Jungle Goddess, Page 3

  A generous face of a Goddess looked down at Tallie, smiled. It was as if she were looking at herself, but much older. The face faded. The sound of screaming surrounded her, the dream shifted and she was in the belly of some strange monstrous creature, looking out through a hole in its side as the world below. It was like swinging through the trees without touching a branch. The dream shifted again, fading, refocusing and then fading again, until it turned completely dark as if by some inner will it was being shut down.

  The ancient nightmare slept in its deeply contained mental cage deep inside her mind.

  * * * *

  Rita Bentley was fighting raw fear.

  Bob's command to strap in jarred her. From the moment she remained in a state of terror, hating herself for having arranged this trip. How silly. That dark side of her personality had neatly planned things. To what purpose other than to have another wild adventure. But not this! She didn't want to die. Dark Rita didn't care! That part of her lived on the cutting edge of life, as if death were an inviting option. And sometimes all of her simply wanted to toss in the towel.

  Nobody spoke. The only sound was the plane moaning against the building storm outside.

  She hated storms.

  It had been on a stormy night that her mother, in a depressive state, had driven over a cliff—nobody thought it was an accident. Rita was 13 at the time.

  People said she was a lot like her mother. She remembered very little about the woman. In fact, much of her childhood memories were muddled, cloudy.

  Lightning flashed, driving her attention once more to the almost blackening sky through which they were tumbling.

  She felt out of control, helpless. And at such times the nasty Rita surfaced! This bitchy side had been taking over far more often in the last months. Pills helped. Confused, Rita couldn't remember if she'd taken one of them this morning.

  Oh, shut up, and let me in! An unwanted voice said in her head. I'll take over, and you can just sleep!

  Leave me alone! Rita pleaded, frantically looking for her handbag. The plane jerked violently. She couldn't find the purse. It wasn't there!

  Give it up, dear Rita. Let me enjoy the fun and games. We always enjoy life better when I'm in control!

  It wasn't even possible to debate the issue with her inner self.

  After that things happened very fast. Lightning burst like flames in the sky, the plane lifted, plunge downwards. Rita's head hit something, and then she was bodily shoved backwards.

  Darkness slammed consciousness away. Awareness came only in throbbing flashes with vague memories from the past. At first it was impossible to focus. Lurid images flashed through her mind.

  A dark form leaned over her, a hand reach out, touching her naked breasts. A murmur of pleasure shivered along her spine, into her groin, as a soft voice said: “You're too lovely."

  It was the drunken slurred voice of her father.

  Rita's mind cleared only slightly.

  She never knew if she was a victim of incest. Her father never touched a drop of liquor after that night.

  She tried to push that memory away.

  Rita was never really close to her father. No matter how hard he tried to bridge the gap with gifts and money. Dark Rita made sure of that.

  She hated that side of herself! The bitchy Rita had been the cause of more tabloid attention than either of them wanted. Drinking, wild parties and a nasty relationship with the press helped feed the tabloids with headline stories about the rich Rita Bentley and her endless list of male lovers.

  Yet those lies hurt—even when they were the truth.

  Slowly the darkness ebbed away as she heard voices. It was some time before the words made sense. She was aware of moving, but it was as if her body acted on its own.

  They'd crashed.

  "Oh, God!” she moaned, eyes opening.

  "Everybody seems to be okay,” a voice said. That was John Barton.

  She remembered some of it, now.

  "You okay?” Bob asked.

  She turned and saw the man sitting next to her on the ground. Beyond him was the dark shadowy ruins of the plane.

  Somehow she'd gotten out of her seat, left the plane. Awareness ebbed back into place.

  "Rita, are you okay?” Bob asked again, staring at her.

  "I think so. Just a slight headache,” she stated, somewhat puzzled by the calm numbing all feelings.

  She saw Carol was stretched out on the ground, just a few yards away. “Is she—?"

