Dom Wars: Round 6

by Lucian Bane

  Which was the problem. Too easy. And not one of us said a word because that is exactly what we all thought. No, knew.

  “We’ll get the flag under cover of darkness this time Bane,” Preacher finally mumbled after a solid five minutes of what the fuck now.

  We headed to the nearest forest that would put us near tomorrow’s route out of this fucking jungle and off this fucking island. We made camp and while Tara and I set up the sleeping platform, Preacher and Becca gathered firewood and searched out food.

  They returned with a handful of the small magical berries Becca had found before, the ones that gave a serious surge of energy when eaten. Becca also had a pair of birds, maybe a little larger than doves. By the time we finished cooking and eating, full darkness had settled over the little valley.

  “Ready, Bane?”

  Dread sucked at my feet when I stood to go. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Our one remaining LED headlamp had gone dim with dying batteries and we needed to save what juice it had left. Preacher constructed a torch by twisting some dried grasses into a tight knot, which he fastened to the end of a long pole.

  The four of us carefully navigated by torchlight until we were close to the flag. Slowing down for even more caution was the only real defense we had against more of Jase Duff’s stupid shit. But even with all that care, we found absolutely nothing out of place.

  Finally there was nothing left to do but take the flag, and we did. And still nothing bad happened.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Exhaustion threatened to drag me back into sleep even as I rubbed my eyes and climbed out of the sleeping platform. Thank fuck this was almost over. Last day, and we were still relatively whole. Looking back, that was a fucking miracle, between the island trying to kill us and a psychotic sadist doing everything he could to help death come for us faster.

  And still nothing had fallen out of the sky after getting the final flag, leaving the air thick with a building dread. No trap at the final flag was more disturbing than a trap.

  Whatever. We got the fucking flag, and now we’d get to the beach as fast as we could, get to the boat before any of the other teams, hopefully. The end. Thank. You. God.

  Tara slid from the makeshift bed and came up behind me to slip her arms around my waist. I turned to pull her close, enjoying the sleep-warm softness of her skin. The tank top and briefs she slept in were far too many clothes, but with the shared sleeping arrangements, there wasn’t much of a choice. She tucked her head against my shoulder and I closed my eyes and just held her while I whispered my little prayer for our safety.

  Tipping her head back, she looked up at me and smiled. “I wouldn’t have imagined you as the religious sort.” It was her little joke, gently teasing about my frequent new habit.

  A light smack to her ass broadened her smile. “I don’t think I am. But I’m not taking any chances either.” The muscles of her back tightened as I ran my hand from her ass slowly up her spine. Despite the time we’d spent out here with no toiletries, her hair still spilled over my hand like spun silk. My hand fisted to apply the perfect pressure to tilt her head for my kiss. “Mmm, I can’t wait to get off this rock just so I can fuck you properly.”

  “Is that so?” She took a playful nip at my lower lip. “In that case, I can’t wait either.”

  Becca chose that moment to intrude and climbed out of the sleeping platform with a cheery good morning. The jungle had nothing on that woman. Other than her obvious worry, she showed no ill effects from the difficult terrain and constant hiking. Even the never ending dampness, which left the rest of us covered with any number of itchy and highly uncomfortable rashes and skin irritations, left her practically unscathed.

  She disappeared behind the screen of brush that served as our bathroom wall for this campsite just before Preacher appeared in the lingering early morning gloom.

  Only the hand he raised to signal silence prevented me from speaking aloud to him. Instead, I waited and observed while Preacher crossed to where Becca had ducked out of sight. Soft laughter confirmed he’d managed to surprise his woman. Good for him. We had to steal any moment of peace we found in this godforsaken jungle.

  I grabbed my pants off the makeshift clothesline by the sleeping platform. As usual, we hung our clothing through the night so it could dry slightly in the smoke from our fire and hopefully be slightly fresher the following day. Tara shook her own clothes out, and inspected for random insects that might have taken up housekeeping during the night, and dressed quickly. A fat spider, nearly as wide as my palm, fell out of my boot when I shook it out for safety’s sake. Reflex raised my foot to step on it, then I remembered my boot was in my hand. On second thought, I shuddered and watched the thing scurry away.

