Indrani materialized in the golden-shafted gloom. She was running toward him, and her distraught face was a pale coin of horror.
She flung herself into his arms. "Sam!” she whimpered.
"What is it?” he demanded, his pulse quickening.
"It—it’s too awful. . . .” She held her face and pointed toward the river.
Durell ran.
22
Everyone was awake now.
They watched the river in gruesome fascination.
A flow of bloated human corpses passed in ones and twos, some face down, others floating on their backs, bellies distended. Here and there a rigid hand pointed out of the water, as if in supplication. They were all conditions, all ages, males and females, a grisly procession that came from as far upriver as Durell could see. For a common denominator the sun glanced on countless shining teeth bared in the gape of death.
The sunning crocodiles slid from the midchannel sandbank into the water.
Wells spoke to Durell. "More of Ausi’s work.”
"Hundreds must have been killed, a whole village wiped out.”
"And not far from here. Otherwise the crocs would have disposed of all the bodies by now.”
Burell’s eyes were grim. "A couple of days ago, though. Maybe more. It would have taken that long for the bodies to rise.”
"We must have passed their village during the night.”
"A ghost village,” Durell said. He moved to Teresa. "If your people don’t get together, this is what will happen to all of them, Kabakaliya Teresa.”
She stared as if in a trance, her mock-innocent brown eyes wide. She flinched as water swirled near the form of a dead child, and the corpse rolled and was jerked under like a bobbing cork.
Durell spoke roughly. "You must show leadership, or the Ndolo are doomed. Do you hear me?”
Abruptly, trembling, she twisted around and vomited.
"Go easy on her, Cajun,” Wells said.
"You comfort her: it seems holding hands is all you’re good for any more.” Durell was fed up.
Wells’ face was sympathetic. "I know how you feel about losing Deirdre,” he said, "but you shouldn’t take your loss out on us, Cajun.”
Durell felt chastened. He wondered if he had been guilty of such twisted feelings. He swallowed his anger and strode across the shadow-dappled sand, toward some solitude, but then Dager called him, and he went over to him. "What about Wells?” Dager asked, and scratched his thigh, below the cuff of his shorts.
"What about him?”
"You afraid of him?”
Dager’s gaze was mocking. Durell let it pass, and said simply: "No. But he isn’t helping things.”
"Looks to me like he’s trying to take over. I think Ogwang and Teresa might work something out, if he weren’t in the way.”
"What are you getting at?”
"Nothing. Just, you can count on me.”
"Thanks. I don’t need you.”
"You didn’t want me along, but you’ll be glad I came.” Dager’s close-set eyes smiled, then dulled ominously. "I don’t intend to sit by and see General Ogwang frozen out.”
"I still don’t want you along, Dager. Got that? Don’t stir up any more trouble.”
Durell struck into the jungle to let his anger boil away in the sapping heat.
He’d forgotten about Indrani, and did not see her until almost on top of her, dressed as she was in her camouflage fatigues. She sat beside the trail. The jade radiance that filtered through the treetops glowed in her sullen panther-green eyes. The scarlet blossoms of a nandi flame tree drooped overhead.
"I thought you went on to General Ogwang,” he said. "I knew you would come back,” she replied. The heat made her golden cheeks rosy, mimicking the flowers.
"Just getting away from the others,” he said, his tone bland.
"Bwana Durell—”
"I told you not to call me that.”
"Sam?”
"What?”
"Sit down.” The upper buttons of her shirt were undone, and damp showed in the soft shadow between her breasts. She was one of the few women he’d ever known who looked better in rough, military clothing—and without makeup—than most others did in their best, after a day of primping. Her lashes were like black silk brushes. He decided he did not dare to sit down, but it did not save him any temptation: she sensed his reluctance and stood up, close in front of him. She said: "Can’t we leave here? Must we watch those. . .?” Her voice seemed to catch.
"They won’t harm you,” he said.
She leaned into him. He felt her shudder. "The sight of them...”
He tried to soothe her. "If we left now, we’d merely put ourselves in their midst, Indrani. Besides, we shouldn’t risk being seen on the river.”
