Blood Forest (Suspense thriller) Page 4

  Everything was wrong.

  “Sam, we have to keep moving,” he insisted as he walked back to her, stepping carefully between a mass of shrubs.

  Following the river proved to be more difficult than it sounded. The plants grew thickest right along the water, preventing the couple from staying too close, and when they moved away it was difficult to see the river clearly.

  “I think we’re being followed,” Sam told him, as she scanned the foliage. “This is a bad idea,” she said. “We never should have left the plane. What if night comes and we’re still out here?”

  “We’ll make a fire to keep the animals away,” he offered hopefully. “We’ll stay inside the tent.”

  The thought did little to comfort her. A lit fire would throw off their night vision and inside the tent they’d have no chance of seeing their stalker approach. Still, she accepted his plan and they began walking again, this time side-by-side. They moved cautiously, watching where they placed each foot, having heard stories about dangerous plants and insects.

  As hours passed, they hurried their pace, letting the undergrowth rip at their ankles. They spoke only when necessary, not wanting to attract attention. They drank bottled water and snacked on energy bars. Sweat trickled under their clothes. Sam’s shirt clung to her skin. Her shorts kept her legs cool but did nothing to protect her from the thrashing plants and biting insects.

  “I have a headache,” she said.

  “I do too. It has to be the humidity and the heat,” Brandon reasoned. “Or we could be getting dehydrated. Do you want to take a quick break?”

  She agreed and they found an old log. She sat down, taking off her pack. The air felt good on her back and helped relieve the strain in her shoulders. Instantly she felt better.

  “We’re going to be okay,” Brandon said, taking a seat next to her. He offered her a sip from his water bottle.

  “It’s just another hike through a forest,” he went on. He shuffled closer and wrapped a hot arm over her shoulders.

  “I know. I’m not worried,” she assured him with a smile. She wrapped her arm around his back that was wet with sweat.

  They sat, talking in quiet voices. Brandon explained his plan to find a village and hire someone to help them get the plane out. Even if the engine was ruined, the body of the plane was still intact which meant the whole thing could be salvageable. Or, if they were lucky, the engine might still be repairable, but that would mean they’d need to find an aircraft mechanic. Chances of that were slim.

  She was beginning to feel comfortable with their resting spot when a blood-curdling scream cut through the forest. She and Brandon both froze. For several seconds, she tried to hear past her own heart beating. She couldn’t tell if the noise had been animal or human.

  “Maybe we should get moving,” she said nervously.

  Brandon got up and retrieved his pack, when Sam stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hang on. I have to pee.”

  She glanced around the forest near the log, wondering where the best spot was. The forest looked back at her with eyes of its own.

  He sensed her trepidation. “Just go right here,” he said.

  She considered that. The idea of going too far out of sight unnerved her, but that meant she had given in to her fear.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said and hopped off into the forest. She found a patch of empty dirt where the undergrowth wouldn’t brush against her. She pulled her shorts down and crouched, listening to the sounds of the forest as her bladder found relief. Once finished, she reached for a nearby frond to wipe with.

  She paused, her hand inches away from the green leaf. Crawling insects swarmed across the plant. Disgusted, she pulled her hand back and began searching for an alternative. She couldn’t identify any of the plants near her and she had no idea what any of their properties were. She imagined every form of poison or allergic reaction imaginable, spreading about in her most sensitive region.

  She recoiled at the thought. With her pack out of reach around the corner, she searched her pocket and found a rolled up dollar bill. After a brief debate with herself about what was worse, the foreign leaf or the possible germs on the paper money, she finally settled on the latter.

  After putting herself back together, Sam turned to head back, but a movement to her right made her pause.

  A creature hopped between a pair of bushes. At first it looked almost canine, with its jutting snout, long tail, and four-legged movement. A black fur coat covered it from head to toe and its yellow eyes were tiny and round, set close together on its face.

  The creature, a baboon of some kind, didn’t even reach her waist in height, but it opened its jaws and displayed a row of sharp canines to her, undeterred. The animal let out a hiss and took a few threatening bounds. Sam backpedaled instinctively, pressing her back against the bark of a knotted tree.

  A second baboon crawled forth from the undergrowth, joined a moment later by two more. The small animals surrounded her, hunched as if ready to spring. Two moved directly in front of her and the other two crept around to either side, clearly meaning to trap her against the tree.

  The tiny dog-like primates didn’t seem the least bit afraid of her. Sam stepped up onto the roots of the tree, her palms pressed against the trunk. Four sets of yellow eyes looked at her. Their mouths opened, showing sharp teeth. Sam wondered if she should scream. Maybe the noise would frighten them.

  Or maybe it would provoke them to attack.

  The first baboon, and the one that seemed to be the leader, glared at Sam with hateful yellow eyes. His snout curled in a snarl as he let loose with a sudden bark. The noise was like a gunshot to her nerves, and she raised both hands in front of her protectively. At the same time, the baboons at either side of her began to move.