  "She's alive,” the Bob assured her. “If that's what you mean."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Carol Hill slowly felt herself coming out of a long dark throbbing tunnel that had no light, at first.

  "Carol—Carol, wake up!” a man's voice cried frantically, heavy with concern.

  Finally, awareness started to get stronger, the throb continued, but light was beginning to brighten through her eyelids.

  Oh, God, what happened?

  Her eyes opened.

  "What...” Carol stared up into the face of Bob Lake. He looked white, eyes narrowed, hard, as if struggling to contain his own desperate feelings.

  "You're okay—keep calm,” Bob instructed, helping her to a sitting position.

  "We ... crashed—” she moaned, abruptly remembering. Her eyes focused on the dark shape of the mangled plane some distance from where she was lying on the ground, surrounded by the others. For a moment the terrible reality of what had happened rammed in at her.

  Carol felt completely dazed, shutting her eyes to blot out the images.

  "We're okay. Just relax!” Barton instructed. “All of you."

  At least everybody was alive, she realized. They should be dead!

  It was several minutes before she could again open her eyes. Everybody was obviously unsettled, frightened. By then a numbed calm had settled over her nerves, washing the nausea away.

  We hadn't been killed ... yet.

  And who knew what the immediate future might bring.

  The next minutes were a blur to Carol. She was aware of some things, but her own mind was struggling to deal with what faced them.

  Somebody asked: “What happened?"

  Barton announced, somewhat grimly: “We crashed. I couldn't avoid it. The storm has passed us, now. Don't know how long we were unconscious in the plane. But we're alive. That's what counts!"

  "What now?” Bob's voice asked at one point.

  Barton answered: “First thing is to set up camp and then discover what supplies we have left."

  Rita cried, hysterically: “Oh, Christ! We'll never get out of this!"

  "Sure we will,” Barton assured her in a calm strong voice.

  Carol's mind cleared a little and she looked up at Bob and extended her hand towards him. “Help me."

  Rita might want to play the damsel in terror, but Carol wasn't about to feed into that game. Damned if she'd play the coward as long as they lived and had a fighting chance.

  "You okay now?” Bob asked, as she stood.

  "I think so. For a moment there, coming out of it, I was a little—but just think!” Carol exclaimed. Then, bravely, attempting to find some positive statement, said: “What a book you'll be able to do—now! BOB LAKE LOST IN AFRICA!"

  Rita countered: “More like: BOB LAKE DEAD IN AFRICA!"

  "Hey, cut that out!” Barton snapped.

  The others looked a little dazed and uncertain.

  Rita moved between Carol and Bob, thusly taking claim to her man.

  John Barton surveyed the plane then said: “We best get started!"

  Carol turned to the White Hunter, smiling. Her words were more confident sounding than she would have expected: “What can I do to help?"

  The man instantly seemed satisfied that at least one of them was showing signs of outright courage and determination. “Sort out the things we'll be needing ... just in case..."

  Rita demanded: “Of what...?"

  "We may have to walk back!” Barton stated, dryly.
>
  Rita's quickly retorted. “Walk?"

  It was as if the very word were some kind of perversion.

  "I thought you were an adventurous lady,” Barton offered with some humor.

  "I'll walk a mile or so just for the fun of it,” she admitted, “but this is impossible! Damned impossible! I paid good money for your ... damn! You can't get away with doing this to me and get paid for it, too! I don't pay for failures!"

  They all looked at her, startled.

  The white hunter shrugged: “If I fail, I suppose I'll never be able to cash your check. So stopped worrying!"

  Bob soothed: “Easy does it, Rita! Things are bad enough!"

  "Don't tell me what to do!” the woman snapped, nastily. “I paid this ... man here ... good money..."

  "Money can't buy us out of this!” Bob observed. “Sad to say."

  "It damn well better!” Suddenly Rita laughed at that, a sharp shift in mood that surprised the others. “Well, money rules the world! Doesn't it?"

