Blood Forest (Suspense thriller) Page 32

  Guy cursed, more furious than ever. Blood poured from his shoulder, drenching his shirt. Kitu had seen such wounds on dead men before.

  He shrugged off Kitu’s aid, forgetting entirely about the one-armed man in Chui’s pit, and limped in a circle, confused and bewildered. He rested his pistol and hands on his knees as he bent forward in pain.

  “Are you . . . are you all right?” Kitu’s words sounded weak to his own ears.

  “I need medicine.” His eyes focused on his hut again. Kitu knew that he kept his medical supplies in there. Drugs that could make you sleep or wake up, or that could make you no longer feel pain.

  One step at a time, Guy started back in that direction.

  The notebooks blazed like a hearth fire as Sam dumped the last rolled sheet of EEG recordings on top. The white paper twisted and blackened in seconds, falling into ash on the floor. When she pulled her eyes away from the fire, her heart froze in her chest. Guy stood in the doorway, eyes wide and jaw dropped. His pistol hung by his side, and Kitu lingered right behind him.

  Guy lifted his gun and pointed it at her. She froze.

  “What have you done?” he cried. “You and Alfred planned this? This was all a trap to destroy my work, to destroy everything!”

  He stepped forward and grabbed her hair. He yanked roughly, throwing her to the floor. She came down hard on her knees, catching herself before her face struck the planks.

  “And I . . .” He trailed, clenching his free fist. “You tricked me. You lying whore!”

  She fell on her side and held her arms over her face.

  “I’m going to make you pay for this,” Guy threatened.

  He strode over to the burning pile, unmindful of the flames licking the wall of his house. “All those years . . . they’re gone!” He balled his hand into a fist and beat his shoulder with it. “All because of . . .”

  Guy looked up as if remembering something, then checked his pistol to make sure it was still loaded. He gave Kitu an order. As he headed for the doorway, he turned and glanced back at Sam. “Kitu will kill you if you so much as move, Samantha. I won’t protect you again.”

  He disappeared through the open doorway.

  Sam and Kitu were left looking at each other. Kitu seemed shaken and unsure, but she was beyond fear. She studied the spear in the Mbuti’s hands and tried to figure a way around it.

  Temba shook; he could kill Ndola in the process of rescuing Sam. As he stood there, with Ndola helpless in his arms, he realized that he could never do such a thing. Temba was not a killer.

  He could not let the others know that. As he approached the gathering of Mbuti men, he held the knife firmly to Ndola’s neck and announced in a bold voice: “Give Sam to me.”

  The others turned in surprise, Polomo in the middle of the group. Even Bokenga stood amongst them.

  “If you do not give her to me, I will kill Ndola,” Temba declared.

  Finally, it was Bokenga who spoke. The old Mbuti’s voice lingered softly. “We don’t have her, Temba. She’s in Guy’s house now.” Bokenga pointed across the clearing at a particular building. Temba could barely make it out in the darkness.

  “Let Ndola go, and we won’t stand in your way,” the old man promised.

  Temba believed Bokenga, but he looked to Polomo for reassurance. Polomo’s eyes fell to the ground, and he nodded slowly.

  Temba moved forward, still cradling Ndola, who put up no resistance. Slowly, the gathering parted, making way for him. Every set of eyes watched him. When no more Mbuti stood in his way, he pushed Ndola away from him.

  The Mbuti hunter collapsed to the mud, where he remained with his eyes on Temba.

  Temba strode away, not checking to see if the others followed him. If one threw a spear now, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. He ignored that fear until he walked up the porch and stepped inside.

  “Temba!” Sam cried, her eyes lighting up. The blonde American nearly leapt to her feet, unmindful of the armed Mbuti that stood between them.

  Kitu turned to see Temba’s hateful gaze upon him. But Temba’s hate melted away when he saw the way Kitu’s visage softened. The tip of his spear lowered to the floor and Kitu stepped out of the way.

