Blood Forest Part 12

Does it ever not rain? Ike wondered.

He realized he was not alone when he heard Nessa clear her throat. She stood only a few feet away. Her face looked blue in the dim light.

"Can I help you with something?" Ike asked.

Nessa nodded and stepped forward. Ike could feel the lesson coming.

"I think you might be a little confused about your role here." Nessa stepped close, speaking in low tones. Their difference in height forced her to look up at him.

"My role? And what's that?" Ike asked, not hiding his amus.e.m.e.nt.

She locked her brown eyes on his. The sudden connection took Ike by surprise. He was not used to her staring him down. If this was a contest of wills, she would lose to a hardened soldier.

"Yes. You work for Delani. You do not work for H. Hurley."

"You're right about that."

"You're here for our protection and nothing else."

Ike felt her body heating the air around him. The winds were distant and far away.

"You're not here to talk. We didn't hire you for your negotiation skills, understand?"

"I hear you. Shut up and look pretty, right?"

Nessa glanced away. "Just know your role. That's all I'm asking."

"Right," he spat. He took a step closer, reveling that he towered over her. "Was that all you needed?"

She shrank from him and slid her palm along the crook of her neck.

He gripped her side with his hand, leaned forward and kissed her hard on the lips. Her back stiffened. Her lips tasted sweet and sugary-like the plantains. They softened slightly under pressure. She didn't push him away but neither did she reciprocate.

As he was about to end it and apologize, her lips parted and she tilted her head, deepening the kiss. The tip of her ponytail brushed his fingers.

A small cough startled them. Nessa quickly wrested herself out of Ike's strong grip. She wiped her lips and fell back into her frosty pose. Gilles stood off to the side, an amused smile on his face.

"Mister Tabibu wishes to speak to you," he told Nessa.

She nodded curtly and walked away. Ike followed her with his gaze until she disappeared into Marcel's hut.

"Do all BaMbuti use bows like that?" Sam asked.

She had begun the evening referring to Temba as a pygmy, but the young man had politely corrected her. She hadn't uttered the word "pygmy" again.

He shook his head, rocking back in his chair as he picked up his bow. "The proper way to hunt is with nets and spears," he explained. "But you need a lot of people to hunt that way. I am usually alone."

Sam reached down, scratching her leg through her skirt. The numbness had turned to fierce itching, and the once taut skin was dry and scaly.

"You don't stay with your tribe at all?" Brandon asked.

Although speaking English left Raoul out of the loop, the Frenchman didn't seem to mind. He sat to the side humming quietly and sipping palm wine.

"I have too many friends to stay in one place," he bragged, grinning widely.

Raindrops pattered on the roof, rolling off the shingles and falling in long spears outside the windows. The wind felt good as it blew cool air into the house. The lamps flickered in the swirling breeze.

"How did you come here, into the forest?" Temba asked. "Not many Americans walk through here."

"It's sort of a long story," Sam replied.

"Ah."

"We were flying over in our plane-"

"A plane?"

"We were shot down by a militia, we think."

His eyes widened.

"Actually, we were going to ask Raoul if he knew anyone who could help us fix it."

"Raoul can, of course," Temba exclaimed.

"He can?" Brandon asked in surprise.

"Yes," he replied proudly. "He can fix anything."

"An airplane's a highly specialized piece of equipment. Are you sure?"

"If he cannot fix airplanes, then why would he keep a ru-?"

Raoul called out to Temba suddenly. "Did I hear someone say 'militia'?"

"Oui, mon Francais," he replied. "Poor Sam and Brandon were shot at by a group of them near here." He switched to English again. "Do you think they followed you?"

Brandon shook his head. "We don't think so. Even if they saw where the plane crashed down, we left the area so quickly that they couldn't have followed us. "

Temba nodded and turned to Raoul, asking if he could fix the plane.

Raoul became hesitant. After much deliberation he said that he would have to see the damage to know for sure and, even then, the plane was probably in militia hands anyway.

"We would really like to try," Sam insisted, "if we can. It's our only way out of here, and we still haven't finished the survey."

Raoul shook his head. Temba muttered in French, "Frenchmen are even lazier than pygmies."

That caused Raoul to burst out laughing. He got up and circled the table, filling everyone's gla.s.ses.

