Into the Darkness

by Margaret Daley

  “Lady, did you get a good look at Mandras? Because if you had, you’ll realize there aren’t a lot of places to hang out. The last time I walked the streets, I didn’t see a library or an art museum.”

  “I saw several churches. You could always hang out there.”

  He surged to his feet, his hands balled at his sides. “Don’t try to convert me on this trip. I know all I want to about God. I know that He…” His voice trailed off, allowing the noises from the rainforest to fill the void. “I think you’d better get some rest.” He turned away, staring at the river, his stiff stance as much a barrier as the wall of jungle that surrounded them.

  The fire cast his face in a red orange glow that highlighted the anger in his features. She had touched a sore subject with him, and she wondered what had happened for him to be so furious at God. Suddenly the long, bleak days ahead brightened. She had a focus other than finding her brother. She would help Mr. Slader find his way back to the Lord. Satisfied with her plan, she rose and made her way to her hammock.

  After lavishing some aloe cream on her face, she gingerly lay down and pulled her mosquito netting over her. Relief from the feasting insects brought a sigh to her lips. Settling into her cotton hammock, she tried to shut out the unfamiliar sounds coming at her from all sides.

  She didn’t know if she would get even an hour of sleep because of her vivid imagination, which was trying to decide what was making all the unfamiliar sounds, loud whooping calls, groaning, and tremulous whistles. And through all those noises droned the cicadas, a never-ending chorus. But sometime in the middle of the night she must have slept, because from deep in her dream world, a loud thunderous roar split the air. She jerked awake, her arms flailing, which sent her tumbling to the ground as she tried to get out of her hammock. The sand cushioned her fall, but the impact whooshed the air from her lungs.

  Struggling to stand, she scanned the beach and found Mr. Slader already up. Another roar blasted, and it sounded as though a troop of howler monkeys was right on top of them. She looked up into the trees, but it was still too dark to see much.

  “Good. You’re up. We’ll be leaving in fifteen minutes. I want to push off at first light.” Mr. Slader handed her a hat made of palm leaves, then returned to packing up.

  The gift left her speechless. The hat’s wide brim would adequately shade all of her face, and her neck, too. His gesture gave her hope that she would be able to reach him. Just the sign I needed, Lord. Thank You.

  Kate felt pretty good until Mr. Slader shouted, “Get moving, lady. We have to eat, pack our things and take care of necessities all in thirteen minutes.”

  “Mr. Slader.”

  He stopped taking down his hammock and looked at her, impatience stamped in his features.

  “Thank you for the hat.” She smiled at him with what she hoped was a sweet expression, then set about doing what was necessary in order to be on time for their departure.

  * * *

  Kate had thanked him for the hat made of palm leaves as though he’d done her a favor, Slader thought an hour later on the river, not particularly pleased by the gesture. He had made it for her because he’d wanted his ball cap back. Nothing noble in that. And she had gone and made a big deal out of it. Worse, he was now thinking of her as Kate. He didn’t want to do that. He needed to keep his distance.

  Just as he thought that, she tapped him on the shoulder. He gritted his teeth and glanced back at her in the canoe.

  She held up a tube of sunscreen. “Do you want some?”

  “No,” he bit out, and resumed his vigil, facing forward. He didn’t want to look at her pink-flushed cheeks, her large soulful eyes hidden only partially under the palm hat.

  He paddled harder, forcing his body to the limit, determined to put as much distance between them and their pursuers. He could almost feel the people behind them closing in. And if they did, he couldn’t count on Miguel and Pedro if they had to fight. They had a reputation of fleeing at the first sight of real trouble. It would be him against four others. Not good odds, especially with Kate in the middle.

  There he went again. Thinking of her as Kate. Thinking of her period! If only he hadn’t been at the Blue Dolphin when she had walked into it. But then that would have left her at the bar alone and that wouldn’t have been good for her. He knew some of the men who frequented the place. Disreputable men who took without asking. He was beginning to wonder if she had nine lives like a cat. If so, she had used up two so far. And he didn’t want to be around when the ninth one came due. He would not be responsible for another woman’s death. Period!

