Fever

by V. K. Powell

  “You mean I was almost dinner for a crocodile? I didn’t even see him.”

  “Ebony saved you.” Ben smiled broadly. “Now you help her.”

  She looked at Zak, her gaze taking in the nest of spiky bushes that surrounded her. “I am so sorry, but thank you for rescuing me.”

  Zak examined the situation, her body surrounded by needle-like protrusions, and realized that her skimpy undies and bra were almost transparent after her dip in the river. Her nipples were rigid, the black triangle between her legs pronounced. Sara’s gaze wandered over her body again, taking in the obvious exposure and her precarious predicament.

  “Can you get up?”

  Zak was reluctant to move, knowing that as soon as she rose some of the thorns in her back would come out. “I can, but I’m not sure I want to. That’s going to hurt worse.”

  Ben looked back toward the river, affording her the respect of not gawking at her revealing attire. “Acacia thorns very sharp, very painful,” he said. “I get medicines.”

  Sara offered her hand and Zak slowly rose from her prickly bed. As she straightened, the fabric of her sports bra and undies tugged and irritated the impaled objects in her skin. Some of the stickers had come out and blood trickled down her back. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out.

  “My God, you’re bleeding.” Sara started to touch her but Zak raised her hands in defense. “Like it or not, you’ll need some help getting those things out of your backside. You look like you did battle with a porcupine and lost.”

  “Ben can—”

  “Ben most certainly cannot. It wouldn’t be fair to put him in that position. I’ll take care of you. Get over yourself and get in here.”

  Sara held her tent flap open so Zak could walk inside without bending. “Lie down on my sleeping bag.” She lit the lanterns and placed them on the floor near the bedroll. When Ben brought the first-aid kit and her rucksack, Zak heard a whispered exchange between the two but couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  “Do you need something for pain?”

  “No, just do it. Take them out quickly. It’ll hurt less.” Zak clenched her teeth each time Sara plucked one of the embedded thorns from her flesh. One by one she picked them out of her shoulders, her back, her buttocks and legs. Zak’s discomfort alternated between pain from the stickers and pleasure from Sara’s hands as they rested gently on her body while she worked. It seemed to take hours for her to complete the extraction.

  “There, I think I’ve gotten them all. It’s hard to tell in this light if any points broke off in the wounds. When you stop bleeding, I’ll have another look. Take off your clothes.”

  “What?” Momentarily forgetting her predicament, Zak looked over her shoulder at Sara. Realizing she was still in nurse mode, she added, “I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

  Sara shook her head at her like the uncooperative patient she was. “Those punctures have to be swabbed with alcohol and an antiseptic applied or you could get an infection. God only knows what’s in that water you bathed in, not to mention on the points of these prickers. Now get out of those clothes or I’ll cut them off.” She waggled a pair of blunt-looking scissors at Zak to emphasize her point.

  “Jeez, Florence Nightingale you’re not.” She stripped off her bra and undies quickly, trying to shield herself from Sara. But her nurse wasn’t paying attention to her body at the moment. She was busy digging through the first-aid kit. When Zak stretched out on the sleeping bag, the polyester fabric was cool against her breasts and belly. She wanted to throw it over her back and let the chill ease the fire that tormented her injured skin.

  “Ouch.” She jerked at the alcohol’s sting as Sara swabbed her back. “A little warning would’ve been nice.” She flinched again. “Talk to me or something.” Sara was being unusually quiet but her touch remained a constant gentle stroke.

  “I don’t believe I was ever in love with Rikki.”

  Zak almost choked on a breath. “What?”

  “We’ve only been dating for nine months, and something about it never felt right. My friends told me she was cheating, but I didn’t want to believe them. To me a promise is a promise and you don’t go back on it just because you’re horny or you’ve been inconvenienced. I think I knew deep down, because I hired a private investigator to follow her while I’m away. And as you know, it didn’t even take twenty-four hours for her to find another playmate. I have to talk to her and end this charade. I’m sure she’d love a free trip to Africa as long as it’s in a four-star hotel.”

