Blood Forest Part 7

"What was that?" she asked.

He could feel her body tighten under him. "What was what?"

"I heard a noise."

He listened for a moment, hearing only the distant sounds he had come to accept as normal. "What did you hear?"

"A voice," she answered nervously. "It was right outside."

"I don't hear anything."

"I swear I heard it," she insisted. "Can we check it out?"

d.a.m.n it.

His l.u.s.t turned to aggravation. He reluctantly pulled his hand away from her and started to get up. He found his flashlight lying across the floor, its arc of light casting shadows on the flaps. He scooped it up. Get this over with as quick as you can, he told himself. He didn't think there would be anyone outside, and if he calmed Sam down he might be able to get her back in the mood.

He brushed aside the tent flap, stepping into the dark. The forest sang around him, a chorus of insects chanting an uncanny rhythm. Very little moonlight filtered through the trees. The bright white bulb from his flashlight was the only true source of light.

They had camped right on the trail where the foliage was pushed apart, the ground pounded flat by repeated foot traffic. Brandon wondered how often the trail was used and by whom. As he scanned, twisting the flashlight to the right, shadows moved left, stretching and curling through the leaves. Sam appeared beside him, scanning through the foliage also. As he strained to hear, an animal call howled slow and sad.

"Where did it come from?" he asked.

"It sounded like it was right outside."

His eyes followed the bright shaft of light, trying to spot any detail. He could not make out subtle shades of color, and the whole forest seemed to form a single large ma.s.s before him.

"There's n.o.body here," he said. "We would've heard them leaving if they went into the forest."

Sam's anxiety was unrelenting. She spun slowly, gazing in all directions. "I don't think we're alone."

He felt on edge, like ants crawled across his skin. Why does she have to do this now? Can't we get five minutes of peace? If we weren't in this f.u.c.king jungle we'd both be sleeping on a nice mattress, soft sheets, maybe a little wine.

In truth, Brandon knew what she was feeling. He felt it, too. It was the same paranoia they had both been experiencing since they crashed into the swamp the day before-that sensation of being watched. Only, he had not seen or heard anything. If there had been someone out there, he would have noticed something, wouldn't he?

"There's n.o.body out here, Sam. Just try and forget about it."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Let's go back inside," he insisted, his voice rising. Maybe he was just frustrated from the interruption. Or maybe the jungle was getting to him. "Something isn't right. This place is freaking me out."

He grabbed onto Sam's arm, meaning to guide her back into the tent, but she pulled back resisting him. He tugged her arm more forcefully, dragging her toward the tent. He wanted to be done with all of this nonsense. He wanted to be far from this place. If they had not crashed, they would be in a town somewhere on a nice bed, not in a hot, sticky disease-ridden jungle.

He barely noticed the look of surprise on Sam's face as he shoved her inside.

"There's n.o.body out here," he cried. "It's just the forest and the animals. You didn't hear anything."

She fell on her bottom, legs twisted in front of her. She watched him, mouth agape, as he moved into the tent crawling toward her on his hands and knees. She was giving him that look again, like she didn't recognize him.

It was really beginning to p.i.s.s him off. I'm your husband, for Christ's sake. Stop being so ridiculous.

"It's just a forest, Sam," he persisted. "A forest."

"I don't like this," she said as he got closer. She crawled forward, trying to move around him. "I want to get out of here."

Brandon grabbed her as she moved past, wrapping both his arms around her slender waist. He pushed his body weight onto her, driving her to the ground.

"I don't want to stay in here with you," she cried. She squirmed, pulling at the floor with her hands, using her energy to crawl forward.

He climbed fully on top of her, pinning her shoulders down with both of his hands and lying across her back.

"Get off me!" She struggled frantically.

But he had the advantage. As her body twisted, it b.u.mped and rubbed against him, and he found his thoughts returning to the l.u.s.t he had felt only moments before.

Why would she run away from you? She's being a real b.i.t.c.h. Don't let her go. Make her stay.

As she tried to get up on her knees, he felt her backside push into his waist, tightening against him. He felt his blood rus.h.i.+ng and his heart pounding. He pressed his knees down on the backs of her legs, further pinning her in place.

"Brandon?" Sam cried, her struggling slowing.

His chest was on her back. He moved his hands off her shoulders and down her body, feeling the back of her ribs and the soft flesh of her sides.

"Brandon. Please."

She can't resist you. The thought was strangely satisfying. Every kick she made urged him on, fueling his aggression. And why not? It's her fault. She kissed you first. She's the one who's letting her imagination run away on her. She's the one who crashed the plane into the G.o.dd.a.m.ned forest. She always seems so tough. But she's not even fighting back. It's because she knows she's wrong.

Sam whimpered.

He stopped. His hands held in place at the sides of her waist. His heart still beat wildly, and he could feel blood throbbing in his ears. He was so angry-hateful even.

He looked down at his wife. What the h.e.l.l am I doing? Sudden fear replaced the aggression in his heart. What were these thoughts going through his head? Was he really about to rape his wife?

He closed his eyes in a wave of shame. Oh G.o.d. What the h.e.l.l am I doing? "Something's wrong," he said, trying to control the quiver in his voice. "Something's really wrong."

At a poker table, Brandon prided himself on being completely in control of his actions. He did not overreact and didn't let negative emotions get the best of him. Now all of his efforts at self-discipline had just been thrown in his face.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he whispered. He climbed off her. He half-expected her to bolt out of the tent.

She sat up and turned to face him. "You're scaring me," she whispered.

"I-I'm sorry," he muttered. "I don't know what's going on. I don't know what I'm doing."

"I think it was inside you," Sam whispered. "I think it's in me."

He s.h.i.+vered, despite the humidity. The chill was internal. None of this made any sense. "Maybe there's something out here," he said.

