Chapter Three: The Hunted
The human body is amazing. Just a slight noise when you sleep, and your mind can call you to consciousness.
Of course, when I woke and heard the rustling of brush nearby, I almost freaked out. And as I moved, I had to bite my tongue to stay silent. My fall did something to my side, and it was acting up now. I couldn't see either, but that was the darkness, not my eyes. The rain had stopped.
A rustling sound came from the plants. I stared out into the dark foliage. I had no idea what was out there. I had no idea where I was anymore.
Trying to steady my breath, I slid over the ground. I felt a dip in the earth, and maneuvered myself under a fallen tree.
Whatever was out there suddenly stopped. I heard it turn towards me.
I was being hunted.
I felt fear when I was watching the massacre at the village. That didn't compare to what I felt now. I've heard that the anticipation of pain is worse than actual pain, and with the pain and fear blurred here, that anticipation was terrifying me. I thought of all the creatures in the jungle, men and animal alike, and added into the mix rebels with knifes and no morals.
It moved towards me. I actually saw a shadow in the slim slivers of moonlight.
Stay calm! Outsmart this! This, it, whatever. I stayed crouched to the ground and moved behind the fallen log. I hoped it would shield me. My side ached, and I felt the sting of air and my shirt as it clung to it.
Something moved again. I bit down on my lips to quiet myself. It was slinking through the brush. I saw the top of some plants part as whatever it was slithered close to the ground. I took a step back, away from the log, just trying to put some distance between me and the hunter.
I put a hand on my hip. It hit me then that I was armed. I went for the knife, but decided on the gun. Carefully, I pulled it from my cargo pocket. I couldn't see where the safety was. I hoped I could find it soon enough.
Stepping back again, I kept retreating behind one tree, and then to some roots and brush. I kept trying to figure out the safety on the gun but then I lost track of what was stalking me. I clicked the safety, but I couldn't tell if it was on or off. What if in my fall I hit it off? That means it's on now, and I won't be able to defend myself. I didn't know much about guns expect the point and shoot factor, and I felt sure that the lack of knowledge would get me killed.
Maybe it's just as well.
To my right, something rustled. I swung wildly with the gun to that direction, watching, waiting. But nothing else moved. My pulse sped up, my heart so loud I felt sure that's what this thing was using to find me.
Then I felt cold, a rush of tingling cold at the back of my neck and down my spine. I knew there was nothing in front of me. I'd been tricked.
It was behind me.
I pivoted around, and that's when it leapt at me. My finger tried for the trigger, but I couldn't find it in time. A mass hit me to the ground with such force that I slid back over the slick mud. I grasped at anything to get myself on my feet, but then whatever it was grabbed me.
That's when I knew it was human, but that was little comfort. His hand clamped over my mouth, and I fought wildly against him, but I was no match for him. That did nothing for my fear. In the sparse moonlight, I saw him hold a knife in one hand, and it came at my neck.
I shrieked into his hand. My eyes stayed on the knife, and though he held me close to him, I still had one arm free. I grabbed his arm, bracing myself to push the knife away, but he was stronger than me. He rolled me over the ground, trying to crush me to relinquish my hold, but it would be my death if I gave in. I held on tight, and kicked him. His hand over my mouth moved to cover my nose too, and then I had to admit he was going to win. Still I fought, but I couldn't breathe. My strength, the little I had at this point, faded.
As soon as I dropped my opposing hand, I watched the knife come at me. I closed my eyes. But no sharp pain came—he didn't stab me. The knife he pressed against my neck, and then he pinned my arms to my body with his hold.
"You move, you die," he whispered in my ear. I still couldn't breathe, but just then he moved his hand down to cover only my mouth. My lungs quickly drunk in air.
His words repeated in my mind. He'd spoken English with an American accent. A soldier! He rolled us over, me on my stomach with him pressing me to the ground with his weight. His hand withdrew from my mouth.
"Wait, don't kill—" I started to plead. He slapped his hand back over my mouth.
"LT," he said, and I got the feeling not to me. Maybe he wasn't going to kill me without permission. "Unexpected company."
I didn't hear what might have been said back, but my mind was focused on a sharp prick on my neck. He hadn't relaxed the knife at all.
"One. Not sure how many more," the soldier said.
"I'm alone," I said. The soldier just pressed the knife harder into my jaw. I tensed, trying not to cry out as it started to hurt.
"Hold back," the soldier whispered to whoever he was talking to. Suddenly he rolled off me and flipped me on my back. He pinned me down with his knee, and it dug into my injured side. I shut my eyes, trying not to cry or do anything that might make him kill me.
His eyes were incredibly bright against the dark silhouette that made up the rest of him. I tried to focus on the eyes, because everything else scared me. He kept the knife at my throat, and looked around. He was listening, watching, waiting.
For others. He thinks I'm with others? I didn't think I looked like a rebel, but maybe it was too dark for him to think differently.
I noticed his hair. It was the mohawk, the soldier who'd inadvertently helped me before. The irony.