  “Why would you do that? Bring her here, I mean. Why not wait until you get back?”

  “Now that I know the truth, I just want it to be finished. Maybe it’s my pride, but the thought of her screwing around while everybody thinks we’re still together is a bit much. It was different when I didn’t know. I could at least feign ignorance. It’ll be worth the expense to fly her out here and tell her face-to-face. I deserve that at least.”

  “You deserve much more than that,” Zak muttered before she could censor her thoughts.

  The smooth swabbing continued, as did the heartfelt chatter. “I can’t seem to keep a lover. Maybe I’m fundamentally flawed in that department. Or maybe I’m trying to funnel my passion into the wrong things.” Sara paused as if considering her last statement. “Maybe that’s it.”

  Sara’s alcohol dabbing stopped and Zak’s skin cooled. She’d almost forgotten her own pain as she wondered about the underlying sadness in Sara’s voice. It conveyed so much doubt and self-deprecation. Zak wanted to reassure her, to relate the multitude of characteristics and abilities she’d observed that were worthy of pride and appreciation. But Sara’s hands returned to her and arrested further cognizant thought.

  Sara straddled her body and vigorously rubbed her hands together, spreading the pungent antiseptic cream over them evenly. Then she delicately applied the ointment to each individual wound. Her strong fingers feathered over the injuries, then fanned out to smooth the tension down Zak’s rib cage. She massaged the unaffected section of her lower back with a firmer touch and let up again at the swell of her butt. Sara touched her skin gingerly, almost reverently, with strokes that eased the flesh and calmed the senses.

  For some reason too complex to decipher or too simple to consider, Zak melted into the tender caresses and her body drank as though famished. These touches held no motive other than to heal. They worshipped her with gentleness and compassion. This kind of connection sought nothing in return. Her body completely relaxed and she drifted into a place of quiet safety that she hadn’t experienced in years. The tempo of Sara’s fingers kneading her body lulled Zak with their mantra—Sara, Sara.

  *

  Everything happened so fast. Sara had merely wanted to commemorate their first workday with a celebratory dip. She had no idea there was danger in the river. Zak literally saved her life, and her reward was a painful bed of acacia thorns. When she saw the damage they caused, Sara was heartbroken.

  This was the second time she’d caused Zak pain, and she wasn’t sure which had been worse, the callous comparison to Wachira or the backstroke into needle-sharp bushes. She only knew that she had to make it right. In spite of her stubborn objections, Zak allowed her to tend her injuries. And during that nurturing process Sara realized how deeply Zak Chambers and everything that concerned her affected her.

  The thorns that protruded from Zak’s alabaster skin looked cruel and obscenely invasive. Each one she removed with a quick flip of her wrist stabbed her heart like a saber. Blood oozed from the puncture wounds and painted an ugly trail down Zak’s back. When she breathed, the protrusions rose and fell like a live entity, taunting her with their ability to attach to the woman Sara seemed unable to reach.

  As she cleaned and dressed Zak’s injuries, the ache inside robbed her of words. She felt responsible for Zak’s pain and incapable of making it better. And when Zak asked her to talk and distract her, she launched into a tirade about Rikki, the one person she didn’t want
to think or talk about. She was angry with herself for being so careless in a place full of the unexpected. No wonder she couldn’t keep a girlfriend. She attracted the ones she didn’t need and couldn’t attract the ones she needed.

  Zak seemed to relax as Sara finished caring for her wounds, but Sara couldn’t stop touching her. She gently massaged the tight muscles around her injuries and caressed the small of her back where it dipped before rising to her perfectly bowed ass. Her legs were like a sprinter’s legs with sinewy, well-defined hamstrings and calves. Sara traced her fingers up the back of Zak’s legs and savored the line of gooseflesh her touch aroused. She knew she should stop, but the pleasurable sensations the caresses produced in her own body hijacked the thought before it reached her hands.

