Chapter 25

 

It had taken a lot longer than they’d planned to break up camp on their tree platform and head out into the jungle. Mainly because Belinda had crashed after her ordeal. She’d woken in John’s arms, traumatised, sore and very, very hungry. She didn’t mention the bananas to John, because the thought of gathering them again made her want to vomit. Guess John was right and she wasn’t at starvation point after all, because nothing would have made her eat them now.

They moved even slower through the rainforest than they’d done before their time at the lake. Not only because John was still recovering from the damage the insect bite had done to his system, but because Belinda’s knee could barely hold her weight. John had fashioned a crutch out of a stick he’d painstakingly examined for lurking insects. The stick was long enough to fit under her arm, where it forked out on an angle, making it painless to lean on.

They’d wrapped strips of water-soaked sheet around her knee, in an attempt to keep the swelling down and give it some support. Now the bindings were warm and Belinda was wishing for ice. A nice, long soak in a Jacuzzi wouldn’t have gone amiss, either. And the biggest pizza she could get delivered. She dreamed of pizza in her normal life, one of those foods that was mainly carbs and disallowed on her strict diet; but now, in the jungle where she was so hungry she could cry, she would have given anything to have a Chicago pie, loaded with pepperoni. Her mouth watered at the thought.

John had offered to catch fish for her again before they left, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat anything from the lake where someone had died—even someone as evil as the man who’d attacked her. All she wanted to do was get as far away from that spot as possible.

“How’re you doing?” John said from behind her.

He’d told her he was bringing up the rear to guard them. She suspected it was so he could catch her if she began to topple. Unlike Belinda, who got weaker with every step she took, John’s strength returned as the last of the venom worked its way completely out of his system.

“Fine,” she said, because what else was she supposed to say?

The shoes she’d stolen rubbed her feet raw. Her side throbbed where the asshole had stabbed her. Her face throbbed and she could hardly see out of her swollen eye. Her throat ached, which made talking painful. And her knee just plain hated her. It was in full rebellion. It didn’t want to be part of her body anymore. It was fed up with playing nice. It just wanted to rest.

Like that was going to happen anytime soon.

“Fine my ass,” John muttered, which made her smile.

“Yes, your ass is very fine.”

“Stop talking.” He sounded amused. “Let your throat heal.”

“It’s hard,” she said. “I talk when I’m nervous.”

They’d skirted the lake of death, as Belinda now thought of it, and were heading in the direction dictated to them by John’s expensive watch. Belinda was very much aware that they weren’t covering ground fast enough, and evening was going to hit them sooner than they would like.

They walked on for about an hour, stopping only to replenish their water supply from an outcrop of bamboo. It was hard going. The heat and humidity were getting to Belinda. She felt like she was walking in a sauna and breathing in thick, sticky jelly. It reminded her of James Cameron’s The Abyss, where Ed Harris breathed in this oxygenated liquid so he could dive deeper than ever before. She’d hated that movie; she’d actually had problems breathing just watching it.

Mosquitoes hovered around her continuously now, and she didn’t have the energy to bat them away. She didn’t have the energy to do anything at all, other than force one foot in front of the other and pray they made it out of the rainforest alive.

John suddenly grabbed her arm, jerking her out of her maudlin thoughts. He pressed a finger to her lips to keep her quiet. Belinda’s heartbeat shot into overdrive as she heard the noises he’d noticed before her—there were people in the forest. John tugged on her arm and signalled for her to crawl into a narrow space between two fallen tree trunks. The tree trunks came up to Belinda’s shoulder and were covered in moss. The space around the trees was overgrown with large palms, giving them plenty of cover.

Belinda bent over to examine the space between the logs. It was teeming with ants, but none of them dangerous. She used part of the sheet they still had left to gently, quietly brush as many of the insects out of the way as possible.

John stilled when he realised what she was doing. Belinda pulled on his shoulder until his ear was close enough to whisper. “Not poisonous.”

He seemed relieved. He took the sheet from her, finished clearing the area as much as was possible and then laid the sheet out like a mini picnic blanket for her to sit on. Holding on to his arm, Belinda lowered herself into the gap, checking every nook and cranny for lurking threats. As far as she could see, the small area was free of snakes, poisonous frogs, or insects that could kill them.

