by Curt F
Angela Morgan thrashed about in the racing river, struggling with all of her strength to right herself before she reached the fast approaching falls. She was tired, exhausted from her battle against the river. Her limbs were numb, but aching from not only the effort but the chilly water as well. She was finding it harder and harder to draw a decent breath…
Then suddenly she was falling. Disoriented and upside-down, still Angela tried to stay calm and keep her thinking clear. The world was spinning about her as time seemed to slow as it often did during a stunt, dragging on as momentary panic swelled within her. Angela tried to remember her training, tried to remember the last moment instructions that Karl Braun, the stunt master had imparted on her before leaving her to her fate. ‘Hit the water feet first’, and ‘Do not fight the current’; all well and good when one was watching from the safety of the shore.
Angela gasped, filling her lungs with air. She felt something sting her neck, just as she hit the water but paid it no heed. She had more important worries to concern her as the icy grip of the river took hold and drug her down into the dark, churning depths…
El Gato Negra waited, crouching in the cool damp darkness in the hollow of stone behind the waterfall. She had been there for hours, settling in in the darkness of night, waiting for her brief moment, when the time would be ripe to strike. She had waited, silently, watching as the darkness thinned, the black fading to purple then gray and the first rays of the glorious sun shown down, her mind intent, focused on the hunt. The kill…
The warmth of the sun did not reach the hollow of the cave behind the falls, and the light, though sparkling and bright, did little to illuminate her hidden lair. El Gato Negra did not care. Like the great panther that was her namesake, she preferred the quiet still of the night, and she had spent many times far longer waiting, unmoving for hours in the trees or brush, awaiting her prey.
She had espied the hole the day before as she had been pacing the older Blanca as he himself had paced the stream. He had been following the course, making note of rocks and calms, mapping the waters along a short distance from the rocky bank. So intent on his mission was he, that he did not even realize that he was being watched and followed so closely. He was oblivious to all about him, ignorant of the jungle and its inhabitants. That would be his downfall, his death she thought. One must ever be aware of the Green, lest it swallow one whole.
The whites were all ignorant of the Green. The rain forest was a fast friend to those that knew Her ways, granting life to those She found worthy. She was also a harsh mistress to those She found wanting, fools like these outlanders that had come stumbling into Her rich embrace, hacking and cutting away at Her flesh, burning Her with their fires and choking Her children with their foulness. They were a blight on the land, a plague to be vanquished lest their carrion touch forever taint the forest.
As Priestess of the People, it fell to her to rid the land of these foul, fool invaders. It would be a simple matter, of course, as they were like children, stumbling blindly, naively onward, closer to their doom. Still, Selia - El Gato Negra, High Priestess of the Cullt of the Jaguar, defenders of the Green and all Her children – was not ignorant of the ways of the world beyond her own lands. She knew that if she did not use her guile and cunning, if she scared the outlanders away with a show of force rather than well disguised trickery, then they would be back in greater numbers, with more odd machines and their guns. She could not just kill them all outright, though she knew that her sisters could easily slay them all. If the outlanders simply vanished, Selia knew that others would come to investigate, however, so she needed to drive them out with a fear of the Green embedded in their hearts.
Selia had tainted their foods with sickness that first night, easily stealing into their camp and lacing their stores and water with the Breath of the Viper. The whites had something though, herbs and potions of their own to ease the sickness, and they remained, ill but determined. She had damaged their machines next, smashing those things that she could as an animal might, ripping through their thick-skinned tents and scattering the strange metal wheels of stiff, shining skin that they savored. This had angered them, and Selia watched horrified as the men of their group stormed through the jungles, slaying anything that they saw with their deafening thunder-sticks. Now they guarded their camp at night, firing blindly at any noise or movement in the darkness. That had been a mistake.