  Tara’s laughter drew me from the near-trance of staring after the arachnid. Taking a breath, I realized I’d been holding it, waiting for the damn thing to appear again. “Not funny.”

  One hand smothered her laughter in unconscious effort to keep from advertising our presence more than necessary. “It is too. Who’d have imagine big, bad Lucian Bane is afraid of spiders.”

  Well, when she put it that way, I had to admit it was almost funny. “I didn’t see you offering it dinner, either.”

  “Of course not. But I also don’t mind admitting spiders, especially ones that big, creep me out.” Her smile mesmerized me, leaving me helpless to do anything more than stare at her in awe. “Come on, let’s get breakfast going so we can be one step closer to getting the hell off this rock.” Although, breakfast was the last rations of the fish Preacher had caught the night before.

  She gave a long moan of anticipation. “Sounds impossibly perfect.” I built up the fire and put the tiny water pot on to boil, while Tara added the leaves Becca had gathered along the way good for teas. Fish and tea. Yum.

  Finished, she moved away to do something else and I dug out the handful of berries Becca had instructed was good for eating and drinking and tossed them in for flavor. I didn’t really care for the leafy tasting water. They helped add a little fruity tang to the tea, which was nearly as good as Kool-aid. Only hot.

  Tara and I ate, and began packing up the little bit of gear while Preacher and Becca ate. Finished, Preacher extinguished the fire and kicked it apart, while Becca took care to pack tinder and kindling she’d dried overnight by the fire. Was she expecting another night on the island? I started to ask, but Preacher caught my eye and gave a nearly invisible shake of his head. Better not to know. Maybe she was just paranoid. Like me.

  Twenty minutes after climbing out of the sleeping platform, we walked away from our last camp on the island from hell. After that first day, we’d fallen into a pattern that preserved our strength and energy where possible, and hopefully had helped to keep us all safe.

  Trekking through the jungle was one hell on earth I was so not going to miss. Now that the end was in sight, figuratively at least, my impatience refused to be kept in check. Every part of me wanted to just grab Tara’s hand and run for the beach by the most direct route. Too bad we didn’t have wings.

  The routine we’d established early on did its job and kept me where I needed to be, right there with Tara and Preacher and Becca. Without that bit of discipline any of us could have run off screaming into the forest and never be heard from again. Instead, we pushed the impulse away and stayed and worked together toward our common goal.

  At some point during the middle of the afternoon, I noticed a slight difference in the way the sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees overhead. We’d learned that subtle change usually signaled a break in the forest, such as where the river cut through. Preacher called a rest stop and we shared a bottle of Becca’s berry tea and caught our breath.

  During the relative quiet of our break, an odd sound penetrated the usual noises of the day-time rain forest. “What is that?” Tara looked all around. “Do you hear it? This strange buzzing sound, almost like a bee hive, but in the distance.”

  We all list
ened hard, trying to place the noise and Preacher shook his head. “Make sure we all stay close, no one gets out of sight of the others. Until we know what’s making that noise, it’s a threat.”

  Shit. I took Tara’s hand in mine, hating for the hundredth time that we were on a deserted island with a sadistic psychopath, and even the most innocent of things could become a threat to life and limb.

  I just hoped it wasn’t another team that beat us to the finish. Moving again, we made a conscious effort to reduce our own sounds in order to hear that susurrating buzz more clearly. A few hundred feet further on, it increased in volume, but remained unidentifiable, leaving us caught between the need to rush forward and find out what it was, and an opposing instinct to head in the other direction and put distance between us and the sound that seemed to take on a threatening quality as it climbed up the scale of volume.

  The light changed yet again, growing stronger than we’d seen since our first steps into the jungle. A quick pause and I looked up and miraculously caught a glimpse of blue sky peeking through the maze of foliage above. “Do you see that?” I asked quietly, to no one in particular.

