Blood Forest (Suspense thriller) Page 3

  The Jeep rolled across a muddy field, followed closely by Gilles and his group. Then, without slowing, Kipwe crashed through the undergrowth, the tires tearing vegetation. Vine-like branches whipped around the small windshield and battered the passengers.

  The three mercenaries did not flinch, keeping their arms at their sides as the forest crunched and snapped around them. The ground inclined just beyond the foliage wall and the Jeep struggled to climb the steep hill. The tires spun, grinding up branches and roots, kicking dirt.

  Then they burst from the jungle. The tires came down hard on the dirt road on the other side. The Jeep bounced as it settled on the even plane and Kipwe spun the wheel again, taking the vehicle away from the village. Their shortcut had taken them around the three parked Jeeps and had brought them out further down the road where it twisted out of view from the village.

  A moment later, Gilles’ vehicle burst onto the road behind them and the mercenary company drove off quickly, eager to put as much distance between them and the massacre as they could.

  They rode for several minutes. The Jeeps bounced violently on the uneven road, kicking dust into the air. Ike glanced back in the direction of the Bantu village, but he could not see more than a few yards into the dense Ituri forest. He wondered what horrors awaited the villagers they had left behind.

  The forest road was mostly straight when it moved away from the village so they made fairly good time. When they came to an intersection, a place where the road continued but split into a narrow side path heading north into the jungle, Delani ordered Kipwe to stop.

  Gilles drove up next to them. Everyone seemed okay. Nessa Singer and Alfred Tabibu didn’t look any more anxious than the mercenaries. Those two scientists had come a long way, Ike thought. The Ituri forest was turning them into hardened veterans.

  “Which way do we go?” Delani asked the researchers.

  “Hang on.” Nessa stood up, climbing into the backseat with Alfred, who was digging through their supplies. Alfred lifted bags with his prosthetic and sorted through the smaller items with his good hand.

  After a moment, Nessa stood up with her hands on her hips. Ike admired the curve of her khaki pants. She wore a modest blouse over a white tank top, both showing the grime of repeated soiling without a good wash. Her brown ponytail was full of split ends from the harsh heat. Although she was Israeli, she spoke with an accent obtained from a British education, which made her exotic to Ike. His eyes fell to her left hand, resting on her waistline, where a diamond engagement ring flashed back at him.

  Initially it had been the engagement ring that stopped him from pursuing her. At first, Nessa Singer acted smart and reserved, almost shy. But after getting to know her, Ike’s impression was that she was icy, calculating, and selfish.

  “I can’t find it,” Alfred said. He shook his head and shrugged, raising a palm out to one side, a hook out to the other.

  “Who took our map?” Nessa asked the mercenaries.

  Ike felt a wave of embarrassment. He remembered that he had been looking at it while the others were questioning the villagers. Ike reached into his pocket, feeling the folded map. He tugged it out and handed it across to the other vehicle.

  “Sorry,” Ike told her. He grinned widely, looking at her eyes. “I was just taking a look. That’s all.”

  Nessa did not return his gaze, but snatched the map from his hand, unfolding it quickly.

  “There’s an area here,” Alfred said, tapping the map. “That should be just north of us. That tributary runs through there—it could be a swamp.”

  “North?” Delani asked.

  Alfred nodded.

  “Entendez-vous cela?” Gilles asked suddenly, turning and staring down the road behind them.

  Ike listened. Several vehicles were coming up the road behind them—and fast. “I think we have company.”

  “Maybe they’re moving on,” Alfred suggested hopefully. He stood up in the backseat, twisting his body to see.

  “I’ll bet they saw us leave,” Ike told them. “They don’t want foreigners reporting their war crimes.”

  “You need to get rid of them,” Nessa said.

  Delani stood up, trying to peer through the dense forest. He waved an arm down the north road. “Hurley International. That way.”

  Gilles nodded and Nessa and Alfred sat down in the backseat. The Congolese mercenary stepped on the gas and spun the wheel, taking them down the north road. Ike watched the departing vehicle bounce over uneven ground. The road was overgrown in places, weeds stretching through the dirt.

