Author's Note: After a very, very long hiatus, I'm back in business with this, as this idea was far too compelling to not continue. Anyway, enjoy, and please review.
Chapter Seven
"Oh, that's mine," said Christine to Oliver, who was currently holding up a large-brimmed, khaki hat and waving it around their quarters, trying to figure out to whom it belonged.
"Is it?" he asked, a grin crossing his face, still dangling it in the air.
She stood, trying to grab it from him for a moment, giving up when he reached his arm all the way up and stood on the tips of his toes, deliberately keeping it out of her reach. "Not fair, Oliver."
"God, what are you, Oliver? Two?" asked Simon, approaching and wresting the hat easily from him, handing it to Christine. "Here you are."
She smiled widely. "I'm glad someone around here has manners, thank you, Simon." He nodded and went back to readying his knapsack, as all the rest were; Christine had been the first one up, however, so she was already done. "Don't you have packing to do, Mr. Reese?" she continued, using her most aloof voice and his last name when addressing him, fully aware of how much it would bother him.
He winced. "Sorry, Christine, just having a spot of fun, is all."
"I know. Besides," she said, fitting the hat on her head, tucking her length of blonde hair underneath, "if Simon hadn't intervened, I would have just tackled you for it."
He grinned widely, looking at her; there were a few snickers from the other men in her party as she realized the full implications of what she had just said and what he had just thought of to illicit such a grin.
"Oliver!" she gasped. She punched him in the shoulder quite hard. "I can't believe you…" She sighed, shaking her head, retreating to her cot. "Men!" she murmured loudly, exasperated, fully intending for the rest of her team to hear her.
--
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Wipu?"
He looked at her in the darkness and solitude of the large hut. "I said nothing of the sort, Adua. In fact, I do not like any of this at all."
The young woman paused in her flitting around him, making sure the painted symbols on his skin and the position of his headdress were exact. "Then why do it?"
Wipu sighed. "Senatu insists."
"Of course."
He thought he detected a touch of bitterness in her voice, the way she had said those few words. "Adua? What's wrong?"
She bent her head, electing to look at the ground rather than into his eyes. "I know we are supposed to obey his wishes, but…"
He nodded. "I know."
"It just doesn't seem right to me. How can he just do something like that? Arbitrarily and all?"
Wipu fidgeted slightly, catching her attention. "What is it?" she asked.
"Well… it's not… arbitrary…"
Adua furrowed her brow in confusion. "I don't understand."
He paused, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to give her the real reason behind this unorthodox hunt. "Adua," he began, placing his hand gently against the very slight bulge beneath her tunic—she was pregnant. "Adua, you know I don't like to keep secrets from you."
She nodded in affirmation. "Nor I you."
He sighed. "This time, though, I have to."
She pulled away from him, not impressed. "It probably has to do with that woman you two were talking about last night, the one he saw."
He spoke without thinking, defending his master and friend from her derisive attitude. "Senatu needs to find a mate eventually…"
She smiled in triumph, watching Wipu's expression change from one of grudging sympathy to shock as he realized what he had just said. "I was right," she stated with a decidedly smug expression; it faded after only a few seconds, however. "What is he thinking? He can't simply make her his mate by kidnapping her, she has to consent. He of all people should know that."
"Adua, you've never tried talking sense into someone… like… him…"
"Maybe I should, then," she replied. "Hasn't he ever heard of self-control?"
"Indeed I have, Adua," came a voice from the entranceway. "Hearing and practicing are two entirely different things, however."
"Senatu!" cried Wipu and Adua in unison, she turning around to look at the much taller man approaching them.
"Hello, my dear," he replied, addressing her directly, courteous as always, yet with a definite edge. Subconsciously, it seemed, almost as if from instinct Wipu took the smallest of steps towards her, intent on shielding her.
"That won't be necessary, my friend, I wouldn't harm her, you know that," said Senatu, his catlike eyes catching the movement.
Wipu colored slightly, abashed, bowing his head as Adua looked at him a little scornfully. She took a few steps toward her master, boldly looking him in the eyes. "Senatu, if I might speak."
