by Lou Cameron
The boa contracted like a vise as it tried to pull its head out of Captain Gringo’s mouth. He felt his mouth fill with salty God-awful and sawed his jaw back and forth until things started to give. The Black priestess moved forward but froze as the headless end of the boa whipped away from Captain Gringo’s face to hose her with spurting blood. The natives were on their feet and shouting as the big snake settled in twitching coils around his ankles. Then Captain Gringo spit the head out, bouncing it off one of the woman’s proud black breasts as he snarled, “You dropped something, bitch!”
Naturally, they were going to kill him nasty now. But they’d already been killing him nasty, so what the hell.
But the big black woman held up her hand and started yelling in her native lingo. Some of the others didn’t like it much, but she seemed to be the boss. So a Carib cut the thongs binding him to the pole while the priestess said, in perfect English, “If you value your life don’t make a move. Are you listening?”
“Gotcha. What’s the play?”
“Just follow me. Don’t look right. Don’t look left. Let’s go.”
She turned and headed for the cave entrance. He stepped away and staggered after her, stiff as hell. A Carib spit at him, but he just kept going until the two of them were in the cave mouth, and he noticed none of the natives followed. He wondered if they knew something he didn’t.
The bald black girl parted some hanging curtains and he found himself alone with her in a chamber furnished with woven matting on the sand floor and some cotton pillows on a ledge. A big basket stood in one niche and the place smelled like snake. He grabbed the girl, threw her on the floor and sat on her, growling, “Answers. Fast. Or I’ll kick the shit out of you!”
“I had to do it!” She pleaded. “For God’s sake, I just saved you!”
“After you wrapped a fucking snake around me? Who do you think you’re kidding? Who the hell are you? Where did you learn to speak English?”
“You’re hurting me. My name used to be Prudence Lee and I’m an American like you.”
“You’re the weirdest American I’ve ever met, and I’m not talking about your complexion! You’re Mamma Macumba, right?”
“Yes. I just told them that your magic was even stronger than Mambo Jumbo’s. With luck I may be able to convince them I need you as my bodyguard.”
“Bodyguard, huh?” He mused, suddenly aware that he was sitting on a naked woman and keyed up almost to the point of hysteria. He started to unbuckle his belt and said, “Okay, let’s start by seeing how good a body you want me to guard.”
“For God’s sake, I’m a virgin!”
That was the wrong thing to say. Captain Gringo was pissed, but he’d never raped anyone before and almost anything else she could have said would have stopped him. But this was too much. Whoever she was and whatever her story, she was still shitting him.
Mamma Macumba struggled, and she was strong. So he slapped her face and said, “I mean it. I’ll punch your teeth out. I don’t know what your game is, but I’m going to have one last lay before I die.”
“I don’t want to, damn it!”
“I know you don’t. That’s why I’m going to enjoy it.”
The gummed-up boots were a problem, so he simply got his pants down around his knees, pinned her wrist when she tried to shove him off, and forced her to open her thighs as she closed her eyes and started crying. He said, “Shit, shy tears from a bitch who just jerked-off with a. fourteen foot snake?”
“I used to be a missionary,” she sobbed as he entered her. He growled back, “Don’t worry, we’re starting with the missionary position.”
She gasped as he entered her to the hilt. He was sort of surprised too. She was as tight as a frightened teen-ager despite her muscular, almost man-sized torso. He settled his naked heaving chest against her eggplant breasts and moved a little more gently as he frowned and said, “This is crazy. You really do feel like cherry.”
“Hurry and satisfy yourself if you must,” she sighed in resignation, as she added, “they’ll kill us both if anyone sees me like this. Can’t you see the only hold I have over them is awe?”
He knew he’d made a mistake. But he was halfway there with a beautiful woman and she was unconsciously moving her hips to help him. He pounded harder and exploded in her before he said, “Okay, you’re not a bitch, but this is still weird as hell. I’ll stop if you want.”
But she murmured, “Wait. Don’t. The damage is done and something is happening and … oh, do it some more.”
