by Candi Wall
As if on cue, the loud murmur of voices came from the other end of the encampment. From the trees, like lost souls, the Hountas’ painted gray bodies walked out into the opening. Damon rushed forward to help carry the ill to tents. A flurry of men and women in medical clothing took over and soon, every sick Hounta was placed for care.
Laylika walked over, her eyes bright with hope. “We left several behind. They chose not to come.”
Damon squeezed her shoulder. “Your father?”
She shook her head and he saw the sadness in her gaze. To her credit, her shoulders stayed tall. “He was taken by this illness. He is at peace now.”
“Please rest. There is much I must do, but we will speak later.”
She smiled and walked to the tents. She would remain strong for her people, make a good leader.
Damon turned to find Seiret still standing at his shoulder. Something about the way his friend stood set his senses on edge. “What bothers you?”
Seiret looked away briefly. “There is—more I must tell you.”
His friend’s silence told him it was something he would not like. “Seiret?”
“Tinjtol is here.”
Damon gripped his fists at his sides. “Where?”
Seiret pointed to a smaller tent behind them, and Damon strode off without another word. The tent was dark as he entered. Several cots lay vacant by the door, but farther back five more had people lying on them.
A young woman with a mask on her face stopped him. “You can’t come in here.”
Damon brushed past her. Tinjtol lay on the farthest cot, and Damon stood over him. He was ill. “Why have you returned, Tinjtol?”
He tried to ignore the mottled appearance of his brother’s face. His lips were swollen and cracked, his eyelids so puffy Damon could barely see his eyes. Dark bruises marred his skin in purple blotches.
Tinjtol turned his head to the side, his voice so thin Damon had to kneel to hear him. “You destroyed our people, brother.”
The simple words resonated through Damon’s mind. There was little he could say to that. Had he not blamed himself already? “This is your only reason for returning? You came to tell me my way was wrong?”
His head moved slowly from side to side. “No. I have done the harm as well.”
Tinjtol blinked rapidly, and Damon feared he would lose consciousness. “What, Tinjtol. What have you done?”
“They beat me, brother.” He looked away. “Until I told them where you were.”
Damon stood, heart racing. Numerous people milled around. The masks covering their faces made it difficult to distinguish one from another. If John knew where they were…
Grabbing the arm of the first person who walked by, he pointed to Tinjtol. “What is wrong with him?”
The woman tried to pull away, her eyes wide with fear over her mask. “Let me go.”
When he did, she rushed away.
Damon pressed a hand to Tinjtol’s heart. It beat steady beneath his palm. “Will you die?”
He nodded, a small grimace creasing his lips. “I do not understand your people’s language, Maglayo. But this is what I feel.”
“I will come back.”
Tinjtol turned away. “You owe me nothing. But I would have you help Laylika. I should not ask for more. But she… She is not as strong as she thinks.”
With a silent affirmation, Damon left the tent. He had to find Myla.
Michelle laughed. “Even the most formidable can be felled by nothing more than the sharp end of the needle.”
Oruminoch closed his eyes and let out a loud yowl as the needle sank into his arm. The old man glanced at Myla, rubbing his arm like a child, and she stifled a laugh. Men were such babies, no matter the nationality. She looked at the nurse. “Did you bring the lollipops?”
Michelle snorted as the nurse took the wrapper off a bright orange lollipop and forced it between the man’s gums. His initial instinct to fight disappeared immediately. He pulled the end of the lollipop from his mouth and turned it several times before popping it back in.
A huge smile revealed his utter lack of teeth, and Myla allowed that was more than she needed to see. “Michelle, you should rest.”
Damon’s mother pushed up from her stool and brushed her dress into place. “Do not worry about me. Another truck will arrive in less than an hour and that should be the last of it.”
Myla rubbed at the muscles in her neck. “Do you know where Damon is?”
“I don’t know. Last I saw him, he was with Seiret headed down to the river.”
Myla walked out of the tent into the bright midday sun. She shaded her eyes with a hand. So many people.
It had taken less than a day for everyone to get past the initial fear. There was still some lingering skepticism in the eyes of some of the tribe members, especially the older ones, but for the most part everyone seemed to be working together.
The river was a few hundred yards through the trees, and she needed a break. Maybe, if Damon was still there, she could steal a few minutes alone with him in the chaos of the day. They hadn’t spoken of when she would leave, and she wasn’t certain when that would be. Staying until the aid workers left as well seemed the best option, but the longer she remained, the harder it was going to be to walk away.
Maybe now was the best time. With the construction of new homes and the presence of the doctors, there would be little time for her and Damon to spend together anyway. It might be easier to utilize a time when they both could remain busy. She could always go back and work on exposing InterCorp in case her e-mails didn’t work.
She reached the river, still confused. Her head said she needed to go but her heart—her heart wanted nothing more than to be with him. This violent, intriguing existence wasn’t what she wanted. She’d grown up living in fear of her father and had sworn never to live that way again. Even with the new life Damon’s tribe would have, there would always be threats.
The weight of decision pressed in on her, and she sighed.