  The others froze in place, peering warily around, glancing toward me for some indication of the danger I’d spotted. “The canopy is thinning. We’re close to the edge of the jungle.” Another clue fell into place. “That sound is the surf.” Even though they were mine, the words sent a surge of adrenalin into my bloodstream, demanding I rush the rest of the way to the beach.

  Only Tara’s grasp on my hand held me back. “We need to be careful. From here on, we’re more likely to run into Duff. Don’t you think? That would be the smart move for him. He could just hang on the beach and wait for the teams to leave the jungle, and stop everyone with very little effort.”

  Her words sank in and I forced myself to think beyond the ice sensation trickling down my spine. Despite the constant threat of deadly traps, Jase Duff had remained at a certain physical distance in my mind. Suddenly, he was right there, on the other side of the trees.

  Preacher caught my eye and nodded, confirming he agreed with Tara. “Short break. Everybody drink up. And while you’re at it, make sure your weapons are within reach.”

  We all complied, checking that our blades could be easily drawn. The walking sticks we all carried had been sharpened to needle-sharp spear points, carefully hardened in our campfires. Following Preacher’s example, we tested the strength of the shafts, and check that the points remained intact.

  Rather than moving on immediately, Preacher shrugged out of his pack. The bundle he’d tied to one side came lose into his hands with one tug of the length of paracord he’d used to secure it. Resting on his haunches, he unwrapped the giant leaves he’d fastened around the object, finally revealing the contents.

  Four clubs, with sharpened stones embedded in the business end, lay there. With a grim expression, Preacher handed one to each of us. “I don’t think I need to explain what these are intended to do.” He hefted his own club. “If you get within reach of Jase Duff, use it like a baseball bat. The face and the sides of the skull will be the most damaging points of contact.”

  Sweat slicked the wood where it rested in my palm. A sick feeling snaked in my stomach at the idea of using it. Because if I did, that meant the person would surely die. I suddenly wasn’t so sure I wanted to kill a man literally. Maim, yes. Torture even. But kill? There was no coming back from that. And ever since Preacher planted all his God crap in my head, that suddenly was a topic of concern.

  Satisfied our defenses were the best he could provide, Preacher stood and slung his pack to his shoulder. When he started onward, we resumed our positions and moved with him, grimly aware of what probably waited just ahead.

  A few yards further on, the vegetation just stopped, with only a very narrow transition. Suddenly we were standing on a broad strip of rocky beach, with maybe two hundred yards between us and the waves rolling smoothly in. I took Tara’s hand in my free one.

  Our elevation, a couple of feet higher than the water’s edge, revealed a series of massive rocks further out, protecting the shore. The heavy waves out there pounded relentlessly against the stone guardians to create the strange noise we’d heard earlier. Without the muffling quality of the foliage, it rose to an annoying volume. It must be deafening out there on the rocks.

  “Stay close to the edge of the jungle for now. We’ll be sitting ducks out there.” Squinting against the ocean breeze, Preacher carefully surveyed our surroundings from left to right.

  I took out our map and began to match up the visible features with the crudely drawn landmarks. It shouldn’t be difficult to pinpoint our location. Satisfied I knew where we were, I turned toward the right. “The boat should be just around that little arm of land there.”

  Preacher nodded. “We have a decision to make then. We can fall back into the jungle a few yards for cover, or we can take the faster route out here in the open.” He turned to check the position of the sun. “As bad as I hate to say it, we don’t have a lot of daylight left. If we want to get to that damn boat first, we’d better haul ass. Bane?”

  Fuck. “The second-last thing I want is another night on this rock. The last thing I want is to give that psychotic bastard a chance at hurting Tara. The sensible thing would be to stay out of sight, and Duff knows that, I’m sure. He’ll count on me wanting to keep Tara safe. That tree-line is probably riddled with nasty little surprises.”

