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

by TR Kohler

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Much like the American prisoner’s outer appearance had fit with everything Hazik expected, so did his inability to watch an innocent get hurt. For more than a day, the man had withstood physical abuse to his person. The worst possible things that Fumu’s team could surmise, the results leaving the man bloodied and battered.

  Hours of punishment inflicted without the man saying a word beyond his canned responses about churches and Bibles and such nonsense.

  An impressive streak that ended abruptly with the first lashing given to the old woman from Bukari, the man sharing the real mission that brought him and his team to the Congo.

  A story that as recently as two days ago Hazik never would have believed. Not prior to hearing the adamant tale shared by Fumu and his men of the American that was able to jump around the village, disappearing and reappearing wherever he wanted.

  Now, he can’t help but consider it as truth, no matter how much experience and common sense might tell him otherwise.

  “You,” Hazik says as he emerges from the concrete bunker. Finger extended before him, he points to the second villager in order still sitting perched on the ground outside. An older man that looks to be in his sixties, his hair heavily threaded with gray, his skin beginning to sag from gravity and loss of muscle tissue. “Tell me about the girl.”

  His jaw sagging open, the man flicks a gaze to either side. A quick look to the young boy and the even older woman beside him.

  Two people that make a concerted effort to look anywhere but at him, their gazes falling to the ground.

  “The girl!” Hazik snaps. Finger still held before him, he marches straight at the man. Driven by the growing angst within him, he picks up his pace, jogging the last couple of feet.

  A move that allows him to draw his right leg back before swinging it forward.

  A vicious lash that connects despite the old man attempting to jerk away, the toe of his boot burying itself into the soft flesh of his hamstring.

  “The doctor! The one who can magically heal people with her hands. Where is she?”

  Words that sound just as ridiculous coming from his own lips as from the man inside the bunker. A feeling that causes the vitriol he feels to spike.

  Without giving the man a chance to reply, Hazik pulls his leg back a second time. A move that sends up a cry from the other villagers nearby as the old man again attempts to twist himself away.

  An effort that is just as futile as the previous try, serving only to open up his backside to Hazik’s onslaught.

  Another firm contact, this time to the meat of his left haunch. A blow that bowls the old man over, sending his slight form tumbling into the boy beside him.

  A cascading effect that ripples into the middle-aged woman beside him before finally the old woman seated at the front looks up. Tears beginning to seep from her eyes, she stares at Hazik with open loathing before spitting, “Stop, dammit! He doesn’t know anything!”

  Body still cocked to the side, a third kick ready to be unleashed if necessary, Hazik shifts. A small pivot on the ball of his foot, aligning him with the woman.

  A direct path allowing him to lash out at her as well if necessary.

  “But you do?”

  Laced with fury to the point she is almost quivering, the woman forces herself to look away. A spastic, jerky movement that sends her glare into the concrete before her.

  A non-response that causes Hazik’s own wrath to rise in kind, the thought of adjusting his path and lashing her with kicks crossing his mind.

  A notion that is dismissed as he turns instead to the side and marches toward the closest guard standing nearby. A man holding his rifle nestled across his body, posted at the front of the queue.

  Marching directly to him, Hazik reaches for the man’s hip. Snatching the sidearm he carries from its holster, he wheels back in the opposite direction, extending the gun to arm’s length.

  A move that sends another cry from the frightened villagers before him. A sound that only emboldens his return as he marches back to the woman, the front tip of the weapon trained on her.

  “But you do?” he repeats.

  Still brimming with venom, the woman glares up at him. Eyes glassy, she mutters, “She’s just a child.”

  A response that isn’t quite what Hazik is looking for, prompting him to pull back on the hammer of the gun and ask one final time, “But you do?”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  By the time Kidman returns with his third and final load, a small crowd has gathered behind Anika’s hut. No doubt a mix of her urging and the interest of others, more than two dozen people are packed around the small clearing.

  A decent percentage of the small village occupying most of the available nearby space.

  Gone is the wariness they so plainly exuded earlier. Same for any surprise at his sudden comings and goings. Their attention instead seems to be aimed at the supplies he is offloading, a low murmur rising in anticipation.

  Not that Kidman would say there is a great deal to get overly excited about, the items he was able to procure not exactly on the high end of the culinary spectrum.

  A fact he can’t imagine many of the people around him bothering to point out as they clamor to divvy up the goods. An effort that Wembo and the two older women are both now helping with, allowing Anika to serve as traffic control in the center of the spread.

  Standing atop a case of water, she rises above the others, calling out names and directions. Both hands extended before her, she motions about, her every order followed by a crowd eager to please.

  Sacks of dried goods balanced on either shoulder, Kidman attempts to wade through the sea of movement. Both hands clutching the mishappen loads, he moves forward slowly, eventually working his way to the epicenter of the storm.

  “You know I only asked for medicine,” Anika says as he approaches, her perch atop the water bringing her almost to eye level.

  A comment that Kidman ignores entirely as he pats the bags resting over either arm. “Where you want these?”