  Then why was he paddling furiously up a river with four men following who meant to do Kate harm? That led him back to the question: why had he agreed to guide her in the first place? He didn’t understand his behavior of the past few days, which really bothered him above everything else. He had fallen into a pattern where he only looked out for himself, and now, he was responsible for a woman again. He had promised to do something he wasn’t sure was a good idea—go into Quentas territory to find her brother who Slader didn’t think was alive.

  “Mr. Slader?”

  “Just Slader,” he practically growled at her. A picture of her mouth with full lips made for pouting popped into his brain. He shoved it away.

  For a few heartbeats she didn’t say anything, then she spoke. “I wanted to thank you again for this hat. It’s great. It shades more than my face.”

  “I didn’t do it for you. I wanted my hat back.” There, that would set the record straight.

  “Well, whatever your reason for taking the time to make it, I really appreciate it.”

  He clamped his jaw hard—so hard, pain streaked down his neck. He put more force behind his paddling.

  “I’ll have to return the favor. You’re sure you don’t want any sunscreen?”

  He nodded, afraid to say anything. She was way too cheery so early in the morning with men on their tail. The hairs at the nape of his neck tingled, and this time it wasn’t because he knew she was staring at his back. In his gut he felt Slick and his pals were closing in.

  “I’m quite an accomplished singer. At least that’s what everyone at my church says. I could always sing some songs to pass our time. Sort of like our very own radio. Would you like me to—”

  “No,” he cut her off, but he was proud that his voice was amazingly calm considering the emotions churning in his stomach. He could imagine the type of songs she sang, especially if the people at her church were the ones to tell her she could sing well. He wanted none of that.

  He’d spent many Sundays in church while growing up and going to college, and it hadn’t gotten him anywhere. God had still let him down when he had needed Him the most. No sir, he did not want to hear Miss Prim and Proper sing some church song. That would be all he needed to really make this day one he regretted waking up to.

  Over and over he dipped his paddle into the muddy water, willing them to move faster. But the jungle didn’t pass by quickly enough for his peace of mind. He wanted to rub at his neck to rid himself of the nagging feeling that they were in trouble, but he didn’t dare stop paddling.

  Suddenly the air split with an alien sound. He tensed.

  Chapter Seven

  Kate paused whistling “When the Saints Go Marching In” to take a deep breath. Mr. Slader twisted around and gave her a glare that could freeze a pan of boiling water.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked in a steely, quiet voice. His face had actually turned a deep shade of red.

  “Whistling a tune. I thought that was obvious.”

  “I thought I said no music.”

  He was pronouncing his words slowly again, and Kate had to fight her irritation from taking over. She was determined to win him to her way of thinking, not alienate him further. “No singing. You didn’t say anything about whistling,” she said in a level voice. “I’ve got to do something to break up the monotony.”

  “Well, get used to it. That’s trav
eling in the jungle. No more singing, whistling or anything remotely related to music. In fact, lady, no sound at all.”

  “You’re banning me from talking?”

  “Yes.” He resumed paddling as if he were wrestling with the water.

  Stunned by his overbearing manner, which she should be used to by now, she asked, “Why?”

  “Because I’ve got an itch.”

  “Then scratch yourself. I realize the insects are bad, but we don’t have to stop talking because of them.” With all the talk of insects and itching, Kate found herself rubbing the palm of her hand along her forearm where several bugs had fed on her earlier. She had a cluster of red bumps as proof.

  “Are you really that naive?” He shook his head. “People are right behind us. I don’t want to draw any more attention to us than is absolutely necessary. Understand?”

  He was back to speaking in the voice where he said each word one slow syllable at a time, and that riled her. Honestly, she had tried to remain calm and cool, but she only had so much patience.

