Primitive Nights (33 page)

“You have my word. Tell them to leave those people alone.”

John smiled and took a step back. He reached for a small walkie-talkie at his hip. “Stand down. Wait for further instructions.”

An affirmative response came from the walkie-talkie, and John slipped it back onto the clasp. “Shall we?”

She turned toward the camp but his hand clamped over her arm. He jerked her to his side, his breath fanning her cheek. “Make sure your caveman stays away from me.”

He pointed to the gun strapped at his hip.

There was no mistaking his threat.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Each man had a gun.

Damon clenched his fists. His people were prodded and shoved into a circle at the center of camp. Had it not been for the aid workers, he would have heard the threat of the men’s approach. The jungle spoke, but not when overpowered by outsiders as it had been today. He did not fault Myla’s people. He blamed himself for not being more diligent.

Dressed in cloths resembling the trees, the men talked amongst themselves. Damon caught a few scattered words. Nothing that gave him any clue as to why they were there. They seemed content to hold them prisoner, as if waiting for direction.

Damon knew who they waited for.

John had come.

The men held no prejudice. The aid workers and doctors were treated with the same callous disregard. One of the doctors lay unconscious a few feet away.

Damon looked at his people, huddled together, their glances revealing a mixture of emotions. Some were angry, while others, who had finally begun to believe that peace could be found, wore their fear. Seiret knelt beside him, silent. Always at his side. His friend could have escaped, as he himself could have. The men with guns would never have found them. But Seiret had felt the same as Damon. A leader did not run.

Damon felt the weight of his people’s apprehension. They waited for him, their leader. He did not fear death for himself. He would wait for an opportunity to fight. He would save his people. He was
Bajluk
Maglayo.

He scanned the group again. Myla was absent. A seed of hope unfurled in his gut, knowing if she had escaped, she would bring help. He met and held his mother’s gaze. She seemed to read the question in his eyes and she shrugged before looking around. When she was certain no one was watching, she mouthed something…

River.
Myla had gone to the river. The seed exploded. She had managed to get away. His heart swelled.

Then, Seiret nudged him in the arm. Damon looked up to follow his stare.

Myla walked dejectedly into the clearing with John directly behind her. Her gaze stayed fixed on the ground and without a word she passed by and climbed into the front of a vehicle. John spoke to one of the men surrounding the clearing before he joined her in the vehicle, taking the driver’s position.

The engine roared through the silence and Damon forced himself to stay still. He caught her sad glance through the window before the tires spun rocks and dust into the air. In a flurry of bumps and turns, the jeep sped away into the jungle. Myla was gone.

For any who witnessed her departure, it looked as though she had left willingly. He could feel the others’ stares. Knew what they assumed. If he did not know her so well, he would consider her behavior proof of deceit. But he did know. Whatever John had threatened, Myla would risk her own safety to save them if she thought she could. He did not doubt that was exactly what she was doing.

Fear gripped his chest. There was no telling what John would do to her.

A woman’s scream split the silence. Cuklho stood with her hands covering her mouth as one of the men dragged her father forward. He placed the gun to the old man’s head. “Shut up, you stupid bitch.” He glanced around at everyone. “You will do as we say, or we will kill you.”

Cuklho’s little brother rushed forward to knock the gun away from his father’s head. Tears streamed down his face. “Leave him alone.”

“What did you say, boy?” The man laughed and struck the boy before turning on the father and pulling the trigger. The deafening report of the gun reverberated through the jungle. “Kill him. Is that what you said?”

Cuklho’s father tumbled to the ground, and cries of horror split the jungle.

Cuklho grabbed her brother. She stood, holding him close to face the man who had killed her father. Her hand moved slowly to the barrel of the gun. “Please, he be good. Please.”

The man seemed startled that she spoke English. He stared and for a brief moment, Damon thought he saw the man waver. Then he laughed. “You will speak for me.”

She nodded. She spoke to her brother and pushed him back toward the others. Clasping her hands before her, she waited. Pride at her display filled Damon.

The man next to her laughed. “Good. Now tell them I will kill any who choose not to do exactly as I say.”

While Cuklho repeated the man’s instructions, Damon whispered to Seiret. “We must find a way to get free.”

“No talking!” A man’s voice boomed from somewhere behind him.

He barely made out Seiret’s nod before something struck the back of his head. Blinding pain radiated down through his skull. The scenery before him dulled. His ears rang, and he blinked against the pain. He would not submit to the darkness. If he did, there would be no one to help his people. No one to help Myla.

He continued to blink away the gray at the corners of his eyes and tumbled to the ground in an awkward sprawl. The man came to stand over him. The end of his rifle pointed down at his chest. “You understand? No talking?”

The gun poked against his skin, and Damon nodded. It was difficult, but he managed to hold back the urge to knock the man to the ground and beat the breath from his body. After a moment the man seemed to accept his acquiescence, and called out to the others. “No trouble from this one.”

Amid the snickers and derogatory comments of the other men, one of them yelled. “Round ’em up. Put them all in the sick tent. Maybe when Mr. Harris gets back, they’ll all be dead anyway.”

Damon struggled to his feet as the men forced everyone into the tent. While he and Seiret moved to the end of the structure, the others piled in behind them. He glanced at Tinjtol’s cot. His brother lay still, the fractured rise and fall of his chest barely discernible. If he were well, Tinjtol would have fought as he had always wanted. He could have finally stood against the white man, but there was little he could do in his current condition.

As more and more people were crushed into the tent, Damon took the momentary chaos to speak to his brother. He ducked low. “Tell everyone that Seiret and I will slip out the back. We will dispose of these men one at a time. They are to do nothing until we say so.”