It was a full minute of waiting, me pressed to the mud, and him not giving an inch in his watch. I thought the stinging pain in my side was going to get the better of me. Slowly though, he looked away from the jungle and down at me. He leaned closer to me.
"Where are the others?" he asked in a low whisper.
"What others?"
He didn't like my question. He grabbed the knife off my waist and doubled the threat at my neck.
"Please," I found myself saying, "I'm alone. I'm not your enemy."
He stared hard at me, and I prayed he would believe me.
"We'll see."
Suddenly he raised one knife and stabbed it into the ground by my head. I flinched, unsure if he was going to hit me with it. He grabbed my arms and pinned them above my head against the ground. He started searching me. With his own knife, he cut the strap of the canteen. His eyes lingered on the canteen.
His hands patted me down to my ankles, and then he came back up, searching around my waist and lifting me enough that he snaked a hand to the small of my back. He paused at my side, the one that was stinging like crazy. He touched it, and I drew a sharp take of breath.
"Why do you have rebel gear?" he asked. I frowned, but followed the flicker of his gaze to the canteen and knife. There was a symbol on the canteen. The rebel's symbol?
"I took it from a dead soldier," I said, but I thought I should have done better on the phrasing. "Back at the village. Where you and the others came."
The confusion that riddled his face was easy to spot in the dark. "Keep talking." He didn't ease his grip on me.
I didn't know how to say anything else. Anything as to who I was or my purpose at the village would lead to my guilty confession. I didn't want him to know, or any of the survivors. I just wanted to be unseen. I didn't want to tick him off either, but too late for that.
He didn't like my hesitation. He pressed his free hand into my injured side, and I shrieked. He slapped his hand over my mouth, but didn't let up on the pressure in my side.
"Start talking," he hissed in my ear. I squirmed beneath him, fighting for some relief on my side, but he just pressed harder until I stopped moving.
Slowly, his hand moved away from my mouth. His eyes bore into mine, but I could hardly focus.
"I'm trying to get to Cameroon," I said breathlessly. "I don't know if I'm even headed the right direction."
"You were back at the village?" Though a question, his tone was a demand. I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Why?"
Please don't make me tell you.
His hand moved to my side again.
"No!" I said frantically. He seemed to smirk at that, the unfeeling jerk.
"Let's get something straight," he said. "I've got no reason to trust you. You look American, but that means nothing out here." Figures. "A rebel force has been tracking us, and our chances of reaching safety are disappearing. So you better tell me everything before I just assume you're leading the rebels to us."
"Why would I be with the rebels?" I closed my eyes, wishing I were smarter and back in the States where this wouldn't happen.
"It wouldn't be the first time I met a traitor." His hand hovered over my side. I glared at him, but reluctantly, I opened my mouth.
"I was there for four weeks," I said. "A humanitarian mission. When the rebels came, I hid."
"Doesn't explain why you're sneaking around now."
"I don't know. I was afraid." That was true enough. "I planned to just make my way to Cameroon."
His eyes narrowed at me.
"Following us?"
I nodded, but I avoided his eyes.
"You're ahead of the group right now."
I stared at him, shocked. "Ahead?" He nodded. I don't know how I managed to get ahead, especially with how I was running. Maybe I cut through the jungle while they weaved around?
"Red thought someone was following all day," he said as an afterthought to himself. The soldier got up then, pulling me up with him. A shiver ran through me, and I couldn't hide it. He looked at me like I was a freak. It was still hot at night, and the rain made it muggy. Still . . .
"Why didn't you join the group?" he asked.
"I . . ." I didn't want to answer that either. He looked at me with suspicion still. I didn't want him to threaten me again. "I just didn't."
He stared at me, scrutinizing me. I didn't dare move. I just watched him back, waiting to take my lead from him. He broke off his gaze and sheathed his knife. On the ground was the knife I carried before, and he picked it up. He glanced at it and then to me, but pocketed the knife. He had a rifle strapped to his back, and he brought it forward. The precaution he was taking clued me in that I was far from trusted.
He glanced to the ground a little ways away, and without taking his eyes off me for more than two seconds, retrieved the gun I had carried. It went into one of his pockets. He nodded up the way he'd come.
"Move."
-0-0-0-
'LT,' I learned quickly, was the bald guy. Lieutenant. He met me and Mr. Mohawk as we came to the head of the group.
"Lake, who's this?"
I figured I'd let Mohawk—Lake—answer. Besides, the lieutenant didn't seem happy to see me.
"Straggler from the village, so she says," Lake said. I glared at him over my shoulder, but I don't think he saw my expression in the dark.
"American?" LT asked, this time to me. I nodded. "You have a name?"
"Jane," I said. "Jane Sorenson."
LT didn't seem all convinced either, and I started to wonder what it was about my answers that were less than satisfactory. He took a step towards me, and instinctively I backed up, right into Lake. It jarred my side, and I winced.
The LT looked me over, probably noticing my sorry appearance with all the mud, but there wasn't a shred of sympathy in it.
