Dom Wars: Round 6 (3 page)

Preacher took off and we hurried to follow, going from one pallet to another. Well, one advantage of having a bigger team, we could carry more. Problem was, we also needed more. We stuffed the two duffle bags and our clothing with as much as we could. We were armed with one machete, one small hatchet, one bowie knife, not counting the blades on the multi-purpose tools they’d included with our landing gear.

“Not exactly a tent.” Preacher tossed Lucian a rolled up tarp. “Strap it on with this.” He tossed him another bundle of para-cord next. “That’s our shelter.”

I spotted a coil of thick rope and lifted it. “What about this?”

Preacher nodded. “Definitely.” He finally stood and looked at all of us, at the gear weighing each of us down and nodded. “That’s it. Any more than that will slow us down too much. Let’s move out.” He looked at Lucian and strode to his side. “Let’s have a look at that map. Seeing as we have no real shelter, we’ll need to find decent coverage.” He looked all around us. “We’ll be lucky to get forty-five minutes before we can’t see shit in the canopy of that dense jungle.”

“Coordinates say we should enter here.” Lucian pointed at the map. “This looks like it could be a rock outcrop. Might be a good spot to camp and it’s not that far.” Lucian glanced at the compass watch on his arm then pointed on his right. “I’d suggest going in there to avoid crossing this swampy area.”

Preacher gave a single nod. “Let’s go.” He took off at a breakneck pace, machete at the ready, with Becca behind him followed by me, then Lucian at my rear.

Once in the woods, the air went from clean ocean fresh, to gag me with a million hot leaves rotting in smelly earth, thick, damp stuff that tried to hold us in place. It was also
nearly dark. Preacher was right. We moved at a snail’s pace as Preacher literally chopped a path through the dense forest.

In a matter of minutes, my army fatigues sopped up my sweat and weighed me down even more than I already was.

“Can’t see a fucking thing,” Preacher stopped. “Bane, take over here. I’ll scout and make sure we keep heading the right way.

Chapter Three

Damn, the underbrush just kept getting thicker and thicker and the ground seemed rougher with every step. The black cotton bandana I’d tied over my head to catch sweat was soaked and dripping so I’d have been better off with just my hat. My right hand and arm ached right to the bone from the constant strain of hacking through the brush with the machete. For a whole fifteen minutes. Even so, I only carved a barely passable path for us. I considered it quite an achievement, considering our map. A few lines and vague landmarks did
not
make a map. We’d be lucky to get anywhere following that thing, even if we hadn’t been forced to whittle our way through vegetation worthy of a horror movie.

Preacher played scout a short distance ahead of us in the quickly fading light. He’d move like a radar to one side, switching to the other, and sometimes straight out in front. As the most experienced, he was best suited to keep us from being attacked or ambushed. The other contestants shouldn’t present that kind of threat, but after the scene on the beach with the Japanese couple, nothing would surprise me. I was glad Preacher agreed on that point. Neither of us wanted to take a foolish chance that might result in Tara or Becca being hurt.

We’d burrowed through the underbrush more than an hour when Preacher whistled a signal from just ahead to the left. Grateful for even a moment’s respite from the shockwaves traveling up my arm from the machete, I motioned the women to my side and stopped to wait.

Preacher joined us and gave Becca a small kiss before looking at me. “There’s a small stream just ahead. We’ll cross and make our way up a rise. The sun’s getting low, so hopefully we’ll get to where we’d planned to spend the night. And let’s pray it’s a good spot to camp. Keep a close eye out for anything that might be the flag. It should be near here. We can’t afford to miss it.”

He disappeared again, and I took up the machete, my arm already aching in dread. Would I have to slash our path all the way across the island? Sure the fuck hoped not. I seriously doubted my arm would hold up to a whole week of that kind of punishment. Even using both my arms, there was just no way.

The brush grew thicker as we neared the stream and forced us to move even slower. My lungs burned and the sharp pain in my side indicated my back was at the
fuck you I’m done
point
.

A cramp developed in my neck after just a few steps of trying to hack, watch the ground, and watch ahead and above for that fucking flag. Though the women assured me they’d not let us miss it, my brain refused to take the chance of not adding my own eyes to the search. We wouldn’t be able to find it after nightfall. Couldn’t chance trying and passing it up. Not to mention, it was my bet that this jungle was going to be a fucking black hole at night, so moving would be impossible anyway.

An unseen rock reached up from nowhere and slammed my shinbone. Only the stubborn plant growth prevented me from falling onto the machete and gutting myself. At least falling served to muffle my shout of pain. Last thing we needed was other teams knowing where we were and possibly sabotaging our trail.

Tara reached my side in an instant, her face pale and drawn with worry. Her eyes snapped beyond me and she crouched quickly into the groundcover. Becca did the same behind her.

Ice water shot through my veins as visions of Jase fucking Duff hit me. I’d played endless scenarios of his appearance in my head and fuck, I was
not
ready.

A quick glimpse of Tara’s face settled my nerves a little. It was more of a concern that crimped her brow, not the horror that sadist brought out in both of us.

I relaxed a little and shifted carefully to get a view of what had their rapt attention. Less than thirty feet further, I spotted it. A narrow strip of blue silk wound through a series of small branches, maybe ten feet off the ground.

Our first flag maybe? I studied the object long enough to determine that’s what it was and let out the whistle Preacher agreed I should use to signal the need for his immediate presence. Adrenaline fought against my better judgment, urging me to run and grab the flag and secure our first reward that came with it. I’d certainly fantasized long enough about what these rewards would be with the flags. Hopefully useful things.

