Jungle Goddess, Page 4

  Slowly she opened her eyes, looked up. The man was standing over her.

  "I think so,” Rita said, sitting up. “Just that bump on the head! Not even a lump! But I'm pretty shaken by all this."

  "All of us are.” He glanced at the dead lion. “I still can't believe that ... jungle girl! Who the hell is she? Where did she come from? Where'd she go? Just a little, frail savage killing it with a bloody knife! Incredible!"

  "Yes...” she agreed, eyes focusing on Bob's handsome face.

  Such a strange man, Rita realized. He was a nice guy, even if somewhat of a puzzle.

  Months ago she had hired a detective to learn more about him. The report revealed little. Lake had grown up in a small town, come out of nowhere to begin selling “true life” adventures—without any evidence of having actually done the amazing things his books reported. He was either a master of deception, hiding his trails, or a fake. He was an intriguing mystery she wanted to unravel. And that's why she had organized this safari. Well, the nasty Rita part of herself, anyway, was responsible for all that. Yet it appealed to the totality of Rita. She simply found the man interesting; a puzzle to dominate.

  The headache numbed slightly, but even dulled it was an open door through which Dark Rita could surface.

  "...truly amazing, that,” Bob was saying, his words flowing in and out, almost disconnected. “Wonder where she came from.” She focused on his voice. “Barton was somewhat surprised. Said he'd heard of rumors of a jungle goddess appearing out of nowhere—but considered them local native tripe."

  "I was thinking about her, too,” Rita lied, as he sat down next to her. “Strange!"

  "Breathtaking!” he said with a grim smile, eyes again noting the lion.

  Rita glanced at him, then looked toward the fire where Carol was sitting talking to the White Hunter. “How's little Ms Ambitious doing?"

  "Actually she's the only one that seems to be really excited."

  "That figures,” Rita snipped. “Pretty young blonde thing out to capture the world in her camera,” Rita whispered, this time less hostile, hiding the sudden unreasoned fury tempting to surface.

  "Well, she's has a pretty good rep!” Bob noted. “I have to hand her that."

  "I bet!” She bit down an unspoken comment about men always finding such women desirable. The Dark Rita was too near the surface.

  "She wants me to focus the book on the jungle girl,” Bob noted conversationally. “You know, it isn't a bad idea ... if anybody ever believed it! And assuming that we can discover more about her ... which is iffy at best."

  They were both silent for a moment, but she noted how his eyes kept moving to Carol's form, highlighted by the flickering fire.

  The darkness inside her was welling up. When she spoke, the words formed without any conscious thought:

  "She's attractive, isn't she?"

  He merely continued to look at Carol.

  "Bet you want to wrap her round you're..."

  The words faded, forced to silence by her better half.

  "Can't deny that,” Bob laughed, getting the full implication of that incomplete thought. He chuckled. “Most men would!"

  "You're all animals in heat!"

  Instantly she wanted to retract that.

  Dark Rita was eating at the very edges of her skull.

  Bob countered with: “Thought you like men that way!"

  "You bastard!"

  He looked hurt. “What'd I do?"

  "Oh ... nothing ... sorry! I can be a terrible bitch, at times. But I just hate it when a man is so honest! Can't you lie a little? Make me feel I'm special?"

  "You are,” he admitted.

  "But a bitch. Right?” she managed to laugh it off. “A friggin’ bitch in heat!"

  But Rita smiled as she touched his cheek with soft fingertips.

  "Sure, and one hell of an exciting one,” he offered, agreeably. His eyes swept over her body to underscore the words.

  "You sure can be a wicked man, Mister Bob Lake!” she laughed, eyes searching for somewhere to be alone with him.

  She leaned closer to him and whispered: “Bob, let's get lost!"

  "That we are!” he pointed out.

  "I mean over there!” she tugged on his arm, glancing towards the plane. “Behind that ... thing!” The emotion in her voice said it all.

  And what Rita wanted, Rita got!