  “What are they?” she asks, her hands pausing before her, leaving her contorted in an awkward pose.

  The crossing guard momentarily confused, not sure where to send cars next.

  “A buttload of rice, beans, flour,” Kidman replies, trying to recall everything else that made it into the oversized sacks. A frenzied dash through The Ranch’s kitchen stores, aided by two kids named Angel Murreaux and Cristian Rigg.

  Two people that were slow to open up, his ongoing explanation about where the stuff was headed eventually managing to pique their interest enough to interact.

  “Probably some other stuff as well.”

  “Uh, just leave them here,” Anika answers. “We’ll dole out the obvious stuff and then move into the grab bags later.”

  Content to be out from beneath the heft of the load, Kidman allows the sacks to slide from either shoulder. Keeping grasp on the canvas coverings, he holds on just enough to slow their descent, ensuring everything inside survives the fall.

  From there, he lets them come to rest atop the same matted straw that underscored his bedding the night before. An open pen that has seen the goats and pigs driven away in the name of hungry villagers.

  Standing and rotating in a circle, Kidman watches as people already begin to retreat. Hands loaded with whatever they were just allotted, faces are alight with smiles.

  Excited chatter fills the air.

  A scene that Kidman takes in, watching as Anika descends from her post and begins to aid Keicha and Belvie as they each attempt to heft a case of water from the ground.

  Nearby, a young boy works his way through an apple. Cheeks bulging, he continues to rip away more flesh, barely able to chew the sweet fruit.

  Beyond him, a girl pours beans into an upturned kapok leaf. A makeshift carrying vessel for the man holding it extended before him.

  A rare moment of joy, Kidman’s first since arriving in the country.

 
One that lasts but a moment longer before Wembo appears beside him. A solemn expression on his face, he stares out, the place seemingly a different planet from what they left behind in Bukari, before turning to look at Kidman.

  “Walk with me?”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  It doesn’t take long for Kidman and Wembo to find a quiet spot to speak. With nearly every last member of the tiny enclave either taking part in disbursing the new goods or retreating home with their allocation, nobody pays the two men any mind as they drift off to the side.

  A pair that first arrived less than a day earlier, already forgotten. Cast aside for the newest things to show up unexpectedly.

  “This is a good thing you did,” Wembo opens.

  His voice lowered, he casts a sideways glance in the direction from which they just came. An unnecessary gesture, the crowd still completely preoccupied. Children on Christmas morning, marveling at their new bounty.

  Matching his pose, Kidman grunts softly. He watches the people moving back toward their respective homes, many looking intent to start in on the food.

  Something many of them seem to be in dire need of, ribs and knobby joints protruding from their taut skin.

  “You heard the agreement Anika and I made,” he replies. “I told her I would help.”

  “And you have,” Wembo says, “for these people, this village. But there are many more like it scattered throughout the rainforest.”

  Accepting the information in silence, Kidman matches it up against the scene before him. That which he witnessed the day before in Bukari.

  “How many we talking?” he asks.

  “Fifteen,” Wembo replies. “Maybe more.”

  Again, Kidman takes a moment. A brief instant to process what is being shared. To consider the reason behind it.

  “So you’re telling me these supplies won’t do much good?”

  “No,” Wembo replies, his voice rising slightly, emphasizing the single word. “This food, these medicines, will help a great deal. But it won’t matter if we don’t do something about Hazik.”

  Sliding his gaze from the unfettered joy of the people nearby, Kidman settles his focus on Wembo beside him. The man that just a day before smacked the butt of his rifle against the base of Kidman’s skull.

  The same one Kidman carried through the jungle, getting to Anika for care. A full spectrum of interaction much larger than some people he’s known for years. Enough to give him some measure of the man. To tell if he is just putting Kidman on or if there is truth in what he is sharing.

  If it is steeped in ego or hubris or something much larger.

  “What is it Hazik wants?” Kidman asks.

  “Overall?” Wembo asks. “Power. He wants to build an army and use it to control the whole country.”

  Accepting the information with a nod, Kidman moves his gaze a few inches to the side. Focusing on nothing in particular, he lets his vision glaze as he considers the statement. Data that fits with what he suspected the night before speaking with Anika by Wembo’s bed.

  The single motivator behind many of the missions he and Ma and Doc partook in over the years. Greed, capable of manifesting in many different forms.

  This one being power.

  Control.

  “What does that have to do with the villages?” Kidman asks. “Manpower for his militias?”

  A sour look crosses Wembo’s face as he shakes his head. “That’s how it started. The weak ones. The selfish ones. He showed up, promised a little money, and they took off.

  “His bigger interest from the villages, though, is diamonds.”

  The first of such a thing Kidman has heard, he feels his eyebrows rise. “Diamonds?”

  Extending a hand, Wembo motions to the forest around them. “This entire area is believed to be full of them. Little shiny rocks that some would destroy the forest and the ground it stands on in search of.”

  Trying to square what was just shared with what is before him, Kidman returns his gaze to the small encampment. The handmade huts and droves of livestock milling about.

