Samantha’s tongue felt like it weighed twenty pounds, and her mouth was sandpaper. Her throat dried after every swallow, and a burning in her stomach told her she’d been poisoned.
“What did you do?” she said, hardly able to speak, her head lolling to the side.
Tristan strolled over to her and looked down. “I’m afraid you won’t be devising that vaccine after all, my dear. You’ll be staying with us.”
“Why?”
“Let her go,” Jason spat.
He lifted his head, his eyes fixed on Tristan, who simply grinned and moved over to him. She placed her fingers gently on his chin and brought his face up.
“Your time has passed, Jason. The military-industrial complex doesn’t exist anymore. We’re nothing more than tribes again. And I will do whatever I have to do to ensure my tribe’s survival.”
He struggled against the ropes, grunting as Tristan took a step back and motioned for one of the men to come over. The man slammed the butt of his into Jason’s head.
“No!” Sam yelled. “Stop.”
Tristan turned to her. “He’s too dangerous to let live, my dear. I am sorry if you cared for him.” She looked to the man with the shotgun and nodded. The man lifted the weapon.
“Wait,” Sam bellowed, “wait, what do you want? What do you want with us?”
“With him, simply to die. With you, another fate.”
“What?”
“As you may have noticed, there are not that many women in our little village. We need breeders, and that shall be one of your tasks.” She knelt down, looking Sam in the eyes. “I’m afraid it will be quite uncomfortable at first, taking on man after man until you’re with child, only to do it again once you deliver, but it is simply the way things must be. You have to think of the good of the village. With your age and strength, I wager you’ll birth a dozen children. That will make you a powerful figure here.”
Sam tugged on her ropes, but they were so tight they cut into her wrists. “Let him go, then,” she said. “Let him go and I’ll do what you say.”
She chuckled. “Are you falling for him? Oh, you poor dear. You have no clue who he is, do you?”
“I don’t care. Just let him go and I’ll comply.”
“Really? You will comply willingly?”
Jason shouted. “Don’t do it. Fight with all you’ve got.”
Sam swallowed. “Yes, I’ll comply if you let him live.”
Tristan smiled. “Roger, take Jason out into the jungle and release him. Put a single shot in his leg so that he can’t come back here, but let him go.”
“Yes ma’am,” the man with the shotgun said. He lifted Jason with the help of another man, undid the section of rope fastening him to the wall, and carried him out.
“You see,” Tristan said, “I can be reasonable. I will treat you how you treat me. You show me respect as the leader of our tribe, and I will show you respect as the mother of many.”
Tristan reached down and undid the ropes on her wrists.
“How many children do you have?” Sam asked.
“None, my dear. That was not meant to be my role.” She helped Sam to her feet. “We’ll get you settled in your new home. I hope you understand, at least for the foreseeable future, I must have one of my men guard you at all times. Just until you’ve earned my trust.”
Sam glanced down at the boy. “Who is that?”
“Oh, he misbehaved in a way that I’m afraid is unforgivable. Isn’t that right, Earnest?”
“What did he do?”
Tristan, as though she were an expert assassin in the Middle Ages rather than a tired woman in a dark jungle, slipped a knife out of her skirt, slit the boy’s throat, and let him bleed out over the wooden floor.
“He tried to escape, if that’s even the right word. No one leaves here, Samantha. You are now a part of that. Should you attempt it, I’m afraid the same fate would await you.”
Sam watched as the boy died, his eyes empty, the floor coated in his blood, which mingled with the dirt and created a semidry mud. “I won’t run.”
“Good,” Tristan said, taking her hand, “then let me show you to your new home.”
39
The night air cooled Jason’s skin. Jungles were humid, intensely muggy, but for some reason this section felt just right. He thought perhaps the drugs had affected his temperature regulation.
“Hurry up, boy,” one of the men pulling him along said. “We gotta set you free.”
“We both know,” Jason said, his voice still shaky from the narcotics, “you’re not setting me free.”
The man chuckled. “Smart boy. Chuck, right here’s good as any.”
They stood Jason in what he guessed was a stream. The water was cold against his ankles and feet, though his legs and arms felt numb. One of the men stood in front of him and rubbed his own belly.
“Well, you wanna do it?”
“Nah, you go ahead,” the other said.
Jason moved like a cobra, slipping his arms over his legs and pushing against the ropes to pop them off. He grabbed a stone from the stream, slick and cold, and hurled it at Roger. It bashed into his skull, sending bits of teeth and bone spraying into the cold water. The other one shouted, “Holy shit!” and went to raise his rifle, but it was too late.
Jason grabbed the man’s mouth with both hands, his fingers inside. He opened Chuck’s mouth wide, wide enough that he heard the pops as the jaw muscles tore from the strain. Jason leaned in and bit into his tongue. He ripped it away, leaving a bloody stump as the man screamed a gurgling, frothy shriek before Jason flipped him off his feet and held his head underwater.