  As the two of them stood, John Barton called: “No wandering off!"

  "Just want some privacy!” Rita tossed off over her shoulder. “We'll be good. I promise!"

  * * * *

  Carol was curled up in a warm blanket next to the fire, which was kept blazing by the natives. Barton had made a comfortable area for all of them to rest. Though the plane itself was also offered up as a safe “jungle motel” in waiting. The hunter sat with the blacks, near the fire.

  She watched him highlighted by the campfire, moving restlessly from time to time. The two of them had enjoyed quite a strange conversation after Rita and Bob had disappeared for whatever private action they wanted to enjoy. It wasn't hard to know what privacy meant to them.

  John Bardon was quite an impressive man. Totally different from Bob Lake and for that matter, any man she had met in the civilized world. There was strength about him that attracted Carol.

  When asked about himself, he'd merely said: “Well, been here all my life. A stint in the army, though, gave me a momentary blink at the outside world—but I came back to my homeland to take up hunting, which I'd done most of my life anyway. Not much to tell."

  Then he'd stared at her for some time. A warm wave curled down her spine under his gaze. She felt stripped naked.

  "You're some lady, Carol,” he had told her in a low voice. “Admire your courage."

  "I'm really not that ... brave. Just a driving ambition to become somebody,” she managed, eyes dropping away from his.

  "Your are somebody. Rather nice, too. No man in your life?"

  "No private life, really.” She felt suddenly uneasy.

  "Bet you've left a lotta hearts crushed!"

  Carol shook her head. “I doubt that."

  He chuckled, shrugged. “Well at least your modest, if nothing else."

  "Just driven!” Then without realizing what she was doing, Carol found herself mumbling scattered thoughts about her past, how she'd clawed her way up from being a nobody. How her father had been a dominating figure in the family, somewhat of a put down artist. “He continually knocked me for wanting to get a career."

  "Old fashioned type?"

  "Yeap. I suppose. Get married, have children. Really back to the mid-19th century type. Considering where we are now ... Look where I've ended up! In a mid-jungle crisis without a camera to record events ... assuming we get back alive."

  "We will,” he assured her in a somewhat startlingly harsh voice.

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "I can't, of course. Tomorrow could bring instant death to any human being on this planet. We never know when our lives will end. We can only live them from day to day. Hell, I don't know. But we will survive—I've been in far worse situations than this and managed to end up here with you ... now that's something, isn't it?"

  The man's eyes swept greedily over her, as if he were a savage beast in heat. Then a broad smile made a mockery of it all. “We're alive. And don't you forget it!"

  "I'll do my best!” she managed, shaking off doubts. “This was suppose to be a really super break for me!"

  "You career women really puzzle me! Women should want to be mothers and..."

  "Hey not all women are good mothers!” she pointed out.

  "Hey, that's the standard: get married and have children. That's the design that has kept homo-sapiens going for thousands of years."

  "Well, this is modern times!” she countered, somewhat seriously. “Why shouldn't a woman have a career?"

  "Because women are more happy when they are doing what God meant them to do? Does that make sense?” There was a sharp tinge
of amusement in his eyes. “Why should you want to beat your head against the world? Why not let the male bash his head in? Enjoy the secure cave he offers up as home for you and the kiddies?"

  "We aren't cavemen."

  "What? Are you kidding? I don't believe you!” he chuckled. “Me no caveman?"

  "Didn't you know that?” she actually laughed.

  Strangely the words didn't annoy her at all.

  "Cave man or not, why batter yourself when you can send the local attractive gorilla to deal with the outside world?"

  "Gorilla?"

  "Yes. Aren't we men just big stupid gorillas willing to fall on the spear to protect cave and kids, to say nothing about the female girl-rillas?"

  "Not this lady, thank you! I ain't no girl-rilla! You can bet on that!"

  "Well, tell me about yourself!” he offered. “Maybe you are different!"

  "I'm different, all right.” Carol wondered at her own strange thoughts. Then her eyes lifted, met his. “Well, Dad told me that a woman was meant to be a mother. Breed like a cow! God, I hated that!"

