Blood Forest Part 33

They'll never stop, he thought. Not as long as there was magic in the air. Temba focused on the buzzing and his eyes followed the power lines through the branches right above him.

If I can break those lines . . . He gripped the rough bark of the tree. The trunk was thinner here than anywhere else. He was not sure if the remaining branches could hold his weight, but he climbed. Temba twisted around the trunk moving past the humming power lines. They had looked like strings from a distance, but up close he saw that they were actually cords of metal twisted together much like the strings of a bow. They would be impossible to cut with his axe and besides, deadly electricity coursed through them.

Temba had other plans. He crawled to the branch above them. Through their parallel gaps he saw the baboons closing. After this, there would be nowhere to run. Only sky loomed above him. The raindrops beat his shoulders until he felt like he was submerged in a stream. It was difficult to see or hear anything beyond the pounding rain.

He gripped the haft of his axe, the wood slippery and wet. He closed his fingers tight around it, not letting it drop. With one hand he held the trunk of the tree. He scanned the highest branches until he found a particularly thick one fanning out into leafy patterns. Temba swung the axe, chopping into the thick branch. The leaves shuddered, but the branch held. He swung again, hearing the satisfying thwack that followed.

Below him, the closest baboon crossed to the other side of the tree and out of sight. It would attack from around the trunk, using the advantage of surprise. It was only a matter of time. Temba gripped the trunk and swung again. This time the base of the branch splintered and cracked and its own weight pulled it downward. White wood appeared as the fibers ripped apart and the whole thing bowed.

Temba reared back for a swing, his feet slipping on the slick wood. At the same time the baboon jumped, reaching out with its sharp claws. The animal narrowly missed as Temba fell from the branch, his axe tumbling free from his grasp.

The world spun around until he saw the distant sky. His back struck a branch and he tumbled forward. Leaves came up in his face so he grabbed at them trying to slow his fall. The weak handholds tore apart between his fingers.

Wood cracked somewhere above him, and still he fell. A thick branch hit him in the chin, catching him under the armpits. Temba tried to grab on, but his momentum pulled him off, jagged bark ripping across his underarms. He fell another ten feet before he caught a thin twig of a branch. His palms tore off leaves as he slipped to the end of it. But the little twig proved to have a strong grip of its own and it slowed his descent with the strength of a bungee cord. Soon he dangled above the precarious drop.

Temba looked at the ground so far away. He glanced into the branches above at the startled baboons. They climbed down after him, weaving past the rigid power lines. Wood cracked again and he saw the branch so far above him, already half-cut from his axe, break apart under its weight. The heavy wood came down hard on the power lines and the metallic cables whined from the pressure. That strange robotic wail echoed across the canopy as the power lines wobbled and danced.

A snap like a gunshot ripped through the air as the first of the cables broke. Sparks flew, showering down amongst the branches. Bright beads of lightning poured past the screaming baboons.

The second cable snapped and slingshot over the canopy. Temba watched the power line snake and weave until it tumbled amongst the distant leaves.

The third cable gave way.

Temba wanted to cheer, but instead hung on for dear life.

The buzzing in his ear stopped.

The branch broke.

Sam exhausted every conversation topic she could think of. Much of it was one-sided, her telling Guy stories he had absolutely no interest in hearing, all in the sake of stalling, all in the hopes that the d.a.m.ned rain would stop.

As the oil in Guy's lantern burned, rain twisted across the windowpanes.

Her exhaustion made things worse, and her will crumbled under the need for sleep. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and shut her eyes, and yet if she let Guy return her to the meeting hall and the cold wooden floor, it would ultimately be Alfred who paid the price.

As she spoke, acting blissfully unaware of Guy's annoyance, her captor stood up from his chair and walked around the table to stand behind her. She felt the cold of his hands on the back of her neck and she fell silent, frozen by the contact.

"Just relax, Sam," he purred.

"Well, I . . ." Her words trailed as his fingers pressed into her shoulder muscles. Her rigid back bent under his careful touch. The weight of slow pressure kneaded her muscles, softening them. She wanted to sink down, rest her head on the table, and melt into it. She imagined a faraway place with soft blankets and hot showers. In her dream, Brandon's fingers were on her back, squeezing tight to her spine or teasing the insides of her shoulder blades.

His lips pressed to her neck, softly caressing her skin. His body wrapped around her, enveloping her in his firm warmth. Sam shivered and pulled away. She twisted around in her chair so she could see him. He looked at her, his palms open in the air, not moving from their position a moment before.

"Guy, I just want to talk a little more."

His eyes narrowed with suspicion, and Sam knew she had drawn this out as long as she could.

"Maybe we should move to the bed, Samantha."