No one was down by the water. It didn’t matter. If Damon had been there, she would have muddled any reasons she had for staying or going. She had to have it right in her own head before she spoke to him.
Slipping the laces loose on her boots, she pulled them off and rolled her pant legs up. The water swirled cool around her feet. She welcomed the moment of peaceful silence, as though the insanity only yards away didn’t exist.
She sat on a large boulder near the water’s edge. “What am I going to do?”
Tears formed in her eyes, and with no one around, she let them fall. She’d spent her time alone after John’s disappearance. Filling her days and nights with John’s mission. All her efforts, the belief that she could somehow honor his memory by continuing his mission, were for nothing.
To know he had lived and worked with the very people he initially wanted to expose was ironic. Worse, he’d done it for money. Not because he agreed with what InterCorp was doing, or because the land would be utilized for the greater good. For money and nothing more.
Now, because of the steps she’d taken to complete what John had started, she’d met Damon. And she would have to leave him. The ache in her chest pulled tight. This was not going to be easy.
Chiding herself for her weakness, she brushed the tears away. There was no use in crying. So much still remained to be done. The potential for others to become ill was still very much a threat. And here she was sitting with her misery. Reminding herself that there was always someone in worse straits, she climbed back up the embankment and sat to pull her boots back on.
The soft gurgle of the water mingled with her breaths. Nothing else moved. The scent of flowers drifted on the wind. Something in the stillness tingled at her senses. She knew this jungle now, knew its subtle nuances. No birds chirped. Nothing but the slow-moving water.
The small hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end. Someone was watching her. She shifted her weight and pretended to fix her boot. Grabbing a fistful of the
crushed river silt, she closed her hand tight and stretched as she sat up.
There was no movement. No sign that someone was there, but she knew there was another presence. A slight shift to her right, the barest shuffle of the leaves, caught her attention. When the barely discernible aroma of cologne reached her nose, she stood and turned back toward the camp.
It only took a moment for him to step from the trees. Dressed in dark, camouflaged clothing, John stepped before her, his hands braced against his hips. “Hello, baby.”
“Don’t call me that.” She glanced past him and then wondered if she truly wanted anyone to come. Better to deal with him herself. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged and walked forward. “I came to convince you to retract the e-mails you sent. That really wasn’t very smart, you know.”
She sidestepped him and rushed up the embankment, creating a slight distance between them. “I thought it was rather clever, actually. If your partners think it was you that turned on them, then it’s going to be your head they hunt.”
He laughed. “Ah, it would have worked nicely too, but I warned you that others would suffer for your continued interference.”
A startled scream came from the direction of the camp, and Myla stepped back farther. “What have you done?”
“Nothing more than I warned. My men are waiting for my command. Now tell me, what are you going to do? You can come with me and clear up the misunderstanding with my partners—” he held a hand out and waited, “—or your precious tribe can die. You choose.”
Her hand tightened around the gritty silt she still held. “If I come with you, will you call off your men?”
He stepped up next to her, his eyes moving slowly over her body. One long finger moved down her cheek to the curve of her neck before descending into her shirt. “Of course.”
“You have my word. Tell them to leave those people alone.”
John smiled and took a step back. He reached for a small walkie-talkie at his hip. “Stand down. Wait for further instructions.”
An affirmative response came from the walkie-talkie, and John slipped it back onto the clasp. “Shall we?”
She turned toward the camp but his hand clamped over her arm. He jerked her to his side, his breath fanning her cheek. “Make sure your caveman stays away from me.”
He pointed to the gun strapped at his hip.
There was no mistaking his threat.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Each man had a gun.
Damon clenched his fists. His people were prodded and shoved into a circle at the center of camp. Had it not been for the aid workers, he would have heard the threat of the men’s approach. The jungle spoke, but not when overpowered by outsiders as it had been today. He did not fault Myla’s people. He blamed himself for not being more diligent.
Dressed in cloths resembling the trees, the men talked amongst themselves. Damon caught a few scattered words. Nothing that gave him any clue as to why they were there. They seemed content to hold them prisoner, as if waiting for direction.
Damon knew who they waited for.
John had come.
The men held no prejudice. The aid workers and doctors were treated with the same callous disregard. One of the doctors lay unconscious a few feet away.
Damon looked at his people, huddled together, their glances revealing a mixture of emotions. Some were angry, while others, who had finally begun to believe that peace could be found, wore their fear. Seiret knelt beside him, silent. Always at his side. His friend could have escaped, as he himself could have. The men with guns would never have found them. But Seiret had felt the same as Damon. A leader did not run.
Damon felt the weight of his people’s apprehension. They waited for him, their leader. He did not fear death for himself. He would wait for an opportunity to fight. He would save his people. He was Bajluk Maglayo.
He scanned the group again. Myla was absent. A seed of hope unfurled in his gut, knowing if she had escaped, she would bring help. He met and held his mother’s gaze. She seemed to read the question in his eyes and she shrugged before looking around. When she was certain no one was watching, she mouthed something…
River. Myla had gone to the river. The seed exploded. She had managed to get away. His heart swelled.
