Even though the man couldn't understand the words, it was obvious that their meaning was blatantly naked in Bob's tone of voice.
Go to hell!
He focused on that thought as he once again gave in to the fury and outrage—the screams radiated out from his lungs and filled the air with their cleansing release. The self-contempt of a lifetime surfaced and vomited itself out into the night air.
The knife teased like a razor, bringing pain and blood.
At that instant reality stripped him of all sanity and he screamed in real terror of death that was certain to follow some terrible long lasting torture. He knew, instinctively, that in the next moments he'd be begging for the relief of death, and was already pleading for it to be quick.
His lips parted and his lungs released themselves of all air in a moment of utter mad terror. There was an insane relief in letting it all happen, without resistance, as if some dam had burst and all the power and force of the restraining waters power housed past the crumbling ruins of a lifetime in cowardly hell.
That scream followed by another when a spear point touched his stomach, drawing blood. Another spear point cut into his flesh, followed by another and another.
Finally the screams became literal unending pleas for death.
* * * *
Tallie had been in a tree, which overhung the edge of the village, and had seen what had happened below. Her sharp eyes had taken in much; her keen sense of native intelligence, told her much.
She watched Bob Lake being strapped to the pole; listened to his first scream with contempt and then settled back to watch the show that she knew would follow.
Tallie was not basically cruel, but having lived in the jungle for so long, she had gained a mental outlook toward the world around her that made it possible to accept death and pain as a natural course of life. She admired courage and she hated cowardliness. But savage, primitive as she was, her brain was highly developed and knife sharp. She saw John Barton and Rita leave one hut; watched as the white hunter killed the second guard; saw him carrying Carol Hill out of the hut and into the jungle. She was also aware of what was happening to Bob, and his cool silence, which puzzled her. She noticed that he had seen the other three whites, and was aware of the exchange of glances. The fact that Bob started screaming again was blatantly revealing.
Tallie knew that the natives had ways of communicating ideas to one another, but she also knew what a scream meant. What was more, she knew that the first scream of terror was different from the later ones. She puzzled over this for some time, while Bob's screams became more and more like the first one.
A wounded animal screams in pain and anger. And she thought about the man's screams, and she thought about the man, too, and the strange feeling she had felt when leading him and the blonde haired girl back to their campsite. And she remembered the thoughts that had run through her mind, earlier, when watching two monkeys mating.
All this time she was watching Bob Lake, watching as the natives, one at a time, slid their spear points into Bob's white flesh, drawing lines over his chest, until there was more red than white.
She couldn't help admiring the tense hard muscles that strained against the bonds that held the man against the stake. Many things blended together in her mind to change her attitude toward Bob. She realized that he had screamed that second time, after seeing his friends trying to reach the jungle, in order to keep the attention of the blacks. That would be obvious to anybody who saw the whole scene. The natives, though, were oblivious of the escape silently taking place behind their backs.
But what was more important, Tallie didn't like the odds against Bob. He wasn't given a fair chance to fight. Why that should matter to her was not even considered. Tallie was used to reacting instinctively; and that animal reaction to events had served to make survival possible for almost as long as she could remember. Now the vague, dreamlike strange memories of other white people like herself surfaced, once again. These whites were from that dream state of her childhood nightmares. Tallie shook that mental image off, and set her attention on what was taking place at the moment.
Tallie had never really felt a strong emotional attachment to the blacks, and had felt a certain amount of contempt at the way they hunted wild beasts, ganging up on them in packs.
She fitted an arrow to the strong bow in her hands. Under normal circumstances, a civilized man could do little to save Bob at this point, let alone a woman—a small, tiny little creature like Tallie. But the fact was that Tallie wasn't a normal woman—she hadn't been pampered by the softness of civilization. She was a savage; an agile product of the jungle. She had survived in a hellish nightmare that would have killed a normal woman years ago. She could move like lightning through the trees. She could fairly swing from branch to branch. Her reflexes were swift as electrical pulses.
Pulling back the bowstring until the arrow point was touching her right hand, Tallie aimed at the native stepping up to Bob with his spear point.
She released the bowstring and the arrow shot like lightning, toward the native, plunging deep into his back. Scarcely had he hit the ground before a second arrow was imbedded into the chest of another black and a third winged its way toward the Chief.
The natives screamed in one voice of surprise, turning in the direction from which the arrows had come. They rushed forward, forgetting about their captive who was all but unconscious.
No sooner were they half way toward the tree in which Tallie had been, than three arrows plunged into the backs of three warriors, from the far left side of the village clearing.
It took a moment before they could adjust to this new attack. They turned, only to find more arrows on their way from another direction.
The natives were, as all savages, superstitious, and they knew of the jungle white goddess who lived in their part of the jungle, but it didn't occur to them that this attack could be coming from this one little white girl. Not until Tallie suddenly appeared at the edge of the jungle, at the far side of the village from Bob Lake, did they identify their attacker.
