Blood Forest (Suspense thriller) Read online

  “Dr. Singer,” Brandon whispered.

  Nessa looked at him curiously.

  “Get away from the water,” he urged.

  The closest log sprang to life. Ike nearly choked on his own innards. A flash of reptilian hide exploded from the water, moving onto the muddy shore with lightning speed. Although, long and built low to the ground and with those sleepy lizard eyes, the monster displayed incredible agility. Long razor jaws snapped shut. In one moment, Nessa stood on the shore facing Brandon, and in the next, she was yanked to the ground, chest and face in the mud, thighs clamped tight by a deadly vice.

  For half a second Ike stood stunned, unable to react.

  Brandon acted a second sooner. He had seen the crocodile in the water. He grabbed Nessa by the arms to pull her away. The crocodile was the stronger and the muscles in its jaws would not open once locked. Stiletto teeth sank into the flesh of Nessa’s thighs, crushing the bones underneath. The creature backpedaled toward the stream, dragging her with it. Brandon held on tight as his knees and feet were dragged through the mud behind him.

  Ike dove onto the creature’s shoulders, its body at least twice as long as his. He wrapped both arms around its thick neck, squeezing tight, and planted his feet. The crocodile continued its course to the stream, slowing only slightly. Ike’s boots sliced up mud; the sharp ridges of hide ground into his biceps.

  Delani raced around them, boots splashing at the edge of the stream. His pistol came out of its holster and he aimed it down at the crocodile. Ike counted six shots in total, but the animal barely seemed to register the damage. The South African threw his pistol and grabbed the thrashing tail with both arms. It took all his strength combined with Ike’s to keep it from retreating with Nessa in its mouth.

  Finding itself trapped, the reptile flailed wildly in an attempt to toss off the men. But Ike had a good enough grip that he could reach forward. He took one of its jaws in each of his hands. He yanked, fighting against its vice-like grip. Nessa screamed in agony, struggling helplessly against the grinding maw.

  Gilles slipped out the Desert Eagle, a .50 caliber weapon. He crouched beside the struggling Australian, pistol in both hands. The nozzle pressed between the crocodile’s eyes.

  “Let’s see if this gets through,” the Congolese mercenary whispered.

  The retort deafened Ike, so close to his ear. Another retort followed. And then another.

  Slowly the crocodile stopped flailing. The beast fell limp, legs sprawled in the mud. Its tail whipped one final time. And finally, the muscles of its jaws released. Ike tugged with all his strength. He heard a sick, sucking sound as the teeth pulled out of Nessa’s thighs.

  Brandon pulled the chemist away. She lay curled in the mud, a trail of blood behind her, her pants mangled beyond recognition. The flesh underneath was torn into ribbons. She gasped, eyes glazed.

  The mercenaries surrounded her. They all had rudimentary experience in first aid, but Ike was Special Forces trained so he took charge. Brandon stood back and watched, Raoul beside him, as the mercenaries fished through their supplies. Ike tried ignoring the amount of blood on her legs. The worst damage was not from the tears in her skin and the blood loss, but from the way the powerful jaws had literally crushed her legs.

  Nessa moaned quietly, a cold sweat on her forehead. Her eyes met Ike’s and she whispered something he couldn’t hear.

  “Just hold still, luv,” Ike bade her as he unrolled bandages.

  The wounds were too high on the thigh for a tourniquet and, besides, such a wrapping would only destroy the leg. His best hope was to apply pressure and bandages and to stop the bleeding. Cool mud seeped through his trousers, contrasting with the hot blood soaking the bandages.

  “Avez-vous entendu cela?” Raoul asked in a hushed tone.

  Delani and Gilles stood slowly, but Ike couldn’t bring himself to turn away from Nessa’s wounds.

  “Hear what?” Delani asked.

  “I heard it too,” Brandon said.

  “What was it?”

  “Voices . . .”

  Delani paused. “You’re sure you didn’t imagine it?”