  Zak didn’t move or object to the unnecessary explorations. She seemed almost too relaxed, her breathing too deep and even. Sara wondered if she’d fallen asleep but doubted the pain would have allowed that. She edged forward to be sure. Zak’s eyes were closed and her face so peaceful that it might have been a painting on canvas. Sara carefully stretched her body lengthwise behind Zak’s, careful not to touch the red, irritated puncture wounds. She wanted to understand what miracle had released the tension that she carried and to absorb some of the tranquility that enveloped her. For just a few minutes she longed to lie next to this woman who went to bed hours after she did, rose before the sun, and never seemed to rest. She inched close enough to feel the heat radiating from Zak’s body and was overcome with a sense of belonging. As she drifted into sleep she wondered what it was about this woman that called to her on such a fundamental level.

  She felt like she’d been dreaming for hours when someone whispered, “Sara, wake up.” Zak was standing over her sleeping bag fully dressed. It was still dark outside, but the tent was aglow with light that cast ominous shadow figures against its sides. Something was wrong. Zak was motionless, but her anger radiated across the space and frightened Sara.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Get dressed, now.”

  “Please, what is it?”

  As Zak straightened, she uttered a single word like it tasted sour in her mouth and had to be spat out. “Wachira.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Wake in the camp.” Zak would never forget that sickly, phlegm-coated voice, weak but cold as metal in a blizzard. “Wake in the camp and come out,” Wachira repeated.

  She motioned for Sara to stay put, then let herself out. Ben would make himself scarce unless needed. His run-ins with the police, mostly on Zak’s behalf, had left him in an untenable position. But if she needed help, Ben would be there. She scanned the campsite, saw him crouched behind a giant termite mound in the shadows, and motioned for him to stay. She walked toward the officers, her revulsion surfacing with each step.

  The man she hated leaned against the front of a police jeep, his arms akimbo. His five-five frame looked even smaller against the grill of the large all-terrain vehicle. He was dressed in a full command uniform decorated with medals he probably didn’t earn. The eight-point duty cap added another inch to his height and was pulled low to hide most of his face. Zak imagined he wore the outfit to make himself look taller and more important. How could a man so physically lacking generate such fear in so many, she often wondered. But seeing him again, staring into his lackluster eyes, she understood perfectly. His blood was circulated by a mechanical device. Titus Wachira had no real heart.

  Wachira was partially surrounded by at least twelve men that Zak could see and numerous vehicles, the headlights all trained on their camp. Her first impulse was to charge him with all her physical force and hope to hit him once before the guards aerated her with bullets. Muscles in her body strained for release as sharp pains shot down her backside, reminding her of the acacia-thorn ordeal and moderating but not obliterating her urge for immediate action.

  The thought of her father probably kneeling, possibly prostrate in front of this evil man made Zak shiver. Her hatred and rage had been building for three years, coiling tighter and tighter inside her like pressure inside a rocket launcher. She’d rehearsed her first meeting with Wachira since her father’s death so many times that it felt like a memory instead of a plan. She would attack without mercy. The initial strike, quick and debilitating, would immobilize but not immediately kill. He would confess the conspiracy to murder her father, then little by little she would torture him until he begged for mercy and bled out. As she approached the target, her plan spinning repeatedly in her mind, his entourage raised their AK-47s in unison and aimed them at her.

  “Let her through,” Wachira ordered in a nonchalant tone, as if she were a fan seeking an autograph.

  She continued toward him like an automaton, undaunted by the show of force, driven by her blinding need for revenge. She didn’t care if she died in the process of avenging her father. She owed him that much after leaving him unprotected. The semicircle of men closed behind her as she entered Wachira’s space, but still she advanced. She balled her fists and pounded the sides of her thighs as she walked, ready to execute her kamikaze mission.

  “Madame Chambers, nice to see you again.” His words dripped with insincerity. “I did not know you were helping with this project.” He lied unconvincingly. Wachira pushed away from the front of the jeep and approached, circling her like a buzzard might a carcass. “You have become stronger, like a fighter. But we have no need to fight, do we?” He slapped her on the shoulder as if they were friends.

