence seemingly from nowhere.

  “What the hell?”

  Nessa straightened, staring at the phenomena, her eyes wide. “You see them, too?”

  Ike blinked to make sure, his eyes catching every detail as the lights passed near a set of branches. The shadows moved where they illuminated, every dark silhouette accompanied by a ghostly twin.

  “Afraid so,” he whispered. He pulled Gilles’ rifle off his shoulder and took a step in front of her. “That looks like Gilles’ ghosts, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Built up static electricity,” she offered. “Like ball lightning. Or—or maybe marsh gases.”

  “If you say so,” he replied. “If they start talking, I say we start running.”

  He felt her hands on his back as she looked past his shoulder. She used his body for cover, easily hiding behind his larger frame. Ike didn’t mind one bit, her trust in him made him stronger. He raised the tip of the rifle, holding the weapon at the ready.

  The lights flickered and went out. Ike and Nessa backed away, still watching the dark leaves where the lights had last been. They felt the fire at their backs and both breathed deeply.

  Suddenly, Raoul cried out. They spun to look at the Frenchman. Raoul’s eyes were on Kuntolo, who stood close to the forest’s edge. The pygmy turned, staggering slightly.

  His hand reached up and grabbed at the shaft of an arrow. The tiny projectile protruded from his bicep, the head buried deep in his flesh.

  17

  The trees sprang to life, dark shadows becoming solid. Brandon took a reflexive step back, colliding with Alfred as silhouettes emerged ashen gray in the brilliance of his flashlight.

  One figure stopped a foot away from Temba and kicked out with a naked heel, connecting solidly with his stomach. Caught by surprise, the well-dressed pygmy fell back until his backside hit the sharply descending floor. He tumbled, bouncing on the jagged ground, and disappeared from Brandon’s light.

  A wooden shaft swung down in an arc from the figure. Pain shot up Brandon’s wrist before he realized he’d been struck, and his hand released the flashlight. It bounced away, rolling across the ground. Brandon caught glimpses of the emerging figures in the scattered light.

  At least six surrounded them, their bodies ash gray and short and wiry like adolescents. The whites of their eyes glowed brightly in the darkness, grass skirts with long whipping tails at their waists. Each carried a long shaft, tipped with sharp bone. They moved with unusual grace, surrounding the small party before anyone could react.

  Temba’s attacker turned toward Brandon, spear extended at arm’s length. The incredible reach caught him off guard and he pushed back past Alfred. The pygmy-spirit advanced, shuffling imperceptibly through the foliage. The spear thrust forward, and Brandon twisted his body in desperation, trying to stay out of the way. In the process, he was driven through the thick undergrowth, separated from the others.

  Soon, he turned into an all-out run. After a moment, he snuck a glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, the gray pygmy followed right behind him.

  Brandon bolted faster. A vine gripped his ankle, and he tumbled forward. His face hit the bark of a tree, his head knocked back. He collapsed against the trunk and turned to face the charging pygmy.

  The spear tip drove toward his chest. He grabbed the shaft with both hands. The impact of the collision rippled through his arms, and he lifted one leg to stop the pygmy from closing completely. His foot drove into the pygmy’s abdomen and the warrior let out a winded grunt, Brandon’s first indication that his attacker was, in fact, human.

  A spear-wielding apparition closed on Sam and she reacted on instinct. Her club struck the end of the spear, batting it away from her body. She stepped closer to her attacker, and swung backhanded. Wood connected solidly with a satisfying crack.

  The pygmy fell backward. Her club dangled, half-split. And then a heavy body hit her from behind. She felt the heat of flesh and something grainy on her shoulders. She fell hard into the mud, bruising her elbows.

  Alfred cried out. The chemist wrestled with three of the phantoms, two grappled around his waist and one around the man’s neck. He choked and gasped in his struggle.

  Sam tried to get up on all fours, but a bare foot swung around and kicked her in the abdomen. Air blasted out of her lungs. She fell onto her side and rolled onto her back.

  Two pygmies stood over her, each holding a spear in one hand. They paused for only a moment.

  “Please, no.”

  The butt of a spear came down hard on her chest, striking her in the sternum. Sam’s body curled, her knees tucking to her stomach, as pain seared through her. The other spear swung down hard. She recognized the angry look on the bruised pygmy’s face moments before the shaft struck her nose and cheek.

  Alfred was lost in the confusion as the two pygmies pummeled Sam. An arm clutched Alfred tightly, his attacker’s chest pressed firmly to his back. The others grabbed at his flailing arms and legs making every struggle on his part futile.

  In seconds they pulled him to the ground. He felt something dry and powdery across his face where a forearm had brushed him and he suddenly realized why the pygmies were gray. They had coated their bodies with ash, a pygmy f
unereal custom designed to make them look dead. And it worked quite well.

  Once his back hit the ground, the forearm around his neck released and Alfred could breathe. He lashed out with his hook hand, catching one on the shoulder. He felt a satisfying rip as the dull tip dug into flesh.

  A fist connected with his face shattering the lens of one of his glasses. The rest of the frame slid off his face and landed on the ground. His vision blurred, not entirely from the loss of his glasses. Another fist connected with his chest, knocking the wind from him. A tirade of punches and kicks followed, battering him mercilessly. Finally, the chemist curled up, raising his arms protectively.

  He felt something heavy pull on his prosthetic and the arm was twisted roughly. A moment later, the hook pulled away and he heard plastic and metal crash into the soil.

  The gray warrior leaned heavily against the butt of his spear, trying to drive it into Brandon’s heart. But Brandon used the strength of both arms and one leg to hold the man back. He tried yanking the spear to the side, but the pygmy adjusted his balance to compensate. In the process, his knee bent slightly and gave the pygmy a window of opportunity.

  The warrior yanked the spear back unexpectedly, throwing Brandon off balance. His heel drove between Brandon’s legs, catching him in the groin. The incredible pain stunned him even as the warrior raised the spear up over his head, ready to drive it down murderously.

  The warrior swung. A whistle pierced the jungle air.

  The pygmy cried out in sudden pain, his back arching. One hand let go of his spear and reached around to the opposite shoulder. In the motion, the pygmy’s back twisted and Brandon saw a tiny shaft protruding from just inside his left shoulder blade.

  Shocked, he looked right past the pygmy into the dark jungle. A single shaft of moonlight found its way through the canopy, lighting the white of a polo shirt. Temba stood, bow in hand, his fingers inches from the taut bowstring.