  They closed quickly, hopping across the roots of the tree. Sam raised her left arm up as one leapt, bouncing off the bark of the tree and reaching out with his forelimbs. He gave a vicious snarl, his tiny hands closing around the fabric of her shirt at her arm and collar. The weight of the animal almost tugged her down to the ground. She pushed hard at him with her forearm.

  He clung to her. The claws of his hind legs dug into her abdomen, his tail whipping back and forth. She felt something tugging on her shorts as the second primate grabbed on, his little claws pinching her thigh. The weight of the two animals pulled her back against the tree.

  She swatted at them with her arms, letting out a shrill scream. They bit at her and she pushed back at them. Losing her balance, she stumbled away from the tree. The two others circled her. She felt moisture in her shirt, and for a moment she thought it was her own blood, until she saw the dangling ropes of baboon saliva.

  The second baboon crawled up her back and with one hand, grabbed her ponytail, tugging her head back fiercely. She cried out as pain ripped across her scalp, the long hair threatening to tear out of her head.

  They were all around her, two clinging stubbornly near her face and two circling her ankles, yipping and barking with their strange nasal voices.

  Sam tripped over a root and fell into the mud. The roots formed a bowl around her and the mud clung to her clothing. One of the baboons lined up its teeth to take a bite out of her arm. The other two quickly hopped forward to set upon her as well. They seemed feverish and angry; they would claw and bite her until they tore her apart.

  “Hey!” Brandon shouted. He held a fallen branch in two hands like a baseball bat. He landed right beside his wife, kicking up mud, and with a tight grip on his improvised club he swung at the lead baboon, striking it hard in the back of the head. The animal let out a broken bark as it tumbled off Sam.

  He didn’t stop, taking another step forward, nearly tripping over his wife. He swung the club again, connecting with the second primate. Sam heard a sickening hollow sound as wood connected with
bone. The animal bounded away screaming.

  She sat up, planted her palms in the mud, and crawled away from the last two animals until her back hit a root. As she climbed to her feet, the baboons turned on Brandon.

  Sam stepped back over the root, backing away. The two Brandon had knocked off her shoulders were on their feet again, hissing. The four animals moved around him, threatening him with their gestures and yelps, but they kept their distance from his club.

  “Get away, Sam,” he yelled.

  One of the baboons leapt. Brandon swung the branch, striking it firmly on the snout. Pieces of bark flew into the air and the animal rolled back. A second baboon was right there to take its place. He tried maneuvering the club back for another swing, but the primate caught and tugged it from his hands.

  Sam searched behind her for another weapon. She had bloody claw marks on her mud-covered calves and her head still throbbed, a few torn strands of blonde hair tangled in the elastic holding her ponytail in place. She spotted her pack lying on the ground.

  The baboons leapt at Brandon one after another. He managed to beat the first one off with his arm, but the second one wouldn’t let go. All four animals pulled him down into the mud, as he kicked and squirmed.

  Sam tore frantically into her pack, fighting with the cord that held the top shut. Once it was open she tossed objects aside. Clothing, energy bars, and a water bottle bounced across the jungle floor. She let out a desperate cry as she heard the screams of her husband behind her. She contemplated picking up the pack and using that as a weapon just as she saw what she was after.

  She pulled a gray, flame retardant case from her pack and tugged the latches open. She dropped it on the ground as she pulled out a red, brightly colored pistol. The gun was already loaded for one shot. Three spare flares rested beside it in the case.

  She gripped it in both hands as she moved back around the tree. Two of the baboons were on top of her husband and the two others circled around him nipping at his sides. Without thinking, she angled the pistol at the largest of the animals, taking aim.

  She pulled the trigger and a bright flash exploded in her eyes. The red flame shot out from the tip of the gun, trailing smoke, until it struck the baboon hard in the arm. The animal fell back from the force of the shot, but the worst was still to come. The flames shot up its shoulder, smoldering fur, and it opened its jaws in a horrific scream.

  The animal hopped away, unable to comprehend what was happening. The other baboons backed off from their wounded companion, trying to escape from the sudden flame. Dripping hot magnesium scalded its skin and even as Sam reached for a second flare she found herself cringing at the creature’s pain.

  Brandon climbed up from the mud, searching for his stick. The weapon was unnecessary. The baboons lost all interest in the attack. The burning animal raced off into the woods. It screamed all the way through the trees, beating its shoulder roughly. The other three backed off cautiously and disappeared in the foliage.

  A few pieces of dripping magnesium still burned in the muddy bowls of the tree roots.

  The forest darkened as though night had fallen. When Brandon checked his watch, it was only mid-afternoon. Thunder broke with an earth-shattering crash, echoing throughout the forest. The noise rumbled on, rolling through the distance.

  “We should set up the tent,” Sam suggested.

  Wind rustled through the canopy and leaves lit up like a thousand tiny strobe lights. Thunder crackled again.

  They found a relatively open area not far from the river and set their packs down. The tent was easy to pitch, which was good because the rain already began to pour through the canopy, dripping long rivulets through the gloom. By the time the rain turned to downpour they had pulled themselves inside the tent. There was barely enough room for the two of them.

