Cannibal vengeance, p.1
Cannibal Vengeance, page 1
Cannibal Vengeance
Carl John Lee
This book is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance to names and people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the author.
Copyright © 2021 by Carl John Lee
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9798780953043
For Mario
I hope you’re not dead
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Afterword
About the Author
Also by Carl John Lee
1
There was movement in the tent.
Graham Fielding lay still, his body tense.
It was morning. The rays of the sun penetrated the thin fabric walls, casting the interior in cobalt blue, the dappled shadows of the trees shifting uneasily. Graham’s eyes darted around.
Was someone in here with them?
Two weeks into their trip, and they were deep in the Amazon jungle, deeper than anyone had gone before. Anyone who had lived to tell the tale, anyway. A group of missionaries had trekked this way a decade ago, back in sixty-eight, and were never heard from again, their remains never found.
Some nights, as he lay in the tent alongside his Brothers and Sisters in Christ, Graham worried they would meet the same grisly fate. But then he remembered his faith in the Lord, and how it would protect him, and he felt better.
It wasn’t working right now, though. His body tightened, withdrawing into itself. Who was moving around behind him? To the best of his knowledge, they were still a day’s journey from the Sharayomo, and the tribe wasn’t known for venturing far from their land.
The others slumbered, blissfully unaware of the danger. Outside, the jungle was alive with activity. Creatures swung from the trees and crashed through the undergrowth. The nearby waterfall thundered relentlessly into one of the many thousands of tributaries that fed into the Amazon river. The sound of gushing water made Graham want to pee.
A figure brushed past, rippling the white mosquito net. He looked up and saw Alexandra tip-toeing gingerly towards the exit. Graham sighed, and almost burst out laughing. To think he had mistaken Alexandra for a cannibal! She was far from it. Alexandra Collier was the most sophisticated, intelligent woman he had ever met.
The most beautiful too.
She crouched by the entrance to the tent, carefully unzipping it. Her hair was tied up in a bun, and she wore a pale yellow t-shirt and safari shorts that rode up her ass as she kneeled, displaying ample amounts of leg and even the hint of her butt cheeks.
Graham bit down on his lip as he watched. He knew he shouldn’t have lustful thoughts, but he couldn’t help it. Heck, he would make up for it soon, when he and the others would arrive at the Sharayomo tribe and introduce them to the glory of Christianity.
Alexandra looked back, and Graham closed his eyes, keeping them shut until he heard her leave the tent and zip the entrance up. When he opened them, she was gone. He curled up, trying to get back to sleep, but now Malek was snoring, and all he could think about was Alexandra’s butt. She shouldn’t be going out alone. It was dangerous out there. The only times the girls would leave their guide’s watchful eye was when they bathed.
Oh my, thought Graham. She must be going to the waterfall.
The thought did not help him relax. His cock stiffened in his underpants, and he reached down and touched it, running his fingers over the sinful hardness. He wanted to go after Alexandra. Any good friend would. It wasn’t safe out there. What if something — or someone — attacked her?
That was it, then. His mind was made up. He wouldn’t watch her as she bathed, just hang around nearby in case she cried out for help. It was the Christian thing to do.
Graham slid out of his sleeping bag, put on his shorts and walking boots, and followed Alexandra out of the tent. As he left, he picked up one of the machetes that lay at the entrance. The vegetation was often impenetrably thick this far into the jungle.
Alexandra was up ahead, her yellow tee a beacon through the foliage. A green towel hung from her hand like a snakeskin.
Graham maintained a discrete distance. Occasionally, Alexandra would stop and look around, and he would duck down out of sight. The temperature was already in the late twenties, and sweat trickled down his forehead. Insects nipped at his skin. Damn, he had been in such a rush to leave, he had forgotten to apply the mosquito repellent. He was still debating internally whether to go back for it, when he reached a rock and looked down into a shallow valley. Alexandra stood by the riverbank, a waterfall pounding unceasingly from on high like something out of the old Tarzan shows he used to watch after Sunday School. She glanced around the valley. At one point, she seemed to look straight at him. Graham froze. Could she see him?
No, she hadn’t. She smiled to herself and lifted the hem of her shirt.
“Oh God,” whispered Graham, not noticing his blasphemy, as Alexandra peeled the yellow garment off and laid it on her towel. She stood there, in nothing but her shorts, and reached for her hair, shaking it free until it cascaded over her shoulders and breasts. Then she unfastened her shorts and tugged them down over tanned thighs, her ass wiggling as she did so.
Graham leaned closer, pressing against the rock.
She took her pink panties off next, placing them — neatly folded, of course — on top of her clothes. As she waded into the water, Graham noticed her bathing suit area was pure white and untanned.
His penis throbbed in his pants, and he put a hand down there, wondering why God was tempting him in this way.