Taking a more direct approach, Selia had watched, following the group through their strange daily rituals. She had found it odd when a trio of their women – dressed in garb not unlike her own animal skins and leathers – began to chase a fourth older woman through the jungle while the others watched. The trio fired arrows at their ‘friend’, though none came near enough to harm her. It was then that Selia formed a daring plan. She ran ahead, seeing where the trio of ‘warriors’ were herding the fourth, and concealed herself in the trees, waiting for her opportunity to strike. As the old woman edged closer to the cliff over the falls, Selia had joined in the firing of arrows, aiming not to kill, but to force the woman over the edge of the cliff. It had almost worked…
She had tried again, when a younger version of the woman had replaced the elder, much to Selia’s bewilderment. Their customs were so strange. There was much shouting as the women traded places at the precipice, but Selia waited, taking aim until all were focused on their strange tasks. El Gato Negra’s aim was true, and her arrows caused the younger woman to fall from the ledge, but she was a lucky one. The woman, even bound at the wrists in some bizarre ritual had managed to grab a low hanging vine and swing safely from her plunge. Selia had severed the vine with another arrow, but to no avail. The woman hit the water like a stone, but her fellows – the older Blanca – had fished her out and rescued her from the river’s clutches.
So Selia waited…
The rains had come, and the whites were stalled, huddling together during the storm that raged for two whole days. Selia had watched, however, stealing into their camp and listening, learning their movements and traditions, trying to fathom what they were about. She was used to the rains, and the pounding force from the heavens did not deter her from her path.
Now her time had come again. She watched the water falling in a sheet before the mouth of the hollow where she hid. She crouched, waiting, the long hollow tube of dried reed gingerly touching her lips. She would have less than a heartbeat to draw breath and fire with enough force to pierce the cascade of falling water and the skin of the woman as well, but Selia was confident. She was one with the Green, and the Goddess would guide her, making her aim true…
A shadow appeared and Selia drew breath, blowing through the hollow tube at once. She saw the flash of the dart as it whisked through the air, disappearing into the wall of water. She was sure that her aim was true as the shadow of the woman fell past the opening of her cave to splash into the pool below a moment later. She was sure that the dart had struck its mark, the poisons coating the tip already working their magic on the woman; making her groggy and weak, stiffening her limbs, easing into her life’s blood and flowing towards her heart. She would soon be dead, and the outlanders would panic, their devious plans disrupted. Disheartened at the death of one of their own, they would leave, never to return…
“Engel…”
Karl Braun felt his heart skip a beat as he watched his girl plummet over the falls. Despite his warnings Angela had hit the falls wrong, falling over the edge awkwardly, almost head first. She was hurt, he was sure, as he saw her body jerk just before hitting the water, disappearing beneath the churning cauldron below the falls. And now…
Now she had not come up again.
Karl Braun started forward, determined to wade into the river and drag his girl out. Something was most definitely wrong. Panic swelled within him as he began to shout her name—
“Hold on there, Karl…”
The aging stunt master felt a hand fall on his shoulder, holding him back. Disbelief in his eyes, he turned to see the Assistant Director holding him in place. John Thomas was staring intently at the river, anticipation and excitement holding his own attention. He licked his lips, the slight breeze fluttering his kerchief tied loosely about his neck.
“…Let’s give her a minute, see what happens…”
Karl shrugged the hand from his shoulder and turned away, ignoring the suggestions of his superior. In the Hollywood pecking order, though a stunt coordinator was important, a director ruled. Braun felt the hand again, more forceful than before as it grabbed his arm tightly and spun him around.
“I said wait, Brown! This is great stuff!” A smug smile twisted Thomas’ lips as Karl stared in disbelief.
“But-“ he stammered, “Angela is-“
“Angela is a grown woman and she can take care of herself. Look!”
Karl turned back, watching breathlessly as Angela’s head broke the surface of the river. She was coughing, spitting up water, but her arms were flailing as she tried to swim, fighting the current. Still, she seemed dazed, her face twisted in pain and her movements sluggish and strained. She had freed herself from the ropes, the bindings still trailing from her wrists as they were supposed to, playing for drama for the camera. She was struggling with every stroke however, and it was killing Karl Braun to stand helplessly and wait.
Thomas still held him back, the director’s eyes focused on the scene as he gave orders to the crew scrambling about him. Joey Hunt was busily cranking away at his camera, his own expression unreadable as he leaned into the viewfinder. Jackson Walters, one of the film’s editors stood with a look of glee on his face, his body almost shaking with excitement. Only Katherine Parker seemed to share Karl’s distress and worry over the girl in danger, but she made no move to help, held in check by Thomas as was he.