  “I’m positive,” Brandon replied. “They were speaking Swahili.”

  Delani crouched behind Ike. He held his .38 across his lap. With his eyes on Nessa, Ike couldn’t see his face.

  “We have to cross the river,” Delani whispered. “Now. I’ll help you carry her.”

  Nessa groaned and shook her head. “No.” She propped on her elbows, wincing. Mud matted her brown hair to the side of her face. “I think I can walk on it.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Ike replied.

  “There’s no time to argue,” Nessa insisted. “The bone’s intact. I’ll be limping, but I can do it.”

  Delani settled the argument by extending a hand to Nessa. The chemist took it firmly and together they rose to their feet. She hobbled once when she first applied pressure, but with a steadying hand on Ike’s shoulder she recovered her balance.

  As they headed to the water’s edge, Delani took up a post at the rear. He held his pistol ready and watched the forest, ready to fire when the militia showed their faces. Gilles held Ike’s gun at the ready and led the way into the stream. He waded slowly, feeling each step tentatively with his feet.

  Soon the water reached his waist. He looked back to the others and gestured for them to follow.

  Raoul stepped in next, his feet splashing lightly. Ike winced at the noise, wondering if the militia soldiers were close enough to hear them.

  By the time Gilles reached the opposite embankment, wet to his chest, Raoul was halfway across. Brandon stood on Nessa’s other side, even after she refused his help, as Ike guided her into the stream. Cool water splashed around his ankles, swirling with algae. Ike tried not to think about what hidden dangers lay within the stream.

  They heard quiet voices in Swahili. They were coming up the edge of the river. Ike glanced back at the reptilian corpse on the water’s edge, an obvious clue for any trackers.

  Nessa whimpered when the cold water hit her thigh. She braced herself against Ike, and he felt her body trembling. He slid an arm around her back and let her lean on him, even as he urged her faster across the river.

  Soon the water reached his abdomen. Although the stream flowed sluggishly, the current pushed him and he had to fight to stay on his feet. Something jagged brushed his ankle. A branch, he hoped.

  When they reached the opposite bank, the group plunged into the thick undergrowth. It took considerable force to push through the rigid branches, but they soon emerged into the dark forest where they took a moment to catch their breath.

  Nessa pressed close to Ike, her lips not far from his ear. “Did you stop the bleeding?” she whispered.

  “I think I got most of it,” he replied. In truth, he could tell from looking at her bandages, that water wasn’t the only thing soaking through. The wound needed constant pressure to control the bleeding, but too much pressure could aggravate the damage to her muscle and bone.

  Ike pressed the wound on his bicep. He had tied it loosely with a torn bandage.

  Tense moments passed while they waited for Delani. But soon enough the scarred mercenary pressed through the leaves. He held up an assault rifle toward Ike. “You forgot something.”

  Ike blinked. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d forgotten his gun. He had dropped it when the crocodile attacked Nessa. “Thanks, mate.”

  Together they headed east along the north river bank, looking back for signs of their pursuers.

  23

  Why did her head hurt so damn much?

  She wished for a glass of water or a bed. Her back and shoulders ached from pressing awkwardly against the post and floor. As exhausted as she was, she only managed to nod off a few times,
and only for a few minutes.

  Sam sat against the post, having given up all hope of finding sleep. Instead, she peered out the front door onto the porch to where her Mbuti guards stood making quiet conversation.

  After a bit of effort, she had managed to reach her cell phone and drag it close to her with an outstretched foot. She fiddled with it a bit, in the off chance that Guy was wrong and it did work. It showed no signs of life and the more she studied it, the more she wondered why Guy had left it in the first place. It seemed that everything he did was part of some mind game. He took her watch to make time stretch out. He took her wallet, her identity, and her wedding ring to make her husband seem far away. He repeated her name over and over again, as if his speaking it gave him some sort of control over her. She only ate or drank when he came to visit and the only bit of comfort he offered her lay in his bed. He made sure she was totally and absolutely dependent on him. And as her hunger and thirst grew with each passing hour, she found herself longing for another visit, if only to eat.