She ventured closer, studying him in the gloom. She put a tentative hand on his shoulder. For a moment, the anger welled up, and his first instinct was to slap her hand away. That instinct was wrong. This was Sam, his beautiful wife. He had no reason to be angry, to distrust her.

"It's still out there," she whispered. "It's in here too."

"You're right."

"What do you think it is?"

"I don't know-"

"Could it be a ghost?"

Ghosts, spirits, and demons did not exist. Hallucinations? A sickness? Something in the water? They had been experiencing these things long before they drank the water. When they crashed into the river, he had snapped at his wife. Had it been stress that made him angry? Or something more sinister?

"I don't know what it is." He wanted to have an answer for her. He had to think of some way to get them through the darkness.

"Did I tell you I saw someone last night?" Sam asked. "There was a figure, a man. He was in our tent. I couldn't move or say anything. He was just watching. And then he disappeared right in front of me."

Brandon wanted to yell at her, to tell her that she couldn't have seen that figure. That she had to be imagining it. He bit his comment back. He ignored the frustrated rage lurking at the edge of his brain, and he moved forward, draping an arm over her shoulders. She did not pull away, and the contact calmed him.

"I know who you are," he said.

"What?" She looked at him, confused.

"And you know who I am," he continued.

After a moment, she seemed to catch on. "Yeah . . ."

"As long as we remember that, we should be okay."

"Do you think it wants to hurt us?"

"You know what I think?" he said. "I think this thing is powerless against us if we just keep a calm mind and remember who we are. As long as you know the difference between yourself and it."

"It's a battle of wills."

"Not even. Now that we know what it's doing and what to ignore, it should be easy."

"I've never heard of anyone being killed by a ghost," Sam reasoned.

"Right."

"It's just one of those things that scares you because you don't understand it," she went on. "But we've already figured it out. There's nothing to be afraid of."

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek then moved past him, sliding deeper into the tent. Only then did Brandon remember the fiery pink on her leg.

"Maybe we should get that cleaned up," he offered.

She nodded and stretched out on the uneven tent floor next to the first aid kit.

Sam tried staying awake, fearful of another dream. She dozed off with her arm resting on Brandon's chest, lulled by the sound of his breathing. She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep when she drifted back into consciousness.

She could feel its eyes on her back. It was sitting right behind her, staring at her as it had done the night before. Her first instinct was to turn her head, but her muscles didn't respond.

So it's like this, she thought. The same feeling of paralysis and helplessness invaded her entire body. It's not real, she told herself. You're dreaming.

She felt a tingling sensation in her brain that extended throughout her entire body. She felt a brief falling sensation, like she had suddenly slipped out of bed. The tent floor solidified under her, and she felt Brandon's body under her arm.

I just woke up, she realized.

She brushed Brandon's bare chest lightly with her fingers, feeling the smooth skin. She had full control over her body once again. The warmth from his body sank into her where they touched. The paralysis had been a dream all along.

She could still feel the eyes on the back of her neck, but the apparition held no power over her.

Let it look all it wants.

Brandon's arm twitched underneath her, the spasm similar to the motions he made the previous night. He was in the middle of some kind of nightmare, she realized.

She shook his shoulder gently. He stirred, rolling his head and smacking his lips lightly, but he didn't wake up.

She slid closer until her lips were at his ear and his short brown curls brushed her forehead.

"Sleep sweetly, baby," she whispered. "It's just a nightmare."

With that, he rolled up on his side, facing her, his eyes still closed. His arm draped absently over her side and she slid closer so her cheek pressed into the dip between his pectoral muscles, hot skin on her face.

She lay like that, ignoring the cloud in the tent, and his arm did not twitch for the rest of the night.

Morning came and, although she had barely slept, Sam was anxious to get moving. She said nothing about what had happened the night before, instead greeting Brandon with a warm smile and a hug. The action felt forced, despite her best efforts, and his returning hug seemed the same way.

With each pa.s.sing hour, the shadow's power waned and the sun broke through the trees, lighting the forest in brilliant shades of blue.

As they walked, the floor of the Ituri forest rose and fell, hinting that they were leaving the lowlands and entering a hillier submontane region. The animal cries still haunted them, forcing them to wonder what creatures were making those noises. They rarely spoke to each other and when they did their voices kept to a near whisper.

"Did you hear that?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

They were climbing toward the top of a small hill. The shadowy ground ahead silhouetted the bright green tapestry in the distance. The sound had come from over that next crest, singsong voices carried on the breeze like wind chimes.

Brandon regarded her with careful suspicion. At any minute, he would accuse her of imagining things.

She heard the sound again, a high female voice singing out a strange melody. Other voices joined the first one in a foreign song. Sam could not make out the words, but the syllables reverberated in a simple rhythm. It sounded like a child's song, lighthearted and repet.i.tive, the kind of song that could be sung indefinitely.

"There it is again," she said. "Do you hear it?"

He tilted his head, picking up the noise. He glanced curiously at the trail ahead as it swept over the next peak.

"It's getting closer," he noticed. He jogged up the forest trail, his backpack bouncing heavily against him. When he reached the top of the hill, he stopped and gazed down the opposite slope.

The singing stopped and the voices erupted into a stream of giggles, filling the forest with their laughter. Sam moved up beside Brandon and followed his gaze down the trail as it twisted through the undergrowth. Through gaps in the leaves, she saw fast movement coming up the trail.

Three of them came into view, skipping lightly. They seemed to glide off the ground as they moved. Their black skin glistened in the light, covered only at the waist by gra.s.s skirts. Long tails of bark hung down behind them, whipping about as they hopped and danced. They were so small that Sam thought they were little girls no older than seven, but their naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s were full and developed, swaying with the rhythms of their steps.