The Vacation

Chapter 06

Cowboy in the Jungle

The jungle was dense.

John stood at the edge, the beach and the ocean breeze to his back. Jungles had never fascinated him; they were dangerous places, thick with vegetation, which hid shy things, dangerous things.

Mostly dangerous things.

Unbidden, a past memory sprang up, one that he forced himself to suppress. Even years later, it still brought bile up into his throat.

Too many innocents…gone… slaughtered.

He shook his head. He had been young and fresh and thought that which he joined and fought for was for the greater good… and it dawned on him that day in the jungle, ten years ago, he had been an innocent as well. That first foray into that long ago rain forest had truly been the loss of everything pure and blameless in John's life.

And where he truly earned his nickname.

For a moment, he focused on the foliage, anything to rid his mind of that faraway rain forest a lifetime ago, focused on the various shades of green, focused on the smell of blooming things, rotting things, the scent of the ocean behind him. He focused on the sounds, the birds and insects, the wind through trees, the sound of the ocean roar. Focusing on his breath.

In.

Out.

In…

Out…

In.

Out.

In…

Out…

Breathing under control, he stepped in.

Even after everything, he was astonished at how fast the sun was blotted out; how quickly the sound of the ocean disappeared. He took note of the trees, their shape their placement. For the not the first time, he double checked to make sure his long-sleeves were buttoned, checked to make sure gloves were in his pocket. His jeans were tucked into his boots; he knew the jungle and its inhabitants well.

Within three steps, he knew he was being watched. Angry, angry eyes, watching his every move.

Good, he snarled to himself, an evil grin gracing his features. He wished he had a gun or a machete.

For a time, he skirted the edge of the forest, not hearing the ocean, but knowing it was there. He made note of the birds, brightly colored Pacific Caws, plants, flowers. He idly wondered if the fruit on that tree that looked like an odd cross between a star fruit and a pomegranate, was edible.

"It is."

Reaper jumped, turning to face the voice, his hand immediately searching for a gun that was not there. "What the hell?"

The old man had snuck up on him. He was wizened, ancient; there was no way Reaper could put an age on him. Sixty? Eighty? One hundred? Slender and weathered like a gnarled tree, with white hair sticking every which way, he leaned on a thick walking stick, but for some strange reason, Reaper didn't think he needed the stick for walking. He was wearing faded shorts, a 'Las Vegas is for Lovers' tee-shirt that looked as if it had been pounded and washed on a rock for a decade and an old pair of Nikes that looked to be as old as the man. "The fruit," the man nodded to where the strange star-fruit-that-could-be-a-pomegranate hung. "It is edible. But it doesn't taste very good. It gives me the shits." He looked over to where Reaper's hand was still grasping for air. "Do you wish to shoot me?" He held out one hand. "I am but a defenseless old man. Why would anyone want to harm me?"

Reaper's heart was racing, but he dropped his hand. "You startled me. Gut reaction." He wondered if the old man's eyes were the angry ones he sensed. Somehow, he didn't think so. He turned and walked away.

"Wait! Wait!" Now Reaper heard him, scurrying through the leaves. "You want to see the sights, no?" Too quickly, he was next to the Marine. "I show you! I know where everything is at!" He spread his free hand in a wide arc, showing 'everything.'

"No thanks." Reaper kept moving. "I like to explore on my own."

"But… but… no!" Again, the old man's speed belied the decrepit visual he portrayed. "This is a boring jungle. Lots of pits and vipers and dangerous things." He took Reaper gently by the elbow and attempted to guide him towards the edge of the tropical forest. "I show you the beach!" He smiled with an age-old waggle of his head. "Pretty girls on the beach!"

Reaper gently pulled his arm from the old man's grasp. "I've seen the beach, thank you." He again moved forward. "All the pretty girls here are married or my sister. Thanks, but no thanks."

"Or Abby-girl. She's pretty!" Again, Reaper found the man sidled up next to him. The old goat was starting to piss him off. "She likes you. You can smell it!" Again, he nodded, knowingly.

Reaper narrowed his eyes. The old man could smell it as well? It crossed his mind to question the old man, but he decided to ignore the remark, for now. "I'm going exploring. Leave me alone." He turned again and headed deeper into the jungle.