  Sam ran across the room and wrapped Temba in a hug. “I can’t believe you’re okay. And you’re here! Do you know what happened to everyone else? Do you know where Brandon is?”

  After a moment, he pushed her away gently, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been in the forest by myself. I came back here to get you.”

  “You need to leave quickly, Temba,” Kitu insisted in his own tongue. “He’ll be back soon. And he has a gun. I can’t protect you from him.”

  Temba nodded. What had changed all of their minds so quickly? He turned back to Sam and spoke in English. “Come with me. We have to go.”

  When they stepped outside, the sky seemed a little brighter, as if dawn had begun.

  She tugged on his arm. “Wait, Temba. What about Alfred?”

  “We don’t have time,” he told her. “That man has a gun and he’s coming back. I can’t fight a gun with a spear.” He pulled her along, but she resisted, grabbing tight to his wrist and not letting him leave.

  “No, Temba. Not without Alfred. We need to save Alfred.”

  Mud slid past him and plopped into the rancid water at his feet. The foul scent of rotten dung wafted up all around him, choking the air from his lungs. Alfred couldn’t believe an animal had lived down here. He struggled with his one hand to climb, but the mud was too soft to get any footing and every time he started up, he slid back down.

  Finally he maneuvered to a side of the pit that was less steep than the others and, as he gripped the slope with one hand, he propped himself on the stub of his opposite elbow and walked up with his feet. He made slow progress and twice he thought for sure he’d fall, but eventually he pulled himself to the top and rolled onto firm ground. He lay on his back for a moment, collecting his breath.

  Guy’s shadow fell over him.

  Alfred tensed, a pistol barrel pointed right at him. Although Guy didn’t hesitate, the whole world slowed down for Alfred. He saw sheer rage in the man, and he knew that Sam had been successful in her attempt at sabotage. Had she managed to escape? Or had Guy killed her? Even now, her corpse could be skewered on an Mbuti spear.

  And then, moments before Guy pulled the trigger, Temba and Sam emerged from the corner of a distant building. Both looked alive and well, racing as if to his rescue. They were too far off. They could never reach him in time. But at least they would have a chance to escape.

  Alfred closed his eyes, blackness enveloping him.

  He heard the deafening bang of a gunshot.

  “No, Alfred!” Sam screamed.

  Temba didn’t sprint. He knew he would never make it. Guy would have plenty of time to turn his gun on them. Instead, Temba took a single hop forward.

  His fingers gripped the shaft of Kuntolo’s spear and yanked it off his back. He tossed it into the air so it landed in his palm, horizontal above his shoulder. And as his foot hit the mud, his body abruptly ceasing its forward momentum, his arm swung forward, his wrist gliding. His fingers released.

  The sharpened tip cut the air, the shaft wobbling ever so slightly on the wind. At such a distance it flew in an arc, soaring with a hollow whoosh. When it came down again, it entered just above Guy’s left shoulder blade and sunk deep into his flesh. His body lurched from the blow and his finger squeezed the trigger reflexively.

  The weapon discharged harmlessly in the mud.

  Guy’s hand came up, searching for the object that struck his shoulder. He felt blindly as his legs buckled and, as he collapsed to his knees, his fingers closed around the shaft for a moment. Then they slid away, and his body fell heavily to the ground.
<
br />   Sam heard the sickening thump of the spear entering Guy, and, before his body hit the ground, she bolted toward Alfred. She came to a stop over Guy’s hunched form. His fingers clenched and released, squeezing nothing as his life drained from him. His last breaths came in wet gurgles as blood filled his lungs.

  She knelt beside the chemist. “Alfred?”

  He opened one eye and peered up at her. “Christ. I’m alive?”

  Temba ran up beside them. Satisfied that the chemist had survived, Temba’s eyes moved to Guy’s corpse. His expression sickened, his gaze lingering. Finally, he grabbed Kuntolo’s spear and yanked it out.