Chuck struggled, but Jason put his weight onto his head. Soon, he stopped moving. Jason held him there a while longer, just to make sure, and then sat back into the stream. He felt exhausted, as though he’d been through a boxing match. The drugs drained him, and all he felt like doing was lying down on the soft muddy bank and falling asleep. But Samantha was still back there. He rose to his feet and started stumbling back.
40
Tristan had calmness, a detachment to the things around her that Sam thought might’ve been what saints or the insane felt. One thing she knew for certain: the woman’s touch sent waves of revulsion through Samantha like an icy chill.
As they walked through the town, Tristan took Samantha’s elbow. The town was quiet, even the children hiding away.
“It really won’t be so bad,” Tristan said, “once you get used to it. Think of it as having multiple husbands. And these are good men. They’ve come here from all nations of the world to find a better life.”
Sam’s stomach churned at the thought of these filthy men violating her night after night. She decided right then that if it came down to it, she would die first.
“Are all the women here treated the same?” Sam said.
“The ones that can breed are revered, as they should be. The ones that can’t are put into other positions. I guess you’d call them administration.”
“Did you grow up here?” Sam said. As long as Tristan was talking, Sam could think. Devise a way to get out of here and find Jason.
“Heavens, no. I was a professor, actually. Folklore and mythology. When the virus first hit the Hawaiian Islands, I read the writing on the wall. I knew we couldn’t contain something like that. So I found elsewhere to be, somewhere away from everyone else. My husband and I found this property and, well, here we are.”
“Where’s your husband?”
She was quiet a second. “You’ve met him.”
They came to the same hut Jason and she were supposed to have slept in. Tristan helped her up the stairs and through the door. Sam’s vision and balance were still affected. Tristan led her to a wicker couch with thick cushions on top, and Sam collapsed into it. The comfort of the cushions lulled her toward sleep almost instantly, and she had to fight the urge.
“Just sleep now.”
“Please,” Sam said, “let me go. Just let me go.”
Sam felt emotion rise up in her belly, and she felt as if she could cry right then. Everything in her life had been devoted to others—her career, the sacrifice of her love life, having children, everything—so that she could help those who were sick and afflicted. And what had she gotten in return? A life of death and slavery.
“Please,” was all she could say.
Tristan pushed away a strand of Sam’s hair. “You rest now, dear. I’ll be back in the morning, and we’ll start your new life. There’ll be a man posted at the door if you need anything. If you try to run, and I know you won’t, but if you do, he has orders to bring you back any way he can, dead or alive. Do you understand?”
Sam felt the warmth of tears on her cheeks, saltiness on her tongue. Her vision swirled, and she couldn’t focus on anything for long. The world felt like it was melting away from her. She closed her eyes and fell back onto the couch, Tristan lightly brushing her hair like a loving mother.
Sam saw her own mother, not toward the end when most days she couldn’t remember Samantha’s name, but when Sam was a child and her mother was a strong, independent woman who always told her she didn’t need a man or money to be happy. “Happiness is a habit,” her mom would say, “and the more it’s practiced, the easier it comes.”
Sam admired her mother and couldn’t bear to see her withering away. She would make excuses so that the nurses would have to stay late and she could be out, and then she would sit by her mother’s bed all night and weep when she got home, a mixture of guilt and pain—guilt because she didn’t want to see her mother like that and pain because she knew there was no one else to take care of her.
The image of her mother faded, and Sam saw a bright light. Her eyes didn’t move from it for a long while until she recognized what it was: an oil lamp hanging on the wall. She sat up and found herself still on the couch. The hut had two lamps, which were enough to light it well. A migraine pounded inside her skull. Her hands went up to her head, and she rubbed her temples.
The first time she got to her feet, she found her balance off, but she didn’t topple over. Whatever narcotic they had given her must’ve been enormously powerful to knock her out in one drink, unless while she was unconscious, they’d injected her with something more powerful.
She walked as quietly as possible to the front of the hut. Peering outside, she saw a man with a rifle sitting in a chair, sipping something out of a cup. Sam backed away.
She scanned the entire hut from top to bottom. Nothing there that could be used as a weapon, not even a decoration or piece of kitchenware.
She was trapped, and a tight, pressing feeling, as though she were being crushed, came upon her. She slumped down to the floor and didn’t move.
41
The narcotics faded quickly once she was up and moving around. Within half an hour or so, she guessed, because her watch was no longer on her wrist when she awoke, she felt well enough to walk without wobbling. The hut and village were quiet. She didn’t hear anyone or anything other than the occasional plane going by overhead. The man out in the chair appeared grizzled in the lamplight and was chewing on something, a piece of straw or reed. The rifle rested next to him, leaned up against the chair, and he had refilled his cup from a whiskey bottle. Apparently some modern luxuries wouldn’t be left behind.
Samantha approached the entrance. She stood there, a light breeze blowing over her, the semisweet odor of rotting vegetation wafting in the air.
“Excuse me,” she said quietly.
The man nearly dropped his glass. He fumbled with his rifle and rose to his feet, pointing it at her, his eyes wide.
Sam held her hands up. “Tristan said I could ask you if I needed anything.”
The man didn’t say anything at first. Then he glanced down to his glass, which was laying on the ground, its contents spilling out in the dirt. “You made me spill my drink.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just have to use the bathroom.”