  She wondered what would happen if she stayed there for weeks, or even months. So far, she felt in control; but after so much time, would she submit to him? How long could she go before her survival instincts took over? Her stomach turned at the thought, that she might be manipulated in such a way. Trained, like a puppy. She dismissed the possibility and resolved she wouldn’t let it happen.

  She could tell by listening to the way the voices echoed whether the Mbuti were facing inside or away. She waited and listened until they sounded wrapped in their conversation and weren’t paying attention to the darkness inside. Then, she leaned forward and bit down on the leather thong. Her front teeth ground against the dirty fabric and she twisted it against the sharp points of her canines, trying to slowly cut through.

  The strength of the leather proved too much, even after working at it for several long minutes. Her lips brushed along the length of the thong to see if she made any progress, but she couldn’t find a single nick in the smooth surface.

  There had to be some way to cut through it. She’d need to find a sharper edge. She leaned back and gripped the post between her wrists. Maybe she could snap it. Sam wrapped her legs around the base of the pole and thrust the top half of her body back, wrenching her hands against the round trunk. The tension forced her wrists apart and the thong bit into her hands. She yanked more forcefully, hoping a quick jerk would snap the leather.

  But still it held. In one final fit of frustrated rage, she swung her body back. The thong sliced into her wrists and her grip on the pole slipped. Something tore across her palm and fingers and she bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain. Hot blood oozed and trickled toward her wrists.

  She fumbled in the darkness, confused, until she discovered what had cut her. The wooden pole had splintered in her efforts and a long shard of jagged wood stuck out of the side. Feeling carefully, she brought the leather thong to the tip of jagged wood and lined it up. She took a deep breath, making sure the shard was set firm on the pole so it wouldn’t break away. In one motion, she yanked back.

  A sharp crack sounded through the building and her hands swung free. She fell hard on her back. The conversation outside halted instantly.

  Sam rolled up against the post and wrapped her newly emancipated arms around it, clasping her wrists tightly. As the silhouettes stepped into the doorway, armed with spears, she closed her eyes and lay still.

  Footsteps sounded on the planks as they came to investigate. One spoke quietly as he leaned over her prone form. Sam prayed they didn’t see the broken thong or look too closely at her wrists.

  The darkness worked to her advantage. They stood over her, talking. She stayed perfectly still, not daring to breathe and struggling to not let her wrists slip.

  Finally, they turned and walked back toward the doorway. Soon, the only sound Sam heard was the pounding of her heart in her ears.

  I did it! I’m free!

  With a quick glance toward the front door to make sure the Mbuti were back outside and conversing, she climbed to her feet and headed toward the back of the building. The sky had begun to brighten so she found the windows with ease. Placing her palms on the windowsill, she climbed up until she was perched halfway in and out.

  She tried to judge the drop on the other side, but even with the sky getting lighter, the ground was cloaked in darkness. Sam leapt anyway and winced when her bare feet hit the muddy ground. A stone drove itself into the ball of her foot, forcing a cry from her throat.

  A shout from around the building told her that the guards had been alerted. She heard them clambering inside. She had to move fast. She rose to her feet and moved away from the building. A forest wall rose up in front of her, thick with vegetation. As her elation from breaking her bonds faded, she began to realize the true depth of her predicament. She didn’t know the forest. She’d be stumbling around blindly without supplies and without hope.

  Her thumb caressed the naked skin of her ring finger, the metallic embrace missing. She wanted her ring back more than anything. A voice cried out from the window. She looked up to see an Mbuti perched there. He jumped to the ground. Sam took off running, the guard hot on her heels.

  She heard him grunt behind her, and she kicked her legs faster. Her bare feet beat the ground blindly. Her toe struck a root in the darkness and pain shot up her leg, paralyzing her muscles. She stumbled, but staggered to her feet, limping even as the powerful Mbuti bore down on her.