The people were closer now. It was hard to miss their approach—they weren’t even trying to be quiet. They crashed through the bushes, snapping branches, hacking at trees, crunching everything underfoot.

A male called out in Spanish, and Belinda looked to John for a translation. He pressed his lips to her ear and said, “You see anything?”

Belinda’s fingers curled into John’s arm as a chill went through her. Were they looking for them?

John stayed beside her but angled his body to best protect them. He crouched, ready to spring at the first sign of trouble. The rifle was in his hands and the machete lay on the ground beside him.

“Nothing,” another man shouted back, and John translated. “This is a waste of time. It’s getting dark. I say we go home before it’s too late.”

“We can’t go back empty-handed or the boss will skin us,” yet another man said.

“Well, it’s pointless carrying on. We’ll never find them in this.”

“The boss won’t believe you,” the first man said. “He thinks he would have found them easily.”

“He thinks he’s king of the jungle,” the third man said, making them all laugh.

“He’s a bastard, that’s what he is,” a new man said. “I wouldn’t want to be in that actress’s shoes when he gets his hands on her.”

“He won’t get you,” John whispered to her once he’d finished translating. “I promise you, he won’t get you.”

Belinda closed the distance between them and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. She believed John, she did. She knew he would do everything within his power to keep her safe. He couldn’t save her from her memory, though. Memories of the attack at the lake flooded her mind. She could feel the guard’s hands crawling over her body. She could hear the lust and violence ooze from him as he whispered to her. She couldn’t do that again. She couldn’t let any of those men touch her. She couldn’t.

John pressed a kiss to her hair. He was tense, vigilant, ready. It was easy to lean on him, to trust him to care for her, and she needed that. She’d reached the end of her own resources.

There was more shouting. John didn’t translate, and the only word Belinda recognised was “tequila.”

“They’re setting up camp for the night,” John whispered against her ear. “Stay quiet and they won’t even know we’re here.”

Belinda couldn’t help the shiver that passed through her. It looked like they were going to spend the night, in the dark, on the ground, with their enemies right beside them. She wasn’t sure she could do it.

“You can do this, baby,” John whispered, as though he’d read her mind.

She shook her head. She was weary, bruised and emotional. The beauty of the jungle was gone for her now. All she wanted to do was go home.

“Yes, you can.” He was so adamant in his belief that she was almost convinced.

They sat, unmoving and silent, as they listened to the men set about clearing the ground behind the palms that flanked the two fallen trees. They couldn’t be more than ten feet away from John and Belinda’s hiding place, making it impossible for them to sneak past the men’s camp without being caught. Even if they did manage to slip away, it would be dark and they would only get lost, or worse, eaten when they stumbled over something they shouldn’t have. No, it looked like they were stuck for the night. Stuck in their tiny shelter, hoping that nothing deadly crawled over them. At least, with the two tree trunks flanking them, there was no chance of a tapir walking over them.

The men built a fire, and smoke wafted out into the jungle as they settled down around it for the night. John slowly, and silently, inched into a sitting position beside her. He put his mouth to her ear.

“We’re close enough that the fire will keep the predators away from us too.”

He was right. It was a welcome plus in a situation that was perilous. The smell of cooking meat and fish wafted towards them, making Belinda’s stomach rumble loudly. She pressed her hands to it and hoped they wouldn’t hear.

John wrapped an arm around Belinda’s shoulder, and she leaned into him. She closed her eyes and tried not to breathe in the smell of cooking food. So close and yet so far away. It was agony. They sat there, listening to the men, as night fell. The light of the fire close to them meant that they weren’t swallowed by darkness. It also scared away the predators. Apart from the odd insect, they were left alone. Every now and then, John would give her a summary of what the men were saying. They’d moved on from boasting and posturing, to talk of women. She didn’t care. She pressed her cheek to John’s chest and let the sound of his heartbeat drown out everything else. Its steady rhythm soothed her and, against all odds, she fell asleep.