Ambush

"Get down!" Mike shouted, grabbing his pack and yanking Fanta by the arm. They dropped behind the trunk, hearts thundering. Another arrow thudded into the ground, kicking up dust.

In an instant, the forest turned hostile again. Gone was the peaceful, playful bubble. Savage warriors—maybe half a dozen or more—emerged from behind the camouflage of broad-leafed shrubs. Their painted faces and glinting weapons revealed primal intent. The swirling color pattern of their bodies blended with the green gloom, making them both eerie and menacing.

"Run!" Mike urged, hoisting his camera bag. He seized Fanta's hand and pulled her to her feet. They sprinted deeper into the forest, adrenaline surging. Arrows whizzed overhead, thumping into trees or burying themselves in the soft earth.

But the warriors were closing in. Fanta's breath burned in her chest, her mind spinning with terror. At least three men sprang out from a cluster of vines, cutting off their escape. She and Mike whirled around, only to see more men advancing from behind. They were trapped in a ring of painted bodies and sharpened weaponry.

-----------------------

A tall warrior lunged, seizing Fanta's arm. She cried out, trying to twist free. His grip was vise-like. She slapped at him, but he backhanded her across the face. Pain exploded in her cheek, tears stinging her eyes. She staggered, a shocked whimper escaping her lips.

"Fanta!" Mike cried, stepping forward. He managed to land a half-punch on the warrior's side, but another warrior circled behind him. A solid crack struck Mike's back—someone wielding a heavy wooden club. The blow sent him sprawling, his camera bag thudding against the ground.

"Mike!" Fanta screamed. She lunged, but the warrior holding her yanked her back. The savage men spoke in guttural tones, their language a mixture Fanta couldn't fully interpret. She heard snarled words that likely meant "demon," "capture," or "stranger." Her head spun from the force of the slap, and her vision blurred with tears.

Mike tried to rise, but a second blow from the club hammered his ribs. He gasped, collapsing face-first in the dirt. The leader of the warriors, a giant man with crimson tattoos across his chest, knelt to inspect Mike, prodding him with the tip of a spear. The man's eyes flickered with fear and fascination. He gestured to the others, pointing at Mike's pale skin, his strange clothes. A heated discussion erupted. Fanta's presence seemed momentarily forgotten.

Dazed, she looked on as they pored over Mike like he was some mythical creature. One man tapped the camera lens, recoiling as though it might bite him. Another prodded Mike's boots, muttering in confusion. Fanta's heart pounded, a swirl of horror that they saw him as something alien or monstrous. If only she could speak their dialect. But these warriors didn't hail from Ogamba—her mother had mentioned distant tribes, known for isolation and savage customs. They wore bone necklaces and carried elongated bows. This was no simple forest clan.

They crowded around Mike, ignoring Fanta. Her instincts screamed a warning: they were more concerned with the unfamiliar man than the local-looking girl. That might be her only chance. She took a shaky step back, flexing her stinging arm.

Gradually, she slipped sideways, trying to blend with the undergrowth. None of the warriors so much as glanced at her—they were fully fixated on Mike. She felt her heart hammer in a wild mixture of fear and determination: I can't leave him. But if I stay, they'll capture me too. Perhaps I can help him if I escape, track them from a distance.

She took another silent step. Then another. A leaf crunched under her heel, and she froze. Still, no one looked her way. She slid behind a broad leaf, step by cautious step. The thick vines draped from overhead, providing cover. Finally, with a final burst of nerve, she turned and darted into the undergrowth, letting it swallow her.

------------------

Moments later, the warriors realized she was gone. One barked a sharp command in their guttural language. Fanta heard startled curses, the brushing of leaves as they scanned the clearing. But she was already crouched low, creeping into thicker brush. Through a gap in the foliage, she glimpsed the men crowding around Mike's limp figure, jabbing him with the butt of a spear to keep him pinned. One of them brandished rope, binding his wrists behind his back.

She had to bite down on her knuckles to stifle a cry. Her tears pooled, but she blinked them away, focusing on the immediate. She heard the leader roar something that probably meant, "Where is she?" Another barked response. Then the leader grunted, gesturing to two men. They dashed off in different directions, presumably to search for her.

Fanta barely dared to breathe. She pressed herself flat against the damp ground, concealed by vines and thick leaves. Her blood roared in her ears. She prayed no one would stumble across her. Minutes crawled by, each second a small eternity.

