Battle Continues

by Nicholas H.

        We stood face down on the ground, immobile, our hearts pounding like drums. The footsteps had stopped but we weren’t sure. A disturbing silence enclosed the forest while we waited anxiously for a hint where to go – or not to go. One thing we were certain of: we could not stay here. Either we jumped from the bushes and launched a reckless attack upon whoever was out there, or retreated deeper and fled as far and fast as our legs could take us. We were in the jungle now; the mandate was to hunt -or become game.

The area was cut in half by a massive line of head-high bushes reminiscent of warfare trenches, the only difference being that neither defendant nor attacker could see from, into or over it; everything else was clean field, no slopes or thick trunks to shield yourself from slaughterer water shots. Once you were out, you were visible to anyone looking from a 100 m. range: an easy target. And the TuG rule was clear: if you received the slightest sprinkle on your t-shirt, you had to surrender. True, by attacking we had the surprise factor on our side, but it was a double-edged sword – they could be expecting precisely that, scouting with their pistols pointed straight at the bushes. There was a reason they got there so fast, right?

The rustling along the right side of the bush-line was getting louder and distressingly more frequent – as if someone was sweeping the foliage open with an arm every 5 m.

 I poke my head out to the left side, the blazing sun blinding me for a second, and skimmed the territory in despair for a new hiding spot. Right away, I spotted the place to go: the only tree around considerable in size - a huge mango – was on its side. Most probably was that a storm knocked it down; the result were dirty roots sticking out and a hole in the ground. It was surrounded by carpet of fading red and yellow leaves and the dry mangoes that had been left behind by small but voracious monkeys or birds known to cause havoc in some rural zones.

“There!” I told Collin in a hurried whisper, pointing at the crevice.

He stared jaw-dropped at me, shook his head and made a soundless but meaningful “no” with his lips, feeling understandably uneasy about the idea of jumping into that natural foxhole.

“Let’s go!” I grasped his arm.

“Are you crazy?” He shook himself free.

“Collin! It’s our only chance!” I reinforced my grip around his arm this time.

“No!”

I frowned. Grrrr.

Before he carried on with his stubbornly squeamishness and got us captured, I half-dragged him out of the bushes and crawled towards the tree. Collin whimpered all the way and I kept looking over our shoulders in case the enemies had heard us and crossed the line. I stopped at edge of the crack and peered in. I gulped. Uh, on a second thought, there might have been a grain of truth in my pal’s apprehension. It was gloomy, and dark, and moist – without a doubt the most intimidating creepy little spot ever. Just by looking at it you had all sort of visions about the kind of creatures that dwelled within its depth.

“NO way, Nick! I’m NOT getting down there!”

Frightening noises came from the shrubbery: someone stepping on twigs and what sounded like murmurs.

Almost panicking, “Oh, yes you are!” I said and jumped, pulling him down with me.

Slosh!

We sunk to our thighs in dense mud.

“Ew…”Collin whined, “gross!” 

I assessed my surroundings. It was dark but I could still make out everything – and thanked my eyes I didn’t see vipers of any sort.

“Don’t be such a wuss! It’s only mud, dude,” I said and playfully put some on his face.

“Cut it out!” He grimaced slapping my hand and I chuckled.

The hole was deep enough so our heads remained below ground level, giving us unbeatable cover; and we still had a good sight of the field by craning our necks a bit.

We did not wait long. Soon, to my amazement, Gus, one of the boyscouts, emerged from the bushes. He stopped, gazed for a while, and began walking in our direction. He was clad in their – silly, if I have a say - light-brown uniform, blue scarf, tube socks and - as a contrast to what you’d expect in its standardized configuration - different lengths of rope protruded from his pockets along with a roll of duct tape attached to his waist. At the end of Gus’ steady right arm was a squirt gun, pointing at anything that moved.

He’s been following us?! He couldn’t have possibly guessed we were coming this way.

“H-h-how on earth did he get here so fast?” Collin said, astounded.

“I don’t know… but he’ll be our first prisoner,” I whispered cockily winking and aimed my gun up at the boy when he turned his back to us.

“No! Wait,” Collin put a hand on my shoulder, “what if you miss?”

“I won’t.”

"I have a better idea – gimme that!” He snatched the gun from my hand.

“Are you nuts? He’s right over there! This is our chance to –mppphhh!” Collin suddenly pressed his palm against my mouth.

“MMMPHHH!!” I glared at him.

“Shhhhhh… ” He frowned back.

Gus walked past us and disappeared into the woods. We had lost him.

