Jungle Hunt Read online

  “Not a chance—you may need me.”

  “You’ve got paramedic training?”

  “Close enough for here—you pick up a lot of survival skills in Third World countries.”

  “All right, his pulse is erratic and thready, and his breathing is rapid and shallow. What’s that suggest to you?”

  “That he’s in shock. We should keep him warm and try to get him to eat something.” Bolan felt the boy’s forehead, then touched his hand. “He doesn’t seem dehydrated, so an IV shouldn’t be necessary.” He pulled a brightly colored blanket over the boy’s legs and stomach. “I don’t suppose you know who he is or where he came from?”

  “No, but I know who can find out.” She went to the door and asked for Etienne. “Also, have the women heat any broth or stew we’ve got right away.”

  Etienne appeared in the doorway, and Kelleson waved him forward. “If you can, ask him who he is and where he came from.”

  The small man knelt by the boy’s side and began talking to him in the Huaorani language. The boy just stared at him at first, but Etienne was patient and kept at it, eventually eliciting single words out of him.

  “He says his name is Galo. He is from the village that is about thirty miles from here to the northwest. That is all I’ve learned so far.”

  Bolan and Kelleson stayed out of the man’s way and watched. When a bowl of broth with chunks of tender pork and hominy swimming in it was brought in, Kelleson turned away to add the contents of a capsule to it, before slowly handing it to Etienne, who offered it to the boy.

  Bolan, Kelleson and Etienne all remained silent as the boy reached for the bowl with trembling fingers and began to eat, picking chunks of meat out with his fingers. When he was finished, Etienne continued his questions, starting a dialogue with the boy that ran for a few minutes. When they were finished, Etienne pulled the blanket up and patted the boy on the head, talking briefly to him again before his eyes drooped closed and he fell asleep.

  Etienne took them to the other side of the hut. “He is a very brave boy.”

  “Yes, but what happened to him? Where are his parents?” Kelleson asked.

  “Apparently, about two days ago, a large truck came to their village. Men in ‘green clothes’—his words—got out and began shooting everyone in the village—men, women, children, everybody. He had been playing in the forest and followed the truck back. He saw the whole thing. He lay in the brush for an entire day and night, until he was sure they weren’t coming back, then set out to find help. He ended up here.”

  “Do you know exactly where his village is?” Bolan asked.

  “Yes, although it isn’t easy to reach from here. It is a journey of several hours.”

  “Then we’d better get going as soon as possible,” Bolan replied.

  * * *

  BRACING HERSELF AGAINST the dashboard, Kelleson peered through the windshield as Etienne wrestled with the Range Rover’s steering wheel, narrowly missing a tree by the side of the narrow, muddy, single-lane road. The SUV brushed against the trunk with a scrape of metal, but no harm done.

  “Too close,” he said, and Kelleson agreed with a nod.

  From the rear passenger compartment, she heard a muttered “I could drive better than this blindfolded.” Shooting a venomous look at the speaker, she made Morgan suddenly take an intense interest in the passing vegetation. Next to him, Bolan rolled his eyes and grinned at Kelleson, making her almost unable to resist returning his smile. Behind them, she saw the second SUV, containing the rest of the SARE volunteers, slip past the tree without difficulty, and she glanced sidelong at Etienne, who had been working particularly hard ever since his return to the village, and noticed the dark pouches under his eyes for the first time.

  “Etienne, please slow down—the village will still be there when we arrive.”

  The wiry man grunted. “We’re almost there and only got stuck once.”

  “Well, I don’t want to be stuck at the other village with vehicle trouble, either. If we’re going to make it back by nightfall, we need to get there, assess the situation and start back quickly.”

  From the back Bolan said, “I hate to say it, but from what the boy said, it sounds like we don’t need to be in that much of a hurry.”

  Kelleson turned her glare on him. “That’s a damn cold thing to say.”

  “Look, down here—like anywhere else where power comes mostly out of the barrel of a gun—there’s always a risk of something like this happening.” Bolan shot a glance at Morgan. “Right now we’d be better served putting our heads together to try to figure out who would gain by wiping out an entire village.”

  Morgan had turned from his examination of the forest and joined in the conversation. “Of course. What about your buddy, Major Medina—”

  Kelleson twisted around to regard him, her eyes blazing. “Get this straight, ’cause I’m only going to say it once—Major Medina is not my friend in any way, shape or capacity.”

  Bolan held up his hands. “Whoa, I’m sure Elliot didn’t mean it that way—you were being sarcastic, right?”

  “Absolutely—sorry for the misunderstanding, Nancy. But my point is still valid—do you think he might have done this as a warning to other tribes in the area?”

  “Look, I know the major is an opportunistic, sexist pig, however, he has actually done some good for the region. He took out an ultraviolent splinter cell of FARC back in January that was doing sweeps and taking children and young men to indoctrinate them into the rebel organization. I know he comes across as a man who’s out for himself, but I don’t see any way he would commit a cold-blooded act of genocide like this on his own.”