There was no mistaking the womanly contours of her body, as she tightened her embrace. Her words were muffled against his shoulder. "You want to wait for dark and then slip off without me,” she whimpered.
"That is not so,” Durell said. Insects made a drilling racket.
She tilted her face up to his. "Would you let them leave me behind?”
"I don’t think I would. But I might. Don’t ask for promises.”
"You said you didn’t think—”
"That’s not a promise.”
Tears rolled out of her eyes, big, round tears that trailed glistening tracks down her high cheeks, and she put her face against him and sobbed. He sat down on the moss and rocked her gently, mentally cursing everything and everyone. If Teresa cared nothing for Ogwang any more, why punish Indrani?
"Help me. Be on my side,” she pleaded.
"I can’t take sides.”
"I felt—something special for you, Sam. From the start.” Her glowing green gaze lifted to meet his eyes.
He stopped the casual, soothing motion of a palm that had been stroking her hair. "What about General Ogwang?” he asked.
"I’d leave him for you.”
"Is that how you repay his love?”
Distress clouded her face. "He brought me up like a daughter. I have repaid him. But nothing said I had to love him.” She snuggled closer in the hot, shaded glade. "Do you have a woman?” she asked.
"You talk like a schoolgirl.” His tone was gruff.
"I’ll wager you do.” She tucked her chin down and smiled at him from under her lashes.
"I did.”
"Tell me about her.”
"No.” He turned his dark gaze inward.
Indrani hesitated. "You speak as if. . .”
"She’s dead,” he said. He stifled the pain that rose on his words.
She spoke under her breath and told him she was sorry: "Samahani."
She puzzled Durell, who had not forgotten that she’d tried to kill him once. "You don’t seem like the little vixen I met in Zanzibar,” he told her.
She thought that over, catching a skein of rippled hair and throwing it over her shoulder. A band of scolding monkeys passed over, vanishing in the thick gallery forest. Then she said, "It is nice to sit in a quiet place and talk for a little while.” And, abruptly, "Would you make love to me?”
"Here?”
"I am good,” she said.
"Really good?” He smiled in spite of himself.
"Albert thinks so. Help me forget. . . pretend . . . the world is not waiting, out there. . . ."
It was easy to kiss her.
Her lips were hot, soft, trembling with eagerness, as she pulled him down on the moss with her. Her ripe breasts made a lascivious pillow between them; her fragrance was incredibly, sweetly spicy, despite everything days in the bush could do to her. He kissed her deeply, the way a thirsty soldier pulls at a canteen.
"Wait,” she breathed. "Kill Teresa?” she said.
"Get away from me.” He sat up.
She pressed her blouse together with both hands and gave him a hard green stare. "I really wanted you,” she said.
"But you thought you’d just as well see how much you could bargain for. Righ
t?”
"I’ve had to bargain for everything. I’m sorry. I suppose I know no other way.”
"I almost fell for it. You never give yourself—you only trade.”
"How do you know?” she demanded.
"It’s in your character, Indrani. And here’s something else: you may not love General Ogwang, but you are devoted to him totally for all he’s done. You wouldn’t throw that away on me, or anyone. If you pretend to, they’d better look out.”
"I hate you!” She sprang to her feet, shirt hanging open loosely, showing halves of swinging breasts, and swiped at him with her talons. "I said I’d kill you!” she cried, but anger tightened her voice then to unintelligible squeaks, as he fended her off. He knocked her to the earth, but she came back. She spat and clawed like a tigress, and he tripped. They went down together, she on top, and he felt the weight of breasts drawn across his chest. They rolled, and their breaths came in harsh spurts. The silk of her hair webbed her damp pink face. The next thing he knew, their mouths were locked together.
Something akin to primitive fury liberated an explosive passion, and suddenly she was cooing and gasping, her eyes wet with tears of a dead anger, as she tossed away caution for the reward of her yearning body.
"Love me, Sam,” she moaned.
He was on the verge of complying—when a voice shouted urgently from the end of the trail.