  “Temba came to save us,” Sam explained. Her eyes drifted over the gruesome scene as blood soaked the back of Guy’s shirt.

  Alfred showed only gratitude as he glanced up at the normally well-dressed pygmy. His lips turned into a relieved grin. “Cheers, Temba. I guess I owe you one.”

  31

  Ike tore the jagged piece of shrapnel from his forearm, wincing as the wound bled. But as the midday sun blazed over the Ituri forest, Ike was grateful that the ragged tear was the worst of the grenade blast. The backseat had protected him from most of the force and he managed to slip into the woods before the rest of the Askari Nahuru recovered.

  His only regret was that he hadn’t been able to kill the rest of the bastards. That meant that while Raoul’s village might be protected for now, other villages would one day fall victim to the vile rebels.

  Since then, Ike hadn’t stopped walking unless it was to run. He found the river and followed it all the way to the old pygmy camp. Then he cut down the trail and now, as his exhaustion caught up with him, the trees gave way to rows and rows of tomato plants.

  The Bantu gawked at the bloody mercenary as he walked through the village. He nodded politely at anyone who made eye contact and although they kept their distance, some responded with warm smiles.

  When he reached the center of town, Marcel came out to greet him.

  “You must come to my house quickly,” Marcel insisted in French. “Your friends are there.”

  “What’s wrong? Why don’t you just tell me?”

  Marcel hesitated, having trouble with the next words. “The soldier, Gilles, died before he made it to our village. Your boss, Delani, is breathing his last breaths as we speak. He won’t survive past sunset.”

  Ike swallowed hard as he followed Marcel into his home.

  Gilles’ body was already wrapped in cloth and had been laid next to Nessa’s on the floor. Delani lay still on a cot, his breathing shallow, his eyes closed.

  Ike stood beside the South African. The fatal wound had hit him while he was climbing onto the motorbike. It must have slowly drained his strength the whole ride back to the village.

  Delani didn’t wake up and that was okay with Ike. He wasn’t sure if he could face the dying mercenary after insisting so vehemently that they stay and fight. Instead, he sat by him, thinking about their time working together. After that, he stared at Gilles’ corpse, and finally Nessa’s.

  So much death, Ike thought. Such is Africa.

  For a long while, his heart was held in place by the weight of their bodies. He thought he might never be able to tear himself away. But, as always, he mustered the strength.

  As he stepped out of Marcel’s home that afternoon, his fingers grazed Nessa’s ring.

  “Ike.”

  Marcel had followed him out onto the porch. The Bantu man regarded him somberly. “Monsieur Devereaux has told us how you fought to protect our village.”

  Ike grinned. “It couldn’t be helped, mate.”

  Marcel nodded and returned his grin with a soft smile. “We are forever in your debt.”

  “Are you sure you’re not leading us in circles, then?” Alfred asked.

  “I’m not. I know where I’m going,” Temba insisted.

  The three of them walked through the forest. Bright yellow shafts of light cut through the green leaves in a spectacle of color. Never had the jungle seemed like a more peaceful place. With the sense of dread no longer hanging over her head, Guy’s “magic” removed from the forest, Sam almost felt comfortable, at home.

  Temba kept them moving at a brisk pace, though not too fast. At times he sang BaMbuti songs and other times he asked Sam to sing one of hers. Her songs included just about any American song she could think of. She even tried teaching one to Temba, but the Mbuti insisted that her songs had too many words to remember.

  “Why would you need so many words when a song is about one thing?” he asked, to which Sam could only shrug.

  She pinched her fingers around her wedding ring and felt comfort in its presence. Now if only she could find Brandon similarly intact.

  In the process of looking at her ring, she spied Temba’s feet ahead of her as his heels crunched down on a strange vine with blue flowers. The Mbuti didn’t seem to notice and kept walking. Alfred, nearly blind without his glasses, didn’t pay the flowers any attention either.

  “Temba,” she called.