As Karl Braun turned back once again, he saw that Angela Morgan had fought her way closer to the shore. She was trying to stand, her face pleading for help, though no cry escaped her lips. She looked haggard and worn, and drenched of course, from her wild ride in the river. Karl pulled on Thomas’ grip, wanting to charge to her rescue, but the director held him firm—
“Hold on…Just a little more…Cut! Print!”
Karl surged forward, Kathy Parker hot on his heels just as Angela staggered into the calmer shallows at the edge of the river. Together they splashed into the water as Angela moaned and swooned, collapsing into the stunt coordinator’s waiting arms. Karl gasped, feeling the icy touch of her skin, but Kathy was at his side and already administering to the ailing young woman.
“Get her to the bank!” the nurse commanded, and Karl scooped his girl up into his arms without question or protest, splashing back to the shore immediately. Once there, he laid Angela flat as Kathy dropped to her knees beside the stunt girl and tried to force the water from her lungs. The nurse pumped Angela’s arms up and down, and her legs as well, and finally leaned in, kissing the younger woman, or so it appeared. Karl watched, panic rising within him again as the nurse repeated the odd process, wanting to help, wanting to take over. If Angela died, he would die as well, never able to forgive himself.
Karl gasped as he heard Angela choke, spewing water from her lungs then hacking and coughing. Kathy leaned back, her own face wet and streaked with concern as their friend rolled onto her side and vomited. Braun glanced at the rest of the crew, but they were only half watching as they secured the fresh roll of film that they had just shot. Karl cursed under his breath at their callousness, and his own for letting Thomas hold him back.
“Gawd…”
Karl crouched down beside his girl, Kathy still kneeling across as Angela tried to sit up. She was soaked, but seemed to be sweating and shivering all at once. Goose bumps ran rampant along her exposed arms and legs, and she seemed weak, as though her limbs had grown numb and fallen asleep. Kathy the nurse was patting her friend on the back, trying to get her to cough up the remainder of the water she had swallowed.
“Engel? Are you all right?”
Angela coughed, but tried to force a smile as she glanced blearily at her boss. Karl relaxed when he saw the weak effort, but he knew that she would survive…again. “What happened?”
“I – I dunno-“ Angela gasped, hacking again. “I was – trying to do – what you said…But I guess I hit the falls wrong – Fell and couldn’t get right…I’m sorry…”
Karl Braun brushed the girl’s hair from her face, forcing himself to smile, for her sake. His opinion mattered to her, and he knew that she cared what he thought, that her every stunt was an effort to make him proud. And he was. He swelled with pride every time she finished one of his stunts successfully. He was so thankful each time she survived, knowing that every stunt and situation that he thought up and put her in was more dangerous than the last. Still, Karl Braun knew that she would survive, and accomplish the stunt far better than he might ever have imagined. Angela Morgan was a natural, the best stunt person that he had ever worked with. He was so proud that she thought so highly of him, and his work. Angela was like a daughter to him, or the son he never had.
“It is all right.” He rubbed her back, assuring her that she had done fine as Katherine the nurse ran her own hands lightly over Angela’s body to make sure that there were no injuries that were not blatantly evident. Karl watched, shushing Angela’s protests until Kathy nodded her approval, then he scooped the girl up into his arms once more.
“Hey-“ Angela protested for only a moment, until fatigue drained all the strength from her struggles once again. Karl shrugged her light form into a comfortable cradle, then stood easily supporting her weight.
“Quiet!” he ordered with a friendly smile. “You are in no shape to walk back to camp. With the Director’s permission, I will carry you there, if he is done with you." Karl turned towards Thomas who was supervising the transfer of the film into protective metal canisters. The Assistant Director said nothing, so intent on his task, but waved the trio away. A blessing of sorts, and Karl took advantage and started towards the path back to the camp over a mile away. Angela settled into his arms, already nodding and secure, knowing that protest was useless.
“Home James…” she smiled, and Karl Braun chuckled as she drifted off to sleep.
“What is that?”