We waited for Preacher in the narrow crevice I’d hacked, all of us huffing, and our sweat glands set on flash flood. Half a minute later, the wall of green jungle on our right parted for Preacher’s insanely quiet passage. Man was a fucking ninja.

I pointed to the strip of blue in the distance. “Flag?”

He studied it and began hacking quickly toward it.

I began a roll that would bring me to my feet and we all followed Preacher until we reached an opening where the material hung in a tree. “Thank God,” I sighed. “Definitely the flag?”

Preacher stood with head angled. “Seems so.” I moved toward it and Preacher’s arm pushed me back. With a slow nod, he pointed to something in the tree canopy above the scrap of fabric. It took a moment, but I spotted the faint metallic glint almost perfectly camouflaged among the foliage. But not even a long, careful look clarified the puzzle.

It could have even been just a trick of the fading light. I didn’t think so, though. A trap was more likely, given our situation and the sadistic Mr. Duff. That’s what I would probably do, rig something nasty to what looked like a prize in hopes the opposition would be careless in their impatience to claim the win.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

“We’ll get that flag first thing in the morning, it’s too dark to attempt it now.”

“I’ll scope the perimeter,” Preacher said, dropping back.

I went forward, wanting a better look, hoping to figure out what sort of trap Duff would have put there. It wasn’t
if
he might do it, it was definitely
what did
he do.

That sixth sense you get when tragedy strikes put sudden ice in my veins. I barely managed to choke back my shout to a hiss. “Don’t move!” I glanced back at a frozen Tara and Becca. “There could be a trap at our fucking feet. Look carefully.”

Preacher’s low whistle came from the right and slightly behind, making sure we were okay. Becca replied with a different tone, one I suspected told him to watch for danger. We’d settled on a few whistles for communication, but those two seemed to have an entire set of whistles for casual private chatter in addition to the variety of orders and needs they could pass back and forth.

Moments later, Preacher faded into view from the left. “The perimeter is secured.” The dude was crazy-good at this creeping around the jungle thing. It was easy to imagine him sneaking up on some enemy and slicing his jugular or spinal cord. Made me glad to be on the same side.

“We don’t have a lot of time left before dark,” Preacher said. “And personally, I’d rather be a little distance from here.” He glanced to me, as if to ask if I agreed.

I gave a nod. “That outcrop on the map should be over that way, maybe fifty yards. Should make a decent place to wait out the night.”

Preacher led the way with Becca and Tara a few steps behind him in single file, while I brought up the rear. At least the vegetation had thinned a bit, making movement less difficult. Fewer leaves also made us easier prey and Preacher slowed to search for danger while I watched our backs. Would be so easy for anyone to pinpoint our location.

To make matters worse, the generous sized stream to our right rolled over small-to-medium boulders, masking our passage, as well as any noise we would
need
to hear. Everything in this jungle was a double-edged sword, it seemed.

Before long, we reached a somewhat-level area perched above the water a few feet, and to the left, a wall of stone rose just higher than our heads. Preacher stopped. “I scouted around here earlier, looking for the flag.” He paused and scanned the area. “We’re out of daylight. I’ll clear the area over there, and mark a few escape routes in case.” He leveled those serious eyes at me. “You help Tara and Becca get shelter and fire.”

“Not a problem.”

I kept watchful eye as we searched the area for usable firewood and discussed shelter options with the women. I also kept an eye on Preacher, who moved like a precise machine of endless stamina, hacking at various things to prepare a twenty-foot arc at the base of the cliff, looking like a warrior in an intense battle.

Fifteen minutes and he motioned us over. We brought our arm-full of firewood and dumped it where he indicated near the stone wall. We all removed our loads with much groaning and moaning, dropping them and ourselves to the ground in an exhausted heap.

“Becca, I assume you’re still wearing your bra?”

The odd question drew an immediate
what the
fuck kind of question is that
?

Becca smiled. “Of course.” Turning her back, she reached under her shirt, while Tara stared at me in weirded out silence.

Preacher took the frothy bit of lace and ribbon Becca held out. “That’s it Bane,” he muttered with a grin. “Pay close attention.” The multi-tool from his belt opened with a faint
snick
, and he used a small blade to cut into the fabric and then changed to pliers. In a matter of seconds, he tossed the bra back to Becca, and held up his prize—two narrow, flexible pieces of gleaming metal lay in his palm.

Under-wires? Totally as a loss, I waited while he used the pliers to bend and break the metal into four short pieces then he turned the ends into recognizable shapes. Wow. “Fish hooks.”

He glanced up with a grin. “There’s a still pool right there. We’re having fish for breakfast.”

I held my enthusiasm back, waiting to see what he would use for fishing line and the other necessary components. For all I knew, he might figure we deserved to stand in the pool all night and dangle those little wires for the fish since me and Tara cost him supplies.

“Bane, see if you can stir up a few grubs or something we can use for bait. I’ll have our line ready in a few minutes.”

Grubs, huh? A glance around revealed a half-rotted log at the base of the little cliff, a short distance from camp. The low light forced me to move slowly, wary of possible traps, but I resisted turning on the little LED lamp attached to my cap. Not just to conserve the battery but who knew how far away the little pinpricks of light might be visible to other eyes. I preferred not to paint a target right on my forehead for Jase Duff. No need to make it any easier for the bastard.