  “What?” he asked, not stopping.

  She stooped to inspect the blue flower more closely. Five blue petals sprouted from the end and each petal had a strange marking on it. When Sam lifted one for a better look, the marking took the shape of a small black star.

  “Temba,” she called again.

  This time Temba and Alfred both stopped to see what she was looking at.

  “What is it?” Alfred asked.

  “Do you guys know what type of flower this is?”

  They stepped closer, peering at the plant in her hands. After a moment, Temba shook his head.

  “I’m afraid not,” Alfred agreed. “But there are probably hundreds of species endemic to the Ituri that haven’t been discovered or classified.”

  “Did you see the star, Alfred?”

  “A star?” Alfred leaned closer. Sam held the flower closer so he could see. Suddenly his eyes went wide. “This is the exact pattern on Uya Kivali! The colors are wrong but the patterns are the same. This has to be a very close relative. Maybe even a subspecies.”

  “Is that good?” Temba asked.

  “It’s great,” Alfred replied enthusiastically. “This is incredible! I can’t see. Are there more of them?”

  Sam spun slowly around, taking in the forest floor around her. Blue flowers spotted the muddy ground for as far as she could follow it.

  Brandon felt better knowing that Ike had made it out of the forest alive. Raoul let Ike stay at his place and the Australian mercenary joined them for dinner and palm wine.

  Raoul spent the evening inspecting the plane, and when Brandon rolled out of bed the next morning, clean and well rested, the Frenchman announced through Ike that he would indeed be able to fix the aircraft. He said he’d get to work on it immediately, but he’d have to head into town eventually for supplies so it might be a while before it was up and running.

  Brandon nodded absently, his thoughts still far away. He didn’t want to leave the village until he heard from Sam.

  Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long.

  That afternoon an Mbuti girl came running, right into Raoul’s house. She sputtered in French to Ike and Raoul, looking excitedly at Brandon and gesturing for him to follow. Raoul quickly donned his hat and led Brandon through the rows of maize to the line of BaMbuti huts.

  Sam, Temba, and Alfred were standing amongst the BaMbuti. Temba spoke to the others, but Sam’s eyes found his and her lips framed the softest smile. She raced to him, jumping into his arms. Her familiar body pressed against him, relieving all of the stress he had felt since they had crashed. Suddenly, nothing else mattered.

  “I need to contact a Hurley representative,” Alfred declared. After the news of Nessa’s death, Alfred’s excitement over the discovery w
as tempered with grief. He had hoped to share the news with her.

  “If you need, mate, I’ll take you where you need to go,” Ike told him. “Just say the word and we’ll be off.”

  “As soon as possible,” Alfred replied. “I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Understood. We can head out in the morning if you like.”

  They sat at Raoul’s table with a dinner of corn and potatoes. Two days had passed since their return from the forest.

  “Does that mean you won’t be staying here with us?” Sam asked.

  “Afraid not,” Ike replied, shifting in his seat. He reached into his pocket and produced the ring Nessa gave to him. “I need to find a good place for this. It keeps cutting into my ass whenever I sit down.”

  “How about on a woman’s finger?” Sam suggested coyly.

  “Really now?” Ike asked. “How would you feel if when Brandon proposed he gave you some dead chick’s ring?”

  “Well, if he put it like that I probably wouldn’t appreciate it too much,” she laughed. “But if he told me a good story . . .”

  “I see.”

  “Why don’t you do that?” Brandon asked. “Head back to Australia. Settle down. Stop getting shot at.”

  Ike laughed. “Oh, I will. You can bet I will some day.” He shook his head. “But, the thing is, I’m just not done with Africa yet. It’s hard to explain.”

  Brandon nodded, but Sam gave him a bright smile. “It’s okay,” she replied. “I get it, completely.”

  Ike and Alfred left the next day as promised. Brandon gave Ike his contact information. He tried to hand Ike the check, but Ike tore it up right in front of him.