Mindless of ants, spiders, or anything else that might be crawling over the ground, Alex lay on top of her daughter, holding Caitlyn’s shoulders tight. The last five minutes had passed in a blur, imprinting surreal images upon her mind. The men had fallen, one by one, and then the natives entered the camp, as fearless as eagles defending the sky. Emma Whitmore, who had captured both high-powered weapons, had kicked dirt over them as the Indians approached. Now she stood before the invaders in a posture of relaxed submission.
Alex blinked, then shook her head. She would never understand anthropologists.
“Mom?” Caitlyn’s voice quavered.
“Shh, honey. We have to keep our heads.”
At least two dozen natives had entered the camp—small brown men who had painted their faces and bodies in white lines and red patterns. Carrying clubs, bows, and spears, they scattered throughout the camp like ants exploring a picnic blanket.
When one of the men reached out to touch Lauren, she threw up her hands and ran screaming toward the lake. The warrior showed no expression, but nocked an arrow, then drew back the string and let the missile fly. Alex didn’t see it strike, but by the sudden halt of Lauren’s screaming, she surmised it had found its mark.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
She closed her eyes, her heart beating hard enough to be heard a yard away. Lauren might have been an affront to self-sufficient womanhood, but she didn’t deserve to die like that.
“Rule number one,” Alex whispered in her daughter’s ear. “Whatever you do, don’t run.”
As she and Caitlyn lay motionless, the natives swarmed over the moonlit camp, poking at backpacks and prodding paralyzed men with the tips of their weapons. Alex’s heart skipped a beat when one man pressed the sharpened edge of a spear to Michael Kenway’s throat, but the native only screeched something in a language she couldn’t understand, then scampered away.
A moment later a fiercely painted warrior stood directly before her, blocking her view of the others. He yelled, gestured toward the moonlit lake, and then stabbed at the earth with his spear.
Clearing her throat, Alex lifted her head as much as she dared. “My name is Alexandra.” She lifted her hand to show she carried no weapon. “’We mean you no harm.”
When the warrior had the temerity to jab at the earth an inch from Caitlyn’s head, Alex realized the futility of their situation. “All right,” she snapped, determined not to show her fear. “We’ll get up.”
Moving with extreme caution, she helped Caitlyn to her feet, then surveyed their captor. The warrior before them was only an inch or two taller than Caitlyn—probably no more than five feet. But he was angry and armed, so they obeyed his prodding spear and walked toward the water.
Apparently content to leave the paralyzed men where they had fallen, the natives herded the women into canoes hidden among the grasses at the lake’s edge.
Caitlyn balked at the sight of the shallow canoe. “I don’t think this is such a good idea, Mom.”
“It’s all right, honey. Just follow me.” Carefully, Alex crawled the length of the canoe, then sat back and gripped the narrow edges. “Remember all the natives we saw in canoes at Yarupapa? Just pretend we’re with them, and we’ll be fine.”
Her temper spiked when she saw the anthropologist crawl into position behind Caitlyn. “Good grief, Emma, you had a gun. Why on earth did you put it down?”
The older woman gave her a disdainful look. “How are we supposed to learn anything from these people if we shoot them?”
“But they attacked us! Our guys were dropping like flies!”
“They subdued our men with more charity than we would have exhibited in the same situation. None of them have died.”
“An unfortunate accident.”
“What about Lauren Hayworth?”
The older woman’s eyes closed. “That was regrettable. But she resisted, and with all that screaming she signaled she wouldn’t cooperate. Remember this, Alex—they are more frightened of us than we are of them. That’s what all this stomping and posturing is about—they’re trying to convince us they are fearless.”
“They’re doing a remarkably good job.”
Clinging tighter to the sides of the narrow canoe, Alex faced the darkness on the lake beyond. “I don’t suppose, Emma, that you can guess what will happen next?”
The sound of a warrior splashing through the shallows prevented the woman’s response. Apparently the sound of their conversation had displeased him, for he lifted his club and snarled out terse commands that must have had something to do with silence.
Alex hung her head in the same submissive posture she’d seen Emma adopt earlier. Her cowering seemed to please him, for he splashed away, leaving them alone.
“You speak the Indian language, don’t you?” Alex whispered. “Can you understand anything of what they’re saying?”
“Only a few passing words.” Emma spoke in a stage whisper. “And I can’t be certain what will happen next until we see the village. I suspect their community may be in need of women. Females are the lifeblood of a native community; they produce the children that make a people strong.”
“Mom?” Honest fear threaded Caitlyn’s voice. “I’d like to go home now.”
As Alex turned to comfort her daughter, a warrior loomed out of the darkness and rapped her temple with the narrow edge of an oar. As a flashbulb went off behind her eyes, she leaned forward into the shallow bow, then pressed her hand to her throbbing head.
“It’s okay, honey,” she whispered, not daring to turn around again. “We’re going to be okay.”
“Fine?” Caitlyn’s voice wavered.
“Great.”
“Okey-dokey?”
“All right.”
“Satisfactory?”
“Absolutely, irrefutably acceptable.”
Back and forth they batted words of assurance as the natives launched the canoe into the deep.