“It’s okay to watch,” he told himself. Adam and Eve were both naked in the Garden of Eden. It was the way God had planned for people to be, until that immoral Eve had spoiled things for everyone. So what was the harm in admiring Alexandra, the pinnacle of the Lord’s handiwork? Even the glory of the surrounding jungle and all its wonderful inhabitants paled into insignificance against her perfect, naked body.
Alexandra ran her hands through her hair, water dripping from her nose, her chin, her nipples. Beneath the surface, Graham could make out a patch of dark hair between her legs. Then she dipped under the water, her pale body shimmering like a precious jewel as she swam towards the waterfall.
Graham knew he should head back to the tent. He couldn’t risk being seen by Alexandra, or any of the others noticing he was gone.
Just one more look, he promised himself.
He spotted movement in the bushes beyond the river. There was nothing unusual about that, he figured. They were in the jungle, for crying out loud! It was positively teeming with life. But this was different. Unseen hands seemed to part the bushes. Graham squinted. Was it a person?
Alexandra broke the surface. Shoulder deep, she treaded water. She was smiling, her eyes closed. The bushes moved again, and Graham’s heart quickened. It was a man, naked except for an animal pelt over his crotch, held in place by a thin cord thong. The man left the cover of the foliage and crept towards the river. White paint covered most of his face, and in his hand he clutched a wooden club with a stone axe-head tied to it.
“No,” whimpered Graham. It couldn’t be the Sharayomo. They were territorial, and kept to themselves. Their guide, Matthew, had explained that the Sharayomo had lived unchanged since the Stone Age. He had tried to talk them out of even coming here, saying it was too dangerous. The thought made Graham grip his machete tighter.
Maybe the man was just curious? He had possibly never seen a white woman before, let alone one as gorgeous as Alexandra. Graham couldn’t blame him for that. But something about the way the man moved, and the way he clutched the axe…
He had to do something. He adjusted the front of his pants and got to his feet.
“Alex!” he shouted.
She couldn’t hear him. The deafening roar of the waterfall was too great. He started down into the valley.
“Alex!”
The tribesman kept coming closer. He was at the edge of the water now. Alexandra stood beneath the waterfall, running her hands over her body, washing herself.
Graham broke into a run. “Alex!” he screamed.
Alexandra raised her head. She looked around in the direction of the tribesman, seconds too late to spot him dropping below the surface of the water.
Branches scratched and tore at Graham’s face and arms as he hurtled through the trees, his feet sliding in the thick brown mud.
“Alex!”
She heard him that time. Or at least, she thought she did. With confusion etched on her face, she started swimming back towards the river bank, emerging from the water like a nymph.
“Get out!” screamed Graham, and she looked up and saw him.
“Graham?” She shot her hands up to cover her exposed breasts. “What are you doing?”
“Get out of the water!”
The man had to be close now.
“You pervert! You’ve been spying on me!
The machete felt heavy in Graham’s hand. “Get out of the water!” he roared. “There’s someone in there with you!”
The words finally seemed to have an effect. Alexandra slowly turned, looking out across the river, and then the tribesman leaped out of the water in front of her, his axe raised. Alexandra had no time to scream. The man brought the axe down, hard. Even over the sound of the waterfall, Graham heard Alex’s skull shatter. Her head seemed to cave in on itself. A great gout of blood erupted, shooting several feet into the air and splashing back down into the river.
Graham realized he was still running, and dived behind a rock, his heart hammering, tears in his eyes. Had the man seen him? What did it even matter? She was dead.
Alexandra was dead.
He waited, gripping his weapon and peering around the edge of the rock. The tribesman reached the riverbank, dragging Alexandra along behind him by the axe embedded in her skull. He hauled her uncaringly onto the mud, her lifeless wet body shuddering like rubber as the man deposited it onto the dirt. He held Alexandra’s jaw with one hand, and with his other, he wrenched the axe free with a dry popping sound. Blood and hair were matted to the stone.
Bile rose in Graham’s throat. He put a hand to his mouth and vomit splattered against his palm, trickling between his fingers. He couldn’t move, couldn’t risk being seen. He wondered if the others were awake yet. Would they come looking for him? Their guide carried a shotgun at all times, and Graham badly wished he was here right now.
He peered out from behind the rock again. The tribesman kneeled by Alexandra’s head. He laid his axe by his side, and inserted two fingers into the bleeding cavity in Alexandra’s skull. Graham watched in horror as the man scooped out a handful of pinkish-gray brain matter and slathered it over his mouth, his tongue darting out and licking up the residue.
Graham was numb. It felt like an out-of-body experience. That was Alexandra lying there, her brains leaking out onto the mud. Alexandra, so devoted to her Lord Jesus Christ that she had rounded up her most trusted friends to venture out to the Amazon jungle on a mission of Christian faith. Alexandra, who the previous night had led them in a chorus of fireside hymns until the wee hours, when they had retired to bed, still smiling and laughing and looking forward to spreading the good word.