  "Well, that's what the good book says. Me. Well, I'm a conflicted kind of gorilla-man! One side is traditional, placing women as baby-makers, caretakers and homemakers. The other side sees another picture. In the jungle you have she creatures that don't follow our Western social customs. Not all animals obey the male lead. I recognized that with ... mixed feelings."

  The man chuckled, then offered: “Well the world is full of all sorts!"

  "I suppose,” was her only response.

  Maybe the immediate situation changed things momentarily. Survival was all that counted and this man was their ticket. And as Carol looked at his hard, chiseled features, she felt a mixture of attraction and irritation.

  Geeze, she thought, what's wrong with you? He's just a man!

  But from the way he openly assessed her, as a female, was almost embarrassing. That was somewhat frightening. The power of his brazen stare was more than unnerving for it blatantly stated that if he wanted more he'd take more.

  More what? How dare him!

  Yet a warm glow flowed throughout her body.

  She was glad when he had turned and directed his attention elsewhere.

  Laying there in the shadow of the crippled plane, she let her thoughts linger on his gaze and her own mixed response to it. She was hardly a virgin, but at the same time not like Rita!

  Well, if he thinks otherwise he's in for a surprise!

  Frustrated, she tried to turn her musings away from the Big White Bwana! It was all like a fantastic dream—or nightmare. She couldn't decide.

  She closed her eyes, blotting out the image of the man. Her thoughts shifted to the young, bronze jungle girl who had all but killed the lion with nothing but a knife. She shivered every time she thought about that.

  She wondered what kind of book Bob Lake could make of this woman. Bob Lake and the Jungle Goddess.

  Bob had been rather luke-warm to that idea when she'd mentioned to him. But, of course, chances were they'd never live to learn more about the woman.

  They might be dead by tomorrow.

  A shiver rushed down her spine. Suddenly she wished it was possible to be enfolded in John Barton's strong arms and protected from the coming dangers sure to assault them in the next days.

  She left that thought unfinished.

  It was some time before sleep finally closed in around her troubled thoughts, giving her exhausted body the rest it needed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The chirping of birds was the first thing that Carol became aware of. Then came the sound of voices heatedly talking.

  Bob Lake: “What now?"

  Barton: “I think we should stay here ... rescue is sure to come—in time."

  Rita Bentley: “Are you kidding?"

  Barton countered: “Last night you seemed to think that was a good idea."

  "Well, I've decided differently!"

  "You women can never make up your minds!” Barton exploded, shrugging helplessly.

  "Today is today. Maybe walking isn't such a bad idea. How would anybody know what's happened to us?"

  Bob nodded: “Rita has a point. What would be our chances of getting out of here—walking our way out?"

  Carol sat up, stood. She was somewhat puzzled by Rita's blunt shifting of attitudes, from no walk to all walk. It was as if the woman were two different people.

  Rita pointed out: “We can't stay here! How in the world would they find us?"

  Barton said: “I want to be bluntly honest: It's a fifty-fifty chance that they'll not miss us for a couple of days—and then it'll take many days—possibly weeks—before they find the plane crash. Or could be tomorrow."

  Carol said: “Let's get out of here. A civilized outpost can't really be far!"

  Barton nodded to that. “Okay—if the rest of you believe that's best...” But he sounded uncertain.

  "Yes,” Bob and Rita announced together.

  "Okay, then, we might as well get things moving!” Barton said.

  It didn't take long for Carol to gather her belongings together. They ate some of the meat from the animal John Barton had killed. Then they started gathering supplies and organizing things.

  "I believe going northeast would be the best bet!” Barton suggested. “Find a river and then follow it to the coast. Or if I can get into territory I know, it'll be a lot easier."

  There was a game trail which they followed for a short time, then one of the natives started taking the lead, cutting a path in front of them with his machete. Hours passed and Carol felt the hot tropical sun burn down on her. She was more than happy when the first break in the trek came and they could rest.