  She wasn’t a worldly person. She knew that, but all he’d had to do was explain to her why he wanted her to be quiet and she would comply. She had started to tell him just that when he said something to the porters, then directed the canoe toward shore. The urgency in his voice alerted Kate that something wasn’t right. She straightened and glanced around, especially downriver. Nothing.

  When she looked at the tangle of green they headed toward, she couldn’t see where they would land their craft. The greenery was impregnable and a couple of stories high. On closer inspection, she saw a large log jutting out into the water and wondered why Mr. Slader was stopping now, especially if their pursuers were getting nearer. But she didn’t say anything. She was still recovering from his last icy glare and sarcastic comment about how naive she was.

  Pedro, in front, tied the canoe to the log, then hopped onto it. Mr. Slader turned to her and motioned for her to follow suit. She crawled toward Pedro, who extended his hand. She gingerly made her way to the fallen tree trunk, which wasn’t as wide as she had originally thought.

  On her hands and knees, she inched along the log toward the wall of green, with Pedro leading the way and Mr. Slader and Miguel behind her dragging the canoe from the river. She sensed the impatience in Mr. Slader, but there was no way she would hurry herself. Just one glance at the muddy water with green plants and mangled, twisted branches below its surface gave her a creepy feeling that caused goose bumps to erupt all over her.

  She finally made it to the dense undergrowth, and Pedro pulled her into the brush after him. Limbs scratched at her skin, and a branch struck her in the face as she went deeper into the green barrier. She slowed her pace. Mr. Slader pushed on her back and sent her forward into another green obstacle, this one with thorns that tore into her flesh. Rivulets of blood trickled down her exposed forearm where her shirt was ripped.

  Mr. Slader and Miguel carried the canoe past her to the left and thrust the craft into a thick barricade of undergrowth. Then Mr. Slader grabbed her and yanked her down.

  She had started to protest the manhandling when he clamped a hand over her mouth and, close to her ear, whispered, “Quiet.” He motioned toward the river.

  Through a small opening in the sea of green, Kate spied a canoe passing their hiding place, no more than twenty yards away, close enough for her to see Slick and another man, as well as their big guns strapped across their backs. They were traveling fast.

  Fear clawed at her as the branches had only seconds before. Her heart stopped for several beats, or at least that was the way it seemed to her. Her chest constricted with each breath she dragged in. Her world spun before her eyes. She clutched some of the brush to keep herself upright.

  Her pursuers had only been minutes behind them. Their only saving grace had been the many twists and turns in the river. That itch Mr. Slader spoke of was dead on.

  Hey, hadn’t Mr. Slader said something about four men? Kate studied the last bend in the river downstream, waiting for the other two to appear. No one else followed.

  A good fifteen minutes passed before Mr. Slader signaled that they could move about. Kate pushed to her feet, aware that the greenery encircling her was like a cocoon wrapped about her.

  She rolled her shoulders and twisted at the waist. “Where are the other two men?” she asked Mr. Slader, his features set in a scowl as he continued to stare at the river.

  “That’s a good question. I’m guessing Slick posted them where they spent the night to prevent us from doubling back to Mandras anytime soon.”

  “Which was what you had been thinking of doing when you first saw Slick?”

  “Yep. It’s nice to see we’re beginning to understand each other.”

  “I understand you very well, Mr. Slader.”

  “If you don’t stop calling me Mr. Slader, men posted or not we’ll be going back to Mandras.”

  His stare drilled into her with an intensity that made his point clear. “I’ll stop if you’ll stop calling me lady. My name is Kate.” She stuck out her hand. “Deal?”

  “It’s a deal, Kate.” He shook her hand once, then quickly released it.

  Kate wasn’t sure why her heart began beating fast. Because he’d said her first name or because he’d touched her in a simple handshake? Either way, the harsh climate was playing havoc with her senses if she was letting something like that make her heart pound. Really! Most people called her Kate, and she had certainly been touched by a man before. For that matter, Mr.—no, just Slader, had touched her before.