  Delani pointed up the other road. The ground sloped into a hill then twisted through dense forest. Delani ordered Kipwe to take them down that road and to “kick up a lot of dirt.”

  The driver floored the gas. The tires tore away at the dirty road, lifting a cloud of dust in the air and leaving deep grooves. They lurched forward, bouncing over a series of jutting stones and taking them toward the hill. As Ike glanced behind them, he saw the first of the pursuing vehicles coming up the road. They were moving fast.

  The Jeep shuddered and rattled as they picked up speed. Kipwe had to struggle with the steering wheel to keep them from swerving into a tree. Around them the sun danced in white shafts through the canopy.

  Ike kept his eyes fixed on the first Jeep and watched as the second and third pulled in close behind. The drivers picked up speed, shooting right past the tiny side road the others had gone down. Delani’s ploy had worked. All three vehicles were on their tail.

  As they closed, Ike counted the pursuers. Two of the vehicles had three rebels and the last one had four. To make matters worse, Ike saw something jutting up from the last Jeep.

  A .50 caliber barrel, easily five feet long, extended from a mounting platform on the back. The heavy machine gun was probably British-made and sold to either Uganda or Rwanda through a middle supplier. Such a gun could fire rounds much faster and farther than the submachine guns most militias carried. The bullets would easily tear through metal and light armor.

  In case Delani hadn’t seen it, Ike leaned in and told him, “They outnumber us three-to-one. And besides that, they have a toy.”

  As the South African turned his head, Ike jerked his thumb back at the pursuing vehicles. Delani grinned with unusual levity. “I count each of us five times.”

  Ike nodded. “Right. In that case, we have them covered.”

  He gripped the padded seats as Kipwe took the Jeep around a hard turn. Dirt flew into the air as the vehicle fishtailed on the loose surface. They barely slowed and were speeding off in the new direction; the trunks of the great trees allowed only scattered views of their enemies.

  “You know,” Ike replied thoughtfully. They hit another bump, their bodies bouncing fiercely. “That explains a lot.”

  The banter did wonders to cut through the tension. Ike knew that Delani had no intention of going into a fight with such horrible odds. He hoped to lose them long before any shots were fired. The Australian mercenary reached under the seat and lifted the black MP5K. If the rebels opened fire, he might be able to use it as a deterrent.

  The road climbed the hill in a zigzag pattern with long straight-aways and sharp U-turns. As they slowly climbed the steep hill, the first of the militia Jeeps rounded the corner. Here the canopy dropped lower on one side, exposing them to the hot sun. Blue sky stretched to their right. The road was too open.

  Ike watched as the man in the passenger seat of the lead Jeep got up. He perched himself against the windshield arms extended. His shirt flapped around his shoulders and in his hands a thick round barrel rested. Ike recognized the weapon immediately and all hope of escape seemed fleeting.

  The weapon fired—a hollow retort. At the same time the lead Jeep hit a deep pothole, throwing the shooter off his balance; the launcher dipped.

 
An explosion blasted up shards of rock and dirt between the two vehicles. The blast echoed through the Ituri forest. A cloud of dust rose in the air as the pursuing Jeep bounced through the crater left in the road.

  The man holding the grenade launcher choked and wheezed. He wiped at the dust in his face and tried to keep his balance.

  Ike leaned against the backseat, angling the MP5K behind them, the short black barrel extended. Normally Ike kept it fitted with a suppressor, but today he wanted his enemy to see the flash and hear the noise. He lined his eye up along the length of the barrel, eyeing just above the man’s sternum. But the distance and unstable surface proved too great for such a careful shot.

  The gun rattled in his arms, Ike’s shoulder absorbing the recoil. The windshield stopped two of the bullets and the third flew off into the jungle. The rebel holding the launcher dropped back behind the glass, no longer quite so anxious to make himself a target.