  “So does that mean Colombia’s trying to stir up trouble on its border with Ecuador to start a war?” Bolan shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. They’ve got enough troubles internally with the drug trade to risk bloodying this country’s nose and risking Chavez lending Ecuador aid against them in any kind of conflict. I can’t see how the gain would be worth the risk.”

  “Hey, we’re coming up to the village…” Etienne’s voice trailed off as the Range Rover left the jungle and entered the outskirts of the community. Looking around, Kelleson felt a prickle of unease shiver down her spine.

  Instead of the groups of vibrant men, women and children that should have been everywhere, the entire place was eerily still, with not a soul moving anywhere.

  “What happened here?” Kelleson asked, then gasped as she spotted several motionless forms sprawled on the ground in the main square and near the huts, swarms of flies buzzing around them in the late afternoon heat. “Oh, my God.”

  The SUV hadn’t even braked to a stop before Bolan and Morgan both jumped out, each saying the same thing. “Keep everyone inside the vehicles for—now—” They both looked at each other in brief confusion, and Kelleson seized her digital camera and the opportunity.

  “Etienne, tell the others to stay put. I’m going to check this out,” she said.

  “Nancy, wait—it might be dangerous—” Bolan didn’t get any further.

  “Every day I spend here is dangerous. If the military did this, then I want proof. I want to see and record it with my own eyes. You two can come with, you can both help all you want, but you’re not stopping me.”

  Bolan exchanged a glance with Morgan that carried an entire silent conversation between them, then he turned to her. “All right, but the three of us stick together until the village is cleared, and if we see anything nasty, we hightail it out of here. In fact, Etienne, get both SUVs turned around in case we need to get out of here in a hurry.”

  Morgan’s eyes hadn’t left the village as Bolan spoke, and then he chimed in. “The fact that nobody’s shooting at us so far indicates that whatever did happen here, we missed it. But that doesn’t mean someo
ne isn’t waiting to ambush us once we’re deeper inside. Let’s take a careful look around and go from there.”

  Opening her door, Kelleson slid out of her seat, camera in hand, swallowing as she steeled herself for what they were about to see. Bolan stood behind her, and he moved up to walk next to her as they headed into the village. Behind her, Kelleson heard the Range Rovers as Etienne and the other driver turned them around. Other than that, the entire area was completely silent, with not even the local birds sounding their customary chorus of chirps and caws from the jungle. It was as if something had swept through the entire place and taken all life with it, leaving only an empty shell behind. Over the sweet-sour tang of wet, rotting vegetation, Nancy smelled the rich copper scent of spilled blood—and lots of it—overlaid with the gamy scent of spoiling meat.

  “You going to be all right?” Bolan asked, seeing her swallow and raise a hand to her nose and mouth as they walked deeper into the village. He kept his hand near his back and the SIG Sauer concealed under his shirt. Morgan walked on their left, about three paces away—far enough to not be caught with them in case of an ambush, but close enough to assist immediately if needed.

  She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Let’s get this over with.”

  Kelleson and the two men approached the nearest body, a middle-aged man lying on his stomach, unmoving. Bolan and Morgan walked to the left and the right of the prone body, each man searching the jungle for signs of life. Kelleson cautiously approached the corpse.

  “Don’t touch him.” Bolan grabbed her arm, but Kelleson shook him off.

  “I know, I know, but I want to roll him over—it looks like he was injured, and I want to see how.” Looking around, she spotted a long stick, its end caked with what looked like dried blood and hair. Steadying her roiling stomach, she reached for it and used the clean end to lever the body over, recoiling in horror at what she saw.

  “Oh, good heavens…”

  The man’s face had been severely beaten, his features a swollen, bloody ruin. Kelleson dropped the stick and backed away, clapping her hands to her mouth. She stumbled around the side of a hut, and Bolan soon heard the sounds of her being violently ill.

  Morgan had moved up to Bolan’s side. “This didn’t kill him,” he said, pointing at the man’s chest, where a trio of bloody holes marked bullet wounds. “Looks like someone shot him, then beat his face in.”

  A rustling could be heard from the hut a few yards away, and both Bolan and Morgan tensed, their eyes flicking to each other. Bolan nodded at it, and they approached, Morgan taking the right, Bolan the left. He picked up the bloody pole as they came upon the dark hole of the hut entrance. The reek of rotting meat was almost overpowering, even to Bolan, who’d seen death and carnage around the world.

  The rustling was heard again, along with a strange tearing sound. When he was sure Morgan was ready, Bolan stepped inside the hut, pole at the ready.

  A loud, ragged squawk came from the lone inhabitant of the hut—a large black vulture in the middle of dining on one of the several dead bodies inside. Thrusting the pole at the scavenger, Bolan drove the bird off the body and out of the hut, the animal squawking indignantly the entire way.

  “Damn—these people never had a chance.” Morgan squatted next to a woman slumped against the wall, her once-colorful T-shirt caked in thick, dried blood.

  A noise from the hut made both men turn to see Kelleson in the doorway, watching as they prowled the area, exchanging those silent glances again. “Why? Why would anyone do this to a harmless village?”

