It should not have been a surprise that she awakened to puzzlement. It was a bolt from the blue that left her baffled yet accepting. Marguerite opened her eyes wide and the world was indistinguishable yet somehow tangible. This was not a dream. It was real. Everything was blurred and strange but authentic. Nevertheless, there was something different this time … She could not breathe. Before Marguerite could mentally ask the question: “Why can’t I breathe?” it was answered.

Panicked, she leapt out of the frigid water, kicking and sputtering and gulping fresh air. She was careening down a rapidly rushing river.

The last thing Marguerite recalled was racing through the forest, trying to escape those terrible men. Her fingers had been warm, red and sticky and she was not certain why they appeared the way they did -- but it terrified her. There had been a struggle. Yes, she was certain one of the bad men had attacked her. Extraordinarily nervous and unfocused she listened to her brain as it cried, “Move! Move!”

Then Marguerite, distracted by the sound of rushing water, hesitated a moment in her sprint. She moved forward, came out of the forest, and saw the river once more. It was beautiful … Her heart soared! She wanted so much to be near it. She wanted to be surrounded by its comforting flow and allow the cool water to swallow her whole, cleansing her of this mad world. Marguerite wanted it to take her away …

She then heard a scream that was not her own and she turned around, looking upward, and that was all she knew until she awoke here, occupied by yet another disaster in the making. She had gotten her wish. She was, indeed, being taken away -- albeit violently.

Whatever the reason she found herself in this situation, Marguerite’s hands were now very clean and the woman remained frightened. There was no logic to any of this. She was supposed to be at home with her loved ones, wherever and whoever they were.

Now, in total contrast to earlier wishes, she wanted very much to be free of the water. It was sapping her strength, powerful waves crashing against her already abused body, and Marguerite was so cold! Loose tree branches, sharp twigs and small, jagged stones that rumbled up from the bottom of the riverbed took aim at Marguerite and assailed her mercilessly. Wildly, she reached out to grasp anything to keep her upright. She swam with all her might, trying frenziedly to get to the shoreline.

For awhile her efforts did not appear to be working but finally Marguerite found a sturdy foothold - a large underwater rock or plant - and thrust her body with all her strength to the river‘s edge. Soon, her hands were grasping wet but solid earth. She was still under water but at least she was able to crawl slowly. Inch by inch she found unyielding ground.

Marguerite was away from the river and she still crawled on her hands and knees, shivering until she found a thick tree trunk. She rested beside it, coughing sporadically. She hurt all over …. ‘And my blouse’s sleeve is missing’ …. Then - almost without a will of her own - she closed her eyes and slept.

***

Challenger put a hand on Roxton’s chest, preventing him from both rushing forward and walking over him. “I hear something.”

A few moments earlier both Roxton and Challenger, on again in their quest to find Marguerite, had spotted a child - a boy - as he looked upward at the trees and sky.

“He’s been trained as a tracker.” Roxton mentioned, impressed. They watched silently as the boy crouched and lifted some moist soil, rubbing it between his fingers. He was very serious, gauging where he was in an attempt to find where it was he needed to go. “George, I ...”

“Sh.“ Challenger quickly silenced his companion’s question. A girl, not quite a woman, had joined the boy and the professor recognized the cut of her sarong. They had found at least two of the kidnapped Kiko children.

***

Words were being spoken -- a language she could vaguely understand -- and a sharp object was poking her leg.

‘Not again …’ her inner mind whined. She did not want to open her eyes. If she did then it would be true ...

There were more words, not quite as clear, then another poke to her body.

“Stop it!” she finally shouted and sat upright, opening her eyes.

Odd native faces stared back, painted black and white. The men held spears. One of the natives turned to his companion and spoke a single word. It was not a question. It was a comment and it turned Marguerite blood cold.

Even in her current state, her faculties not being as sharp as they could be, she knew she was in peril.

The word was “Hungry.”

***

“We are not going to hurt you, young lady!” Challenger tried to reason with the native girl, bending at the waist to look into her dark eyes, holding her firmly by the shoulders. “But we are looking for a friend …”

Only moments before they had approached them and the children, not understanding, bolted. If tall, rugged and somewhat intimidating Lord John Roxton had not been there, anticipating what they might do and cut off their escape at its inception, the Kiko boy and girl would now only be a memory.

“Don’t you touch her!” the boy cried to Challenger as Roxton held him still.