General Ogwang’s voice.
23
"Oh!” Indrani gasped.
"He hasn’t seen us,” Durell said.
Indrani buttoned things with quick, nervous fingers, and whispered to Durell, "Another time.”
Durell’s eyes were grave. "There won’t be another time,” he said.
General Ogwang shouted from the distance again. Durell was on his knees. "Get back to the others; I’ll see why he’s calling,” he told her, and hopped up.
A woman’s understanding was in Indrani’s smile. "Another time will come. You want me,” she said.
"Get out of here.” He headed for the outpost from which the general had called.
Ogwang’s camouflage uniform emerged indistinctly from the grass and branches. He stretched an arm toward the horizon, pointing out a small speck that grew against the yellow sky, above the grazing zebras.
Durell held his breath, listened, heard a familiar beating sound. "Helicopter,” he said.
"Ndio." Ogwang kept his broad face turned to the sky.
Swiftly the chopper hurtled across the countryside, taking shape. Now Durell saw the greens and browns of its coloring; the whine of its jet turbine rose to a piercing screech. Then it was past, flapping across the river several hundred yards to the north of them.
"What brought it to us?” Ogwang wondered.
"Coincidence?” Durell asked.
The two men stared at each other briefly. The ship was out of sight, behind the high trees that edged the river, but the sound of it approached again, so it must have been circling back.
Ogwang’s agitation was apparent. "It has to be a reconnaissance craft. I repeat: why is it here?”
"Bodies are coming down the river—”
The helicopter clatter drowned him out as it zoomed almost directly overhead, then angled to the south, describing an arc in the direction from which it had come.
"There are lots of bodies,” Durell picked up, watching the chopper recede. "I’d say the troops responsible are still out here, looking to kill off any survivors.” His eyes went tight, straining at the distance. "Look,” he said.
"I see. A dust cloud.”
"It means vehicles—”
"Trucks? Troop trucks?”
"Let’s get back to the others.” Durell felt alarm as he took a last look at the advancing dust cloud and saw three trucks edge around a distant woods. Ogwang was already gone, and he heard him crash down the trail, making noise like nyati, the water buffalo. Durell followed. He found Ogwang bullying the others into the dugout canoes.
The sullen olive waters stank of death. A bloated corpse bobbed in a tangle, caught in a thicket a few yards upstream.
"Is it wise to leave now?” Teresa asked Durell. She clearly was in no mood to take directions from General Ogwang. "I thought we would wait for night.”
"It would be preferable, but you must have seen the helicopter.”
"I saw it. But did it see us?”
"Who knows? Troops are only a couple of miles away.”
"Suppose it comes back, and we are out on the river. It certainly will see us then. I don’t think—”
"Get into the canoe. Please.” He took her elbow. "We’ll hug the bank, under the foliage.” Something of his sense of urgency must have rubbed off, because she did as he told her without further argument. He glanced quickly around. Everyone was here.
Indrani called from the other canoe: "Will you ride with us today, Bwana Durell?” Her eyes bespoke a secret intimacy, and it grated on him.
"Thanks, no,” he said.
She pouted.
Teresa, seated amidships, regarded her hatefully. "You are lucky to come at all,” she sneered.
"Go to hell,” Indrani snapped, and turned away with a saucy toss of her head.
"Shove them off!” Durell shouted, and the men leaned into the massive, hollowed logs, and the canoes plunged toward the river with a hiss of sand against wood. Each man jumped aboard as his turn came to run into the river.
There was a splash, a short, terrified scream: "Ai! Aiii!”
Durell felt the hair stiffen at the back of his neck, as he saw Ogwang struggling. One of the man’s hands clutched the gunwale of the other canoe, the other hand beat into the white froth stirred by a crocodile. He lurched frantically, tried to hurl his massive body back onto the beach. His white-rimmed eyes bulged, and he screamed: "Msaada! Help! Croc! Croc!”
