Chameleon (Corrosive Knights Book 3)

by E. R. Torre

  Spradlin let out a sigh.

  “We'll rest another fifteen minutes,” he said. “If the others aren’t back by then, we leave. They’ll have to catch up.”

  His words hung in the air like a poison cloud. The remaining passengers didn’t reply. They hardly noticed as General Spradlin walked off after Howard Bartlett and Jennie Light.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The jungle was thick with trees and bushes. Alan Robinson peered between leaves, trying to see as far ahead as he could. Now that the cold front had passed, the clear night sky was visible. A half-moon gave off enough light to see a dozen or so feet ahead.

  Dan Thompson and Becky Waters carefully followed Robinson’s lead. Becky Waters paid particular attention to their sides, while Thompson watched their back. All eyes were wide open, taking in everything.

  It was ten minutes since they left the camp, and Thompson figured they were no more than a fifth of a mile from the others. Slogging through the thick jungle, especially with a man on a stretcher, and especially at night while trying not to make too much noise, would not be easy. Without thinking, Thompson reached into his chest pocket. He placed a cigarette in his mouth.

  “Put that away,” Robinson hissed. “You want someone to spot us?”

  Thompson was startled by Robinson’s words. Even more so when he realized what he was about to do.

  “Fucking bad habit,” he said as he grabbed the cigarette. “I'm sorry sir.”

  Robinson ignored Thompson’s apology. Instead, he addressed Becky Waters.

  “You got our bearings, Private?”

  Becky stared at the night sky, identifying the constellations.

  “Yes sir. Proceeding due south. Right on track.”

  Robinson nodded. He and Becky continued forward. Thompson stared at the unlit cigarette and shrugged. He tossed it to the ground. His action was detected.

  “Jesus Christ, Thompson,” Robinson said. “Pick that up. Let’s not give our enemies a trail to follow us by.”

  “Yes sir,” Thompson stammered. “I...I'm sorry sir.”

  Robinson’s anger eased almost as quickly as it first appeared.

  “Take it easy son,” Robinson said. Though his tone was casual, it retained authority. “You're not thinking enough. Remember your training. Let things come naturally.”

  Thompson swallowed. A stiff wind flared, sending the palm leafs swaying.

  “Yes sir,” Thompson repeated.

  Robinson motioned for the two to follow him. Becky laid her hand on Thompson’s shoulder and offered him a supportive nod. She stepped past Thompson and followed Robinson into the brush.

  Thompson let out a breath and reached down to pick up his discarded cigarette. A deep frown crossed his forehead.

  “Fucking idiot,” he chastised himself while straightened up. The unused cigarette lay like so much garbage in his hand. It was water logged and crumpled from the fall. There was no way he could smoke it later.

  Useless, Thompson thought. Just like me.

  The thought added to Thompson’s exasperation.

  “Only a year more,” he muttered and moved forward. During the past year, he thought about whether it was worth it to re-enlist. Sometimes, the idea was appealing. But that desire shrunk with each passing day. Thompson crumbled the soggy cigarette into a ball and slipped it into his pants pocket. He pushed a branch to the side and continued forward. In the near distance, he could make out Robinson and Becky.

  He shook his head.

  How fucking condescending of you, laying your hand on my shoulder, he thought. Like I really needed the fucking sympathy.

  Thompson’s mind was so clouded with anger that he didn’t see the shadowy form until it was far too late.

  As if by some dark magic, it materialized right in front of him. Its arms moved so fast Thompson wasn’t entirely sure they had.

  The Private tried to scream, to alert the others of this sudden threat, but he couldn’t open his mouth.

  His jaw felt like pudding, wobbly and wet. Confused and horrified, Thompson reached up to feel what had happened to his face.

  The shadowy form snapped his neck before the soldier realized his lower jaw was completely gone.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Alan Robinson came to a stop. Becky Waters followed suite a few feet behind him. She realized, just as Robinson had, that Thompson was no longer following behind them.