  “Hang on!” Kipwe yelled. Ike grabbed the seat as the Jeep swung around tight. The vehicle spun one hundred and eighty degrees, dirt flying. The maneuver stopped the Jeep completely; and when Kipwe floored the gas, the tires took forever to catch.

  Luckily the spin put jungle between themselves and the militia. They moved up the next straight-away running parallel to the old one, the militia Jeeps passing on their left. As the three vehicles flew by, Ike heard the sound of automatic fire slicing through the trees that separated them. The majority of the bullets hit the trees or went too wide, but a small round hole caught in the driver’s side door, just below Kipwe’s shoulder.

  The mercenary didn’t seem to notice, and Ike saw no reason to tell the man how close he had come to catching a bullet with his face.

  “You need to drive faster,” Delani yelled.

  “If I go too fast I will not make the turn,” Kipwe argued.

  It was beginning to look like they could not outrun the militia. Ike focused down his MP5K, locking his eyes on the curve in the road as the Jeeps flew around it. All three spun in the dust and the second looked like it might lose its grip on the road for a moment, but soon they were all following in hot pursuit.

  Ike clicked a switch on the side of his submachine gun, taking it off the three round burst setting favored by so many special ops soldiers. As their pursuers closed, he did his best to keep the gun steady and pressed the trigger. The crackling of his gun stung his ears and the weapon pounded his shoulder. The front of the lead Jeep lit up in a shower of sparks. Bullets peppered the windshield and shattered one of its headlights.

  Despite the damage dealt, it pressed forward, closing the gap as Kipwe slowed to take the next turn.

  By the time Ike climbed back onto the seat, the lead Jeep came back into view, closer than before. The same man in the passenger seat, his face covered in dirt, stood up, readying the launcher. Behind him, one of his compatriots lifted a Kalashnikov.

  Delani jumped into the seat next to Ike. He had his Glock in one hand and in the other a small green ball. First he emptied the Glock, the machine pistol nearly shattering Ike’s eardrums with automatic fire. Bullets pounded the lead Jeep resulting in a lot of sparks and not enough real damage. But it forced the two men to duck behind the windshield.

  Delani dropped the empty clip into the backseat, and dropped the gun beside it. He passed the small grenade into his right hand, tugging the pin free with a metallic pop. He nearly stood up as he swung his hand back and threw.

  The driver of the first Jeep saw the small object coming and reacted on instinct. He swerved right on the small road but the damage was done. He crashed into a tree. The two standing men were thrown over the shattered windshield, flailing their arms and legs and landing in the undergrowth. The grenade launcher flew free and disappeared in the vegetation.

  The grenade exploded in front of the second Jeep, throwing up dirt and shrapnel as the second driver plowed right through the dust and smoke.

  Ike nodded in appreciation at Delani, gritting his teeth through each bounce and jerk of the vehicle. “Y’ evened things up a bit, I’d say,” Ike said.

  Kipwe swung around the next corner. He seemed to be getting a handle on the twisting road because he only slowed for a moment before peeling off again. As Ike and Delani waited for the two remaining vehicles to round the corner, Delani searched his belt, pulling free a spare clip for his Glock. He lifted the gun and clicked the new cartridge into place.

  The two remaining Jeeps pulled back, keeping their distance. The small mercenary company had apparently earned their respect.

  The leading Jeep pulled over, letting the last one take the lead. This vehicle still kept a steady distance—out of range of hand grenades—but Ike watched in horror as one of the men climbed into the back next to the heavy machine gun.

  Delani saw it too. He turned to Kipwe and yelled, “Faster!”

  Kipwe glanced in his rearview mirror then stepped on the pedal hard, apparently unmindful of the deadly turn just at the end of the straight-away.

  The standing rebel behind them gripped the swivel-mounted weapon with both hands.

  The mercenaries hit another bump, even such a tiny lump in the road sending them high in the air. The shocks groaned as the vehicle crashed back down. Ike slipped, falling to the floor between the seats. Delani reached down to help him.