  Pain shot down her back as his hand made contact with the tender thorn injuries. Her muscles tensed and she gritted her teeth to stifle a moan of anguish. She couldn’t afford to appear injured in front of this man. He detected weakness like a bloodhound on a scent and pursued it as vigorously.

  “What’s going on here?” Zak heard Sara ask from what sounded like a great distance. The gentle yet authoritative tone of her voice flipped a switch inside Zak, as if her programming had been turned off. Her urge to attack Wachira dimmed in the presence of a more pressing directive, to protect Sara.

  “Go back, Sara.” Zak tried to sound matter-of-fact without being dismissive or overly concerned.

  Wachira glanced from Zak to Sara and back, his dull eyes showing the first sign of interest. In a matter of seconds he had determined her Achilles’ heel. “No, please join us, Madame Ambrosini. It is you I wish to speak with.”

  The guards parted and allowed Sara to join her and Wachira. “I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage. Have we met?”

  “Forgive me. I am Commander Titus Wachira of the Narok District.” He took Sara’s hand and cupped it in his. “You are even more beautiful than I’d been told.”

  Zak started toward them. Seeing Wachira touch Sara infuriated her. She imagined that even a second’s contact with this vile man could potentially contaminate Sara’s honest and compassionate nature. But Sara gave her that stare, the one that said, Back off.

  “Commander, you flatter me. How can I help you this morning? I assume it’s important to necessitate such an early visit by someone of your stature.”

  Wachira puffed out his chest and smiled. “You are very wise. There is a problem. It embarrasses me to tell you. Our County Development Office made a mistake. This land is not available for your school.”

  Zak’s temper returned and she stepped between Wachira and Sara. “What do you mean it’s not available? She’s paid—twice—for the proper permits. What’s the matter, Wachira, didn’t get your cut?”

  Sara lightly touched her shoulder and nudged Zak aside. “Please, let me handle this.” Her voice was almost a pleading whisper.

  Wachira watched the exchange and Zak’s acquiescence. “Before your permissions were granted, others had already been approved but not yet reached the filing office. They are very slow with the filing. When I heard you had started to build, I wanted to personally give you the news. It saddens my heart. We need more schools for the children and you are most generous to help. Maybe I can assist with another location?”


  Sara stepped closer to Wachira, her body language open and inviting. “Perhaps we can work out a mutually beneficial agreement.”

  “What did you have in mind, Madame Ambrosini?”

  “Let me continue with the school, for a while, until this situation is resolved. I will of course compensate you for coming all the way out here and for any future efforts on my behalf. I’m sure a man of your influence will not rest until you get to the bottom of this and the correct paperwork is located. And if I eventually have to move, I’ll write it off as a tax loss.”

  Wachira seemed to be considering Sara’s offer. “What about your hot-headed friend?” He nodded toward Zak. “She causes difficulty.”

  “I can handle her. Don’t worry, Commander. Do we have a deal?”

  Zak watched in horror as Wachira and Sara shook hands. What had she done? It didn’t make any sense. Didn’t she know this man couldn’t be trusted? Zak pulled her phone from her belt and pretended to dial but instead took several pictures as they chatted, shook again, and Sara finally handed him a huge wad of cash.

  She guided Wachira around the school foundation, explaining her plans for the building and pointing out their progress. She treated him like a benefactor instead of the man intent on destroying her dream, walking and chatting until dawn. Zak lagged a few steps behind, refusing to allow Wachira an unguarded moment with Sara. As the sun rose, Wachira ordered his men to their vehicles and kissed Sara’s hand before climbing into his jeep. Then he turned to Zak. “Madame Chambers, give your mother my regards.”

  Zak’s violent thoughts returned and she wanted to hurl herself at Wachira like a missile. How dare he make reference to her mother, the woman he made a widow. She took only a couple of steps before Sara hooked her arm though Zak’s and gently guided her to the mess tent as Ben appeared from around the back.

  “He is a very bad man,” Ben confirmed. “Trust nothing he says, miss.”