Her stomach tightened into a knot. Is this really going to happen? She had to delay him longer. Maybe she could stall once she got to the bed. What happened if the rain didn't stop?

She didn't resist as he helped her from her chair and guided her across the small room. He sat her down on the bed, the mattress bouncing lightly. It felt so soft underneath her that if she were in any other situation she would have pa.s.sed out instantly. She was all too aware as Guy took a seat beside her and kicked his sandals off onto the floor.

She smelled the heavy scent of his body as he rolled out the covers and smoothed the sheets with one hand. She sat there, legs dangling, and stared at the windowpane and the endless rain. Why tonight, of all nights, didn't it stop?

Guy's cool hands slid across her shoulders and cupped the base of her neck. His fingers dug between the roots of her hair, sending icy tendrils into her scalp and down her spine.

"Would you lie down, Sam?"

She hardly knew what she was doing as she drew her legs up onto the bed and leaned back. Her head fell into a soft pillow, and he leaned over her.

His fingers were on her collarbone. The sickness in her stomach moved up her esophagus so she swallowed. Alfred would never finish in time. She couldn't delay Guy long enough. If she were thinking more clearly, she might be able to hatch some sort of distraction, taking him off on some tangent. She wasn't feeling manipulative anymore.

She was frozen, trapped, and helpless. The thought of Guy repulsed her, and the thought of betraying her husband broke her heart. Yet, if Brandon were here, he might even tell her to do it.

Go through with it, and then you can escape. Brandon would understand. It would be only a small sacrifice to get away.

She swallowed hard. She closed her eyes and tried to be somewhere else, but she was all too aware as Guy's fingers teased down her side to the bottom of her tank top and began to pull the hem up. As each inch was exposed, she felt the nakedness deep under her skin. Slowly, her stomach was bared and, before she knew it, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

She held her breath.

All was silent. Not even the thick raindrops padded the roof anymore.

Half an hour, she thought.

His cool fingers fell on her stomach. Her skin curled at his touch even as he slid lower to the hem of her shorts. They slipped underneath and Sam almost bolted upright. This was too much. She'd rather die than let it continue.

Instead she lay still, waiting. Any second his fingers would slip lower and violate her in the worst way. She could almost feel them pressing into her already, even though they remained for the moment at her waistline. The agony of waiting lit her skin on fire.

Terrible seconds pa.s.sed.

29.

Rainwater soaked Ike's clothes and every time he brushed by a plant or tree another bucket spilled onto him. The wetness chilled his bones despite the warm jungle air. But as he moved away from the militia encampment a plan formed in his mind.

They were Askari Nahuru, and although the name suggested a liberating force, in the Congo they were infamous for their cruelty and brutality. Originally backed by Uganda, even their parent nation had withdrawn support. It made Ike wonder how the Askari Nahuru had managed to keep up the fighting; and with such wonderful toys. Looting and pillaging only provided so much.

It made sense that they were in such a crazy jungle. Evil attracts evil. Ike's fingers searched his pocket for the tiny diamond ring, and he silently cursed the day he had ever heard the words Msitu Wa Damu.

It took Ike a while to find where he had left the others in the darkness. When he pushed through the foliage into the clearing, he was shocked at the scene before him.

Gilles sat against a tree, holding a hand to his bloodied face. Ike's Desert Eagle lay in the mud to his right. Delani lay on the opposite side of him, his knuckles bloodied, his expression tense and confused. Raoul and Brandon sat together across the way, covered in mud. Ike felt the tension, thicker than the humidity.

"Is everybody alright?" he asked.

All eyes turned to him. "It happened again," the American explained.

"What did exactly?"

"The forest. I thought they were going to kill each other."

"But?"

"It stopped," he went on. "For no reason, it just stopped all of a sudden."

Ike didn't know how to respond, so he just nodded.

Delani climbed to his feet. "Did you find their camp?"

"I did, mate," Ike replied. "It isn't far."

"And how many?"

"I'd estimate about three dozen."

"Firepower?"

"They have a.s.sault rifles, Kalashnikovs. They've got chainsaws and explosives. Two Jeeps-one's got a nice looking machine gun on it-four motorbikes that I saw. And then a big trailer truck."

"That's too much. We're outnumbered and outgunned."

"They're sleeping, a scattered watch. It shouldn't be too hard to get in and out."

"Do you have a plan?"

Ike gave his crocodile grin. "Of course I do, mate."

Delani nodded. "What is it?"

"Sabotage and egress," Ike answered simply. "Smash and grab. It'll take everyone we've got though. That includes Devereaux and Summers."

"What do you want me to do?" Brandon asked.

Ike regarded the American. "Well. The question is how bad do you want your plane back?"