  Kipwe suddenly slammed on the brakes, but the wheels would not catch in the loose dirt. The whole vehicle slid right through the U-turn at the end of the road, leaving thick trenches in the ground.

  Delani, Kipwe, and Ike flew into the dense canopy, the sky darkening. Sunlight turned from hot yellow to light blue shards. The ground dropped off sharply and they fell forward, trees and leaves whipping past them. For many seconds the sound of the Jeep’s engine silenced, replaced with the hush of rushing air. The front tires caught on the root of a massive tree and the back end flipped into the air.

  The world spun. The floor of the Jeep, the back of the front seats, the backseat, and Delani’s hulking body formed a protective cocoon from the thrashing foliage. It landed upside-down, the front windshield shattering. Ike and Delani slammed into the cool mud of the jungle floor.

  Ike hit his head with a loud crack. For several seconds his vision blurred, and he couldn’t feel the pain in the rest of his body. As his senses cleared, he heard the tires spinning freely in the air overhead. Beside him, Delani stirred, crawling in the mud. They were pinned in the backseat, light peeking in from the sides.

  Ike groaned as his right side throbbed. The pain would have been much worse, he reckoned, if Delani had not broken his fall.

  Delani crawled to the side of the Jeep and squeezed out of the small space between the door and the ground. The South African didn’t seem to care if he skinned his back or his elbows in the tight squeeze, and he lifted the Jeep slightly with his movements. The moment he was outside, he reached in and gestured for Ike to follow.

  Ike crawled toward him. Mud oozed around his fingers and covered his shirt and fatigues. When he neared Delani, the man grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him through the small opening. The top of the door tore at Ike’s back, ripping his shirt, but he was out.

  He looked at the dense canopy overhead and the scant light that kept the forest as dark as dusk.

  Delani called out to Kipwe. The front half of the vehicle was crushed into the jungle floor. Seconds ticked by; their partner didn’t answer.

  Delani repeated the cry, his tone growing more desperate. As the South African’s voice filled with grief and anger, bile rose in Ike’s throat. He wished for the strength to lift the Jeep and tug Kipwe to safety.

  Ike spotted movement through the trees. He could see up the slope to the curve in the road where they had flown off. Two vehicles were parked; the one in front had the mounted gun. One of the militia soldiers was lining up the long barrel in their direction.


  Ike fumed at the rebels who moved through the forest in a swath of destruction. Their bloodlust had taken the life of Kipwe. Ike pulled his Desert Eagle from the holster and angled the pistol at the trees, then he paused; they were too far off. The action would be futile. And meanwhile, the man standing at the other end of the .50 caliber machine gun took aim.

  “We need to get going,” Ike said.

  Delani stood up, vengeance in his eyes. “I need my gun—”

  A line of bullets tore through the Jeep. Metal and glass flew in a stream of death cutting toward Delani and Ike.

  “Not enough time,” Ike yelled.

  He grabbed Delani’s arm, dragging him through the jungle, bullets ripping through branches and pounding up mud behind them.

  3

  Sam stopped and looked over her shoulder. Behind her, the leaves swayed in a dance of light and shadow. White sunlight cut through the trees, more playing with her vision than providing light to see. Animal calls sounded all around and every bush seemed to conceal a lurking predator.

  Something was out there. She was sure of it now. They were being followed. She felt its eyes on her as she stepped carefully through the twisting vines and bushes.

  She spun again, scanning the dense foliage. Was it above her? Was it hunting her? Perhaps it was some predatory animal, or perhaps the rebels had found them and were waiting for the opportunity to strike. She looked up at the canopy, noting the play of light. There was something else. The leaves should not block the light quite so much. There was something palpable and thick in the air. A dark cloud hung over everything, lurking like some otherworldly presence.

  They were not alone.

  “Sam?” Brandon called from up ahead.

  All around them the jungle loomed. The wild calls of unknown animals echoed. Occasionally she heard sickening screams or a growl. It felt strange and unnatural.