Tinjtol nodded, his hand coming up to grasp Damon’s arm. Feverish heat poured from his fingers. “You must watch over Laylika. Brother, you must swear this before you go.”

Damon nodded and grabbed Seiret by the arm. “Come. We have enemies to destroy.” He glanced back at Tinjtol. “You have my word.”

They moved quickly to the back of the tent, and Damon motioned for Seiret to go first. Once he disappeared, Damon followed. After rolling under the tent flap, he jumped to his feet. They crossed the ground into the woods silently. It took only a few short minutes before five of the InterCorp men lay dead on the ground.

There was no thought for mercy now.

He dropped to his knees, panting from the exertion of containing the men’s struggles. “I counted fifteen.”

Seiret wiped his blade clean on his sarong and glanced at the men on the ground. “Now there are ten.”

His easy smile and calm manner gave Damon renewed strength. “You will lead our people someday, my friend.”

Seiret glanced at him, his eyebrows raised with surprise. “You will leave.”

“It is what my heart tells me to do.”

“Then let us take care of these men, so you can find Myla.”

His very thought. “Go that way. We must accomplish this quickly. As soon as a man is discovered, they will know we are free.”

Seiret’s eyes flashed with humor. “They are inferior warriors, dependent on their weapons. We will slip near them like the snake, take their lives before they can beg for mercy. They deserve nothing more.”

Seiret’s words shocked him. He had never known his friend to show anger. Now was not the time to question the uncharacteristic words. “I will signal for each man I take down.”

Seiret nodded, his eyes hard. Then he slipped away.

Damon took the opposite direction and Seiret’s first whistle came from across the clearing within minutes. Nine left. He had underestimated his friend for many years.

Several yards away, two men stood together. Damon moved deeper into the foliage as he circled behind them. Sliding his hand up a
monigla
vine, he tested its strength. It was sturdy, but he could not be certain it would hold two long enough…another of Seiret’s whistles floated on the breeze. Eight. There would be none left if Damon did not hurry.

The men continued to talk as he closed the distance to where they stood. When one of the men reached into his pocket, Damon rushed forward. Startled, the men jerked away, but not far enough.

Damon wound the long vine around their necks and yanked hard. The men’s heads crashed together with a dull thud. One of the men managed to bring his gun up and before Damon could knock it free from his hand, he fired off a shot. The sound reverberated through the jungle.

The element of surprise was lost.

Damon yanked down on the vine a second time and the coarse trailing plant cut into their throats. As one, they slipped to the ground. Damon whistled twice as he ran. Six. Seiret whistled in response. Five.

All but one of the men rushed from the tent, their guns raised. Damon held his position behind them. He watched the bushes across the clearing, and when one of the men yelled, Damon smiled. Seiret’s aim was true as always, and the man fell to the ground. A second yell followed before Seiret stepped from the cover of the trees.

With a feral grin, he whistled twice. Three left.

He hollered to the men, his dart blower lowered at his side. Damon knew they did not understand his friend, but his words were strong. “There were fifteen and now there are three. It took all of you to place an old man on his knees and put a bullet in his head. Run. It is your only mercy. If you do not, I will kill you as well.”

The men glanced at one another, their rifles pointed in Seiret’s direction. When the men did not react, Seiret pulled the blower up to his mouth and sent a dart through the air. The report of a rifle preceded the shock of pain that creased his features.

Damon rushed forward and brought his arm down on the remaining man’s shoulder. Kicking his feet from underneath of him, he grabbed the gun and flipped it over to point it at the man’s head.

“Call out your other man.” When the man hesitated, Damon yelled, “Call him now!”

He did. But it was not the other man who walked from the tent. Cuklho stepped forward slowly, her head held high. “He will not harm another.”

The others followed. She crossed the ground with shaky steps to where Seiret lay. Damon rushed across the clearing and dropped to the ground next to him, leaving the last man to the mercy of the others. Blood poured from Seiret’s shoulder, and he grimaced when Damon lifted him to probe along his shoulder blade.

“Where is Cuklho?”

Seiret’s words were strong. A good sigh. Cuklho joined Damon on the ground. “I am here.”

Seiret nodded. “Good. You are safe.” He caressed her cheek. “I have killed the men who took your father’s life. I am worthy.”

Tears poured down her cheeks. “Yes, of course. You always were worthy. Now rest. We will get you some help.”

One of the doctors came forward. “Will he let me help?”

Damon translated. “He wishes to help you.”

With a strangled laugh, Seiret nodded. “He should have helped me take care of these men. You were not much help.” He chuckled again and took Cuklho’s hand. “How many did you kill, Maglayo?”

Humor. This was a good sign. “Only two, my friend. You did well.”

Damon glanced at the doctor. “He has agreed.”

The doctor probed the wound, leery when Seiret groaned. “The bullet went through.”

“He will live?” Damon knew his fear for his friend was obvious and it would be seen as a sign of weakness. He no longer cared. So much death.

The doctor smiled. “He is strong. The wound seems to have missed anything vital, so yes, I would say he should be fine.”

Cuklho rose with him as he stood. “Maglayo?”

Damon turned in the direction the vehicle and Myla had gone. “What is it, Cuklho?”

“Tinjtol is dead.” This was no surprise, but she continued, “He distracted the last man, so I—so I could—”

Her voice broke, and Damon noticed the blood staining her fingers. She tried to wipe it away, and he took her hands in his. “You were very brave.” He waited until she looked at him. “When I leave, Seiret will lead our people. He will need you to stand at his side.”

Her tremulous smile was bright. “He loves me.”

He nodded. “You love him as well. And because you love him, you would do anything to protect him?”