Jennifer Higgins leaned forward, staring at the small, feathered thing held gingerly in the fingers of Kathy Parker, the nurse. It looked like a ‘fly’ – a fishhook decked out in feathers and fuzzy bits of material, except that the hook was straight and pointed. She had seen enough flies growing up along the Missouri River to note the resemblance. Her father had been an addict, up at the crack of dawn and away for hours – sometimes days at a time, coming home again smelling and filthy but without a single fish for his efforts. He loved the sport, as he called it since the family did not need the meat despite the hard times. Jennifer never saw the attraction, however, despite the hours she spent at his side, shivering in the cold, sweltering in the heat, getting drenched in the pouring rain.
“It’s a dart, I think.” Kathy Parker turned the dart about in her fingers to give the young woman a thorough look. It was barely half an inch long, fletched with small, soggy feathers and a short, sharp needle at one end. “I found it on Angela’s neck. It barely broke the skin, but I think this is what caused her to weaken and stiffen up in that last stunt.” Kathy took a long, final drag off of her cigarette then dropped it to the dirt floor of her First Aid tent, grinding the butt out beneath the heel of her boot.
“How so?” Jennifer asked, staring at the dart but not comprehending how something so small could have caused so much trouble.
“I think it might have been coated with some type of poison. Curare, or something else. I’m not sure.”
“Really?” Jennifer gasped, staring harder at the little dart. She had heard of Curare – a foul drug used by the South American natives, though she did not really know exactly what it did.
“Angela said that she felt stiff in the limbs, and numb. Curare paralyzes the victim, eventually causing heart failure, among other things. I think that Angela would be dead right now, except that this dart was not coated well enough, or maybe the water washed away most of the poison. Maybe the dart didn’t go into her deeply enough…” Kathy shrugged, dropping the dart into a small metal box and putting that into one of her carry-bags. “I don’t know. It’s beyond what I learned in school. All’s I do know is that somebody tried to off our girl, Angela.”
“But who?” Jennifer held her palms up, scrunching her shoulders to show her confusion. “Who would want Angela dead?”
“I don’t know-“ Kathy sighed, lighting another cigarette and settling back into her fold-up canvas chair. She propped her feet up on the small table that held some of her medicines and tools of her trade, crossing her legs at the ankles as she tried to think. “Maybe the local natives aren’t as friendly as they seem. Or, maybe somebody in our little group wants us to think that. Whatever, you better spread the word to keep an eye out. Don’t tell Karl or Angela, and for god’s sake don’t tell the two Johnnies or Miss High and Mighty Swann. Let’s just keep this at our level for now, and see what else happens."
“Sure Kathy. Whatever you say.” Jennifer Higgins smiled, staring out at the compound through the mosquito mesh that covered the opening at the flap of the tent. They were already setting up for the next major scene, and she would be needed all too soon, but her mind was not into the task at hand any more. Someone was trying to kill Angela – maybe all of them as she remembered the bout of sickness that they all experienced those first few nights. Kathy had said that it was the local water, and that had seemed reasonable, but then there was the animal that had attacked the camp one night, destroying critical footage and equipment in a not so haphazard manner now that she thought about it. And what about the arrows?
Jennifer stood, straightening her skimpy costume of torn leather and animal skin. She jiggled her bosom back into place as Shirley the script girl jogged past calling out for the ‘Amazons’ to come to the set. Time to get back to work…
“Not so damn ti-mmmph!”
Gloria Swann cursed under her breath, fuming as the three women held her to the ground and tied her up. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, the three bit players dressed as Amazon warrior women; one straddling her stomach and tying her wrists together, another binding her ankles as she kicked for the camera, struggling to get away. The third, Jennifer she thought, was kneeling near her head and had clamped her hands over her mouth, effectively stifling Gloria’s protests. Gloria winced as the thin leather bindings were cinched tightly, biting into her wrists.
She hated this part of her job. She was above the physical activities involved in a shoot, had been for years. She hated the running, and the exertion, the struggles. She knew of course that she must be authentic, that she must be in some of the scenes or her fans might realize that she was using a stunt stand in. But, dammit, that was what that little snot Angela was being paid for. She was the one that should be running through the hot, filthy jungle. She was the one that should have been tackled into the mud, wrestled and bound like a pig for the slaughter. Gloria Swann had paid her dues, after all, and was beyond such things. She was an Actor!
