Into The Jungle: An Action Thriller (A Jumper Novel Book 1)

by TR Kohler

  A swap Kidman was glad to accept, even now as the two of them move deeper into the rainforest, the extreme exhaustion of the last day beginning to overtake him.

  Reclined on a mat of damp leaves and moss, Wembo sits with his slight body at an angle. An attempt to elongate his torso, keeping the pressure exerted on his wound to a minimum.

  Twisted to the side, both of his hands are pressed into the soft tissue of his abdomen. A wound site just above his hip continuing to seep blood, staining his fingers.

  The spot where the fractured end of the beam had pierced his skin, the resulting hole nothing short of gaping.

  Certainly, much worse than the slash that had befallen Kidman when the rest of it came down just moments before he jumped them out to safety.

  “Not my blood,” Kidman replies, trusting that the inquiry will go no further.

  Dropping his shirt back into place, he reaches for the backpack beside him. An item collected from one of just a couple of huts to survive unscathed.

  A rare bit of good fortune in a day marked by disaster.

  Balanced on both knees on the damp forest floor, Kidman drags it over and unzips the top. Plunging a hand down inside, he feels through various items, running a silent inventory before finding what he is looking for.

  Drawing out a metal canteen from deep within, he unscrews the top and extends it toward Wembo.

  “Here. Drink.”

  The whites of Wembo’s eyes stand out against his sweat-stained skin as his gaze drifts down to the canteen, assessing the offering in silence.

  “It’s water,” Kidman adds. “Getting you to the next village does no good if you die of dehydration along the way.”

  For a moment, it appears that Wembo might refuse. An internal debate that visibly wages across his features before he extends a hand, accepting the offer.

  A decision steeped either in his own physical state or recalling what Kidman did back at the village.

  No way of knowing for certain.

  Not that it matters at all either way.

  Only that he tilts the top back, pouring a thin drizzle of water directly into his open mouth. A process that lasts several seconds before ceasing, the man visibly panting afterwards from the effort of getting it down.

  As sure a sign as any that his time is dwindling.

  They need to be moving again. Soon.

  Taking the canteen back, Kidman goes through the same progression as Wembo a moment before. Keeping the canteen held on high, he tips it back, releasing a thin stream. Cool water that seems to travel straight down the length of his throat, cooling him from within.

  A brief respite from the oppressive heat of the jungle floor.

  “You ready?” he asks once he is finished, tightening the cap into place and returning it to his backpack.

  A question that Wembo doesn’t reply to directly, waiting for Kidman to close up the pack and sling it back into position before simply saying, “Thank you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Standing in the waning half-light of Sanga’s lodging, Wembo had looked like a fully grown man. Young, for sure. Certainly, in need of a few good meals.

  But a man nonetheless, with his hands balled up into fists and his nostrils flaring with each angry breath.

  A look that is decidedly different than the waif-like person now stretched across Kidman’s hands. Seeming to weigh no more than a hundred pounds, his head lolls to the side.

  Not once do his eyes even flutter as Kidman jumps them along, chewing up as much land with each pass as he can manage under the heavy veil of darkness beneath the rainforest canopy.

  Whatever benefit was had by the stop for water has now passed. Same for the tenacity with which Wembo applied pressure to his wound, the combination of pain and blood loss having eventually pulled him under.

  Leaving Kidman alone in the gathering darkness of the rainforest. No guide. Nobody to point the way.

  Nothing more than a faint path over the forest floor and the hope that it will get him where he needs to go.

  His jumps reduced to barely fifteen or twenty feet at a time, Kidman presses on. A sequence that sees him take two quick strides, just long enough for his eyes to adjust and pick out his next destination, before hopping forward again.

  An endless cycle that feels like sprinting. His lungs still faintly feeling the effects of the burning hut earlier, his breathing is labored. Sweat pours from him, saturating his clothing, leaving it matted to his skin.

  His hair rests like a damp cloth against the back of his neck.

  How far he has traveled, he has no way of knowing. Same for the amount of time that passes, the heavy veil of the forest canopy keeping any sense of time at bay.

  No way for him to track any sort of progress, left with only the resolve to keep pressing. Keep forcing his way forward, hoping to arrive in time to help Wembo.

  A mad dash of a journey that ultimately draws to a close with the appearance of a light before him. A faint glow that resembles the proverbial beacon in the storm, drawing him forward. A final stretch spurred only by the hope that it is what he is looking for.

  That he will find Anika Purna there.

  Otherwise, his efforts will be for naught, the life fast fading from the young man he carries.

  Resisting the urge to go straight to the flickering light ahead, Kidman covers it in three jumps. A trio of long bounds that takes him to the southern edge of a village much smaller than the one he just left. No more than a couple of handfuls of structures thrown together, they sit in an oblong circle, each in plain sight of the others.

  A collection large enough to provide for forty or fifty people at the very most, the majority of which seems to be gathered as Kidman makes his final approach. Sitting outside in clusters of three or four, it appears to be mealtime, many sitting around small fires.