So he did. But he beat her again to a climax and she said, “I don’t think I can respond. Those cannibals outside make me so nervous and it really is my first time.”
He laughed and said, “They make you nervous? I thought you were queen of the whole shebang, Mamma.”
“I wish you’d call me Prue. Before you threw me down and leaped on me, I was about to explain this mess to you. Do you have a name, by the way?”
“Call me Dick. I’ll be good.”
As he rolled off, Prue sat up with a Mona Lisa expression on her dark face, and said, “We’ll see about being good together after we get out of here.”
“There’s a way out?”
“Yes and no, Dick. I can get us out of this chamber. This cave runs back under the hills for miles. But I’ve been afraid to make a break for it alone. Now that you’re here … come on, pull those silly pants up and I’ll show you.”
He did what she asked but he frowned at her thoughtfully and asked, “Are you really going to help me escape, Prue?”
She said, “Of course, if you’ll help me. Did you really think I was here of my own free will?”
The fact that the Afro-American girl hadn’t tried to escape on her own made more sense as Prue led him through the dank maze behind her living quarters. They both had torches, though she hadn’t risked trying to get his guns back. So he could see the mouse-sized cockroaches and the moldy bat shit all over everything. The bats tended to flutter ahead of their approaching lights, but they sounded big as eagles. He asked Prue if there were snakes living in the caverns and she said she didn’t think so. He didn’t see why any snake in its right mind would want to either.
Running water had riddled the limestone like Swiss cheese but Prue seemed to know where she was going as she guided him around corners and over fallen slabs of slimy rock. She said she’d explored a bit, trying to get up her nerve to escape, and he noticed the smoke smudges on the roof.
The cave system was a big one and as they wound through it Prue had time to tell him her story, weird as it was.
Miss Prudence Lee had been sent down to the Mosquito Coast by a black Baptist congregation in Baltimore on a mission to the less frantic West Indians working on the Panama Canal. One gathered they were living in Papist error, and Prue had intended to convert them to well-scrubbed, sober Protestants. Her ship had run into a hurricane before breaking its back on the reefs off Nuevo Verdugo. The strong athletic missionary had been the only one to make it ashore.
The Black Caribs pulled her half-drowned body from the breakers, and she’d thought at first they meant to eat her. They may have thought so too. But Mamma Macumba had had other ideas.
Captain Gringo said, “Wait a minute. I thought you were Mamma Macumba, Prue.”
She sat on a rock to rest as she explained, “I am now. Or I was until a few minutes ago. You see, Dick, Mamma Macumba is immortal.”
“Honey, I don’t see shit.”
“Let me finish. I was shipwrecked nearly five years ago. The woman who was then Mamma Macumba knew she was dying. Cancer, I think. Jungle medicine isn’t as exact as people assume. Anyway, she took a fancy to me because I fit her picture of what a proud priestess should look like. I was her captive and she let me know it, painfully, the first time I tried to run away.”
He nodded and said, “I get it, now. She taught you the lingo and trained you as her replacement.”
“Yes. You know the rest, Dick.”
“The hell
I do. When did this other Mamma Macumba die and leave you her business?”
“A year or so ago, I think. It’s so hard to keep track of the time with no calendar or watch.”
“Never mind exact dates then. The Pantropic Sugar Trust has been having a war with you during your time at bat. How do you explain a nice little missionary gal leading all those attacks? We’ll get to the spooky parts later.”
She said, “Don’t you see I’m just a figurehead, Dick? I don’t run the tribe. I’m their, well, good luck piece or juju. I don’t even know half of what’s been going on. I understand there are civilized people living somewhere on the island, but I’ve been afraid, until now, to try and reach them.”
He saw she was about to start crying again. So he wedged their two torches in a cleft and sat beside her to comfort her. He said, “I’ll buy that, honey. But if Mamma Macumba is just a figurehead, who in blazes runs the outfit?”
“Brujos, witch doctors call themselves Brujos down here.”
‘“I know that. Are you saying there’s a sort of witch doctor clique directing things? Okay, who’s the head spook? Does he have a name?”