Anger and hate welled up through the blacks. As one body, they rushed the white girl who had dared to make an attack on their village.
Tallie waited until she was sure they were mad enough to follow her, then shooting one of the three remaining arrows in her quiver, she turned and rushed down the jungle game trails fast as her legs would carry her. She ran for a long time, the natives in hot pursuit, until she was well away from the village, and then she swung up into the trees and disappeared from sight. The natives shot past her, continuing on in what they were sure was her trail.
A thin grin spread across Tallie's lips and she quickly swung off in the direction of the village. In moments, a lot shorter time than it had taken to go by foot, Tallie reached her destination.
* * * *
The moment John and Rita had entered the jungle, they started off in a fast trot. John was slowed down only slightly by the weight of the unconscious Carol. He didn't dare take the time to attempt to revive her until they were well away from the village. There was no telling when their escape would be discovered.
They hadn't gone far before Carol moaned and showed signs of reviving. She opened her eyes and for a moment didn't seem to understand where she was.
Finally Carol asked: “What's happening?"
"How do you feel?” John managed.
She shook her head, frowned and then quickly seemed to take in what was their surroundings.
John was thankful that she didn't have time to ask any questions. She indicated that she was able to make her own way and he quickly put her down on the ground. And they continued their run.
How long they continued John had no way of knowing for sure. When his lungs were about to burst from tiredness, he knew that the women were at the limit of their endurance. There was nothing else to do but stop, rest. During the last minutes they had been staggering through the jungle game trail.
The minute he indicated a stop, t
he two women fell to the ground, exhausted. It was some time before any of them spoke. Carol broke the silence.
"Where's Bob?” she asked in a shaky, gasping voice.
It was the first time that John allowed himself to think of the other man. Having to leave him behind had been difficult—but unavoidable. It was obvious that they could not have saved the man.
"What happened?” Carol demanded, alarm flaring in her eyes.
"There wasn't anything we could do ... to save ... Bob,” John finally said in a low, sick voice.
Carol stared at him for a long time and then tears slowly welled in her eyes.
Neither John nor Rita moved. Each was trapped in their own depth of agony at what had happened.
Their situation was, at best, hopeless. Without weapons, supplies, blankets, their chance of reaching civilization was almost nil. Bob's fate, in a way, to John, seemed almost kind under the circumstances. At least he would be dead by the evening—while they would have to fight their way through the jungle, dying one at a time, always on edge of hope that somehow they would make it back to civilization. And moment by moment proving the mockery of that hope; a quick death would certainly end the suspense—and useless struggle for survival. That thought clawed at the back of his mind for but a moment, then John forced himself to face the fact that no matter how small their chances were, at least they had a slim one. Bob Lake didn't even have that! Hopefully he was dead by now; but John guessed otherwise. The torture would be long lasting—death would come after hours of pain had driven sanity away.
Determined not to share his thoughts with the women, he merely shrugged them off and slowly stood.
"We better get moving,” he announced.
The two women hesitated for a moment and then Rita turned towards him, face contorted, body trembling.
"What the hell can we do?” she screamed. “We'll never make it!"
John moved fast, knowing what was coming, knowing the only way to stop it.
"We're alive! That's something! While we live there's always a chance."
Rita just stood there, staring, saying nothing.
John turned to Carol, expecting an outburst from her, too, but she squared her shoulders.
"Let's start,” she suggested in a brave but shaking voice.
"Come,” John Barton said. “We can't stay long in any one place ... we have to get as much space between us and those savages as possible."
As they started off, John felt depression hit him once again, digging deep like clawing fingers at his inner core. What chance did they really have? How could they possibly make it through the long miles—how many he didn't even know for sure—which stretched out between them and any outpost of civilization? And what lay between them and safety? What other savages would they have to face? It seemed completely hopeless, but the human animal is such that even in the face of hopelessness, it will fight to the bitter end to hold on to life
They were walking along a game trail, through which countless animals had trampled a pathway, and suddenly they came to a turn and found themselves at the bank of a river.
Hope touched John Barton. The river had to lead to the ocean, and to civilization. But the river also meant native settlements and danger. He was on the point of attempting to decide the best plan that would give them the most safety when suddenly from behind came the low threatening growl of a lion.
They turned as one body and found themselves facing a large magnificent lion who was snarling threateningly at them.
CHAPTER TEN
For Bob Lake the blanket of terrifying pain had suddenly shattered; it was like awakening from a consuming nightmare. Slowly he was aware of one simple fact. They had stopped torturing him. Why, he didn't know. There wasn't enough strength in his body to attempt to think or reason out an answer. It was obvious that to this point the torture had been minor.
He stood there, slumped against the post to which he was tied, thanking God for this one last moment of respite. And wondering what to expect next. The final thrust of a blade into his heart, bringing a final, embracing end to all this hell?
