Jungle Goddess, Page 5

  Angrily Carol stomped off, confused by her own actions and her own words. She didn't really know what she had been trying to say.

  "Wait!” he ordered, his face showing grim outlines in the dim moonlight.

  She stared at him, for but a moment, then said: “If you want to join me, fine."

  They started off again, in silence for a few moments. Then Bob said: “You know, we've been friends for some time and you pointed out something that I guess I'd never thought much about before ... that we hardly really even know each other. A shame, really."

  Looking into Bob's eyes suddenly made Carol feel uncomfortable, nervous. There was something about Bob Lake, regardless of what kind of a man he was, that attracted her. Not in a romantic nor sexual way. But he reminded Carol of her brother Jack who had been a boozer, too, a dreamer lost in a fog of indecision. It had killed him in the end.

  Her brother had wanted to be an artist—but never made it beyond selling a few painting for pennies. Maybe that was what she felt in her connection with Lake.

  For fifteen minutes they walked, moving through the underbrush. Then Bob suddenly blurted out: “Are you sure we're going in the right direction?"

  "Of course,” Carol assured him in a weak voice.

  They continued walking, in silence. But with every step, Carol had the terrible feeling they were going in the wrong direction.

  Finally she stopped.

  "Maybe it was off in this direction,” Bob suggested, pointing to the left. “I'm sure that we circled ... I mean this looks familiar."

  Bob took only one step and then was stopped by the terrifying moan of a lion.

  The lion looked at them, its eyes fiery, and then it moved through the bushes, not more than three yards from them.

  Suddenly Carol felt weak, her knees were beginning to tremble. The world was just about to cloud in around her when she saw the blurry form of Bob Lake sink to the ground.

  God! I can't pass out, now! she thought frantically. Geeze, some adventure hero the mighty Mister Lake was!

  With a will that Carol hadn't known she possessed, she forced awareness back into focus.

  It took several minutes before the man showed signs of coming out of it. First he moaned and then his eyes fluttered and opened.

  "Come on, Bob ... everything's okay.” Carol couldn't keep the contempt from her voice. It was simply impossible; a woman could do such a thing—but not a man. Barton wouldn't have passed out.

  After a couple of minutes Bob sat up and looked at her. “God, that was close ... I don't know what happened. All at once I blacked out."

  "Nervous reaction!"

  Sighing he said in a weak, tortured voice: “I'm sorry."

  "Forget it,” Carol told him, feeling sorry for the man.

  "I hope you'll keep this ... well, not tell—"

  "Our secret,” she promised generously, realizing the implications of his request. “The thing we have to do is get to camp—and fast! The night jungle is too dangerous."

  "Let's!” Bob stood and she followed him.

  They started off deeply wrapped in tormented anxieties. It was some time before they realized they had taken the wrong direction.

  "We've either passed it or are...” Bob let the words fade out, as if terrified to finish the sentence.

  Carol bit her lower lip, feeling a sick panic push through her stomach. “Let's face it, Bob. We're lost!"

  * * * *

  Tallie had been watching the whites from the moment they left the god-bird. She had watched silently and unseen, from the trees. She couldn't help wondering what had caused the noise and flame to shoot out of the white's arms. She decided to watch and wait and see what happened. Only when she was hungry did she leave them to find food. From the direction in which they were going, she knew they were heading right towards the local blacks’ village.

  Tallie heard one of the men and one of the women talking and then the pair had started out into the jungle. She couldn't help wondering where they were going, or why. When the lion stepped across their path Tallie was ready to spring down upon it at the first sign that the animal might charge. Then the man fell to the ground and the woman rushed to his side.

  Tallie felt sudden contempt for the man. The woman showed courage. She watched in silence while the woman revived him. The two stood and talked. Then started off, moving away from their camp again.

  What Tallie had guessed before, she knew to be true, now. The whites were lost.

  Quickly she rushed through the trees, ahead of the two below her, moving from branch to branch and then swung down to the ground.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  John Barton suddenly woke. It was as if some subconscious mental finger had jarred his mind from sleep.

  It was still dark.

  What had caused him to wake?

  Barton's eyes moved around the camp, searching. The first thing that he spotted was the blanket Bob Lake had been sleeping in. His eyes scanned the ground and followed the fresh prints that led toward the jungle edge.

  "Bob! Hey Bob!” he shouted. “Bob!"

  "Say, what's going on?” Rita Bentley's voice called from the tent.

  "Nothing for you to worry about!” Barton yelled back.

  "Is Carol out there with you?"

  "Oh, Goddamned. Those bloody fools!"

  The only thing to do was to fire a shot in the air. If they were lost they would hear it and that would give them direction.

  Rita Bentley stepped up beside Barton. “Where's Bob?"

  "I don't know. He and Miss Hill took off for—no doubt a walk. They might be lost. They didn't answer my call. Maybe the sound of a gun shot would ... it's the only thing we can do, right now, any way!"

  "I just bet they went for a walk!” Rita snapped nastily. Her hands clawed into little fists. “I'll fix her."