  "Not always,” John Barton observed. “Jungle beasts don't value money!"

  "Well all the beasts I know have!” Rita countered, obviously offering a different twist to the man's words. She seemed to be suddenly in more control. The change was welcomed while at the same time unnervingly abrupt, as was the sharp laugh that followed them.

  "Come on, guys! Can't you take a little kidding?” she demanded. “Like the man said: we'll alive!"

  Nobody replied, instead turning to John Barton who was already starting for the crippled plane. The wings were ripped and the body dented and scared. Amazingly the landing had been a “safe” one; regardless of the obvious damage. And none of them had been hurt; that was even more of a miracle. In minutes they discovered that most of the supplies were completely ruined. What was left were a couple of revolvers—for the men; parts of two tents; a little food, and ammunition for the guns. The rifles had been damaged.

  Rita made a frantic search, muttering: “Damn, where's my purse!"

  "Forget that—just the necessary things!” Barton instructed.

  "Crap! Damned pills!"

  "Important?” the hunter asked.

  Rita's face reflected real concern, though she shrugged. “Guess not! Oh, well, so much for that, little girlie! I can always buy some more.” She laughed a bit nervously, edgy. “Assuming we find a drug store before we all die!"

  "Not out here,” Bob noted under his breath.

  Carol's first personal, professional, concern was the cameras. And it became obvious that all was lost for very little was left of her equipment. The cases had been smashed open and cameras and lenses were crushed beyond repair.

  "Now what?” she demanded, looking horrified at the damaged equipment. Her eyes were moist with frustration.

  John Barton quickly said: “Don't bother with all that. We have more important matters!"

  Carol gasped, held down a sharp retort, and then reconsidered. The man was right.

  "It really doesn't matter,” Carol announced, deciding to be realistic.

  Rita laughed, nastily: “Well, lady, looks like your little project to fame has been busted!"

  "That's not funny,” Bob pointed out with some sympathy.

  "I suppose not,” was Rita's only response.

  John Barton snapped: “Enough quibbling!"

  The woman's hands clawed, lips thinned to hard lines. “How dare you! Where'd you get you're balls to order me around?"

  "Just cut the crap!” Barton snapped, angrily.

  The harsh commanding bite of his words shocked the others to silence. Rita glared at him, then slowly relaxed.

  "Whatever Big Bwana say!” she muttered a bit too sweetly.

  Barton studied the woman then said: “We best make camp for the night. In the plane we should be safe enough! We can decide what to do tomorrow..."

  "You said we have to walk out of Africa...” Rita retorted, nastily.

  "Out of here, maybe. If that's necessary. I just want you all to understand the situation. There are other options."

  "And what might they be?” Rita wanted to know.

  "We need rest. Clear our heads. Talk about our options tomorrow! This won't be much different from setting up a safari camp!” Barton said those words in such a manner that it left no room for further exploration of the subject at this time. “First things first!"

  Rita started to say something, but bit her lower lip and remained silent, joining the others in following the hunter's instructions and lead.

  It took several hours to clear and sort things and get the camp ready for the night. The four black bearers helped to get the camp in order. Barton built a fire outside the plane and then went out to hunt with a couple of natives. Rita had become silent and withdrawn while they organized the camp. Barton returned with a small antelope. No sooner had he dragged the welcoming animal into their camp than Rita suddenly cried out in horror, pointing beyond him: “What's that?"

  The bushes at the end of the small clearing moved and a lion stepped out, glaring at them.

  * * * *

  The jungle girl awoke sometime after the storm stopped.

  The dream still held in her mind. It contained that vague nightmare sense of reality remembered. White creatures like herself, hovering over her—Gods, giants in strange clothing. And the giant bird in which they were all in, whose stomach must certainly surround them ... all of that held focus for but a moment. It was simply part of a continued night world, the dreamland which her mind visited when sleeping. She didn't like those dreams. She didn't like what wasn't understandable. She always wanted to understand and know—her quick mind was a greedy instrument that demanded to solve puzzles and learn. It was that part of her which had made it possible to survive all these years.