She shuddered in his arms and said, “Yes. They call him Pappa Blanco. I’ve never seen him; he doesn’t attend ceremonies. He’s said to live alone somewhere in the jungle and the others go to consult with him. He’s the one who makes zombies out of our enemies. Or I should say the Caribs’ enemies now. Jesus, Dick, what if they catch us and turn us into zombies?”
“We’ll be very upset. Get back to Pappa Blanco. Blanco means White. What’s a white man doing playing witch doctor, and why is everyone talking baby talk? Caribs have their own native language, don’t they?”
“Of course. But these have been converted to Macumba, and Macumba uses Spanish, French, English, and African words, just like the Catholics use Latin. I don’t think Pappa Blanco is a white man. I’ve never heard of a white Macumba priest. He paints his face white. They say he looks like a grinning skull, and even the other witch doctors are afraid of Pappa Blanco.”
“He’s making me a little nervous, too. What can you tell me about his zombies?”
She shuddered again and said, “They’re horrible. They say Pappa Blanco gets them from the graveyards of the Christians. He says it’s better to let them lead the skirmish lines so that real warriors won’t face bullets until the other side is confused and backing off.”
Captain Gringo grimaced and said, “Great idea. But how the hell do you suppose he does it?”
“I don’t know, Dick. I was only taught a few simple tricks. I know you think I was horrid with that snake, but I didn’t know what else I could do and—”
“Forget it. It was me or you, and you thought fast when you saw a chance to bail me out. Pappa Blanco’s not a snake charmer or a simple stage magician. He’s on to something really evil.”
She said, “I know. It’s wrong to disturb the—”
“Wrong? Hell, it’s impossible. They’ve shanghaied a bunch of derelicts and I’m starting to feel lousy about how I smoked the poor guys up, but, like you, I didn’t have much choice.”
“You mean they are not from the graveyard in town, Dick?”
“I doubt it like hell. But I’m sure going to check that out when we get back to town.”
The mention of town reminded Prue of something. , She said, “Oh Lord. I’ve gotten used to going stark naked , since I washed up among folks who do it all the time. But what are folks going to say when they see a white man walking out of the bush with a naked nigger gal?”
“We’ll find a fig leaf or something. The more important gossip is liable to be among the neighbors we just left. How long do you figure we have before they miss us, Prue?”
She shrugged and said, “I don’t know. Nobody is supposed to come in the cave of Mamma Macumba and Mambo Jumbo. But you sure made a mess of that snake. None of the common Caribs will dare to peek, but—”
“Yeah, the witch doctors will wonder how you’re getting along with Mambo Jumbo’s unexpected replacement. Who was thumping that drum and, which way was he headed the last time you noticed? I couldn’t see the bastard.”
Prue said, “Oh, him. He was just a second class bad nigger. The others lit out someplace just before you woke up. You understand that sacrifice wasn’t my notion, don’t you, honey?”
“We’ve settled that. Keep going.”
“Well, when they brought you in, knocked out and trussed like a pig on a pole, the priesthood started to get ready to fix you good, and told me to get cracking. But then a runner came in and they said to start without them. I think Pappa Blanco wanted them for a more important gathering.”
“That makes sense. My friends are probably looking for me and he’s planning a reception for them. We’d better get moving, Prue. Even if we haven’t been missed yet, I’ve got to reach my guys before they walk into something nasty.”
He helped her to her feet, got the torches, and took the lead now that he had the smoke trail figured out. He asked her what the odds were that others knew of the far exit, and she said there were dozens of entrances and exits to the cavern complex. Apparently a big, pie wedge of coral had been shoved up out of the sea and eroded into a real puzzle under its cap rocks. He figured if they could get well away before daylight they had a chance. A pretty slim chance, but what the hell. Trying to shake off born jungle trackers on their own ground, unarmed and saddled with a frightened girl, beat the odds he’d faced just a few minutes ago with that fucking snake.