Finally, she heard the leader's voice ring out, commanding the group to move. With a shuddering breath, Fanta raised her head just enough to see. They were lifting Mike upright. Ropes dug into his arms, and his head lolled weakly. He was conscious, but clearly disoriented from the blows. She sensed his dazed attempt to look around for her, a frantic fear in his eyes.

"Tie… this strange man," the leader barked. "Take him to the village. Find… her!" The final command was a savage growl.

The men hoisted Mike, forcing him to stumble forward. He winced, letting out a low groan. The rest of the warriors formed a protective ring around him, brandishing their weapons in case Fanta emerged. Then they marched off, vanishing deeper into the forest. The undergrowth rustled, and soon all that remained was the hush of the clearing, the soft hush of wind through palm leaves, and the scattered coconut shells they'd left behind.

--------------------

Fanta lay hidden for a long time, heart pounding so violently she thought she might faint. Gradually, the warriors' footfalls faded. She peeled herself from the ground, ignoring how the slapped side of her face throbbed. A hollow ache settled in her chest. Mike was gone, captured by men who viewed him as some kind of monster. And she was free—but helpless.

Tears pricked her eyes. She lifted trembling fingers to her cheek, remembering how she had been slapped. Anger welled—anger at these savage strangers, at the unending hostility that haunted her, and anger at her own cowardice. But no—her mind whispered that if she had stayed, they'd both be bound and taken away. She had a better chance of saving him this way.

She rose to her feet, scanning the clearing. Coconuts lay scattered, a reminder of how happy they'd been just moments ago. The memory of their laughter, the gentle press of his lips against hers, tore at her heart. She inhaled, choking back sobs. No time for despair. If those warriors intended to keep him as a captive, she had to find a way to free him.

She crossed to the spot where they'd wrestled Mike to the ground, scanning for any clues. His camera bag was gone—snatched up by the warriors. She found only a single lens cap half-buried in the dirt. Clutching it, she made a vow under her breath: I will find you, Mike. I won't abandon you. Her tears threatened to spill, but she pressed her lips shut, reminding herself that if the men came back, her tears might draw them.

With trembling determination, she carefully studied the footprints they'd left in the loamy soil. The tracks led northward, deeper into territory neither of them had explored. Perhaps that's where the warriors' village lay. She gathered her resolve, praying her senses would guide her. She had navigated forests near Ogamba—she'd track them, wait for the right moment, and free him… or die trying.

A faint breeze rustled the fronds overhead, carrying the tang of danger. Night would eventually fall, bringing another wave of terror. But for now, the day glimmered with possibility, if only she could muster the courage to follow. Clutching the lens cap, she forced herself into motion, moving silently along the route the warriors had taken.

In her mind's eye, she saw Mike's face—his lopsided smiles, his camera snapping pictures as she giggled, the deep concern in his gaze whenever she felt fear. She felt again the warmth of his tentative kiss, the sweetness of coconut lingering between them. It fueled her like a spark in the darkness, banishing the dread creeping at the edges of her conscience.

One step at a time, she told herself. One foot in front of the other, deeper into unknown territory. The vines and leaves parted before her, revealing a path that might lead to heartbreak… or hope.

Thus, Fanta began her lone pursuit through the wild forest. Danger pressed in from every side—wild beasts that roamed the gloom, savage warriors with lethal bows, and the threat of total darkness once night came. But she continued regardless, resolute. For Mike, for herself, for the tenderness that flared between them in stolen moments. Perhaps her curse had never been real. Perhaps the only curse was the ignorance of those who refused to see her worth.

Her heart pounded with each step. She would rescue him. She had to. The savage warriors might have stolen him away for their own designs, but they had underestimated the fierce determination of the outcast they called "cursed." If any trace of that miraculous power in her tears remained, she would gladly use it to save him again… or she would fight with tooth and nail, cunning and stealth, no matter the cost.

Ahead, the forest thickened, overshadowed by towering trees. A hush fell, broken only by the rush of her pulse in her ears. She slipped into the green shadows, following footprints and bent branches, the lens cap pressed to her palm like a talisman. And somewhere in that hidden, savage village, Mike would stand bound, battered, and half-terrified. But she refused to let fear rule her. She was new to love, new to hope—but she embraced both with a fearless heart.

She pressed on into the unknown, her harrowing journey unfolding with each determined stride.