"Wait! Wait! Wait!" The old man was now screeching. "There are ugly things. Dangerous things." Again, Reaper felt his arm being grabbed, the old native trying to turn him around. "Twelve legged spiders with sixteen eyes and four fangs that ooze green, steamy venom!" The old man put his hands to his face and wiggled his fingers, his mouth aping a grotesque shape. He was making clicking noises to add to the affects.

Reaper had to laugh. "Spiders have eight legs and eyes, you old coot. And two-" he thrust two curved fingers into the native's face, 'pinchers!"

"AH!" With this, the local smiled gleefully, "but if you are bit, you will see fourteen legs with eighteen eyes!"

"Wait!" Reaper's finger was still in the old man's face. "You said twelve legs, not fourteen!"

The man put both hands to his ears and closed his eyes. "Ai! Ai! Ai! You get bit, you will not live long enough to count!"

Reaper leaned down, almost nose-to-nose with him. "Then how do you know how many legs I will supposedly see?" He scowled and again turned away. "Skive off. I can handle this."

"You are a professional."

The unexpected change and seriousness in tone stopped Reaper in his tracks. He turned slowly. "Who are you?" He snarled. "What are you?"

Suddenly, the old man didn't seem so comical, so… clownish. He was standing straight, regarding John with serious, deep-probing eyes. For a moment, Reaper didn't think he would speak and opened his mouth to repeat the question, but finally, the old man raised his hand. "Continue on the path you are on and you will arrive in the village and upset the young ones and their mothers. The guards will attack you, although you will be difficult to kill and that would be a shame. That way-" he pointed off to the east, "is filled with treacherous drops and pits filled with vipers and other things that you would rather not encounter. However," he pointed in yet another route, "over in that direction are ruins of the old ones and such that your sister would be enamored of and keep her agile, curious mind from things she should not seek. Or perhaps, it will give her the answers she does seek. It would keep her busy as well as you. Shall I show you or will you insist on making an ass of yourself?"

Reaper rolled his eyes and turned.

He immediately found his legs ripped from under him and he fell to the forest floor on his back, looking up into the canopy of the trees. The old man appeared over him, looking down, with his not-walking stick in his hand and a wry grin on his face. "My apology. I did not answer your question. I am Santoso. Now please. Again. Shall I show you the ruins and when your sister can manage around a bit better, you can show them to her with my blessing?" He stuck a twisted hand out. "Or shall I put you on your ass again?"

Reaper grabbed the hand and pulled himself up. He tightened his grip, pulling Santoso towards him. "Think you can?"

He found himself thrown and on his back again. "Obviously." Again, the happy-go-lucky face of the man leaned over him. "I can do this all day. I would prefer to show you the ruins."

Reaper didn't get up as fast this time. It was galling, painful that an old man could best him. His old platoon, if they still lived, would be laughing their collective asses off. "Fine." He brushed the old man – Santoso's – hand away. "Show me your ruins."

Santoso cackled and motioned. "You follow me. Believe me, you will like and your sister will love you when you tell her." He scuttled off into the brush.

"My sister already loves me," Reaper mumbled. Again, the feeling of angry eyes bore into the back of his head.

"She will love you more! She will forgive you many sins!" Santoso burst from the brush, motioning with his hand. "Come! Come! You slow for young man!"

After thirty minutes of twisting, circling, back-tracking, branch-ducking, jumping over logs Santoso swore hid 'ugly' things, they came into a clearing.

"Well? Well?" The old man jumped up in glee. "Your sister, she will like, no?"

"Shit." Reaper's jaw was slack as he took in the ruins, the vines, the things hidden, the possibilities… for the first time since he was young, his mouth watered at the chore ahead. "SHIT! She would offer to fuck me."