A terrible part of him accepted the fact that death was at best moments away—and actually probably after hours of horrifying pain. In either case he was doomed. And in that conviction came another sense of truth: If he were to survive this nothing would scare him again—a rebirth would surely being a new Bob Lake. All the fantasy terrors of a lifetime could not match this harsh reality—and nothing life might offer could ever be this terrible. But it was too late ... he would die soon enough—in fact not soon enough!
How long the torture would last he didn't know. His mind was dazed and numbed; it could have been a moment and it could have been an hour, he didn't know. Suddenly he felt delicate fingers touching his hands that were so tightly bound behind him, around the post.
He felt a sudden movement and a sudden release. Bob slumped to the ground, his face eating into the dirt.
Two hands reached for him, taking an arm, attempting to drag him along the ground, a soft wordless sound spoke to him. Bob opened his eyes, turned his head.
What was happening? He didn't know at first. Then his mind snapped to attention.
The jungle girl. How had it happened?
Where were the natives?
Bob struggled to his feet.
The jungle girl was quick to motion him to follow her. The moment they were surrounded by foliage, she climbed into a tree, paused at a branch and looked down at him. Under normal circumstances, Bob would have shuddered at the implication of what her action was suggesting. Weakened and exhausted, it was impossible.
The girl stared at him for a moment and then she quickly swung down to the ground, taking hold of his hand and leading the way through the jungle.
Bob staggered after her, half stumbling, dazed from what he'd been through in the last hours. Desperation and the instinctive drive to survive gave him strength—but nothing more. His mind couldn't digest what was happening; it was only possible to react, without consideration. He followed the mysterious young woman, unconcerned at to his fate in her hands.
They had gone a little over a mile along the game trail when the jungle girl pulled him into the foliage and then led the way down to a small ravine, along which she took up their march. On and on they went and every step seemed an eternity. He kept telling himself that he had to continue, had to take that one more step, and again the next step, until they were completely safe. He didn't doubt that this savage girl had a destination in mind, a place where they would be safe from the bastards who had tried to kill him.
A couple of times they passed animals, but Bob only vaguely noticed. He kept his eyes on the naked girl in front of him. When exhaustion had taken what little strength seemed left to him, Bob forced his attention to the girl's dainty body, the golden glow of her flesh. The lightheaded fever that washed over him might have been caused by those erotic images, but most likely had more to do with a physical reaction to what had happened to him. It was like being drawn into a deep dark well, drowning in flames. His thoughts became blurry, the world slightly out of focus. Bob forced himself to concentrate on the beauty of the little jungle nymph in front of him. Fevered nor not; that was the most enjoyable fantasy his mind could embrace. He attempted to imagine what it must be like to embrace her. In one of his “adventure books” anything might take place—whatever his imagination could create. He forced himself to think in terms of sensual intimacy in a desperate effort to escape from the agony of just taking another step; like a man attempting to hypnotize himself into doing the impossible he found himself wondering what she might want with him; what she might do to him; what kind of savage mate ... The images shivered like a fevered dream, faded and then reshaped, tangling together with the reality still clawing at his body. Every step was a hell. He tried to imagine what kind of pleasure this jungle creature might offer in some distant future just beyond his reach. The visions shattered again and reality crushed back into being.
> As the jungle girl turned away from the small ravine, Bob stumbled, fell to the ground, his face splashing into the shallow water. He couldn't move another inch, his muscles tensed in one last attempt to move; his mind tried to recapture the erotic vision of being held close to the girl's naked body, but even that was far too difficult to do. Bob Lake's mind and body just shuttered and then relaxed in unconsciousness.
* * * *
The natives had been running through the jungle, along the game trail for a long time, the leading ones began to doubt the possibility of finding the jungle girl, whom they called Tallie. They came to a sudden turn and then found themselves facing a lion and the three whites they had believed were still held captive in their village.
With a roar of rage, they charged, forgetting the lion that froze but for a moment and then turned, facing this new more deadly threat.
Carol saw the lion first, then the natives. All hope rushed out of her. For a moment she almost fell to the ground in a dead faint. Only by strong will power was she able to remain standing.
John Barton had stepped between her and Rita the moment he saw the lion, apparently in the hope of at least giving the girls a chance at some how getting away.
Then the lion turned, growled at the natives who suddenly came to a startled halt.
Barton moved fast. “Back up—slowly, into the river—don't panic!"
The lion's tail slowly swung from left to right and then snapped straight out as its muscles tensed for a leap.
The natives swung their spears high over their heads and then threw them with all the strength of their bodies toward the lion. A couple made their mark as the beast leaped forward into a death charge.
A couple of spears flew past the lion, just missing them. John moved fast, picking up the weapons and then motioned the women into the river.
"Fast ... we might have a ... chance..."
Carol felt the chilly waters circle around her feet and legs. Then suddenly the bottom dropped out from under her and she started swimming desperately. Barton shouted directions at them and they started heading down river, toward the other bank some fifty yards away. The man fell behind the women in his attempt to keep hold of the two spears.
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