The man grumbled something, took his cup, and set it on the chair before picking the rifle up and slinging it over his shoulder.
“Come with me.”
She followed him around the hut and into the darkened jungle. Eventually, nothing but moonlight bathed them. An outhouse sat about forty feet from the hut, and the man trudged toward it.
“Have you lived here your whole life?” she said.
“I ain’t your friend,” he said. “So shut your mouth.” He looked back at her. “Though you and me gonna get to know each other a little better soon ’nuff.”
The revulsion that coursed through her was palpable, like a poison. But she didn’t react. Not now.
They arrived at the outhouse, and the man stood by. When she opened the door, the smell nearly made her gag. She swallowed and breathed through her mouth before stepping inside. She turned toward the door. The outhouse wasn’t built well, and there were gaps between the slats. She could see the man trying to peer through them at her. Not that there would’ve been much light for him to see anything by anyway.
She closed her eyes a moment and then opened them.
The man stood near the entrance. She backed up as far as she could, took a deep breath, and rammed her shoulder into the door. It flung open and belted him in the face. He grunted and dropped the rifle, his head snapping back.
Sam dashed from the outhouse and toward the thicket of trees. The man cursed behind her, and she heard the rifle chamber before a shot rang out that echoed off the trees. She didn’t slow down, but she pivoted and ran in another direction before pivoting back and sprinting into the cypress trees. Another shot rang out, and bits of bark flew off the tree she ran by.
The man was older and drunk and couldn’t keep up. He fired two more rounds, but neither of them came close.
Sam ran until her legs hurt, until her lungs screamed for air and she couldn’t breathe. She stopped near a stream and nearly fell over. Leaning down, she retched, but nothing came up. Her stomach heaved and churned, and finally a little bile leaked from her mouth, but nothing else. She wiped her mouth with her wrist and kept running.
The water was cold against her legs. The stream wasn’t deep until about halfway through, and then it came up to her waist. The swirl and power of the stream moved her back and forth, and she felt that if she didn’t fight every inch, it could’ve swept her away.
“Got you, bitch!”
She turned to see the man taking aim. He lifted the rifle and fixed on her. Sam ducked underneath the surface. She heard the round enter the water above her. The current was flowing south, and she swam with it as far as she could. She burst out of the water and sucked in air, the man about ten feet away. He jumped into the stream, holding the rifle above his head. Another deep breath and Sam went under.
The stream narrowed and grew shallower. Soon, it wouldn’t cover her.
Sam thrust out of the water one more time and he was right there. He raised the rifle.
Sam lurched at him, knocking the rifle away. He backhanded her, sending her flying into the stream, and scrambled to find his rifle in the water. Under her feet, she felt the heavy stones, jagged and slick. She reached down and lifted one. As the man was turned away, pulling the rifle out, she shouted and slammed the stone down into the back of his head.
He dropped instantly, crumpling as though he was nothing but a sack of gelatin. Facedown in the water, he began to drift away with the current.
She pulled herself out and ran into the darkness.
The blackness welcomed her. People in the village must have heard the shots, and she had no doubt they were after her. They would have dogs on her trail, and the only way to avoid them was to keep moving. She wouldn’t be able to hide for long.
The jungle lit up in places with moonlight but in most othe
rs was black as tar. Howls, grunts, and chirps filled the night like some monstrous symphony. Sam had run so much that all she could do was lean against a tree and listen, panting. Normally, the noise might unnerve her, but so much adrenaline coursed through her that she could ignore it. Finally, she pushed herself off the tree and continued walking.
Jungles at night held no beauty for her. The trees, reflecting the moonlight and glimmering like sparks of white light, were about the only beautiful thing to look at. Everything else was wet, dark, and slimy.
As she pushed through a particularly harsh brush, the branches like sandpaper scraping across her arms and face, she heard something, something too rhythmic to be another sound of the swamp. Stopping and ducking low, she listened… footsteps. Someone was walking toward her.
Her breathing quickened, and she tried to calm herself, panic was setting in. Memories came to her: a man with terrifying eyes rushing at her in a hospital, a long fall and the impact that seemed to knock the life out of her, men screaming and dashing for her, bits of bloody flesh hanging from their teeth.
Samantha started hyperventilating. The footsteps stopped and then rushed forward. They’d heard her. She got to her feet, trying to run, panic making her chest feel like a car sat on top of it. The bushes behind her separated and she screamed as she sprinted for the darkness of the cypress trees again.
“Sam!”
The voice was familiar. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Jason just as her foot hit a root, and she tripped. She hit the ground hard on her hip, her hands preventing her head from hitting the ground. The panic had turned to tears, and they poured out of her as she sobbed.
“It’s okay,” he said, putting his arms around her. “It’s okay.”
42
Gerald pulled himself from the stream. He sat up, his hand to the back of his head. The woman had gotten him good, so good that he’d have to make up a story about her escape so he wasn’t punished for his gullibility.
Scourge - A Medical Thriller (The Plague Trilogy Book 3) Page 21