"We've been evacuating foreign nationals all week," he said. "Never heard of Jane Sorenson."
"Why would you?" I frowned. I didn't get why he would have heard of me. He turned and pointed to some figures coming up in the group.
"See that woman? She's a foreigner. We knew where she was," LT said. "Anyone in the country that we knew about has been given the chance to leave." He looked right at me. "Why didn't we know about you?"
"I don't know. I came in on my passport, six weeks ago—" Suddenly Lake nudged his rifle in my back.
"You said four weeks," he hissed.
"In the village," I replied hastily. "It took me a couple of weeks to find where I could go and help."
"Help?" LT asked.
"I came to join up with one of the humanitarian groups," I answered. Lake snickered.
"You've been hiding from the village since the raid. Not much of a do-gooder."
I tried not to let that get to me, but it's the very argument that was in my head since the rebels came. I was glad Lake was behind me. I didn't want him to see that his words cut me.
LT watched me closely.
"If you're with the village, you'll know some of these people," he said. He jerked me by the arm, and I just about tripped. He led me through the group, and I got lots of stares, from the soldiers too.
"Does anyone know this woman?" LT asked. No one answered. I couldn't tell if I knew any of them—LT was pulling me along quickly. If they did know me, and not say anything, it must have been because they hated me for what I did. Or didn't do.
"Jane?"
LT looked sharply to the side, where Nmumbu stood. He looked shocked to see me.
"Nmumbu," I managed to say. My throat tightened. And then Nmumbu smiled so broadly his teeth shone against the night.
"You're alive!" He came to me and embraced me. "Where were you?!"
Two others from the village came up then, and though I couldn't remember their names, they recognized me too.
"Where were you?" Nmumbu asked again. It seemed like everyone was staring at me.
"In the hills," I whispered. There was no response to that, but I could imagine what everyone was thinking.
"I'm glad you're alive," Nmumbu said solemnly. I stared hard at him. Did he really mean it? Was there hidden meaning in that, a backhanded sentiment?
"Come on," LT said, breaking up anything else to be said. "We have to keep moving. Another mile and we'll camp for the night."
I fell in line behind Nmumbu at the back of the group. I noticed Red. He studied me cautiously, and I rethought the back of the group idea. He might get ticked when he figured out I was the one bugging him all day. Not on purpose, but he might not have seen it that way.
"Ms. Sorenson," LT called, and I moved over to him just to avoid Red's suspecting glare.
"Yes?" I nearly said 'sir.'
"You'll stay up ahead, with me and Lake."
I swallowed hard. I must not have moved right away, because LT grabbed my arm again, a little less roughly though, and escorted me to the head of the group. Why were they moving me to the front? There were three or four soldiers up there—
Oh. I guess I had my answer.
-0-0-0-
The hiking took its toll on me. I couldn't hide a limp as we walked, and I grasped my side, willing it to stop aching.
LT held up his fist, and instantly his men stopped. I heard a few kindly voices talking to the other villagers and survivors, telling them we'd stop now for the rest of the night. But no one talked to me.
I swallowed hard. My canteen was left back a mile or more, where I encountered Lake.
Speaking of, he glanced from his perch at the lead of the group back at me. I couldn't meet his eyes, didn't really care to. But I saw him hold his hand to his throat, where a black collar was. He said something into it. All the soldiers had the collars.
Beats walkie talkies.
A few moments later, the soldier in a bandana knelt beside me.
"Jane, right?" he asked. I nodded. "You're injured?"
He immediately looked to my side. Before I could say anything, he reached for the edge of my shirt.
"May I?" His politeness threw me off enough that I just nodded again. He grabbed a small light from somewhere on his pack and shined it on my side. I sucked in a breath when I saw my skin. It was ripped, and puffy red, like it was irritated. I don't know what I fell and hit, but it did some good damage. Lake's nice questioning technique didn't help.
The soldier, who I later learned was nicknamed Doc, reached into his various pockets and dressed the wound. In a minute, I was patched up.
"Thank you," I said.
Doc just smiled and went back to the rest of the group.
"Sorry," someone said behind me, and it freaked me out. I turned to see Lake standing there. He nodded at my side.
I frowned. Was he being sympathetic? Or did he regret how he handled the wound? I knew something about regret, and as much as I thought he had his smug tendencies, I didn't want to be bitter.
"This happened before you found me," I said. "I fell. Not your fault." His face was unreadable in response. He just stared at me and then stepped back.
"Get some rest."
He walked off ahead. I watched him until he disappeared from view.
-0-0-0-
a/n: I know this isn't the most popular movie (and it's hard to find on this site if you like it a lot), so the response so far is a little discouraging compared to other fic-doms (say King Arthur). Actually, if you like KA fics, you'll see some similarities in this movie (both are directed by Antoine Fuqua, for example, and the character Lake is kind of a scout, like Tristan in KA). Anyway, my point being, I love reviews, so feel free to send one!