Ike couldn't shake Nessa from his mind. It had been so long since he had kissed a woman, every thought was of her sugary, wet lips. The rain poured down outside the thatched hut. Ike, Gilles, Delani, and Alfred slept in the main area with a corner sectioned off in bright fabric for Nessa. He climbed from his bedroll, feeling restless. He wondered if Nessa was still awake. She hadn't spoken to him since the kiss.

For Christ's sake, Ike told himself. She's engaged to another man. Promised. The poor bloke is sitting off in England somewhere, waiting for her to come home to him.

Despite his thoughts, Ike crossed to the corner and pulled aside the fabric. Nessa lay, curled in her bedroll, staring blankly at the wall. Her brown hair was down and lay crinkled behind her head. She still wore her blouse, her lower half concealed by her bedroll.

He knelt down beside her, feeling the soft leaves under his knees. She turned to look at him. Shadows cloaked her face so he couldn't read her expression. He almost muttered a greeting, but he found himself at a loss for words. What should he say? She stared back at him, waiting. The silence thickened.

Ike crawled forward, climbing over her. As he got closer he saw her blink, nervous. She didn't yell at him, she didn't push him away. He lowered his lips and kissed her again. She responded more quickly this time. The sweetness had gone from her lips, but the soft warmth remained.

She lay wrapped in her bedroll, so he teased it open, slipping his hand inside. Soon he was fully on top of her. She didn't resist as he slid his hand under her tank top, brushing over her cotton sports bra and small b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He rested on her, searching her body with his hands. She remained motionless. He began to feel guilt-stricken. Why wasn't she responding? Why did she just let him do what he wanted, without argument but without endors.e.m.e.nt?

As his hand slipped down through the covers, he found she had removed her khaki trousers. She let out a sudden sharp gasp, breaking the silence of the hut. Ike winced at the sound, all too aware that the other mercenaries slept nearby, but his hand never slowed its movement.

Nessa's face, normally so hard and plastic, became soft and yielding. Her eyes closed and her head tilted back. As he drew another gasp from her, Ike realized how addictive this newfound power over her was. The ice queen was melting, he thought with a grin. His hand moved in circles across her skin, teasing her beneath the blanket. Her eyes opened suddenly, soft and doe-like. They caught his gaze and held him there as his hand plunged deep, leaving her open and vulnerable. Ike realized he was holding his breath as much drawn into his effect over her as she was. He felt his need growing with every deep breath she made.

And then she shuddered, her body trembling as she bit back a scream. Her eyes closed again, her hand lifting to grip his forearm. He felt a pinch as her nails dug into his flesh.

Her pleasure subsided, her body becoming limp. Her head turned to the side, gazing at the wall of the hut, effectively breaking the moment that had pa.s.sed between the two of them; although she refused to meet his gaze again.

Movement from elsewhere in the hut brought Ike to attention. One of his fellow mercenaries was moving. He took one last look at Nessa, but her quiet disposition and inability to make eye contact told him little.

He sighed and returned to his bedroll.

12.

The girl collapsed heavily onto all fours, her fingers sinking into the mud. Wet dirt flew up, spattering her bare legs and arms. All around her, the boys laughed, closing in. As she climbed to her feet, her hand brushed a branch caught in the mud.

The closest boy sprinted, meaning to tackle her. As she got up, she swung. She caught the boy by surprise, the branch cracking him under the chin. His feet slipped on the wet earth, and he fell hard on his back. The other boys laughed hysterically as their fallen friend rolled in pain.

The girl stood, grunting out harsh gasps of air. She gritted her teeth in an excited grin.

The boys circled her, crouched and ready to pounce. She flailed the branch menacingly in the air a few times, causing some of them to fall back. Then, when she thought she saw an opening, she cried out and began running for it. Her stick dropped into the mud. She bolted into a full sprint, but one of the boys moved to close the gap. He leapt, landing on top of her and pushing her roughly back down to the ground.

The girl screamed in terror.

The boy began to tickle her violently as his friends closed in. Her screams turned to shrill laughter, and she rolled away, wiping clumps of mud off her body. Once on her feet, she walked off casually, gasping for breath. The boys no longer chased her. The game was over.

"The girls pretend to be the antelope and the boys pretend to be the hunter," Temba explained. "Are you ready to play?"

Sam had asked for this. She had been trying to get the Bantu boys to let her join in a game of soccer. But when they had refused, Temba slyly suggested she try an Mbuti game.