Now a man had his hand inside of her head, pulling forth chunks of brain matter and shoving them into his greedy, slobbering mouth. He licked the remains from his digits and reached for her face, hooking his fingers into a claw and pressing them into her eye socket. Unable to tear his gaze from the macabre tableaux, Graham let out a hitched sob.
The man turned towards him.
Graham ducked behind the rock. His fingers closed over the handle of the machete. Footsteps squelched through the mud as Graham’s bladder let go, soaking his shorts and underwear.
The steps were getting closer. The sun was behind the man, his shadow falling ahead of him, giving away his position. Graham could see the axe clutched in the shadow’s hand, and he knew he was going to die here, just like Alexandra. This man would kill him, and then eat his brains.
“No!” screamed Graham, rising to his feet. He seemed to take the cannibal by surprise. The man lost his footing, slipping in the mud as Graham vaulted over the rock, swinging the machete wildly. The first swing missed the target, whooshing through the air an inch in front of the man’s nose, but with the second, Graham buried the machete in the man’s neck. It thudded through flesh until it struck the spinal column with a jarring reverberation. Huge gouts of blood jetted from the wound. The tribesman staggered backwards, his head lolling to the side, the skin tearing away, nerves and arteries snapping as thick, dark blood gushed down his neck and chest. The head flopped to the side at a ninety-degree angle, attached only by ghastly white bone visible between the chunks of raw meat.
Then more movement.
Another figure, a woman this time. She stood on the other side of the river, a primitive bow in her hands. She pulled an arrow from the waist of her grass skirt and readied it. Graham stumbled back as the woman released the arrow. His heel hit a small stone and he tripped, the air rippling above him as the arrow soared over his head. The woman watched with narrowed eyes as Graham scrambled through the filth. She pointed at him and shouted something in a language he didn’t understand, then turned and scrambled back into the jungle, leaving Graham alone on the bank with two dead bodies.
He knew where she was going. Back to her village, to fetch more of her tribe. Graham had done his research on the Sharayomo. They were expert trackers, and would hunt their prey through the jungle until they caught them. And now, they would be tracking him.
He didn’t have much time.
Graham took a last glance at Alexandra, wiped the tears from his eyes, and ran.
The hunt was on.
2
Dick Ramsey lit a cigar and gazed down the Amazon River. It was a view he would never tire of, though he supposed it would always feel strange to be sweltering in the heat at Christmastime. Back home in New York, he would be wrapped up in one of his fur coats and smoking from the comfort of his office while snow coated the ground. But he would just have to get used to it here, because he could never return.
This was his home now, an isolated custom-built compound deep within the rainforest, far from prying eyes, and far from the goddam feds. It was a two-storey mansion, surrounded on three sides by a fifteen-foot wall, and on the fourth by one of the widest points of the Amazon River. The construction had been costly and fraught with difficulties, but since his exile from the States, time and money were two things Dick had in abundance.
The glass door behind him slid open.
“You’re up early,” said Mona as she joined him on the balcony in a powder-blue baby doll nightie. The fabric was transparent, and she wore only lace panties beneath it. He put his arm around her.
“Couldn’t sleep,” said Dick. He blew out a puff of smoke and kissed Mona on the cheek. At thirty-one, she was exactly half his age, and just a few years older than his daughters.
You’re only as young as the woman you’re feeling, he thought, and squeezed her ample ass through the thin nightgown.
“Hey, now you cut that out when the kids are around,” she said.
“I’ll try.”
“They’re only here for a week. Think you can manage not to squeeze my ass for seven whole days?”
Dick grinned at her through the cigar smoke. “Like I said… I’ll try.” He playfully swatted her butt, then leaned his elbows on the rail and gazed out at the miles of rainforest sprawling as far as the eye could see. The boat rested by the dock, occasionally thumping gently against it. Late last night, it had arrived carrying Dick’s two daughters, Joanna and Emily, and their respective partners. Dick couldn’t remember either of the men’s names, but that didn’t matter. Mona would remind him later. All he really cared about was spending Christmas with his daughters for the first time since he had fled the States four years ago. It hadn’t been safe to have them here, not until he was suitably settled, and the authorities fully paid off.
“Remember, not a word to the girls,” he said. The cigar was clamped between his teeth, and drops of ash fell as he spoke. “We keep things light.”
“I know,” said Mona with practised weariness. “You’re a property developer. But what if they ask about them?” She gestured towards the two armed guards positioned within the walled compound.
“Security,” said Dick. “This is a dangerous country. There are insurrectionists, militants, communists. Hell, there are goddam cannibals out there somewhere.”
Mona shook her head and smiled. “Cannibals,” she said, and laughed. “Okay, Dick. I’ll tell them it’s to keep the gangs of roving cannibals out.”
He turned to her, grim-faced. “You’re making fun of me, but you should be worried.”
“Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
Dick grabbed her ass again. “Because this would be enough to feed the tribe for a whole damn month!”
She laughed and tried to pull away, but he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her briefly on the lips.
“You okay?” asked Mona. She held onto him, looking into his eyes.