The old man cackled. "Maybe true, but Abby-girl would be a better choice for you!"

~~~…~~~

A few hours later, John and Santoso were heading out, the old man showing him the landmarks to find his way back – although Reaper had a feeling that Santoso would meet him at the jungle edge when he returned with Sam – when laughter came towards them from a different path. Reaper held his hand up to Santoso to wait. Soon, Abigail and another native came through the dense greenery, the doctor laughing at whatever the native was telling her.

"Ossi, I do not believe that for a minute!"

"Is true, I swear!" He appeared to be young, not yet approaching adulthood. "I saw it with my own eyes!" The two stopped when they realized they weren't alone in the small, miniscule clearing.

"Santoso!" Abby seemed to be oblivious to Reaper's presence, however the scent that rose above the floral perfume, gave Reaper – and obviously Santoso – reason to believe otherwise. "Your great-grandson is telling the most horrible stories about you!"

"Is that so?" Santoso glanced at the boy. "I hope you do not believe everything you hear. John and I-" he motioned to Reaper, forcing Abigail to acknowledge the Marine, "have been exploring and are becoming good friends."

Finally, she graced Reaper with a glance. "Really? How did this happen?"

Reaper opened his mouth, to say something rude and disgusting, but Santoso beat him to it. "We have special surprise for his sister when she can move about. Perhaps, the two of you," he flicked a long finger back and forth between the two, "should get together for noon-meal and plan together. Like… what is the word? Date? Yes." He nodded enthusiastically. "A date. You should have a date!" He rubbed his hands together gleefully. With a quickness John wouldn't have believed had he not witnessed it, Santoso rushed to her side and gently taking her elbow, pulled her towards Reaper. "Here. You go with him now. He safe! He is one of us." With a nod to Ossi, the two disappeared in to the jungle, leaving Reaper and Abigail alone in the mist.

"I don't think you're safe."

Reaper raised an eyebrow. "I'm not." It was a declaration, albeit a soft-spoken one. "Not safe at all. Watch your step and keep up." With that, he turned and stalked towards the edge of the rainforest.

Abigail ran to keep up with him. Soon, they were standing on the edge of the beach, the jungle behind them. "I don't think you're one of them, either!" She shook her head.

Reaper narrowed his eyes, before pulling his sunglasses from his head and over his eyes. "Oh, I think I just might be." He took a few steps before stopping and looking over his shoulder. "So, how about that lunch date, Abigail? Or are you too scared?"

She stood her ground, arms across her chest. "What makes you think I want to go out with you?"

John was by her side, his lips at her ear. "I can smell it and you know what? Santoso can smell it too." She felt him smile against her. "Admit it. I'm a sex god and you want me!"

Abigail started laughing and it sent a tingle down John's spine. "Oh, that's ripe. Smell it, indeed! Next, you'll want to sacrifice me on the altar of lust!" She continued laughing until she realized that he held her tight.

"Don't need to sacrifice you. Just take you." Abruptly, he turned her loose and she shivered at the sudden loss of his warmth. "Am I still invited to dinner tomorrow night with you and Sam? I'll… dress appropriately." And with that, he strode off. "Just maybe," he yelled to the air, "I'll take you to lunch on Sunday. Won't even need to discuss the surprise for Sam. I can deal with that!"

"WHAT?"

"We'll find something else to discuss!" Reaper started to chuckle to himself. Like how wet you are right about now and how hard I am and unless I get my mind somewhere else and quick, I'm going to cum before I can do much else. He rolled up his sleeves and began to jog, his mind returning to the surprise in the jungle.

As he disappeared down the beach, Abigail felt strangely alone and bereft, as if something precious was lost through her hands.

~~~…~~~

Later that evening, Reaper found Abigail's unused golf cart parked in the small port of his and Sam's rented abode. To watch him jump up and down, Sam could have sworn he found a stack of porn hidden in the seat. She was simply grateful she wouldn't have to ride the handlebars of the damned bike anymore.