Chapter Ten
Daybreak found them on the marshy neck in the middle of the peanut-shaped island. Prue said she felt silly being stark naked now that they were almost home free. Captain Gringo said they were far from home free and the nearest spur of the rail system was a good six or eight miles ahead. But the erstwhile missionary picked some plantana leaves and began to shred them for a skirt as they walked on. Captain Gringo said he was hungry as a bitch wolf and suggested she keep an eye peeled for something to eat as well as wear. He’d shared some sour sops they’d spotted at dawn with Prue, and while they’d eased his thirst they hadn’t stuck to his ribs. She said there were avocado growing wild in the jungle and he said it would be her job to find some. He had to watch the ground. He didn’t want to step in any more tar pits.
He’d shed the gummed-up boots and rolled the tarred bottoms of his pants up to his knees. So while he could walk better, he was getting his shins cut up by the underbrush. They had no machete and he had to bull through in the lead, sparing Prue’s long naked legs the wear and tear. She asked him why he didn’t look for a trail and he said, “Trails are where you meet folks, honey. Do you want to meet anyone without so much as a club in your hand?”
She shuddered and replied, “Pappa Blanco will be awfully angry when he finds us gone.”
“Yeah. So far I don’t hear any drums. Let’s hope he’s a late sleeper.”
Oddly, the light was better in the jungle at such an early hour. The low sun lanced through the tree trunks instead of trying to penetrate the dense overhead canopy. But it was still pretty murky.
They were near the area where he’d been jumped the day before. Captain Gringo told Prue to watch her step, and when he heard the loud buzzing of blue bottles he headed that way. Behind him Prue sniffed and said, “Something sure smells dead around here.”
They were both right. He found what was left of his machete man, Jose, half under a bush and completely covered with flies. The zombies had been carried off, if they hadn’t walked, but Jose had been left to rot.
Prue grimaced and said, “Oh, he’s all icky. Don’t touch him.” But Captain Gringo said, “Move back and weave your skirt or something. I’m hoping they thought he as icky, too.”
Jose had been hacked up some more since Captain Gringo had last seen him and the blue bottles swarming on the shredded flesh and bloody rags didn’t do a thing to make Jose more appetizing. Captain Gringo took a deep breath, bent down, and rolled the mess over. Then he grinned an
d said, “Jesus, even better!”
He rose, holding Jose’s shotgun and said, “I was hoping they’d overlooked his machete. He fell on his Browning and that puts us back in business. Hold this. I have to see if he has any spare ammo in his pockets.”
The girl grimaced but took the shotgun while Captain Gringo knelt again, muttering, “Sorry, Jose,” and started going through the dead man’s clothes. He found a couple of 12 gauge shells and a small gold cross. He sighed and said, “I’ll see this gets to your family, kid. I’d bury you if I had a shovel and the time, but I don’t have either, and what the hell, you wanted to be a soldier.”
He got to his feet putting the shells and cross in his own pocket, and Prue said, “This gun’s all icky, too.”
He took it from her and said, “Only on the outside, where it doesn’t count. I’ll wipe it off with leaves or something. For a girl who plays with snakes you sure are getting delicate all of a sudden.”
He led them on, Prue resuming work on her grass skirt while she walked, saying, “It’s not the same. Besides, I’m already starting to feel like it was all a nightmare. I can’t believe I spent all that time with a mess of bad bush niggers. Do you suppose they had me drugged or something?”
“You were acting pretty wild last night. They might have been spiking your food, but I think it was just propinquity. We all tend to act like the folks around us. Sometimes I catch myself acting more like a Latin American bandito than a West Point graduate. In a couple of months you’ll be wearing new hair and a dress and feeling like a missionary again.”
She said, “That doesn’t seem possible either. But things are coming back to me. We’re both American and once we get out of this mess we’ll remember that you’re white and I’m black and that … Jesus, you touched me, Dick! What kind of missionary gal fools around with white meat?”
“White missionary gals? Relax, honey. We’re a long way from Baltimore, even when we reach Utopiaton.”
“I know, but are you sure you want to have a black gal as your own there?”