  “True.” Preacher nodded. “The beach it is, then.” Decision made, he lost no time and started immediately up the beach. “Ladies, stay close behind me. Bane, bring up the rear and watch our flanks carefully. Tara, Becca, I want you both watching to the sides as far ahead and as far back as you can see. Remember, he can attack just as easily from near the water as from the trees.”

  All business, Becca fell in directly behind him, only a few paces back, and Tara followed closely. “Becca, I’ll watch the beach side, if it’s okay with you.”

  “Of course. We can alternate periodically so we aren’t deceived by the monotony of looking at the same thing for a long period.”

  “Good.” Tara glanced back at me with a nervous little smile. She had to be terrified, but she sure as fuck wasn’t going to show it. Anyone watching her would think she was just taking a walk on a beach for the hell of it.

  Pride for her courage swelled my chest. No matter who won the million dollars, I was the real winner of Dom Wars. I’d won the treasure of a lifetime in Tara. Nothing else mattered except getting us both out of here alive.

  Compared to the heavy, wet air in the jungle, the constant breeze on the beach was a glorious break. We rounded the small spit of land that sheltered our exit from the tree-line and my heart skipped a beat at spotting the boat in the distance, not far off the shore. Tara and Becca didn’t hold back their excitement and jumped up and down at seeing it while I quickly scanned the coast for other team members. At finding it soulless—save our worn out asses—the urge to run to that fucking boat was staggering. I waited for Preacher’s call, who held back, for no doubt extremely warranted caution, on what we’d do.

  The weather on this arm of the beach was oddly serene and in stark contrast to the storm brewing inside me. The nagging that something needed to still go wrong. The feeling only grew stronger the closer we got to the small boat and I blamed Jase’s last cruel no trap at the flag. It held its very own cruelty and torment, not setting a trap when you knew they would be waiting for one.

  “Remove all your gear, we’ll leave it here. I’ll keep the bag with the flags. “We’re making a run for it, I have a bad feeling.”

  I don’t think any of us had ever been more thrilled with a decision as we dropped our gear and took off toward the finish line at an eager run, my eye on the tree line on our right, waiting any second for other teams to burst from it and beat us there.

  We finally arrived at a point we could reach the boat anchored a few hundred yards offshore. Sand dunes surrounded the area farther
out beyond it, which explained why the brilliant aqua water was so serene.

  I looked around for the fiftieth time for any signs of other teams, as Preacher peeled off his shirt and bent to remove his boots and we all followed suit.

  We charged into the water, piss warm water. I shot a quick glance behind us and then in Preacher’s direction. In a matter of seconds, we’d pushed hard through the water and reached a level that allowed us to swim full force towards the boat. The water remained tepid as we closed the distance. It was hard staying at the rear when I wanted to plow through the water to the boat but I was going to guard the fucking rear even if the anticipation killed me.

  We finally made it and Preacher grabbed the ladder up the boat’s hull. “Let me check first,” he said, going up. I followed him, at a point I couldn’t tread water and do nothing.

  The deck was eerily silent, and the boat stood rock still, rather than moving gently with the water as I’d have expected.

  “Are we supposed to crew it ourselves?” I asked, climbing over the top of the ladder.

  He opened a door that led below deck. “I don’t think so.”

  With only one bowie knife, gripped tightly in his right hand, Preacher advanced down. Quiet alarm crept through me, and I followed him to the small wheelhouse. I glanced back when Tara’s head came into view at the top of the ladder and I quickly motioned her to stay put with a firm palm. I took a moment to check the beach for our competition and found it still empty. I wanted to be grateful but couldn’t, not with the doom going on.

  “Fuck,” Preacher muttered.

  I jerked toward him and hurried to the wheelhouse door, looking carefully inside. The smashed instrument panel caught my attention first, then the snarled tangle of wires hanging from the throttle lever. A pool of inky fluid spread from a compartment below the instruments.

  “Shit,” I muttered. “This is more like it. This is what I fucking expected.” I gasped and looked around, that sick dread that had been riding my ass the entire day flooding in.