  “Where is he?” Robinson said. He raised his M-16.

  “I don’t know,” Becky replied. “Do you want me to—?”

  “No,” Robinson said. “Not alone.”

  The two retraced their steps, working back to where they last saw the missing soldier. Their trip was short, but each step they took without finding the missing Private raised their fear that they would never find him.

  “Thompson?” Robinson whispered as loud as he dared. “Where are you?”

  There was no reply. After a few more seconds of searching, Robinson stopped and shook his head. They had already passed the last place they saw him.

  “Colonel?” Becky said.

  She pointed at the jungle floor. Almost buried under the damp leaves and grass were three cigarettes. Robinson picked one up.

  “They’re dry, for the most part,” he said. “They’re Private Thompson’s.”

  Robinson continued to look around, but Becky noted his movements were slow. It appeared Robinson wasn’t so much searching for the missing soldier as he was bracing for an attack.

  “We have to move on,” Robinson finally said.

  “What about Thompson?”

  “Either he’s headed back to camp or somehow passed us by,” Robinson said. “If he headed back to camp, we’ll find him there. If he passed us by, we’ll find him on the way to the base.”

  “He didn’t pass us,” Becky said. “And he’s not the type that would go back to camp alone.”

  “What exact type is he?”

  “The type that doesn’t show enough initiative to do anything on his own. Not without telling us.”

  “Your file said you could read people’s lips. Can you do the same with people’s minds, Private?”

  Becky swallowed her surprise as best she could. What don’t these people know about us?

  “Just enough to know when I’m being fed stories.”

  To Becky’s surprise, Alan Robinson let out a laugh.

  “What do you think happened to him?” Becky asked.

  Robinson didn’t answer. Instead, he shrugged, as if it that were answer enough.

  “Sir, he’s one of ours,” Becky insisted. “We can’t just write him off and hope everything works out later.”

  “I don’t know what happened to him,” Robinson said.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but that's a load of bullshit.”

  “You’ve got something more you want to say, Private?”

  “Plenty, sir,” Becky replied.

  “Good. Keep it to yourself. This isn’t the time or the place.”

  Even as the words left his mouth, Robinson froze. Very, very slowly, he motioned to the bushes in front of them. Though there was no wind, the bushes moved.

  “We’ve got more important things to worry about,” Robinson whispered.

  Howard Bartlett stepped through the brush with a swagger. To the greenery around him, he acted as though he were king of this particular jungle.

  His M-16 dangled off his shoulder and his clothing were drying nicely even in the chilly air. A smile brightened his face. He was walking behind Jennie Light, and he was enjoying the hell out of that view.

  “It's just you and me now,” he said.

  Jennie Light gave Bartlett a sour look.

  “The only reason I agreed to this little field trip was because I could use some warming up,” Jennie said. “And by that, I don’t mean anything more than that drink you’ve got.”

  The smile on Bartlett’s face grew. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the pint of vodka.

  “
By all means, fair lady,” he said and handed the liquor to Jennie Light.

  She unscrewed the cap and took a sip. Her lips compressed, her eyes closed. She nodded.

  “Now we’re talking,” she said.

  “I’m here to serve.”

  Jennie eyed Bartlett. He was staring at her and doing a bad job at containing a growing lust.

  “Tell me, Bartlett—”

  “Call me Howard.”

  “Tell me, Bartlett, you really think there’s nothing to this? Getting redirected to Tortuga and taking on a trio of spooks before getting shot the fuck down?”

  “Oh, something’s going on all right,” Bartlett said. “But I’ll bet all this shit we’ve been through is about those spooks and not us. As soon as we get back to the base, we’ll be debriefed and sent on our way. An hour or two of misery and we’re fine.”

  “You’re very optimistic.”

  “Always.”

  “Well I’m not,” Jennie said. “So do me a favor, keep your eyes on everything but me. I'm not about to risk my life because you're feeling an itch.”

  Bartlett let out a laugh.