  Barton was a little surprised, but merely turned to glance at her. “Look, this can be serious. Personal feelings be damn! If they went for a walk, or just be alone together—if we get them back unharmed, you better not start a scene! The next days are going to be hard enough without that..."

  "I'll do as I damn please."

  "Not while I'm in charge,” he snapped, pulling the revolver from his holster.

  Startled, she backed off: “Don't you dare threaten me!"

  He laughed coldly, said: “Wouldn't think of it!” and aimed the gun toward the sky He squeezed the trigger. The explosion was like a canon, bursting on the night air.

  "What the hell!” Rita asked in a tight voice.

  "Hopefully they'll hear that. But I can't just wait for them...” Barton turned toward the natives who had been standing beside him. “Could you follow tracks in the night?"

  The tall, elderly headman stepped up to Barton and said in a low voice: “Yes, Bwana."

  The man knelt down to the ground. “This way, Bwana!"

  They followed. Barton started to tell Rita to stay in the camp, but decided to let the matter go. It would mean an argument with a bitchy strong-headed woman. He figured to only fight the battles he could win.

  They moved through the dark jungle for about fifteen minutes, circling and doubling back and circling again, but always away from the camp.

  Then suddenly all three were startled by the sound of drums. They froze. The muscles on Barton's face tightened.

  "What's that?” Rita cried in alarm, stepping in front of the tense Barton.

  "Trouble,” was his simple answer.

  "What did the drums -?"

  "Just that we're not alone!—the gunshots probably triggered this off. They don't like strangers ... best to find Bob and Carol—fast!"

  "1 thought they weren't any more savages in Africa!” Rita gasp in real alarm.

  "Honey, there aren't many places like this left in Africa ... but this is one of the few nasty spots!"

  They hadn't gone more than ten minutes further into the jungle night than when suddenly they were surrounded by a band of savage natives, holding spears, whi
ch instantly threatened them.

  Rita screamed, in open terror.

  For a moment John Barton started to consider alternatives, but the natives instantly swarmed in close and overpowered him.

  * * * *

  Carol looked at the jungle girl, her mind startled and her body frozen with surprise. Where had she come from?

  "What the damned hell!” Bob Lake shouted in surprise.

  For only a moment were they able to just stare in amazement. The jungle girl motioned to them to follow her.

  That's when they heard the gun shot.

  "What's that?” Carol demanded, her throat constricting in terror.

  "Come on, let's get the hell out of here!” Bob shouted.

  The jungle girl moved toward them, her face gesturing, trying to communicate. Her delicate hand and arm motioned to them and then she started pointing to their right.

  "She's trying to lead us somewhere!” Bob observed, his voice tight and high pitched.

  "What're we going to do?” Carol whispered in Bob's ear.

  "Follow her, I guess. There's nothing else we can do!"

  The drums started then, and a wave of terror shot through her. That decided Carol. She started off after the jungle girl.

  For a long time they followed the girl through the underbrush, neither of them saying anything, but concerned with their own fears and doubts.

  They walked for over thirty minutes before the woman motioned the two to come to a stop. She listened for a moment and then started forward again. They followed and in a few minutes they came to a clearing and Carol recognized it as their camp site.

  Her heart beat faster with joy and she turned to look at Bob. “I didn't think we'd be seeing it for—Where'd she go?"

  The naked girl had suddenly disappeared.

  For several seconds they looked at each other in puzzlement. “I wonder if the others are still asleep?” Carol said.

  The natives were awake, standing around the now large fire, murmuring and flashing their shiny bright eyes around at the jungle surrounding them. Normally they looked amazingly intelligent, wise to their own world and self-assured as to how to survive in it. But right now they seemed to be quite unsettled.

  Neither Barton nor Rita was anywhere to be seen.

  "What ever happened to them?” Carol cried. “They aren't here."

  "Where's Bwana Barton?” Bob asked, moving toward the natives.

  The two startled natives turned and stared at Bob. One of them stepped boldly forward and announced: “They look for you, Bwana Lake. They look for you!"

  * * * *

  Bob felt a sickness within him as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Carol. But the fear that had so terrified him in the jungle slowly ebbed away. In fact, even that fear had been strangely different than he might have imagined it to be. The aftermath feelings were mixed. One part of him thrilled to their survival; another side shivered at what they'd been through. Yet they were still living and breathing; they'd survived. They were safe in camp; Barton should be able to take care of himself.

  Bob stepped up to the fire, trying to find some warmth there to take the chill from his bones. But the chill was caused by something more than the cold air; it was an icy shiver that worked its way down his spine.

  How could a man be such a damned coward? he wondered. Yet at the same time feel a tingling sense of ... what? Pride at survival?

  He didn't doubt that experience could be a harsh teacher. But how much could it actually change a man? Could an outright coward become something less horrid?

  His life had been filled with running, turning away from reality. As a young boy he had read adventure novels until they came out of his ears. In his teens, women had been something to be frightened of—and he'd put his nose in another book. Not until he was in college did he know what it was like to possess a woman. Now he was known throughout the English-speaking world as a man with guts and courage, who could fight against all kinds of impossible odds in his search for adventure.

  Carol Hill probably knew what he really was: a bloody chicken cowardly fake!