  “There’s plenty of reasons.” His right hand still tucked behind his back, Bolan approached another body, this one with its skull shattered, brain matter leaking out in a dark pool that had been absorbed by the ground. “A lot of people find it easier to eliminate an indigenous population than to relocate them. In a few months, this place would be overgrown with vegetation, and no one would even know anybody had existed here. Then it would be time for the new inhabitants to move in.”

  “What? You can’t be serious.”

  “No, he may be right, Nancy.” Morgan pointed to the bodies. “The signs everywhere point to an assault from a disciplined outside force. Other than the occasional physical violence against a victim, everyone has been killed by large-caliber firearms—which is definitely the military’s style, whose men also carry assault rifles.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense—” Kelleson was interrupted by a shout from outside.

  “Hey! What’s going on over there?”

  Someone had rolled down the window of the second SUV, and one of the college students—Bonell, Bolan thought—had his head stuck out the window and was calling to them. His innocent comment brought glares from both Bolan and Morgan, both of whom waved their palms toward the ground in the universal “keep quiet” motion.

  “Keep it down!” Bolan stressed.

  “Fucking amateurs.” Morgan shook his head. “Nancy, why don’t you fill in the Hardy Boys, and Cooper and I will take a look inside the rest of the huts.”

  “Right.” She turned and stalked toward the second SUV, intending to dress down the young man.

  The moment she was out of earshot, Morgan turned to Bolan. “If you’re a freelance journalist, I’m the friggin’ President.”

  “Well, Mr. President, if you want to continue our sweep, you can go first into the next hut we check.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant, Cooper, and you know it.”

  Bolan stepped close to the other man, pitching his voice low. “Right now it doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is that we have American citizens right in the middle of what looks like the planned eradication of this native population. I think the one thing we can both agree on at the moment is that we don’t want them to get caught in the cross fire, correct?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t need to divide my time watching for whoever’s doing this and keeping an eye on my back at the same time. For all we know, you could be a plant from whoever’s running around slaughtering these people.”

  “So could you.” Bolan pointed out.

  “I could, but I fucking know I’m not. I can’t say the same about you.” Morgan looked as though he was about to take a swing at Bolan, who narrowed his eyebrows.

  “Elliot, I can assure you—although I cannot prove it—that you and I are on the same side here. Let’s finish our sweep and then decide the next step, all right?”

  Before Morgan could answer, a commotion near the SUVs made both men’s heads turn. Kelleson was coming back to them, followed by the two college students, who pulled up abruptly as the smell from the bodies hit them.

  Before they got too close, Morgan snapped, “All right, let’s get this done. But when we get back to camp, you and I are gonna have a long talk about what’s going on here.”

  “I look forward to it,” Bolan replied.

  “For the last time, I told you guys to stay back there. And what the hell’s going on here?” Kelleson actually stepped between the two men. “All right, both of you calm down. Morgan, Cooper, we need to check the rest of these huts, in case anyone is still alive inside. Everyone else, get back inside the SUV, and stay there this time, got it?”

  Bonell and Mike Saderson both grumbled their assent. “What the hell’s going on here?” Bonell asked.

  Kelleson was about to answer, but Bolan beat her to it. “It seems that the villagers have been attacked by some unknown party that killed practically all of them. For now, I’d suggest doing what Nancy says and staying there. If you see anything unusual, yell for us, and we’ll come running. Above all, do not leave the vehicle, or investigate any unusual occurrence around here yourself, understand?”

  “You got it, man.” The students beat feet back to the SUVs.

  “Tell Etienne we’re checking out the rest o
f the place.” Kelleson took a deep breath and turned back to face the silent village again. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  13

  Kelleson, Morgan and Bolan headed back into the deathly silent village, ready to finish their hut-to-hut sweep.

  Morgan and Bolan were still exchanging wary glances, and Kelleson, apparently having had enough, whirled to catch both of them doing it again. “Look, do you two need to go behind a tree or a rock or something and beat each other’s brains out until only one of you’s left standing? Because I don’t need this bullshit sniping right now—there are bigger problems to solve than soothing either of your bruised egos. Now, anyone who can’t play nice can wait for me back at the Range Rovers. I don’t have time to babysit two macho assholes who can’t control their base impulses. Are we clear?”

  The two men glared at each other one last time, then both nodded.

  “All right, let’s go.” Kelleson walked to the first hut, the spoiled smell of death already wafting from it, and reached for the blanket covering the door, but was stopped by Bolan.

  “On the off chance anyone might be waiting inside, let’s not give them a perfect target silhouetted by the sun, okay?”

  “Right.” Kelleson flushed, embarrassed that she had forgotten such an elementary rule. “Although I’d have thought anyone wanting to shoot us would have had ample opportunity already. How do you want to do this?”

  “No offense, but why don’t Elliot and I do the initial survey, and you watch our back, in case someone tries to ambush us from the jungle.”

  Kelleson readied her camera. “Fair enough.”

  The two men approached the doorway without a sound, Morgan on the left, Bolan on the right. Once they were both in position, Bolan nodded at Morgan, who reached over and yanked the blanket off the wooden pole holding it up. The two men disappeared into the blackness of the hut’s interior, while Kelleson craned her neck, trying to see inside. After a few seconds—the hut was only about twelve feet across—they both sounded off.