  Tallie shook herself and then shattered the dreams away, as if they had never existed.

  She was hungry. That was the first thought that passed through her savage mind. She remembered the God-bird that had fallen from the skies. Her eyes scanned the heavens and then the jungle.

  She stood there a moment longer, not moving, then abruptly swung down the pathway. Reaching the ground, she ran across the clearing and reached up to an overhanging branch. She swung easily through the trees, leaping from branch to branch. It didn't take her long to locate the place where the god-bird had fallen.

  A shiver of excitement and awe trembled through her as she peered from the branches of a high tree at the wreckage below.

  It surely wasn't of man. It wasn't of the jungle. It wasn't of the blacks. It was something alien and different.

  Then her eyes went wide with alarm. There were creatures moving around the god-bird! She saw that they were white. They were like the blacks in shape, but like her in color. She hardly noted the blacks hunched like dark shadows in the background.

  Thought of the natives sent anger through her. Most of the ones she knew were running through the jungle killing each other, fighting and warring and stupid!

  But what were these white creatures all about? Obviously they were the blacks’ masters.

  Instinctively Tallie felt a kinship with them; they were like the dream gods of her sleep world.

  Were they gods?

  Or creatures like herself?

  Confusion moved across her mind, and her pretty face frowned with concern, trying to reason out what she saw and what it might mean to her.

  Abruptly she was aware of the scent of a lion. Tallie was at once alert to the danger. The bushes moved at the other side of the clearing, and then one of the god-creatures screamed and the others turned toward the bushes. Two male god creatures stepped forward and pointed out their arms at the bushes as they parted, revealing the mangy form of an old lion.

  Tallie sat where she was, wondering what they would do.

  She heard loud, commanding sounds come from the god-creatures. The two females moved back of the men and then there was the sound of a terrible explosion in the air. Then another. With each sound the lion growled and
moaned. He jerked lightly as if being hit by stones.

  What god-magic was this?

  The beast turned, whipping around, its tail shot straight out, the signal for the springing charge. At the same time there were yells from the two men who rushed in, pointing their arms out at the lion, as great flashing explosions sounded from the ends of their hands.

  The lion turned its head toward the men and Tallie leaped on its back, at the same time drawing her knife and plunging it deep into its side.

  The knife plunged again into the lion, deeper, this time true to its mark. The animal dropped forward into the grass.

  She slid down from its back, looking at her kill, then her eyes flashed up at the other whites. Without so much as a moment's hesitation she leaped into the nearby tree, out of sight from these strange white creatures.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rita Bentley lay back on the blanket, looking up through the jungle trees, the half moon lighting the night with a dim glow, hardly aware of these images. Sleep was illusive. She wanted to blot out the nightmare that had descended on them. Her head still hurt where it had been bumped hard during the crash. The events of the day had shaken her to a raw edge of inner terror. And the continued ebbing power of Dark Rita was becoming harder to rebel, as it kept taking over by little nibbles.

  The throbbing headache kept its rhythmic drumbeat in the back of her skull.

  The memories flooded in, then faded, returned, and faded in confusing patterns.

  She had been horrid to Carol. The woman was actually rather nice. Even if obsessed by driving ambition.

  Hate her! Little bitch! She'll be after the men!

  Rita fought down those unreasonable thoughts, trying to convince herself that they were baseless. Carol Hill was not at all interested in Bob Lake.

  She better not be! I'd tear the little whore's eyes out!

  As to the white hunter, she could have the bully!

  On the other hand, Big John Barton was one hunk. Be interesting to know what he was like under all those clothes.

  Dark Rita wanted to surface.

  Go away, drop dead! she inwardly moaned. Can't think! Don't want her. I wish she'd just die!

  Bob Lake's voice interrupted her thoughts: “You okay?"