  The source of the light he spotted just minutes earlier. Several clustered close together rather than one large central flame.

  Preoccupied with their dinner, it is not until he reaches the edge of the clearing that he is even noticed. A harsh contrast to what happened at the last village, this time able to march into plain sight before a call goes up from a nearby fire.

  A loud cry that pierces the evening air, instantly halting all previous conversation. In unison, every head in sight turns his way, openly staring at the new arrival and the failing man draped across his arms.

  A variation of his entrance into Bukari. A scene he cannot afford to replay as he calls out, hoping to stem any sort of violent reaction.

  Any form of confrontation that may arise, his position of carrying Wembo making it impossible for him to defend himself.

  “Please!” he calls, the sound of his voice seeming to startle those close enough to be seen. “This man is hurt! During the attack on Bukari!”

  Making a point of adding the site of his most recent visit, he hopes it will be enough to trigger recognition from the crowd.

  A tact that manages to draw a few people closer.

  Their reaction being far from the one he envisioned.

  “Wembo?” a woman in her mid-thirties asks on approach. A single word accompanied by her jumping back a few feet. A visible recoiling from the man that just entered their midst.

  “Yes, this is Wembo,” Kidman says. Lifting the man a few inches, he extends his body. A macabre offering to the people pulling back.

  An effort to make them understand.

  “What did you do?” a forty-something man on the far left of the circle asks. Venturing no closer than several feet, he peers in at the limp figure stretched across Kidman’s hands.

  An accusatory stare on his features, he glances from Wembo to Kidman and back again.

  “No,” Kidman offers, aware that his progress has taken him into the exact middle of the encampment. The epicenter of the structures, allowing the residents of the town to encircle him.

  A post that causes him to rotate in place, searching for a friendly face.

&
nbsp; “He was injured in a fire. Trying to pull some children to safety.”

  Around him, the words seem to fall on deaf ears. Expressions continue to run the gamut, errant calls dotting the air.

  “I was sent to find Anika!” Kidman yells, raising his voice to be heard. “I was told she can help!”

  At mention of the girl’s name, the cries pick up. Voices moving past their initial shock, rising in hostility.

  A mob on the verge of exploding, using the man draped across his arms as the only motivation they need.

  An inch at a time, they begin to press inward. Three or four dozen people marching ever tighter.

  Close enough that Kidman’s gaze moves to the darkened forest nearby, searching for a landing spot. A place to jump to if need be.

  An eventuality halted by the sudden shrill whistle that splits the air. A long, piercing wail that erupts from behind Kidman, causing him to whirl in place.

  A quick revolution that reveals the source a moment later, the crowd parting to show a teenager before him. A girl even younger than her pictures indicated.

  Someone with long dark hair and dark eyes offset by tan skin. A caramel hue landing between Kidman’s sun kissed look and that of the villagers around them.

  Somebody he recognizes in an instant as who he’s spent most of the last day searching for.

  “Who sent you?” she asks. Ignoring the villagers around them, her focus is fixed on Kidman.

  A pointed stare as she steps closer, moving inside the circle formed around him.

  “Sanga,” Kidman replies. “He and the other men were going to get as many to safety as possible. He told me to bring Wembo here to you.”

  Venturing a step closer, he adds, “You could help.”

  Coming to a stop, Anika flicks her gaze down to Wembo. Running it the length of the man, she asks, “This happened in Bukari?”

  “Yes.”

  She lifts her focus back to Kidman. “Hazik and his men?”

  “Yes.”

  Turning back the opposite way, she motions for him to follow. “Come with me.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Are you hurt?”

  Depositing Wembo atop the small cot in the center of the hut, Kidman leans back to see Anika staring at the blood soaking through the bottom of his t-shirt. Eyes wide, she takes in the bright red stain on the cotton before raising her eyes to meet his.

  “No, I’m fine,” he replies. “The blood is his.”

  The same excuse he gave Wembo on the journey to where they are now. The same one he has given hundreds of times before, never getting much in the way of pushback.

  A pattern that seems to be breaking as Anika’s gaze again returns to his shirt.

  “Show me.”

  “I’m sorry-”

  “Show me,” Anika repeats, this time jutting her chin toward the bloodstain. “Lift your shirt.”

  Flicking his gaze to the pair of older women lining the side of the room, Kidman can see their focus intently aimed at him as well. Both standing completely silent, they seem to also be waiting for him to do as instructed.

  Wet nurses, or hospital staff, or whatever the applicable term for aides in such a place should be.

  Three people staring back at him, none doing anything yet to help the man by his side.

  The one infinitely more in need than him.

  A realization that arrives in time to push aside any further objection as he lifts the tail of his shirt, giving them all a full view of the area. A patch of skin mottled by smears of blood and dirt, though completely free of any marks.

  The final stages of his body’s natural ability having finished on the remainder of his trip, stripping away any sign of the wound long before his arrival.

  “Really,” he says, dropping his shirt into place. “I’m okay. Just worried about Wembo here.”