  As he sat there agonized with self-guilt and shame, the soft rustle of foliage sounded from behind him.

  He heard the sound, but dismissed it as the normal night jungle noises.

  Then suddenly, hands grabbed hold of him.

  Panic set in.

  The first thing Bob knew was that he was facing a savage black face.

  Bob struggled only long enough to realize a dozen natives, clothed only in lion cloth, armed with primitive spears and knives, surrounded him.

  Then he shouted: “Carol—Carol ... run!"

  If only he had his gun, he thought, totally ignoring the fact he had never killed a man in his life—not even an animal.

  Something struck him in the mouth—it was a hard object that brutally tore at his flesh, breaking the skin against his teeth.

  The three black bearers came to their feet, saw what was happening and started to offer defense. But the invader quickly surged over them. In moments they were dead.

  One of the natives stormed into the tent and Bob heard a scream, then silence.

  A moment later the native returned, pushing Carol in front of him. Her face was white, her eyes large and frightened. It was the first time Bob had seen her so shaken.

  He felt a surge of anger and strength tear at his muscles. The sight of Carol being pushed by the savage, the fear in her face, had snapped something within Bob. A foggy madness surged in around him like an invisible blanket, smothering all sanity. He strained with every muscle. His arms jerked free from the man holding him and he leaped toward the native who now gripped Carol in strong large hands.

  Bob smashed into the black man, the weight of his whole body slamming the man down onto the ground. Bob fell on the man, his fists swinging, vision red and hazed with rage. He felt hands grab him, then something hit the back of his head, but he kept swinging until another sharp blow at the base of his skull brought a curtain down over his consciousness.

  * * * *

  Carol felt herself being pushed through the jungle night but was only half aware of her surroundings. For the first time in her life she was really frightened. The sudden death of the bearers and then what followed stunned her.

  The way Bob Lake had charged at the native holding her, beating the man senseless before the others had been able to stop him, left her breathless, amazed.

  The last person in the world to do such a thing would have been Bob Lake. It left Carol dazed with surprise. Another emotion had flooded through her when she'd seen Bob fall unconscious to the jungle floor. She'd been sure he was dead. Then, when she saw the natives lift him, and one carry Bob on his shoulders, she knew that he must be alive.

  She thanked God for his survival; then wondered for what purpose he had been saved.

  What was going to happen to them? The very thought chilled her. Her mind imagined all sorts of horrors, including becoming a sexual slave to these men. That idea sent a chill through her. Carol felt that a quick death would be much more easy. Yet she wasn't about to give up hope!

  The sun was just beginning to show signs of rising over the horizon when they came to a clearing in the jungle which was crowded with grass huts, surrounded by scores of natives.

  The women, naked from the waist up, looked at the small party that came out of the jungle. One of the natives in the party with her said something, shouting at the women. They stepped away, muttering angrily between themselves.

  The men in the village watched Carol as if she were some delicate, delicious prize. The expressions on their faces beamed, their white teeth grinned at her as their gaze covered her body with savagely anxious eyes.

  A shudder rushed over her as she was pushed through the village, past dirt smeared grass huts.

  The man carrying Bob Lake finally came up beside Carol

  As they all came to a stop in front of a small, vile smelling hut somebody pushed Carol from behind tow
ard the small entrance. The implication was obvious.

  Carol stepped forward, bent down and walked into the small confines of the hut, followed by the man carrying Bob.

  The writer was roughly thrown on the floor and the native gave his ribs a cruel, brutal kick, and then walked out.

  A guard was placed in front of the hut.

  Trembling, sick inside, tears beginning to well in her eyes, Carol slipped to the floor, huddled against her knees, wondering why she was there, what had driven her all these years simply to end here—for the rest of her life. Some Big Break this had turned into. Suddenly the idea of becoming a famous photographer dimmed against the mere idea of getting back to civilization, alive and in one piece. Fat chance, was all her mind could conclude.

  Well, Miss Hill, looks like your life long dreams have turned somewhat sour!

  It was a long time before she had the strength or will to think about Bob Lake, and even longer before she cared enough to attempt to revive him.

  All she could think of was the fact that death faced her; a death that she'd do anything to escape from—anything but allow her body to be used as a plaything for the men of the village. Carol knew that somehow she was either going to die, by her own hand, or find some means of escape—which she feared was impossible!

  One part of her rebelled from such defeatist thoughts; she was still alive and had survived this far.

  But for the moment she would wait, keep alert to any chance to escape or, at least, survive long enough to ... find a way out of this horrid fate. Somehow.

  * * *

  Tallie had swung off into the jungle after having taken the whites to their camp. A strange feeling had settled over her while in the presence of the man; what it was she didn't understand but it was most unsettling.

  It was just beginning to get light, the day God was coming out of his den of rest.

  Tallie peered down through the branches just in time to see a group of blacks walking along the game trail, pushing two whites in front of them. At first she thought they were the two she had returned to the camp, then she saw they were the other two whites.

  She looked at the tall, strong white hunter, admiring his carriage and stance. When a native prodded him with a spear point he acted as if nothing had touched him.