Then, Seiret nudged him in the arm. Damon looked up to follow his stare.
Myla walked dejectedly into the clearing with John directly behind her. Her gaze stayed fixed on the ground and without a word she passed by and climbed into the front of a vehicle. John spoke to one of the men surrounding the clearing before he joined her in the vehicle, taking the driver’s position.
The engine roared through the silence and Damon forced himself to stay still. He caught her sad glance through the window before the tires spun rocks and dust into the air. In a flurry of bumps and turns, the jeep sped away into the jungle. Myla was gone.
For any who witnessed her departure, it looked as though she had left willingly. He could feel the others’ stares. Knew what they assumed. If he did not know her so well, he would consider her behavior proof of deceit. But he did know. Whatever John had threatened, Myla would risk her own safety to save them if she thought she could. He did not doubt that was exactly what she was doing.
Fear gripped his chest. There was no telling what John would do to her.
A woman’s scream split the silence. Cuklho stood with her hands covering her mouth as one of the men dragged her father forward. He placed the gun to the old man’s head. “Shut up, you stupid bitch.” He glanced around at everyone. “You will do as we say, or we will kill you.”
Cuklho’s little brother rushed forward to knock the gun away from his father’s head. Tears streamed down his face. “Leave him alone.”
“What did you say, boy?” The man laughed and struck the boy before turning on the father and pulling the trigger. The deafening report of the gun reverberated through the jungle. “Kill him. Is that what you said?”
Cuklho’s father tumbled to the ground, and cries of horror split the jungle.
Cuklho grabbed her brother. She stood, holding him close to face the man who had killed her father. Her hand moved slowly to the barrel of the gun. “Please, he be good. Please.”
The man seemed startled that she spoke English. He stared and for a brief moment, Damon thought he saw the man waver. Then he laughed. “You will speak for me.”
She nodded. She spoke to her brother and pushed him back toward the others. Clasping her hands before her, she waited. Pride at her display filled Damon.
The man next to her laughed. “Good. Now tell them I will kill any who choose not to do exactly as I say.”
While Cuklho repeated the man’s instructions, Damon whispered to Seiret. “We must find a way to get free.”
“No talking!” A man’s voice boomed from somewhere behind him.
He barely made out Seiret’s nod before something struck the back of his head. Blinding pain radiated down through his skull. The scenery before him dulled. His ears rang, and he blinked against the pain. He would not submit to the darkness. If he did, there would be no one to help his people. No one to help Myla.
He continued to blink away the gray at the corners of his eyes and tumbled to the ground in an awkward sprawl. The man came to stand over him. The end of his rifle pointed down at his chest. “You understand? No talking?”
The gun poked against his skin, and Damon nodded. It was difficult, but he managed to hold back the urge to knock the man to the ground and beat the breath from his body. After a moment the man seemed to accept his acquiescence, and called out to the others. “No trouble from this one.”
Amid the snickers and derogatory comments of the other men, one of them yelled. “Round ’em up. Put them all in the sick tent. Maybe when Mr. Harris gets back, they’ll all be dead anyway.”
Damon struggled to his feet as the men forced everyone into the tent. While he and Seiret moved to the end of the structure, the others piled
in behind them. He glanced at Tinjtol’s cot. His brother lay still, the fractured rise and fall of his chest barely discernible. If he were well, Tinjtol would have fought as he had always wanted. He could have finally stood against the white man, but there was little he could do in his current condition.
As more and more people were crushed into the tent, Damon took the momentary chaos to speak to his brother. He ducked low. “Tell everyone that Seiret and I will slip out the back. We will dispose of these men one at a time. They are to do nothing until we say so.”
Tinjtol nodded, his hand coming up to grasp Damon’s arm. Feverish heat poured from his fingers. “You must watch over Laylika. Brother, you must swear this before you go.”
Damon nodded and grabbed Seiret by the arm. “Come. We have enemies to destroy.” He glanced back at Tinjtol. “You have my word.”
They moved quickly to the back of the tent, and Damon motioned for Seiret to go first. Once he disappeared, Damon followed. After rolling under the tent flap, he jumped to his feet. They crossed the ground into the woods silently. It took only a few short minutes before five of the InterCorp men lay dead on the ground.
There was no thought for mercy now.
He dropped to his knees, panting from the exertion of containing the men’s struggles. “I counted fifteen.”
Seiret wiped his blade clean on his sarong and glanced at the men on the ground. “Now there are ten.”
His easy smile and calm manner gave Damon renewed strength. “You will lead our people someday, my friend.”
Seiret glanced at him, his eyebrows raised with surprise. “You will leave.”
“It is what my heart tells me to do.”
“Then let us take care of these men, so you can find Myla.”
His very thought. “Go that way. We must accomplish this quickly. As soon as a man is discovered, they will know we are free.”
Seiret’s eyes flashed with humor. “They are inferior warriors, dependent on their weapons. We will slip near them like the snake, take their lives before they can beg for mercy. They deserve nothing more.”