Blood Forest (Suspense thriller) Page 7

  “Do the pygmies go there?” Ike asked.

  “He said that pygmies no longer live in the forest there. Not even they will go inside,” Alfred said.

  “So there’s no village?” Nessa asked.

  “It appears not,” Alfred replied with a shrug.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure there, Doc,” Ike countered. “Right after we introduced ourselves . . . what was the first question you asked them?”

  Alfred thought for a moment, trying to remember. “I asked if there was a village east of here.”

  Ike nodded. As soon as Alfred had asked that first question, the pygmies had turned from comedic to silent and distant. They did not have the look of people who were fearful, but rather the look of people who didn’t want to give something away.

  “What are you thinking?” Alfred asked.

  “I think the pygmies were lying.”

  “About what? About the forest?”

  Ike shook his head. “Did you ask them about the forest? Did one of them ever mention this spirit the Bantu man spoke of?”

  “No.”

  Ike grinned slyly at Alfred and Nessa. “I’d bet everything that the pygmies know exactly where this village is.”

  Alfred scratched his chin, looking up at the sky as a breeze blew in low, rustling their shirts.

  “Why would they lie?” Nessa asked.

  Ike shrugged. “They could be protecting someone. Remember what happened to the village we just came from?”

  “If that’s the case, we could offer them money to tell us more,” Nessa suggested.

  Alfred shook his head. “They are from a hunter-gatherer society. They don’t value material wealth as much. If they are serious about protecting this place, they won’t be easy to bribe.”

  “I disagree,” Ike said. “The one who can speak English and French seems like a very worldly bloke, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Definitely,” Alfred agreed. After a moment, he added, “For a pygmy.”

  “Well, if he is so worldly, then I’d think he’s learned the value of worldly riches,” Ike went on. “You saw the clothes he was wearing.”

  “I think you have a very good point,” Alfred said, smiling widely.

  “I bet the right amount of cash and a promise of good intentions would get us far with him.”

  Nessa’s lips drew into a rare smile, and Ike was shocked to see the expression aimed at him. When he returned the grin, doing his best to keep the crocodile out, she did not look away. For a few rich seconds, he looked straight into her dark eyes.

  “Let’s have a talk with him then,” Alfred declared.

  Nessa nodded, her smile fading and her body tightening up once again. She folded her arms in front of her chest. As she turned, Ike found his gaze slipping down her profile.

  Lightning flashed and thunder rolled in, crashing violently across the sky.

  Temba’s eyes went wide when the first stack of American bills dropped onto the table in front of him. They had got him alone on the porch while the others went in to get out of the rain. All around them, lightning and thunder crashed as the rain poured down in heavy, pounding bullets. Three more stacks of money landed beside the first in rapid succession.

  Ike focused on the cornered pygmy, who stared transfixed by the sheer size and number of the bills.

  Alfred leaned on the table, cut from a slice of an old tree trunk, and waited for Temba to give a reply.

  The small man lifted both hands to his scalp and held them there, as though engaged in a personal struggle.

  “I will explain,” Alfred offered. “My friends and I are looking for a flower that grows in the forest there. We simply want to pick a sample of this flower so that we can use it to make a medicine.”

  Temba scoffed. “Medicine.”

  “It’s true,” Alfred insisted. “We are not friends with any of the local militias. In fact, a good friend of mine died at their hands yesterday. We would have no desire to lead them into that forest.”

  “If this flower has the medicine you are looking for, others will not come for it?” Temba asked, his expression showing that he knew the answer.

  Alfred chose his next words carefully. “If others were to come for it, they would keep it a secret. It is within our best interest that no one else knows about it.”

  Temba gave him a doubtful look, until Alfred added, “That way no one else can profit from it. We would move the flower and plant it in our gardens so that we don’t need to come into the forest to get it.”

  Temba thought about that for several moments. His eyes glanced back down at the stack of bills.

  Ike circled around the table, boots clomping on the floor. He moved up behind Temba, who spun around, obviously not comfortable having the Australian behind him.

  Ike spoke quietly. “Obviously this village exists, or you wouldn’t be protecting it. We have a map. So either we go around chopping up the forest until we find it, or you can take the money and lead us there and make sure that nobody follows us.”

  “We’re here only for the flower,” Alfred put in. “We’re not loggers, we’re not farmers, and we’re not friends of any of the militias. With you as our guide, we can all make sure this village stays a secret.”

  “Kuntolo and I will take you,” Temba agreed. “But only the five of you. No others must know of this place. And we will not lead you into the forest.”

  “Because of the spirits?” Ike asked.

  Temba shook his head. “There is nothing in that forest for anyone. It is a bad place.”

  “You don’t believe in the spirits?”

  Temba turned to look directly at the Australian. “Do you?”

  When Ike shook his head, Temba grinned wide.

  “If you don’t believe in spirits, why do you think the forest is bad?” Alfred asked.

  “It is not safe,” Temba answered.

  “But why?”