  Fifteen feet away, hidden behind the brush, General Spradlin heard Bartlett’s laugh. He eased forward and kept his body low to the ground. Spradlin estimated he was no more than fifteen feet away. In this dense jungle and at night, fifteen feet might as well be a hundred miles. The two soldiers he was following wouldn’t see him, but he made sure he was close enough to keep track of them.

  “Don't worry, princess,” Bartlett said. “I'll get you to your castle in one piece and I won't let myself get distracted. Afterwards, when this is all done, we go out. I know a real nice restaurant in Coconut Grove.”

  “Do I have a say in this matter?”

  “As long as what you say is ‘yes’.”

  “No problem,” Jennie replied. “We go to town while your wife takes care of the newborn. You don’t think she’ll mind, do you?”

  Bartlett let out another laugh. Spradlin, still hidden behind the bushes, bristled. Not only was Bartlett a fool, he was a very loud fool.

  “That can be our little secret,” Bartlett said.

  “Do you even have a wife?”

  “Certainly,” Bartlett said. “She’s nice and fat and pregnant, just waiting for me to get back to her.”

  “Really? Here I was thinking all that was just talk and you were hoping the General would feel enough for your sorry ass to let you go.”

  “I knew it couldn’t hurt,” Bartlett replied.

  Jennie Light screwed the cap back on the vodka and tossed it to Bartlett.

  “Thanks for the drink,” she said. “Time to get back. I’ve had enough of your company.”

  “So has my loving wife,” Bartlett said. He cradled the vodka. “You want to know the truth? All right, here it is: She and I are done. I’ve been stationed five different bases over the past year. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been with that bitch during that time, so forgive me if I’m a little suspicious about my loving, devoted wife’s pregnancy. Odds of that kid being mine aren’t all that great. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Last time I talked to her, she said she was seeing a lawyer. I figure I’m heading home to sign the divorce papers.”

  “Why would anyone want to lose someone as precious as you?”

  “At least I’m honest,” Bartlett said. “Besides, I’m not such a bad guy. Give me a chance and I’ll prove it.”

  It was Jennie’s turn to laugh.

  “You’re so full of shit,” she said. “How much of that was true?”

  “All of it,” Bartlett said. He raised his right hand. “Scout’s honor.”

  Jennie Light motioned to the bottle.

  “Give me some more of that,” she said.

  The smile on Bartlett’s face returned. He once again handed her the vodka.

  General Spradlin eased in closer. He saw the two soldiers clearly now. He watched as Howard Bartlett handed Jennie Light the vodka. By the tone of her voice and her posture, it was clear the two were getting along a little better.

  But General Spradlin wasn’t interested in their fraternization. If there was ever a bad time for that…

  “About that restaurant in the Grove,” Bartlett said as Jennie Light took another shot of the liquor. “The place is open air, practically on the water. It's got a real European vibe, if you know what I mean.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll expect your invitation the moment your divorce is finalized.”

  “Come on,” Bartlett said. “Why wait? Life is short. You should enjoy every second.”

  “Now that’s a real original line. I’ll bet you used it on your wife back in the day.”

  “Come on.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Look, Jennie, we go out, have a couple of rounds, maybe even a few laughs. What’s the harm? It’ll be on my dime any—”

  Bartlett didn’t finish his thoughts. The smile on his face disappeared and he straightened up. His entire body tensed.

  “What is it?” Jennie said. She drew her handgun and looked around.

  In the bush, General Spradlin also tensed. He clicked his gun’s safety off. He was ready to rush out.

  “What is it?” Jennie repeated.

  Bartlett leaned in close to Jennie Light, his lips only inches away from her ear. They quivered.

  “I know your problem,” he whispered. “You have a boyfriend, right?”

  Jennie Light pushed Bartlett away. The mischievous grin returned to the soldier’s face. Jennie shook her head and thrust the gun back into her pant pocket.