He nodded slightly, intrigued. "Go on."
"This is unwise. You know that, I know that, even Wipu knows it, no matter how devoted he is to you." She spoke with a wry smile gracing her petite lips. "We don't hunt during the day; what if this upsets the Balance?"
The taller man, having been prepared to hear a lecture about the fair-haired woman he had seen the night before, was caught by surprise at this sudden turn of events. He pursed his thin lips for a moment, thinking intently, his eyes far away.
"Master, I fear for you. I fear for the people. This will not end well."
"And if it does?" he asked quietly, humbled.
"What?" said Adua.
"If it does end well?"
She paused, looking to Wipu for wisdom; she was only an apprentice, after all. But becoming exasperated when he merely shook his head, baffled, she replied, "Then so be it. We won't know that until the time comes, however."
The man nodded, still deep in thought. "How very insightful you are, Adua. You will make a wonderful priestess."
She beamed, flattered by the genuine compliment. "Thank you, Senatu."
He rewarded her with a small, rare smile before shaking his head, chasing away the thoughts. He looked at Wipu. "It's time," he pronounced quietly.
Wipu nodded. "Of course." He cast a lingering glance at Adua before following the taller man out of the hut.
"Master."
He stopped, nearly outside, turning his skeletal face to look at her, such that the only thing she could see clearly were his golden eyes, the rest cast in shadow, in darkness.
"Be patient with her."
He said nothing in reply, but with a flourish of his ceremonial cloak, continued on his way outside, Wipu following close behind.
Adua sighed, making the customary gesture with her fingers over her forehead. "Great Rishka," she breathed, barely able to hear herself over the sudden pounding of the drums and the wild cries of the men as they prepared for the hunt. "O Mother Goddess… please… please let him be right. For all our sakes."
--
Christine jumped out of the truck, breathing in the moist air, gazing in wonder at the vast expanse of green that stretched far beyond the road, exhilarated. Soon, very, very soon, she and her team would be exploring that amazing place, and she couldn't be more pleased.
"And you're sure about the escort, Miss Daaé?"
She wrenched her eyes away from the forest to regard the good Colonel. "I'm sure, thank you. You've been very kind, and I appreciate it."
The man nodded. "Of course, Miss Daaé, my pleasure." The man driving the truck turned the ignition, and the engine roared back to life as the last member of her crew disembarked from the bed. "We'll see you here at sundown, then." He nodded at each man in turn before signaling to the driver, who continued on down the road, a cloud of dust following in their wake.
Christine sighed heavily, happy to have the oppressive weight of the military presence bearing down upon her lifted; though the Colonel was courteous enough, she could hardly stand some of the looks she received from the other men…
Her musings were interrupted by a loud thump. She turned quickly towards the sound, nerves heightened in response to the stress of having a potentially-vicious tribe of natives so close at hand. Instead of the bloodthirsty scenes her mind was busy conjuring up, however, her eyes were met with the distinctively comical sight of Oliver attempting to shoulder his daypack. So far, his efforts were in vain.
"Goddammit," he swore, hoisting the strap onto his shoulder, but the bag refused to fight gravity, falling again to the ground, again making the loud thump on contact. He looked around at his colleagues, who had formed a circle around him and watched in amusement. "Oh, sure, point and laugh…. Isn't anyone going to help?"
With a chuckle, Simon stepped forward and picked up the bag with seeming ease, then almost as quickly dropped it to the ground again. He looked at Oliver, aghast. "What the hell did you put in here? A body?"
Intrigued, the rest of the team stepped forward, testing the weight of the bag—and, as an unspoken, yet not overlooked aspect, their strength—almost like a carnival game. They all eventually came to the same conclusion, however—that the pack would be impossible to carry for a long distance, much less move.
Christine sighed, trying not to seem too impatient or exasperated; she hadn't counted on this delay. "Oliver, why is the bag so heavy?"
He gave an embarrassed grin, trying to save face. "Ammo."