Brandon had hardly thought about his plane since Sam had gone missing. He would have been perfectly happy being stranded in any G.o.dforsaken h.e.l.lhole as long as his wife was with him. And a few hundred thousand dollars didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. But when Ike explained his plan, the true question was not whether Brandon wanted the plane, but whether he could pull off what Ike wanted him to do.

Ike led them through the dark jungle. They moved slowly to keep quiet and to help Ike remember his original path. A mistake could take them right into an enemy guard. With every step, Brandon's nerves tightened. He could be walking into a combat zone. He was in way over his head.

Brandon spotted a campfire in the darkness. A few shafts of moonlight broke through the clouds and lit up the clearing. Hacked and battered foliage surrounded the hole in the forest. Ike led them right up to the edge and showed them the encampment.

An array of tents spread out to the right, interspersed with men in rolled blankets. Straight ahead were Jeeps. Moonlight glistened off the long barrel of a mounted machine gun. It occurred to Brandon that such a large weapon might be able to shoot down a small aircraft. A single guard sat by the Jeeps, with a weapon leaned against his shoulder.

Not far from the Jeeps were the motorbikes. They had thick, treaded tires for maneuvering on dirt and muddy ground and were built light for speed and agility.

Although only one man guarded these vehicles, they were close to the tents and sleeping soldiers. The chance that none of those men were at least partially awake was very slim.

To the left of those vehicles, sitting amidst the hacked apart undergrowth, was a ma.s.sive red truck and long trailer. The battered Cessna sat atop the trailer. Its wings had been removed and propped against it for ease of transport. Brandon wondered if his belongings were still inside or if the rebels had stolen them.

The trailer sat on the side of the clearing leading away from the river. He studied the hacked path leading into the forest. Somewhere that path would reach a road.

Ike pointed out the watch guards at the perimeter of the camp, six total, not including the man by the vehicles. Only some were visible in the darkness.

"You blokes ready?" he asked. "Once we split up, we're not gonna be able to communicate," he warned them. "But if everybody does their part, we should be okay."

He nodded to Delani and Gilles and the two men slipped off to the left, disappearing in the dark forest. He whispered to Raoul in French, and then turned to Brandon. "When you see him drop, start moving. Don't let them see you or you're dead meat and everything's blown."

Brandon nodded and kneaded his sweaty palms together.

Ike slipped into the clearing.

The moon glowed silver, crossed by black clouds, and shed luminous beams on the vehicles. The distant noises of the jungle quieted, as if the whole forest had fallen asleep. Only the faint sound of snoring reached Ike's ears. Like music.

Tonight, Ike would not be running. Tonight, he would not be holding his gun, watching the action unfold in front of him. He would not be powerless. Tonight, his training would be put to use. Tonight, he would kill.

It should not make him so happy, he mused.

Ike crawled on his elbows. He held his Desert Eagle in one hand, his knife in the other. His head stayed just below the gra.s.s, invisible in the dark.

His target stood between the two Jeeps, so Ike used one as cover. Soon, the top of the man's head disappeared behind the vehicle. Ike gazed under the Jeep, at the man's boots on the other side.

He slid right up to the Jeep and pressed his back against it. From the position of the man's toes, the soldier faced inconveniently in his direction.

Ike slipped his pistol into its holster and closed his fingers around the hilt of his knife. With his off-hand, he grazed the ground, searching for a pebble of adequate size. He moved to his feet, crouched. He dared not peek at his adversary for fear of giving himself away.

In one swift motion, Ike tossed the pebble in the direction of the tents and then darted left, rising to his feet. The Australian mercenary leapt up and rolled across the hood of the car, knife swinging in his outstretched arm. The soldier looked back from the distraction, eyes wide with surprise. His weapon rose, and he opened his mouth to scream.

Ike kicked the weapon aside. The knife plunged into the man's throat, even as Ike's off-hand clamped over the man's mouth. The soldier gurgled and tried to scream, his knees buckling. Blood oozed over Ike's muscled forearms, hot and sticky.

Slowly, the mercenary eased the soldier to the ground. The weapon fell at Ike's feet. He picked up the short, thick-barreled cylinder and searched the man for extra ammunition.

For Brandon, the sight was surreal, even from across the clearing. With ease, the Australian brought the soldier to the ground. Not a single sound rang out and the camp remained still and oblivious.

"That's our cue," Brandon whispered.

Raoul was already up and moving. The Frenchman cut to the right, running through the gra.s.s after Ike toward the Jeep.

Brandon eyed his own target, the disa.s.sembled plane on the trailer truck. Mustering his nerve with one final breath, he pushed through the line of hacked undergrowth and into the clearing. The sky opened up above him, a few stars peeking through the scattered cloud cover. He felt vulnerable, naked.

His feet crunched through the gra.s.ses, sounding entirely too loud. He kept his target in mind, aiming for the driver's side door of the big truck.