  Raising her focus to meet his one last time, Anika nods slightly. A signal that she is content with what he’s shared, her attention sliding a few inches to the side.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  “A hut caved in as we were helping some children to safety.”

  At mention of the village, Anika snaps her focus up to the two women across from them. Both of which go rigid, matching her gaze before all three turn to stare his way.

  “Hut caved in?” she asks. “Children?”

  “They burned most of the village,” Kidman replies.

  “How-”

  “Bad,” Kidman finishes, cutting her off, hoping it will be enough to stem any further questions. Any more inquiries until she does whatever she is rumored to be capable of.

  One of the few abilities he’s never seen, or even heard of before.

  A rare gift he isn’t surprised to hear somebody like the president-elect being interested in.

  “Many, worse off than him,” he adds.

  The words seeming to be enough to convey the chaos that he witnessed, Anika nods. Flicking her gaze back to the pair of women nearby, she presses her lips into a tight line. A silent acknowledgement of their concerns, both of them lowering their heads slightly.

  Bows offering some form of support for those left behind. No doubt friends or family victimized by the latest attack.

  The second that he has witnessed just in the last eight hours. Two of an untold number that has probably raged throughout the local settlements, driven by something he can only begin to speculate on.

  Though, if prior experience is any indication, likely stems from one thing.

  Greed.

  Whether it be for money or power or both, almost always situations like these seem to come from the same source.

  Leaving the conversation at that, Anika finally moves to Wembo’s side. A repositioning that causes the two women to shift as well, one moving to the foot of the bed.

  The other goes directly to Kidman, placing one hand on his arm, the other on his back.

  “I’m sorry, but you need to step outside.”

  The first either of the women have spoken, her voice is much higher than anticipated. A falsetto tone usually reserved for a young girl.

  Something the woman before him is clearly not, the silver in her hair and lines framing her eyes hinting at someone well into her fifties.

  “What?” Kidman asks, glancing down to the hand resting on his bicep before shifting to Anika. “Why?”

  “Because nobody-” the woman begins to answer, cut off by Anika raising her attention from the bed. An initial examination still ongoing as she crouches by Wembo’s side.

  “What happened here?” she asks.

  Flicking his gaze straight up, Kidman focuses on one of the support poles running the length of the hut. A design very similar to the one he and Wembo were in back in Bukari.

  A schematic he would imagine is fairly universal throughout the various villages in the area.

  “One of the beams gave way while he was handing kids out to me,” Kidman replies. “Came down at an angle, like a spear.”

  Taking care to avoid using the word impale, the description is still enough to cause the woman by the foot of the bed to wince.

  For the one by his side to suck in a sharp breath of air before starting up again. Gentle pushes, urging him to exit.

  “Anything else?” Anika asks.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Kidman replies. “He didn’t say anything else before losing consciousness.”

  Rotating her focus back to the wound before her, Anika asks, “How long ago was that?”

  “Maybe, an hour ago?”

  Never before has Kidman been to a doctor. Even as a child, before the full breadth of his ability was known, any injuries he incurred were usually healed – or at least mending – well before there was need to visit a physician.

  Still, with each question asked, he can’t help but get the impression of being in a doctor’s office.

  Making the fact that there appear to be no supplies present all the more vexing.

  No boxes of gauze or
sterile wraps. No vials of medicine or syringes to administer it. Not even a band-aid or box of gloves, as far as he can tell.

  Items one would think to be essential, no matter the skills imbued in Anika.

  For a moment, there is no sound. No words shared. No more prodding of the woman to get Kidman to leave.

  Nothing except for Anika staring down at the charge before her. Long hair hanging on either side of her face, framing her features as she takes in the young man before her.

  A pose she holds for several seconds before glancing up.

  “He can stay.”

  “Are you sure?” the woman asks, a hint of uncertainty in her tone.

  “He carried him all the way here, he can stay for this,” Anika replies.

  Rising to her feet, she extends her hands before her. Holding them inches above Wembo’s skin, she spreads the fingers wide.

  A pose held for an instant before they begin to glow. A soft amber light that grows steadily brighter, passing from a weak lamp to a spotlight to a beam that is nearly unbearable.

  Neon illumination so bright Kidman is forced to raise a hand to shield his eyes, both of the women in the room openly turning away, the long shadows formed by their bodies striping the floor.

  A brilliant blaze that begins to weaken as fast as it peaked. A steady dissipation that takes several moments to recede, the interior of the hut especially dark in its wake.

  A state that leaves Kidman blinking repeatedly, attempting to find his bearings. Hearing and sensing movement around him as he spreads his eyes wide, trying to force his pupils to dilate.

  Adjust back to a normal state.

  A shift that takes nearly a full minute, small pops of light appearing in front of him, before he is able to fully see again.

  When he finally does, Wembo still rests prone on the cot. Much like Kidman’s own torso, the young man’s is free of any wounds or even blemishes.

  No sign whatsoever of what took place earlier.

  Beside him, the woman from the foot of the bed has moved forward. A post that was apparently by design as she now stands with Anika’s arm looped over her shoulder, supporting the young girl’s weight.