  “You're a riot,” she said. Despite her anger, Bartlett noted a small grin appear on to her face as well. The vodka and his persistence were working their magic.

  “I showed you mine, I figure you show me yours,” Bartlett said in mock innocence. “Don’t make me spin my wheels if you're committed.”

  “Of course,” Jennie retorted. “Why would I even think of doing that?”

  “Are you with someone?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “C'mon,” Bartlett said. “Make nice. If you and I were to go out just one time, it wouldn’t hurt anyone. No hassles, no hang-ups, and all the honesty you can handle. Don’t tell me you aren’t tempted even a little? We have a great meal and some drinks and afterwards, I rub your shoulders and I’ll even let you rub mine. If you play your cards right, I’ll let you rub me all over.”

  This time, it was Jennie Light whose face turned from mirth to seriousness. Bartlett noted the change in her face. He continued to smile, hoping to find another crack in the ice, but her expression remained dead serious. Her eyes scanned the bushes to the north. Her hand returned to her gun, still tucked in her pocket.

  “What is it?” Bartlett whispered.

  Jennie Light said nothing. Her gaze shifted, this time to the north east. She noted a dip in the ground some twenty feet away. Runoff from the rain had formed a puddle of mud. Beyond it was the darkness of the jungle. Jennie Light moved down the dip and approached the puddle, stopping only a foot away from it. In the evening gloom it was a miniature pool, dark and eerie. Jennie crouched down close to the puddle’s edge.

  “What?” Bartlett whispered. His hands were on the M-16. He brought the weapon up and aimed it in the direction Jennie Light was looking.

  Jennie Light motioned Bartlett to her side. The Private followed Jennie’s lead and also crouched down, stopping next to her.

  “What time is it?” Jennie Light whispered.

  Bartlett blinked several times.

  “What the hell kind of question is that?”

  “What time is it?” Jennie repeated. Her voice was strong, impatient.

  Without thinking, Bartlett lowered the rifle and looked down at his wristwatch. As he did, Jennie Light spun around and, with all her might, pushed the crouching soldier.

  Howard Bartlett fell in a heap into the puddle of water and mud.

  General Spradlin watched
Bartlett fall. Though his face remained impassive, a small grin worked its way to the corner of the General’s mouth.

  Jennie Light stood up and took a step back to savor the results of her handiwork. Howard Bartlett sat on the ground, confused, muddy, and soaked.

  “What the fuck?” he yelled.

  “I’ll tell you what time it is, you fucking creep,” Jennie Light said. “Time to get back to camp.”

  Bartlett gasped, incredulous at what Jennie had done. Jennie walking away but paused in mid-stride.

  “Coming?” she said.

  Bartlett’s face turned bright red. He rose from the muddy puddle and gripped his weapon. As he staggered from the filth, one of his boots remained stuck in the mud. He couldn’t move without losing it.

  Jennie let out a laugh but belated realized she had pushed the Private too far. He screamed in fury and gripped his weapon. Jennie couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Would he actually fire at her? Jennie let out a shriek and ran, right into the arms of General Spradlin.

  “G…General?” she said and stepped back.

  Behind her, Bartlett lowered his weapon. The fury in his face dissolved into embarrassment. General Spradlin examined the two, his face cold granite.

  “You’ve had your fun,” he said. “Let’s move.”

  Howard Bartlett wiped the mud from his face and swore.

  I’ll get you, he thought. I’ll get you, but good.

  There would be plenty of opportunities. They were still a few miles from Bad Penny and moving slower than a fucking turtle.

  Yes, there would be plenty of opportunities.

  Bartlett reached down and pulled at his stuck boot. The mud was like a suction cup. It held the boot in its grasp and wouldn’t let go.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Bartlett muttered. He was a complete mess, muddy and wet and furious. He heard someone giggle. It was her.

  Laugh, bitch, Bartlett thought. The last laugh would be—

  Bartlett froze. The giggle came from in front of him. Jennie Light and General Spradlin were behind him.