  Then something happened that drove her heart into her throat. As her next foot came down, it didn’t find ground as she suspected. She dropped a full foot and wood blasted against her knee. She cried out in surprise as she sank down to her thigh, her leg caught in some type of wooden framework.

  Only then did she remember the pits from before, the wooden lattice woven cage-like over the top. Her other thigh lay twisted underneath her, her muscle stretched to its limit. Meanwhile, her foot dangled in the darkness. Her nose caught the wretched scent of festering dung.

  A deep throaty growl from below warned her of the danger. In sudden panic, Sam climbed frantically, trying to pull her leg free. Her knee caught for a moment, holding her fast. She heard movement below and the sound of splashing water.

  She tore her leg out, banging her shin painfully on the wood. A rush of air followed her up as she rolled away from the pit. A paw chased her through the opening and clawed at the mud in her wake. A muscled shoulder pushed against the frame, causing the whole structure to wobble and shake. The beast below let out an angry hiss as its meal escaped.

  Sam scrambled away, putting distance between her and the grasping claws. And she stumbled into the Mbuti’s waiting grasp. The pygmy grabbed her firmly and yanked her to her feet. His companion grabbed her from behind, one hand yanking her hair back.

  They jostled and dragged her away from the pit and around the nearby building. Sam found herself in the center of the clearing, not far from Guy’s porch. The sun lingered just below the canopy on the horizon and it was now light enough to see the village around her.

  Bokenga stopped, not far away, as the two Mbuti threw Sam to the ground. One struck her roughly in the face and she felt her cheek go numb, followed by the warm sensation of blood. Bokenga said something to them and she saw one shake his head. Then the instep of a foot struck her hard in the gut. As Sam curled from the pain, Bokenga turned and walked away.

  Please don’t go, she mentally pleaded. One of them twisted her arm behind her back, sending waves of pain throughout her arm and shoulder. The other struck her again in the face and she felt her legs and arms go weak.

  Are they going to kill me?

  Guy appeared on the porch suddenly, Bokenga at his side. He hollered to the two Mbuti and they immediately backed away. Guy hopped down, his robe fluttering behind him. His blonde hair was wet and his pistol hung at his side. He spoke to them, his voice
demanding. After a brief exchange, he crouched beside her and brushed her hair from her face to inspect her injuries. As he did, the two guards continued their explanation and Sam caught a familiar word: “Temba.”

  Whatever they said seemed to anger Guy further. He stood up, his voice scolding. The Mbuti weren’t afraid to stand up to him.

  She began to think she’d imagined it. Maybe what she thought was “Temba” was part of some other word.

  Guy crouched beside Sam. This time when his hand touched her face it was tender, almost affectionate. “You tried to run away, Sam. Look where that’s gotten you now. Did you think you could just run off into the forest?”

  She turned her head, pulling away from his touch. In the process, she planted her face in the cold mud.

  “Tell me about this Temba,” Guy said. “Who is he and why has he come looking for you?”

  She shot him a surprised look.

  “Is he a lover?” he asked, grinning wryly. “He has risked a lot in coming here, as you’ll see.” He stood back up, towering over her. “Now get up.”

  She remained still in defiance. Guy said something to the Mbuti standing nearby and they pulled her roughly to her feet.

  “Don’t forget I have a gun,” Guy warned. “I’m not afraid to use it.”

  “You won’t shoot me,” she spat.

  “If you truly think that, keep testing me.”

  He gestured for them to follow. At first the Mbuti dragged her, but Sam quickly fell into rhythm with them. Guy whispered something to Bokenga. The old man nodded and headed off for the BaMbuti huts. Guy led them around the back of his dwelling.

  Toward the pits, Sam realized.

  “It sounds like someone has awakened poor Chui,” Guy said as he walked. “He can be very disagreeable sometimes.”