  “It is not safe.”

  “All right,” Alfred agreed finally. “You lead us to the village and we’ll worry about the rest.”

  Temba nodded and reached across the table for the stack of bills. Alfred was faster, however, and he snatched them off of the table with his hand. He held his hook up in warning. “We will pay you after we get there.”

  Temba grinned and then brushed a hand over his lips, wiping the thin smile away. “We will take you there in the morning. Tell no one where we are going.”

  7

  Brandon gripped Sam’s ankle tenderly, turning her leg so the calf was visible. Her brown skin exploded into hot, swollen pink. The inflammation looked tender and bulbous. The edges were lined with fine dark streaks where her skin bunched up. Near the center of the rash, red blood trickled either from one of her many cuts or freshly torn skin where she had dug her own nails in.

  “Do you remember cutting yourself?” he asked as he shone the flashlight down on her.

  Outside their tent, the worst of the storm had passed, but a steady stream of rain still fell, drumming on the flaps and the leaves of the nearby trees.

  “I don’t know,” Sam said with a shrug. She exhaled harshly through her teeth. “I can’t even feel it. That whole part of my leg just feels numb.”

  He grazed the edge with his fingers, feeling the skin squish under his touch.

  “Ew . . . don’t touch it,” she squealed. “It could be contagious.”

  She leaned back with her arms propped on the tent floor so that she could stretch the infected leg out in front of her.

  “Maybe a plant did this,” he offered. “Something like poison ivy, I’m guessing.”

  “Some kind of killer jungle plant,” she replied bitterly. “Maybe my whole leg will fall off.”

  “You should have worn pants.”


  “Yeah well, when we left I wasn’t planning on getting shot down.”

  Brandon grabbed a pen from an open notebook beside him and tapped the pink edge of her skin with the butt of the pen. He watched as the puffy skin indented softly and then returned to its previous shape, filling with liquid. “Did you feel that?”

  She shook her head.

  He moved over a half-inch and poked again. The skin there had the texture of a ripe grape. “Did you feel that?”

  Again, she shook her head.

  “Okay,” he said. “This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to clean it off as well as we can and you’re going to take the antibiotics from the first aid kit, and the aspirin for the inflammation.”

  “Okay, I guess.” She regarded her leg as if it were leprous.

  He eyed her, grinning. “Or I can just get the hacksaw. It’s up to you.”

  She smiled and shook her head. His gaze stayed fixed on her pink lips as she leaned back onto the floor of the tent. As she sprawled out her shirt tightened around her breasts, clinging from the moisture. “Just get it over with,” she cried melodramatically. “Cut it off!”

  Brandon crawled forward. He gripped her leg where the skin of her thigh met the bottom of her shorts and pinched the muscle firmly. “Maybe I should start here?”

  She twisted underneath him, shrieking at his touch. She squirmed as he climbed up her body. His hand stayed at her thigh, as he slid one arm up her side and then rested on it. His chest pressed against hers, and he could feel her breathing underneath him.

  He slid his hand up her thigh, feeling the top of her leg through the fabric of her shorts. She smiled, her hazel eyes locked on his. She closed them, lifting her head off the floor.

  Their lips pressed together and he felt her skin on his face, slightly sticky from the humidity. His hand brushed across her shorts as he settled on top of her, the hard muscles of his chest pressing into her breasts. His shirt tightened on his skin, scraping his sunburn underneath.

  He was only distantly aware that the drumming of the rain had stopped and the sounds of the forest had returned. The most poignant noises to him came from the wetness of Sam’s lips and her small exhalations. He brushed his hand up higher, the fingers snagging for a moment on her waistband. He continued undaunted, slipping the hand up under her shirt, feeling the hot skin of her stomach. Her shirt was tight and, as he slid his hand higher, he pulled the shirt with it. His fingertips brushed softly over her ribs until his thumb and forefinger reached the wire of her bra. He stopped there as his excitement stirred.

  His tongue tasted hers for a few more seconds, before he slid his hand higher, delighting in her softness.

  Suddenly Sam stopped. She froze so abruptly that he wondered if he had done something wrong. She pulled her lips away and lifted him off her, turning to stare at the nearby tent flap. Her eyes were wide.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  He could feel her body tighten under him. “What was what?”

  “I heard a noise.”

  He listened for a moment, hearing only the distant sounds he had come to accept as normal. “What did you hear?”

  “A voice,” she answered nervously. “It was right outside.”

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “I swear I heard it,” she insisted. “Can we check it out?”

  Damn it.

  His lust turned to aggravation. He reluctantly pulled his hand away from her and started to get up. He found his flashlight lying across the floor, its arc of light casting shadows on the flaps. He scooped it up. Get this over with as quick as you can, he told himself. He didn’t think there would be anyone outside, and if he calmed Sam down he might be able to get her back in the mood.

  He brushed aside the tent flap, stepping into the dark. The forest sang around him, a chorus of insects chanting an uncanny rhythm. Very little moonlight filtered through the trees. The bright white bulb from his flashlight was the only true source of light.