There fell a short silence, during which only the calls of the birds and the swaying of the lush tropical canopy in the ocean breeze could be heard.
"Excuse me?" said Christine. She shook her head, almost as if trying to clear it so as to better focus. "I don't believe I heard you correctly…. Ammunition?"
"Well I figured we would need some sort of protection in case—"
"This isn't a military expedition," began Doctor Flynn. "It's purely expeditionary—"
"I know that, but—"
"Means no guns, Oliver," said Simon. He paused, his expression thoughtful. "Knives perhaps…. But no guns."
Oliver drooped visibly, sighing. "I… guess I'll start unloading, then," he said, dropping to his knees and unzipping the pack.
"That would be wonderful," snapped Christine, her patience wearing thin. "Honestly, Oliver, how could you even begin to think—"
"Look, I'm sorry if I don't want to be roasted alive!" he snapped back, looking up at her from unloading his bag.
A much more ominous silence, much like the one that had filled the Colonel's office the night before, permeated the small group. Christine shivered, turning away from him.
"Sorry," said Oliver, much softer this time.
"Forget it." She was all business now, her fears pushed to the back of her mind; this expedition would not fall apart under her watch. "Place the cartridges at the foot of that tree over there," she said, pointing a slender index finger at the tree in question. "We'll pick them up at sunset."
Oliver nodded, and Christine let him go, gesturing towards her other team members with a wave of her hands. "Let's go. He can catch up when he's done."
"Are you sure it's wise to sep—" began Thomas, but stopped short at the vicious glare Christine leveled at him, her eyes burning.
"We won't go very far," she said shortly, walking forward as she did. "He'll be able to find us." In silence, her team followed her, a trail of baby ducks behind their mother.
She was right; Oliver indeed caught up to them after only a few moments, relieving some of the unspoken tension of the group. Even Christine, in her irritation, was listening intently for his footsteps, and couldn't help the sigh that escaped when he rejoined them.
Looking back, she would wonder if this flood of relief, and subsequent relent of awareness, was the ultimate cause of their downfall. Perhaps she should have let Oliver keep some of the ammunition and the pistol he had thought to bring with him. But thinking about the past does not change it, no matter how desperately one wishes otherwise.
She sensed the presence in the surrounding vegetation before she heard the noises, the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight up. She paused, feeling her comrades stopping in turn behind her, contemplating turning back, and was about to speak when she saw the flash of movement from the corner of her right eye. The tension around her peaked unbearably.
"Watch out!" she gasped, but it was far, far too late.
They came from all sides, a total and complete ambush. She did not know what was happening, there was so much noise, and blood—
Blood?
In the tumult, she got pushed around in time to see Thomas fall to the ground. She fought her way to get to him, but one of the natives barred her way, brandishing a short spear. She watched in horrified fascination as one of the people took a short club and struck the injured Thomas, connecting with his head and producing a sickening crack.
A few feet away from the body lay his hat, untouched by the melee.
She felt numb, like her nerves, her very senses had left her and flown far away to the past, to a land of safety and security. In fact, she could hear the sweet refrains of her father's violin singing, echoing in the vaults of her memory, and she clung to this desperately, knowing if she chose instead to meditate on the gruesome scenes before her, she would most assuredly go mad.
Christine eventually allowed herself to be bound by her hands and led away from the scene, not looking back, just constantly staring down at the moist ground, watching the undergrowth, the vines sprawling underneath her feet, the silent crawl of insects. She tried to block out sounds as well, the foreign babble as the natives spoke to one another, the near-audible frightened anticipation of her team. She raised her head, locking eyes with Oliver, who was next to her on her right. The same fear she saw in his hazel eyes was her own, the dirt smudges on his face from the struggle dusted her own cheeks, the blood spatter from their fallen comrade mirrored the life liquid that marred her own countenance, dampened her hair.
They traversed the forest in silence, and, even in her numbness, she could not help but admire the skill these people had in navigating through the undergrowth and the endless, deceptively peaceful labyrinth of green.