Temba had taken her and Brandon to the stretch of ground that served as a temporary camp, with tiny leaf and branch huts and several blazing fire pits. The BaMbuti were suspicious of the Americans at first, but with Temba's, and subsequently Kuntolo's endors.e.m.e.nts, they warmed up to the strangers.

Brandon grinned at her and said, "Try not to like it too much."

She checked her hair to make sure it was tied tightly, and rolled her makeshift skirt so it didn't hang so low that she'd trip over it.

"You better run fast," Temba warned her with a grin.

"I'll run so fast you won't be able to see me."

The boys eyed her, already beginning to fan out. One of the boys sprinted at her. She reacted a moment too late, and he pounced. He grabbed onto her leg and tried to pull her to the ground. The boy was young, and with her height and weight she easily overpowered him. She pushed him off, watching him fall into the mud. In the next second, she bolted. She twisted her body, pumping her legs fast. Her sandaled feet connected with the mud, suctioning up clumps and tossing them into the air. She could feel the boys not far behind and that drove her faster.

She had plotted her escape from the very beginning. Boughs of green maize closed in around her, providing concealment. She spun on her foot as she ran, twisting between the stalks. She heard cries of protest from her pursuers. Maybe this was considered cheating, she thought. The sun was hot and the air felt hotter in her gasping lungs.

She ran until her calves and thighs burned, the skirt brushing about her legs. She felt the itch of her rash only distantly. Confident she had lost them, she slowed to a walk, moving through the geometrical forest. Tall stalks stood in even rows allowing clear views at right angles but obscuring everything in between. Her eyes searched for movement in the boughs and she listened for footsteps. Had they given up the chase already?

She had to keep moving or someone would pa.s.s parallel to her and she would be discovered. She caught motion out of the corner of her eyes. Kuntolo closed fast, the dark skin of his chest standing out in the green maize. He was shorter than Sam, but packed with tense muscle.

She took off running in the opposite direction, a shrill scream escaping her chest as the hunter closed on her heels. Adrenaline pushed her forward, her feet slamming hard in the mud. She could barely draw breath. Wind and maize smacked her face and chest.

But still he closed. He was too fast. She looked back as Kuntolo's feet lifted off the ground, his arms stretched out grasping at her. She tried to outrun his pounce, but she felt something tug her skirt. For a moment, she feared it would rip right off, but instead she stumbled. Her knees struck the soft ground with a slap. She felt Kuntolo grip her ankle tightly.

As she struggled, she let out an instinctual scream. Blood pumped through her body. She felt numb to the rocks sc.r.a.ping her legs and the throbbing in her knees. She kicked out with her free foot and felt the sandal connect hard. Kuntolo cried out, gripping his nose in pain. He let go of Sam and she staggered to her feet. She didn't stop to see if he was okay; she just ran. She ran directly away from him-and that was her mistake.

She should have known. The BaMbuti hunted with nets, Temba had explained. The hunters would drive their prey through the forest-into the waiting nets of their friends.

And so Temba was waiting for her. Like an antelope, she succ.u.mbed to their trap.

Temba leapt from the maize. His arms wrapped around her waist, pushing hard on her diaphragm and knocking the wind out of her. Her legs slid forward as her top half fell backward. She landed hard on her back, pain spiraling out from her shoulder blade. She groaned in sudden agony.

Temba crouched victoriously over her, shouting out to Kuntolo. Sam struggled to catch her breath. Her lungs ached, her muscles burned, and she still heard her blood pumping in her ears.

"How do you like our game?" Temba asked with a grin. He extended a hand down to help her up.

"It's much better than tag," she said with a laugh. Her chest heaved from the excitement and exertion.

Temba lifted her to her feet. Without hesitating, she slipped her heel behind his and pushed on his chest. Temba fell hard on his back, taken by surprise. He looked up at her curiously, but when she extended her hand to help him up, he smiled and took it.

"You are a sore loser," he accused her.

"Yes, I am."

Kuntolo walked out from behind the maize stalks. He cradled his nose in his palm, wiping blood from it.

"I'm so sorry," Sam cried when she saw him. "Does it hurt?"

Kuntolo muttered a phrase that drew a laugh from Temba. "What did he say?" Sam asked Temba.

He shook his head and held up a hand. "Never mind that."