  They had camped right on the trail where the foliage was pushed apart, the ground pounded flat by repeated foot traffic. Brandon wondered how often the trail was used and by whom. As he scanned, twisting the flashlight to the right, shadows moved left, stretching and curling through the leaves. Sam appeared beside him, scanning through the foliage also. As he strained to hear, an animal call howled slow and sad.

  “Where did it come from?” he asked.

  “It sounded like it was right outside.”

  His eyes followed the bright shaft of light, trying to spot any detail. He could not make out subtle shades of color, and the whole forest seemed to form a single large mass before him.

  “There’s nobody here,” he said. “We would’ve heard them leaving if they went into the forest.”

  Sam’s anxiety was unrelenting. She spun slowly, gazing in all directions. “I don’t think we’re alone.”

  He felt on edge, like ants crawled across his skin. Why does she have to do this now? Can’t we get five minutes of peace? If we weren’t in this fucking jungle we’d both be sleeping on a nice mattress, soft sheets, maybe a little wine.

  In truth, Brandon knew what she was feeling. He felt it, too. It was the same paranoia they had both been experiencing since they crashed into the swamp the day before—that sensation of being watched. Only, he had not seen or heard anything. If there had been someone out there, he would have noticed something, wouldn’t he?

  “There’s nobody out here, Sam. Just try and forget about it.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Let’s go back inside,” he insisted, his voice rising. Maybe he was just frustrated from the interruption. Or maybe the jungle was getting to him. “Something isn’t right. This place is freaking me out.”

  He grabbed onto Sam’s arm, meaning to guide her back into the tent, but she pulled back resisting him. He tugged her arm more forcefully, dragging her toward the tent. He wanted to be done with all of this nonsense. He wanted to be far from this place. If they had not crashed, they would be in a town somewhere on a nice bed, not in a hot, sticky disease-ridden jungle.

  He barely noticed the look of surprise on Sam’s face as he shoved her inside.

  “There’s nobody out here,” he cried. “It’s just the forest and the animals. You didn’t hear anything.”

  She fell on her bottom, legs twisted in front of her. She watched him, mouth agape, as he moved into the tent crawling toward her on his hands and knees. She was giving him that look again, like she didn’t recognize him.

  It was really beginning to piss him off. I’m your husband, for Christ’s sake. Stop being so ridiculous.

  “It’s just a forest, Sam,” he persisted. “A forest.”

  “I don’t like this,” she said as he got closer. She crawled forward, trying to move around him. “I want to get out of here.”

  Brandon grabbed her as she moved past, wrapping both his arms around her slender waist. He pushed his body weight onto her, driving her to the ground.

  “I don’t want to stay in here with you,” she cried. She squirmed, pulling at the floor with her hands, using her energy to crawl forward.

  He climbed fully on top of her, pinning her shoulders down with both of his hands and lying across her back.

  “Get off me!” She struggled frantically.

  But he had the advantage. As her body twisted, it bumped and rubbed against him, and he found his thoughts returning to the lust he had felt only moments before.

  Why would she run away from you? She’s being a real bitch. Don’t let her go. Make her stay.

  As she tried to get up on her knees, he felt her backside push into his waist, tightening against him. He felt his blood rushing and his heart pounding. He pressed his knees down on the backs of her legs, further pinning
her in place.

  “Brandon?” Sam cried, her struggling slowing.

  His chest was on her back. He moved his hands off her shoulders and down her body, feeling the back of her ribs and the soft flesh of her sides.

  “Brandon. Please.”

  She can’t resist you. The thought was strangely satisfying. Every kick she made urged him on, fueling his aggression. And why not? It’s her fault. She kissed you first. She’s the one who’s letting her imagination run away on her. She’s the one who crashed the plane into the goddamned forest. She always seems so tough. But she’s not even fighting back. It’s because she knows she’s wrong.

  Sam whimpered.

  He stopped. His hands held in place at the sides of her waist. His heart still beat wildly, and he could feel blood throbbing in his ears. He was so angry—hateful even.

  He looked down at his wife. What the hell am I doing? Sudden fear replaced the aggression in his heart. What were these thoughts going through his head? Was he really about to rape his wife?

  He closed his eyes in a wave of shame. Oh God. What the hell am I doing? “Something’s wrong,” he said, trying to control the quiver in his voice. “Something’s really wrong.”

  At a poker table, Brandon prided himself on being completely in control of his actions. He did not overreact and didn’t let negative emotions get the best of him. Now all of his efforts at self-discipline had just been thrown in his face.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispered. He climbed off her. He half-expected her to bolt out of the tent.

  She sat up and turned to face him. “You’re scaring me,” she whispered.

  “I-I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “I think it was inside you,” Sam whispered. “I think it’s in me.”

  He shivered, despite the humidity. The chill was internal. None of this made any sense. “Maybe there’s something out here,” he said.