  Simple living, likely mimicking what has been done for generations.

  “Hazik believes if he can pull enough of them from the ground, he can work his way across the country,” Wembo continues. “Buy more soldiers, bribe city officials. With an unmatched fortune at his disposal, he can control the country in no time.”

  A piece at a time, Kidman fits things into a framework in his mind. A loose assortment of facts missing some of the necessary connective tissue, but beginning to come together.

  The closest thing he’s had to a clear picture since agreeing to take on the mission.

  “Is that what’s driving the raids?” he asks.

  “Partly,” Wembo replies. “They started as patrols a few months ago, right after Hazik became mayor. Weekly visits to collect his new taxes.”

  Again, he flicks a hand to the scene before him. A disgusted gesture accompanied by a shake of his head.

  “Over time, though, it got worse. He wanted more. Became more aggressive, started sending more soldiers.

  “Got to the point where Sanga, myself, some of the others began fighting back. Started small, doing what we could. Kind of grew from there.”

  As Wembo speaks, images from the last day or two arrive in Kidman’s mind. Everything from the upturned Jeep upon his arrival to the devastation of Bukari.

  Scenes that go well beyond mere tax collection.

  “Anyway,” Wembo says, pulling Kidman’s attention back into the moment. “If you meant what you said earlier, in the hut, about helping...”

  He pauses there for a moment, seeming to choose his next words carefully, before stating, “He won’t stop. Even you have been here long enough to see that.”

  To that, there is nothing Kidman can say in denial. No indication whatsoever that what Wembo just shared isn’t true. That there is any length at this point that Hazik won’t deem as justified.

  A scenario Kidman has seen play out before. A newly installed leader that gets a tiny taste of power, immediately succumbing to the need for more.

  More control. More adulation. More riches.

  More of everything, no cost incurred along the way too great.

  “How do we do that?” Kidman asks.

  “We go north,” Wembo answers, the response lined up, as if waiting for the question. His cadence increases as he continues, “Find Sanga and the others. Put a stop to this.”

  With each word spoken, a bit more of the young man Kidman first encountered in the hut a day before surfaces. Boundless energy threatening to burst forth, almost to a detriment.

  Enthusiasm that can’t help but be infectious, even if right now it is not the right answer.

  “I can’t leave just yet,” Kidman replies, glancing to the village before back to Wembo. “Not and leave these people defenseless, after what I promised Anika.”

  A dour expression begins to form on Wembo’s features as Kidman continues, “But you go north. Find Sanga and bring him here.

  “Then we’ll ride south together for Hazik.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Fumu is waiting for Hazik as the Jeep he is riding in parts the dense foliage of the rainforest. Spraying mud and tepid water as it goes, the vehicle leaves wide grooves in the trail as it skids to a stop on the edge of an impromptu ring of huts. A collection that is closer to a couple of families out for a camping trip than an actual village.

  A far cry from the place Hazik visited just this morning.

  All of them combined barely comparing to the town of Makoua, a place he would like nothing more than to return to directly.

  Just as soon as he finds the girl. The target that has brought so much trouble down on him recently, starting with the arrival of the Americans and now including the increasing resistance from the locals.

  Resistance that threatens the underpinning of what he is looking to accomplish. The backbone of the financing needed to make his enterprise possible.

/>   Barely waiting for the Jeep to come to a complete stop, Hazik hops down out of the vehicle. Feet sinking into the soggy mud, he stomps across the short expanse to the clearing serving as the centerpiece of the small settlement. An open swath of ground no more than twenty yards across, a handful of people seated in a loose cluster in the middle of it.

  Barely reaching double digits in total, they sit grouped into twos and threes. Mostly women and girls, all clinging to one another, staring anywhere but at Hazik or the soldiers milling about.

  “Anything?” Hazik asks, giving the villagers a quick assessment as he approaches.

  “Not here,” Fumu replies, meeting him halfway across the open ground. The stock of an AK-47 balanced in his palm, the barrel of the weapons rests against his shoulder. Covering his eyes are a pair of mirrored sunglasses, despite there barely being enough daylight penetrating the dense forest to warrant them.

  All of which Hazik recognizes for what it is. A cultivated look, meant to impart maximum fear.

  Ensure compliance.

  Making no effort to hide the disgust he feels, Hazik peers past Fumu to the small crowd gathered nearby. People in an even worse state of repair than those sitting outside of the concrete bunker, several bear open wounds.

  Fumu taking to heart Hazik’s directive to be rough if need be. Do whatever it takes to get the information they need.

  Just as he had on the old man and woman earlier.

  “They seen her?” Hazik asks.

  Rotating a few inches, Fumu gestures to a man peeled off from the others. Like most that they have come across in the last couple days, he is at least sixty years old, if not more.

  Past the age of being a fighter himself, joining either Hazik’s ranks or the roving rounds of insurgents causing trouble in the region.

  Curled into the fetal position, the man lays in the mud. Knees brought clear to his chest, his body trembles slightly, as if he is weeping.