"Grab his hands,” Durell shouted, and ran to help. Mkondo, who was nearest Ogwang, just stood and watched. The old man’s eyes held the same feral elation they had shown when he had tried for Field Marshal Ausi, and when he had ambushed the armored car. Dager’s reaction had been first, after the initial shock, and he had leaped Ogwang’s canoe to get to him, but Mkondo had gotten in the way—you couldn’t say for sure that it was intentional—and Dager had taken a tumble. Durell and Wells pounded across the scattering sand to reach the general before it was too late.
Dager bounced up unholstering his .45, and there was a loud bam! bam! and water fountained in the area of Ogwang’s leg.
"Don’t!” Durell barked. "You can’t see what you’re shooting at. Get hold.” The croc was pulling hard to drag Ogwang under.
Durell caught the man’s wrists, dug his heels in.
The crocodile’s tail thrashed above the water and twisted like a snake. The general splashed, lunged, gibbered. The tail slapped violently down, and Ogwang’s body jerked, and he went under, his scream going bubbles.
They all had hold of him now, all except Mkondo and the women, and they heaved, and Ogwang managed to push his terror-struck face out of the water. His eyes blinked under rivulets and his mouth went round, gaping for air. Wells dared wade in far enough to grip him under the arms, and they all hauled again.
The savage jerking of the hungry crocodile came through Ogwang’s leg to the men as they labored. It fought back, furious at denial, but they were winning. One more heave and Ogwang came out of the water, his head hung in limp exhaustion, but the vile gray snout still clamped to him pulling stubbornly back on his leg. Feeling almost sickened by the sight, Durell whipped out his pistol and put three quick shots into its head, and its evil yellow eyes went dull, its jaws loose. It twisted its body, flipped madly, rolled into the river in its death throes.
They dragged Ogwang up the sand, into the shade, where he sobbed and shivered, gasping for breath. Durell bent over the mauled leg, tested it gently. "It’s not broken,” he announced.
There was plenty of blood and tooth marks, however. "Do we have any bandages?” he asked.
"In my pack,” Ogwang bl
ubbered.
"Bring them,” Durell told Indrani, and she ran to the canoe.
Ogwang’s eyes sharpened against the inscrutable mask of Mkondo’s face, and his fear and self-pity gave way to fury. "He saw that croc; he tripped me; he pushed me, right into its mouth!” he raged.
Everybody looked at Mkondo. He shrugged.
"Maybe it was an accident. Nobody could have seen that thing under the water,” Wells said.
Ogwang wasn’t buying. He unlimbered his pistol and swung its muzzle toward Mkondo, bared his teeth—
Durell batted the gun away and said, "We may need him; he’s a good man.” He felt tired as he took a first-aid kit from Indrani. He swabbed antiseptic over the wounds and bandaged the leg, telling Ogwang: "It could have been much worse. You’re lucky.”
"Lucky,” Mkondo said. It could have meant anything. He gave a sharp nod, turned abruptly, walked back to the other canoe and waited beside Teresa.
Ogwang lurched onto his elbows and growled, "I’ll kill that old—”
"Take it easy,” Durell interjected. He read the hostility in the general’s face. "I’ll keep him away from you; I’ll speak to Teresa about it,” he said.
Ogwang snorted. "It was she who put him up to it, don’t you see?”
Durell considered that: it seemed more likely, when he thought about it. All she had to do was drop a bare hint, and Mkondo would take it as a command.
Dager said: "You’ll have to do something, Durell.”
"I said I’d keep him away from Ogwang. Willie?” He looked up from his bandaging chore. "In the name of everything we’ve shared, don’t cross me on this.”
"You’re still the chief, Cajun.” Wells turned his attention back to General Ogwang. "Can you travel, sir?”
"Do I have any choice?”
"Help him into the boat,” Durell said.
He took one arm, and Wells the other, but Ogwang shook himself loose of Wells, and supported himself against Dager, instead. When they had him seated more or less comfortably in the canoe with Dager and Indrani, Durell and Wells pushed it off. Then they joined Teresa and Mkondo and got the other dugout underway.
Assignment- Tyrant's Bride Page 14