“Marguerite is a tall woman,” Challenger verbally pushed the girl then, thinking on it a moment, he used a few words in her native tongue. He was relieved to see the young woman ease slightly, possibly identifying something in Challenger that she had seen in Marguerite. Challenger‘s understanding of native languages was not as extensive as Marguerite‘s but the Kikos, thank goodness, used a simple South American dialect. “She is dressed like us,” Challenger tugged at the sleeve on his coat. “Has long, dark hair,” he continued, making a gesture about his head. When she whispered a reply the professor turned to the hunter and nodded, “They’ve seen her.”

“Is she okay? Is she hurt?” Roxton asked quickly, anxious but also relieved.

The boy looked up at him, bewildered by the tall man’s obvious fear.

Challenger further interpreted, “The girl’s name is Loana and she says Marguerite rescued them all from the slave traders but they were somehow separated.” With a sigh, Challenger stood upright. He backed away from the girl and nodded at her, satisfied. “She’s confirmed that Marguerite is hurt and confused but Loana doesn’t think it‘s critical. It’s the wound on her head and above her right hip …”

Roxton grimaced, thoughts of the blood on the rim of Marguerite’s hat predominant. It was now safely stored in his backpack, ‘because she’ll want it when we find her.’

“Unfortunately, some of the men who held them captive took off after Marguerite and Loana does not know what happened after that. For all she knows Marguerite could have been captured again.”

“How long ago did the parting happen?” Roxton manage to ask without panic in his tone.

“She and the boy have been running all night.” was the grim reply.

Roxton thought as much. The Kiko boy was healthy but, considering the circumstances, was not putting up much of a fight. He was noticeably exhausted. “Here.” Roxton looked from the girl down to the boy then passed him his canteen. The hunter nodded when the boy glanced up suspiciously at him.

Making a judgment, the boy took the canteen, returned Roxton’s nod, and drank deeply.

Loana studied both men, looking closely at their clothes and the genuine concern on their pale faces. They were not at all like those other men. There was a kindness about them, coupled with desperation, which she respected and trusted. Coming to a decision of her own Loana pointed into the forest and muttered a few words to Challenger.

Roxton watched as Challenger repeated her words to be sure.

She nodded.

“What is she saying?” Roxton asked.

“She’s telling us the last place where she saw her ‘beautiful rescuer‘. It doesn’t sound too far away.”

“Good.” Roxton could almost smile when thinking how please Marguerite would be by Loana’s flattering description, “The sooner we get there the better.” he said then looked at the boy and girl again, “What about them?”

“They’re better survivalist out here then we are, Roxton. They were able to avoid the slavers all night … Well give them directions home, a full canteen, and send them on their way.”

He did not say it but Roxton knew what Challenger was thinking. The Kiko children would probably make it home safely before they found Marguerite.

***

There were four of them and as they eased in on Marguerite she instinctually reached a blind hand outward, beside her and behind her, searching for anything to use as a weapon. Her fingers fastened around a fist sized rock and she, without truly aiming, threw it hard in the direction of the painted men.

It connected squarely to the forehead of one of the natives. His spear flying, the man fell backward into the dust, down for the count. Stricken by her nerve, the others looked down at their fallen comrade then up again at the foolishly brave woman.

Marguerite quickly stood, felt a pain to her injured side, and backed up against the tree. She eyed her enemy severely as if daring them to try something. Yet, she was not a fool. “I’m really in trouble.” Marguerite whispered. A sweat had broken out on the back of her neck and she was dizzy. 

A loud cry came from the jungle. It was followed by another then another. It seemed to be a signal of some kind. The painted men looked around, glancing again at Marguerite, then - almost respectfully - backed away from her. Soon the natives were dashing into the jungle, away from their quarry, and leaving their unaware comrade deserted in their quest to escape.

Anxious, Marguerite looked around; her eyes darting about furiously, wondering what horrible creature would show up next.

When it came it was not at all what her mind’s eye conceived. Four women, wearing leather, and brandishing long sticks and swords appeared. They were very healthy looking females, screaming a war-like cry, and they approached the area at a run.

The tallest, a statuesque beauty with auburn hair, spotted Marguerite and walked toward her. She looked downward at the unconscious man on the ground beside her. “You’re mad being out here without a weapon. Those cannibals could have cut you down in seconds if we hadn’t appeared. Still,” She grinned and slid her sword into its scabbard, “nice shot.”