Unfortunately, as they drove into town Friday night, Reaper behind the wheel, she remembered why she hated driving with him.

~~~…~~~

He drove like a madman. Still.

They pulled up in front of the restaurant, noticing the honeymooning couples. With the plane only coming once a week, most would be leaving over the weekend, back to their homes, their real lives. Many were sunburned, too tanned, tired.

Sam was queasy. Her stomach rolled and she clung to the metal frame of the golf cart. "Damn, John! Didn't the Marines teach you to drive better than that?" She was windblown and her cheeks were pink.

"Defensive maneuvers!" John was up, out, the key in the back pocket of his very well-fitting jeans. "Top of my class!" He raced around to her side and helped her out. Women on the walk looked at him appreciatively, much to the ire of their husbands. In addition to the snug, well-fitting jeans, Reaper wore a simple white button down oxford shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the cut showing the breadth of his shoulders, the color, his tan. He took off his sunglasses and folding them down, tucked them into what he called 'the nerd pocket.'

He wore stubble well.

They hadn't been seated at the table long, when Abigail arrived. John could smell her, her perfume the moment she stepped into the restaurant and it took every ounce of self-control he had to keep from turning to look at her.

Dinner was satisfying, conversation light for the most part. On several occasions, Abigail and Sam dropped into jargon, talk of Abigail's research taking center stage. The two women were animated, laughing, comparing notes, and discussing things that John wished went over his head. He raised an eyebrow when Sam ordered the steak, assured by Abigail that the weekend cook was much better than the one who manned the kitchen in the middle of the week and over-cooked everything. He ordered the steak again as well, rare – told the waiter to simply throw it on the open fire when it ran by and flip it once.

Abigail was right. Tonight, flavor was an explosion.

Stuffed, satisfied, and polishing off a bottle of wine, John really wasn't paying attention when Sam's voice cut through his mindless musings.

"Surprise? You have a surprise for me in the jungle?"

Reaper sent a mock glare to Abigail. "Abby-girl," he used Santoso's nick-name for her, making her grin, "spilled the beans?"

"No," Abigail lifted her wineglass and toasted John. "I simply told her you found something in the jungle she would like."

"But she used the word 'surprise.'" John drained his glass and turned it upside down. He was really unhappy with the fact the C24 seemed to escalate his senses and lessened his ability to drink or hold any sort of liquor. "Which tells me you and I need to talk." She flapped her jaw in indignation. "Lunch Sunday. I'll pick you up." The waiter laid the bills on the table and before Abigail could lay claim to hers, John picked up both. "My treat, tonight." Sam started to giggle; clearly inebriated and knowing the treat was anything but on John. "Your treat next Friday. Deal?"

"You are a hard man, John Grimm."

"You have no idea how hard!" Putting his wallet away and laying the restaurant pad back on the table, he stood up, effectively calling an end to the evening. Sam was still moving slowly and was showing signs of exhaustion. "Come on, ladies. I'll see you both to your doors."

Abigail and Sam both rode in the back, clinging again to the frames, although John took great pains to drive carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was have to scrape one or the other off the road because he careened around a corner too fast. They arrived quickly enough at their place, both John and Abigail helping Sam into the house. She swore she could get to the bathroom and her bedroom by herself, thank you very much and waved the two off.

Abigail stood at the door. "I can walk. It's no big deal."

"It is. I insist." John stood next to her. Her scent was heady. From his height over her, she was tiny, diminutive. He could see straight down her sundress.

Nope. No wonderbra. Just nice, wonderful, more than a healthy handful, and perky…

"Walk or shall I drive?"

She snorted. "Walk."

"Hey!" John was slightly affronted at the smear of his driving skills. "I was careful!"

"Yes, you were, but I've had one glass of wine too many and I would like to walk some of it off. Clear my head." The two headed down the drive and onto the roadway. "How many glasses did we have?"

John shrugged, taking in the night air, the stars, the full moon. "Don't know. We wasted three bottles." The two started off down the road.

"Really?" Abigail was flabbergasted. "I had no idea we drank that much."

"Don't feel bad." John pulled his shirt from his waistband and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Sam drank most of it. Had no idea what a little alchie my sister was."

"Don't tell but," Abigail whispered conspiratorially, "in college, your sister could drink the guys under the table!"

Apparently, Abby-girl had had a bit too much to drink as well. Reaper made a mental note to keep an eye on the women, lest they cause a commotion when they went to town. Last thing he wanted was to fight off angry wives because his sister and her friend had over indulged and were caught making passes at their husbands. They quickly came to Abigail's home. As promised, he walked her to the door. For a moment, the two stood there, in the porch light. Abigail's perfume, bolstered by her natural scent, was escalated to the point John contemplated taking her right there on the porch.

She looked at him, head cocked to the side as in deep thought. Her key was in her hand. "Would you like to come in for some coffee?"

For a moment, a short, brief, never ending moment…

"Not tonight."

Her head dropped. "Oh. I'm sorry, I just-"

A finger slid beneath her chin, lifting her eyes. "One night, I am going to come in. And I'm going to stay. I don't want you to regret what happens, when I do." Quickly, he bent down, his lips brushing hers. The next moment, he took the keys from her, opening the door. "Good night, Abby-girl. I'll pick you up at noon, Sunday." He dropped the keys back in her hand and walked off into the night.

Shaking, she watched him disappear into the dark, before stealing into her home and locking the door.

~~~…~~~

"You play with fire, old man."

"It is my fire to play with."

Silence.

"He is dangerous." The younger man stalked off, leaving an angry path in the mist in the air. The old man continued to smoke his pipe.

"He is only dangerous to you."

tbc