  Rubbing her two palms together, she asked, “What do we do now? Two men are downstream and two upstream.”

  Slader motioned with his head in the direction away from the river. “We go that way.”

  Kate examined where he indicated, feet and feet of lianas, branches, knots and tendrils all forming an intricate network of flora. “But how? It’s a wall of green.”

  He placed his hand on the hilt of his machete. “That’s why we brought these. There’s often thick underbrush near the river, but farther inland it shouldn’t be as bad.”

  After Slader and the porters hid the canoe, Slader and Pedro took their machetes and began hacking through the snarl. Miguel stood behind her as though he was guarding the rear. That thought sent a shiver down her spine. Just half an hour ago, men had passed them on the river—men who wanted to do her harm.

  Kate scanned the area around her. In less than two days in the jungle she was beginning to hate the color green. “Do you know where you’re going—Slader?” It felt so alien not to call him mister.

  In the lead, Slader paused in swinging his machete and threw her a glance over his shoulder. “Aren’t you asking that question a little late in the game?”

  She pursed her mouth. “I mean, how can you tell where to go? Everything looks the same.” She waved her hand in front of her face, feeling as if the green barrier were closing in on her. Having a touch of claustrophobia didn’t help, either. “There isn’t a trail to follow.”

  “This isn’t a nice little park in the United States with trails laid out for the weekend camper.” He pulled a round, shiny disk out of his pocket and flipped it open. “But if it will make you feel any better, I have a GPS device as well as a compass, and I know the general area where your brother became lost.”

  “General, as in…?”

  He laughed. “La—Kate, has anyone ever told you that you have lousy timing? No matter what I answer it doesn’t make any difference. You’re going where I go. End of story.”

  He pivoted and resumed cutting a path through the dense foliage, the sound of his machete seeming unusually loud. What if Slick came back and heard them hacking their way through the jungle? She peered back, her gaze falling upon Miguel, who offered a smile. No one else seemed concerned. Or perhaps more importantly, they realized there wasn’t a choice but to go through the thick jungle, which meant cutting their way with the machetes.

  Okay, so maybe he had a
point. She certainly wasn’t going to hang around the river hoping some friendly person would come along to take her upriver. She was stuck with Mr. Slader.

  * * *

  He was stuck with Kate, Slader thought, flinging down his backpack to the forest floor five hours later. Even if he wanted to and could take her back to Mandras, they were trapped, and the only feasible course of action was to move forward and hope they found her brother with a large, friendly tribe of Indians to help them. She insisted he was alive, and Slader hoped he was because otherwise the odds were against them making it back to civilization in one piece. Double-checking his shotgun, the only weapon besides their knives and machetes they had, he refused to think about what would happen to Kate if she were caught by the men following them.

  Kate shrugged out of her pack and collapsed down beside it, her body hugging it, her arms wrapped around the canvas as though she were a flower that had wilted in on itself. Sweat soaked her white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and her tan slacks were torn and dirty. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she had gone swimming in the river. When he peered down at his own pants and shirt, he realized he wasn’t much better off. He could imagine what she thought of his attire. This was a woman who didn’t go camping, didn’t like to be without her little “civilized luxuries”—soap, a daily change of clothing, and a shower.

  Which meant Kate loved her brother very much if she was willing to suffer such indignities. Slader settled next to his backpack. He’d never tell her, but he admired her for the kind of love that had sent her thousands of miles from home into an unknown environment so totally different from what she was used to in order to rescue a man who was probably dead. He didn’t think his sister would cross the street to save his sorry soul. Until he’d met his wife, Renee, he hadn’t known what love really was. She’d shown him, giving him a glimpse into a world he’d never be a part of again. He’d never put himself into that kind of position because when she had died, she had taken part of him with her—his heart.