  She stepped up to Barton and asked: “How many days, do you think?"

  "That depends, Carol,” he told her. “If we have an easy run, with nothing getting in our way—maybe a week. Maybe sooner.” He shrugged helplessly. “I want to be blunt, but not scary. I think we might as well get started again. It's going to be dark in a few hours and we have to cover as much ground as possible."

  "Can't we find some place where we can take a bath?” Carol pleaded.

  "I hope so. This territory is just as foreign to me as it is to you."

  For what seemed hours they continued, sometimes taking game trails and other times cutting their way through the underbrush. Finally Barton called a halt in a small clearing. “This is just as good a place as any,” he announced. “The first thing to do is to attempt to mend the two tents into one, build a camp fire and see what kind of foods might be gathered for dinner."

  The natives fixed the tents, which worked out fine. They all crashed early.

  But Carol didn't sleep well, half dreaming, half thinking. Several times the image of John Barton would come before her, tall, muscular, eyes literally stripping her naked, feasting on her flesh, almost caressing it and then she was aware of his hands as they reached for her, pulling her against his body.

  Sleep vanished and the dream played teasing games with her mind. She thanked the “gods” that nobody could read her mind! But the dream was her own fantasy; and how delightful, delicious. Irritated she shook that thought away. This was hardly the time for foolish, little girl sexual fantasies.

  Finally Carol slipped from under the blanket and quietly stepped out of the tent and looked around at the small camp. She wondered if they would ever really get out of this alive. A little walk was what she needed, but she didn't like the idea of going into the jungle alone. Barton had cautioned against wandering from camp.

  Sighing, Carol took out a pack of cigarettes and lighted one, taking a deep puff. She normally didn't smoke, but right now desperately needed something to lean on. She felt at loose ends, needed to get away, think, try to sort her thoughts. She started moving toward the edge of the clearing.

  "Where are you going?” a voice asked from the darkness.

  Startled, Carol turned. “Oh, Bob, you frightened me. I thought everybody was asleep."

&
nbsp; "You shouldn't be wandering around in the night like this."

  "Why not?” she asked, an edge of irritation in her voice.

  "It's not safe."

  "I just want to take a walk, that's all."

  "Into the jungle?” he asked.

  "What makes you think I was going—"

  "I was watching you from the moment you stepped from the tent.” Bob moved a little nearer to Carol.

  She said: “Well, now that you're with me, why not come along?"

  "Barton told us—"

  "If you're frightened,” Carol interrupted, tauntingly, somewhat peeved by her attitude towards the man. “You can stay!"

  She started through the underbrush. All of a sudden it wasn't a point of taking a walk, it was a point of doing something that somebody had told her not to do. She had always rebelled from domination. That was her father's fault. He'd dominated the family and his wife and two children to the point of mismanagement. Life with father hadn't been nice—he'd never amounted to much, other than being a heavy drinker and office manager. He would disappear for days at a time, on a drunken binge. Her mother did more to support the family as a waitress. A couple of times the man had devoured her developing teenage body as if he wanted to do far more than stare.

  She shook those thoughts away.

  Carol hadn't gone more than seven yards when she heard Bob rushing after her.

  "Don't be a little fool!” he hissed, anxiously.

  "Oh, be quiet and come along if you want. I need a walk."

  "After today's little walk?"

  "This is different!"

  Bob was stepping up beside Carol now and his hand reached for her arm, stopping her. “Look—"

  "Please, Bob!” Carol stared coldly into his eyes. Her expression was firm and set. “Either stop arguing or go back to camp!"

  The man looked at her for a moment and then sighed. “Okay, we'll walk. But not far. Not beyond sight of the camp!"

  For a few moments they walked in silence and then Carol paused and turned towards Bob. “I can't understand you."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Oh, everything. Well, what I really mean is that I can't understand your drinking. I mean that ... I'm sorry, none of my business ... I mean ... well, hell! Forget it"