“That was terrific. He went down like a sack of pomegranates!” A younger woman approached, blonde with a wide and friendly smile. She looked at Marguerite for a moment and her brow furrowed with recollection. “Don’t I know you?” she asked.

Marguerite backed away slightly when another blond and a brunette approached from the rear. These ladies seemed civil enough but also, with their odd two-piece attire, armaments and airs of confidence, were a little menacing.

“Is she all right?” The taller blond, the probable leader of the group, asked and took a closer look at Marguerite. Like the younger blond, she studied the woman they had just rescued, and her expression displayed recognition. “You’re … Marguerite? That is you, right?” She looked passed her. “Where’s Roxton? Veronica?”

The younger blond suddenly piped, “And Malone?” with a sweet and somehow knowing simper.

“Look at that head.” The tall auburn woman reached forward to touch her and Marguerite flinched away, unsettled. “She‘s been through a time. And I think she has a fever.”

“That needs tended to.” The brunette commented, unsmiling, looking at the wound to Marguerite side. Her blouse and camisole had lifted enough to reveal the scratches. They were inflamed yet the water had cleaned the wound and her infection was not as terrible as it could have become.

The blond handed her sword to the brunette and stood directly in front of Marguerite, “Do you remember me, Marguerite? I’m Hippolita, this is Lydia …” she motioned to the brunette, “And this Labrada …”

“Nice to meet you.” The auburn woman said with a flirtatious wink.

“She’s new to our tribe.” the younger blond said “I’m Phoebe. Do you remember me?”

Marguerite stared at them. No, she did not know them although the blond before her, with her leather clothes, poise and superior attitude, did seem vaguely familiar …

“Will you help me?” Marguerite finally asked, feeling slightly dizzy and unsteady on her feet. If the women were not what they seemed she would have to worry about it later. Right now she just did not have the strength to fight them.

“We will take you back to our village. It’s not far from here.” Hippolita said and took Marguerite’s upper arm.

She did not protest.

Labrada took the other, helping the weakened Marguerite to move along.

“You’ll like it there.” Phoebe said, taking the lead. “It’s all women. No men.”

“Good.” Marguerite huffed, dimly. “I hate men.”

Labrada chuckled, “A girl after my own heart.”

***

“Roxton!” Challenger had spotted the body first, a disheveled dead man lying in the grass surrounded by leaf-heavy trees. Kneeling, Challenger turned the man over and spotted the slash mark across his chest. It was not quite as fresh as the wounds that killed him but it hadn’t been done long ago.

“Didn’t the Kiko medicine man say a warrior had taken a blade to one of the slavers?” Roxton asked.

“I believe you’re right.” Challenger nodded, “These other wounds are deep. I’m surprised the blood didn’t draw predators.” He looked up and about to be certain his curiosity wasn‘t reality.

“Still could.” Roxton was about to add to the comment when a glint of something metal caught his eye. He looked down at the ground and saw the switchblade, half open, only a few feet away from the body. Roxton picked it up and showed it to Challenger.

“Marguerite’s?”

“The one she took from Avery Burton.” All things considered, Roxton had been able to keep his composure during the events of the last few days. However, seeing this sign; the blade that belonged to his beloved, and knowing that this dead slaver, with his self-rumpled clothing, had obviously done something to deserve such a death, unnerved the hunter. “Dammit Challenger …’ Roxton spoke nearly breathlessly, impatient with their progress and close to a breaking point. “We have to find her!”

“John,” Challenger stood and placed a soothing hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know … I know you’re upset … I am too.” he confessed, “But Marguerite is alive. Look at what we have here. She escaped, she helped those children, she fought this brute and, from what we see of the evidence before us, won. We just need to continue a little further.”

“Yes. You‘re right.” Roxton took a deep breath and steadied his hands, “We‘re not going to give up. We can’t. She’s out here!” He knew it was all true. But not just for the reasons Challenger had stated. Roxton simply could not imagine that he and Marguerite had been put through so much together on the plateau, had endured such hardships, to be parted now.

Roxton pulled out a handkerchief and rolled the blade into it. He then removed his back pack and slid it inside. He seemed to be picking up bits and pieces of Marguerite all over the plateau … It might have been funny if he weren’t so damned frightened for her, and how he would react - the revenge he might take - if he lost her.

END OF PART 4.