Blood Forest (Suspense thriller) Read Free Page B

is his little village. We need to look at a map and see if we can find a place where the topography matches up.”
    Alfred nodded along with her suggestion. He needed to find a place that was dark and moist. The elevation needed to be lower than the surrounding area and the canopy would have to be especially thick. And then he’d have to hope and pray that he found the tiny plant—likely a species of Orchidaceae —and that he could recognize it when he saw it.
    Ike McGinley watched the gathering on the porch from across the small village. He kept his pistol tucked out of view under his shirt with his MP5K not far away, resting securely under the seat cushion of the closest Jeep. If trouble presented itself he could pull out the short submachine gun in time to put it to use. He doubted that would happen, but the presence of the Mai-Mai militia had him on edge.
    The Mai-Mais were a Congolese group opposed to foreign occupation of any kind. They battled mostly against the Rwandan and Ugandan militias that flooded the eastern portion of the Democratic Republic of Congo. The fighting had been intense and bloody for years. Four million had died in what was called by some the First African War, as small groups of government-backed rebels fought each other across huge stretches of land.
    The war had officially ended. The nations involved declared ceasefires all around. But the militias were largely autonomous and while they enjoyed the support of their parent nations, they did not agree to peace just because the governments had. The bloodshed continued, tempers flared, and all-out war never seemed very far away.
    Ike was white, which to the Bantu villagers meant European. But Ike was not European; he was Australian. He had short brown hair that matted at the top of his narrow head. He had a jagged nose, jutting chin, and steely-blue eyes. He wore brown fatigues and a white t-shirt under a light, billowy over shirt, opened at the front but still long enough to conceal his firearm.
    Two of the local children appeared around the back of a house, not far from where the two Jeeps were parked. They couldn’t have been older than ten. They wore ragged t-shirts and shorts that were too big for them. They hid back in the shadow of the building.
    Ike wondered if their curiosity had led them over, or if the villagers or the militia had sent the children to spy on him, the lone mercenary. He offered the children a friendly smile. One of them smiled in return, but the other one shrank back into the shadow of the hut. They would not come over, Ike knew. He turned his attention away, looking back toward the house of Michanga. Some of the villagers peered in the doorway into the baraza .
    A child’s scream echoed through the village, bringing Ike’s head up. He scanned the village quickly, noticing the two children who had come out to observe him cower again behind the building. Between a pair of huts he saw two Mai-Mai militiamen on the move, raising their rifles.
    Then he saw them. They came out of the forest, stepping through the trees, assault rifles raised. They were dressed in ratty stolen clothes, their faces battle-hardened and scarred. They opened fire.
    Ike didn’t have time to react. The invading militia unit fanned out around the village and started making their way in. He heard the ear-splitting report of rifles followed by screams of frightened villagers. He could not see all of the action through the village huts, but caught pieces of it, glimpses of children running in terror.
    The Mai-Mais returned fire as they darted between the huts. One soldier weaved around a corner and opened fire with his Kalashnikov, the barrel blazing. A moment later, tiny jagged holes erupted through the soldier’s back, spraying blood through his shirt. His body convulsed from the impact, and he staggered backward before falling into the muddy street.
    The Mai-Mais were outnumbered. The invaders would quickly take the tiny village. That could mean