That big-tittied cow, Martha knotted off the cord that she had been wrapping about Gloria’s wrists and nodded to Jennifer. The younger woman smiled, producing a strip of animal skin that she snapped tight and forced between Gloria’s lips, then knotted behind her head. Gloria grunted at the fierceness of the bindings; the gag biting into her face, pinching her cheeks together, the leather cords about her wrists so tight that her fingers were tingling. Even the ropes about her ankles were overly tight, causing her feet to hurt and restricting her movement beyond imagination.
On cue the three women stood, stepping away as the camera was repositioned to get a better, close-up view of Gloria as she writhed and struggled in her bonds on the damp and muddy jungle floor. Gloria was filthy, and she hated it. She was hot and perspiring, as the weather had grown humid over night, and she hated that more. And, she was not in control. She hated that most of all.
Still, she was an actress; the best actress, and she would survive. She stared pleadingly up into the eye of the camera as she fought against her tight bindings. She could see that little brat – Jimmy Barton – licking his lips with lust as he steadied the camera on her helpless form. He was enjoying the way that she struggled, pulling against her bindings and writhing about on the ground. He was the perfect example of one of her fans, and watching his reaction, Gloria knew what her followers wanted. She knew that she was a great actress – the greatest. But she also knew that it was pimply-faced perverts like Jimmy that kept her on top of her game and made her Numero Uno at the box-office.
Gloria gasped, screaming into her gag as Amazon Number One appeared with a stout wooden pole about six feet long. For a moment terror wracked her body and she struggled all the harder. In her mind’s eye, she imagined the worst. Then, the woman – Alice something – slid the rod under her bindings at ankle and wrist, then hefted her up and into the air with the help of Martha. Gloria grunted in pain as the women bounced her into a comfortable position, adjusting her weight for their comfort but ignoring her own as all of her pounds settled onto her bound wrists and ankles, straining her limbs and the wooden pole alike.
Gloria Swann craned her neck, straining to see Harkins, waiting as patiently as she could for the bastard to yell cut and end her torment. She focused on him finally, sitting off to the side as he glanced at the script that Shirley held for him, nodding silently as she pointed at something. He was smiling, ignoring her, and that made Gloria fume all the more. She shook and fought, pulling on the cords that held her bound, dangling from the pole that she was suspended from as her captors giggled and jogged off down the jungle path, the camera no doubt focusing on their bouncing butts rather than Gloria’s authentic facial expressions.
Gloria screamed…
Gloria grunted as Martha and Alice deposited her none too gently onto the jungle path. She was breathing hard through her nose, and sweating like a pig in the humidity. It seemed the further they all went into the jungle, the hotter it got, and Gloria could see that her three ‘captors’ were glistening with sweat as well. Jennifer Higgins, the third of the three Amazons plopped onto a small rock and stared down at Gloria, wiping the sweat from her brow with a handkerchief that she had stuffed down into her brassiere.
“Christ Almighty…How far do we have to carry her?” she wheezed, sounding as out of breath as Gloria was from her screaming. “Did anyone hear Jonathan call ‘cut’?” Gloria watched as the two other scantily clad women shrugged, shaking their heads. Gloria had her doubts that the camera could even see them anymore and felt that she should be untied. The shot was over, obviously, and she was parched. Gloria moaned into her gag, but the leather skin stuffing her mouth was dry and constricting so that her protestations came out as muffled grunts. Still, Jennifer glanced her way—
“Maybe we should untie her.”
“Better not.” Martha said, leaning against a rock of her own. “Jonathan’ll be pissed if we undo the knots and he has to redo the shot. It won’t be perfect, and I’m sure that Gloria – Miss Swann wants her movie to be perfect.” Martha stared at Gloria’s helpless form and nudged her with the toe of her tiger skin boot, a wide smile curling her lips. “Isn’t that right, Miss Swann?”
Gloria grunted and struggled at her bonds. The woman was right, damn her eyes, but not to the extent that Gloria Swann should be treated so. Gloria fumed, staring daggers at the grinning Martha Johnson, swearing that she would see the bitch burn in hell.