  The rain pounded their shelter. Thick, moist air drifted inside. Resting for the first time since the attack, Sam took the opportunity to check the scratches on her calves. She tugged at the collar of her shirt, revealing more across her shoulder and collarbone. They cleaned each other’s wounds with their first aid supplies. Most of their injuries were only minor scratches.

  As the storm raged around them, they stayed silent. Brandon stared at the tent walls. Every so often he thought he heard a noise nearby. It seemed someone was creeping around the tent.

  He counted their remaining energy bars and what was left of their water. They had enough supplies for one more day of travel. If they went any longer, they would need to find more water. That shouldn’t be too hard, considering the pouring water outside. The rain flowed around and underneath the tent. Inside, the humidity condensed into droplets.

  The rain finally ended, leaving the air even more hot and humid. It was as if the humidity was insatiable. No matter how much liquid it poured down to the ground, it always held more, nothing like the dry heat back in California that he was used to.

  With the pounding rain gone, the sounds of the forests returned.

  Brandon worried about the Cessna. They had managed to pull it toward the embankment and tie it to tree trunks, covering it with plant fronds. Would the ropes hold? He feared that when they returned, it would have broken free, slid down the embankment, and floated down the river.

  “Looks like we’re going to have to stay out here overnight,” Sam lamented. She lay back on the floor of the tent, her clothes and hair wet with moisture. She folded her arms behind her, looking exhausted.

  “Yeah, it’s probably better than trying to move around at night,” he agreed. With sudden guilt he added, “Sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?” Sam asked.

  “I was hoping I could get us to a village by now.” He shrugged and lay beside her, resting an arm across her stomach. He could feel the dampness where sweat and rain gathered in her shirt.

  “It’s not so bad,” she replied quietly. “It was my idea to come out here in the first place.”

  One of their mutual friends had planned to conduct an aerial survey of Africa for the National Geographic Society a year before. When that same friend had died of heart failure, Sam suggested they volunteer.

  Brandon had made a considerable living as a gambler, allowing Sam to quit modeling. That left them with enough time to enjoy what they both loved: exploring the world one country at a time. The couple was always looking for their next outrageous adventure and a tour of Africa in a small Cessna certainly measured up. It had been a little difficult convincing the Society to let the couple take over the survey, so Brandon had volunteered to provide the plane.

  “And besides,” she added, “I’m the one who crashed the plane.”

  He shook his head. “You didn’t . . .”

  “I know!” she exclaimed before he could finish the thought. “There was nothing I could do. I don’t crash.”

  He laughed at her sudden reversal. He should have known she wouldn’t really accept the blame for that. If she was anything, she could be stubborn, one of the many reasons he loved her.

  She slid closer to him and they rested against each other, listening quietly to the sounds of the forest, as darkness fell.

  4

  The large campfire blazed into the night. The smoke acted as a natural insect repellant and with the dense canopy overhead, the forest would be pitch black. Cold wasn’t a concern. While October marked the beginning of the rainy season, the temperature rarely fell below seventy degrees Fahrenheit, even in the middle of the night.

  Alfred stared at the crackling logs. The starter log Gilles had used burst into flames instantly only moments after they had decided to take the chance and start the fire. They had worried that the militia might be looking for them still and since they had camped near the road, passers-by would be able to see the flame.

  Gilles, the Congolese mercenary, sat across the fire, deep in his own thoughts. As
he sat, he smoked a cigarette, the tiny orange flame burning in the darkness. Nessa was by the Jeep, sorting through supplies. She was determining which supplies had been left in the other Jeep, which showed no sign of returning.

  Finally, Gilles looked up and regarded Alfred carefully. Although Alfred was African by ethnicity, he had been born and raised in the United Kingdom, making him European in the eyes of the locals.

  “Do you have many crocodiles in Angleterre?” Gilles asked suddenly. When Alfred looked up, confused by the question, the mercenary gave him a friendly grin and nodded toward the prosthetic arm.

  Alfred looked down at his arm. He had long ago become accustomed to the thing. He no longer felt the “ghost pains” he experienced for years after the accident.

  “No,” Alfred said, shaking his head. “No crocodiles. But if you think these jungles here are dangerous with the crocodiles and leopards, then you have never braved the streets of London.”

  Gilles nodded slowly, pretending to show the man considerable respect, but his friendly smile didn’t fade.

  “For those who don’t understand the maze of streets and the flow of traffic, London is a very dangerous place indeed,” Alfred continued, his tone light-hearted. “The streets are small, designed for horses and carts, and they are thick with cars of all kinds and sizes, moving to their destinations without concern for the pedestrians in between.”

  Gilles’ face grew a little more serious. “You were in a car accident?”

  Alfred nodded a little. “One day when I was twelve I found myself late for school. I lived in a congested part of the city—it’s called Kennington, in the Borough of Lambeth. Living there, I suppose you get used to it, and particularly when you are in a hurry you forget about the danger.”

  Alfred paused. He remembered the day clearly. The sky was overcast and gray. He had been weaving down streets and alleyways having missed the bus that would take him to Stockwell Park High School.