Minutes ticked by as the three Amazons watched with some amusement as Gloria rolled about on the dirty jungle trail. Gloria Swann was soon whimpering with frustration, wondering why she could not get free. Once upon a time she had been the greatest escape artist alive, but now she could not even get out of the simple bindings at her wrists and ankles. Worse, every time she reached up to at least undo her tight, stifling gag, one of her three captors would stop her. She was the ‘Queen of Escapes’ for god’s sake, but she was helpless.
Finally, bored and tired of watching Gloria’s escape attempts, Jennifer glanced at her friends. “Maybe one of us should go back and see what’s up? The others should have been here by now with the camera.”
Alice and Martha were instantly on their feet. “We’ll go, Jenny. You stay here and watch out for her.” Martha pointed at the helpless Gloria. “Make sure she doesn’t get loose so we have to do this all over.” And before Jennifer or Gloria could protest, the two women were jogging back the way they had come, soon to disappear into the foliage. Jennifer turned back to Gloria and shrugged, smiling weakly.
“Sorry.” She forced a smile, then adjusted her rump on the rock, trying to get comfortable, not knowing how long they might have to wait.
Gloria stared at the amply endowed young woman, trying her best to burn a hole through her body with her fiercest gaze. She was ignoring Gloria’s moans of pain, leaning back with her eyes closed as she tried to absorb the warming rays of the sun. Gloria cursed, snarling into her gag to be freed, but after a brief glance to make sure that nothing was wrong, the girl ignored her. Mentally Gloria counted the tortures that she would inflict on the little—
Gloria screamed into her gag with all of her might as the jungle greenery parted behind the reclining Jennifer Higgins. Her eyes widened in shock and sudden fear as three women, three different women stepped silently from the bushes. Gloria gasped, trying to scream a warning to the bit extra as one of the new women raised an evil, heavy looking stick over Jennifer and brought it down upon her head. There was a sickening thud, and Jennifer moaned, then slid to the ground beside Gloria in a heap.
The Queen of Escapes stared up at the three women, absolute terror gripping her. She struggled mightily at her bonds, fearing for her life as the trio stepped forward, towering over her helpless form. They were dressed almost exactly like the extras from the movie; wearing beaten animal skins that barely covered their taut bodies and held their ample breasts in check. They were all dark-skinned, Indians native to South America, though far taller than any normal people that she had seen over the past few weeks. All were at least six feet tall, with long flowing hair as dark as night and slim, dusky bodies in perfect shape. They were remarkably beautiful, and Gloria, despite her predicament, suddenly felt very self-conscious.
One dressed in jet-black furs, golden bangles and darker and more beautiful than the others stepped up by Gloria's head and squatted down beside her. She grabbed Gloria’s chin despite her muffled grunts of protest, turning the starlet’s head back and forth as though examining her. Gloria half-expected the woman to rip off her gag and check her teeth for cavities. Images of a huge black cooking pot danced through Gloria’s imagination, and she sincerely hoped that she was not being considered for the main course of the trio’s next meal.
Gloria wrinkled her nose in disgust as the rough, dirty hands patted her cheek playfully. The woman in the black furs said something in some guttural native language that caused her companions to laugh, then she stood up. The two other women strode forward, and for the first time Gloria noticed that both wore long knives strapped to their thighs. The terror returned, redoubled as they reached for her…
Gloria grunted in pain as the two Amazons hefted her easily to their shoulders, suspending her from the pole again that the actresses had been carrying her with not so long before. The dark clad woman barked some command after the two had settled her weight, and suddenly both broke into a swift trot through the jungle, following some path that Gloria could not see.
Pain shot through Gloria’s wrists and ankles as her own weight started to wear on her limbs from the jostling. Her arms and legs ached, and her throat was parched and dry as a desert. Worse, the swift pace that the two women set had her bouncing in her bonds and every step seemed to put an even greater strain on her legs and shoulders. It was not long before Gloria was moaning in agony and tears were flowing freely down her face. She was being kidnapped. Tortured!
And there was not a blessed thing that Gloria Swann could do about it, save scream…
Gloria's really in a fix! Will she get out alive? Read the next thrilling episode to find out…
© Curt F 2002