I pulled Collin’s hand down and by the time I had managed to retrieve my pistol, the boyscout was nowhere to be seen.

“Great idea, Einstein. Just great. He got away.” I looked sideways but Collin wasn’t there anymore.

 “Come, quick!” My teammate had climbed out from the hole and was now crouching on the edge, offering me his hand.

“Huh?”

“Hurry up, Nick! Trust me!”

I rolled my eyes and grudgingly took his hand. Within seconds I was out too, and immediately we proceeded to jog north, after our prey.

Now, it should be explained and perhaps warned to those who’ve never been to the subtropics that a stroll back there from late November till early March implied two things: suffocating humidity and sweating. Lots of it. So it’s no surprise that shortly after we started off, we were already showered in perspiration. We carried on, dodging poison ivy, reddish sandy ant nests mingled almost imperceptibly with the dark soil and other minor dangers, our damp shirts becoming a second skin layer – but no signs of Gus. I was beginning to lose all hope when a slender figure flickered in my peripheral sprinting vision. I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Dude!” I hissed at Collin, panting, and pointed at the khaki-haired head at the bottom of a steep. We smoothly walked up and squatted behind a large trunk at the top, our backs against it, from where we could clearly hear him. Soon we learned he was not alone.

“They weren’t there!”

The other boy sounded exasperated. “What do you mean ‘they weren’t there’? They had to be!”

“I even searched the bushes, nothing.”

“Mike specifically told me Nick and Collin’d be somewhere between their base and this place. Dude, was it that difficult to… – oh heck! You know what? Forget it! Stay here with Scott, I’ll go do it myself,” he growled and we heard him walk away.

We still couldn’t believe our ears. What we’d just heard made no sense. How did Mike find out about our plans if the boyscout team had already left when I made them? I couldn’t come up with any plausible explanation. Unless… had one of the boyscouts stayed behind and spied on us and then ran to tell Mike?

Occupied in these reflections, I did not notice when Klaus appeared to the left accompanied by Doug, and they would have found us had Collin not miraculously, as they turned to descend the steep, grabbed and pulled me to the ground. I had landed on top of him and I felt his heart pouncing under mine; thus we remained until their steps dwindled in the forest and all I could hear was that everlasting back and forth motion of tree branches and leaves.  

“Are they gone?” he whispered.

“Yeah.”

Long silence.

“So, can you get off me now?”

“Oh, sorry,” I answered meekly self-conscious and got to my feet.

A few minutes elapsed without anything happening to further elucidate this mystery, so I took a quick glance over the trunk and saw only two boys, Scott and Gus, sitting under a tree and talking. To their left some bags with several ropes lay open, bandannas, ropes and tape piled up – probably the whole team’s provisions.

The wind was definitely blowing on our side. Scott was a gawky little kid despite his age of 14, slim, with spiked short brown hair and deep blue eyes; he got a good deal of mockery since he seemed not to be older than 10. Gus, on the contrary, was 13, but looked 15-ish, had darker skin, broader shoulders and was rather chubby. Neither was strong enough to overpower us so I could not but grin at this favorable sight. I had underestimated my buddy’s plan; now we would get two prisoners instead of only one. I looked at Collin, who immediately understood and smiled back.

“This is our chance,” I said to myself and told Collin to move on. We forded the trunk and entered the woods again. My heart started pounding increasingly as I made out the back of the boyscouts’ heads, who were blissfully unaware of the eminent danger. We snuck up behind them, mere feet away. Collin hinted with his eyes at the boys and I nodded; he soundlessly counted with his fingers 1, 2, 3…  NOW!

We both pounced in perfect timing – me on Scott, Collin on Gus -, wrapped an arm around their necks and pressed the point of the guns against their sides. We then pulled the trigger, unloading the water on their shirts and thus capturing them. The shock tore vivid screams so we swiftly clamped our hands over their mouths lest they should alert any nearby foe. As a reflex, they tried to fight back, but we had them clutched as jaguars onto helpless lambs.

“Stay put and quiet! There’s no point in resisting.” In realization of their capture, both reluctantly calmed down, their hands loosening their grips on our arms.

 “You’re our prisoners now, and the more you cooperate the better it’ll turn out for ya. ‘Derstood?” They made a soft mpphhh under our hands and nodded their assent.

“Now, I want ya to drop your weapons,” I said. As expected, I heard two objects fall to the ground.

“Good. Now give us your scarves.” They grunted in response.

“Come on!” They undid the knot around their necks with ease and handed them to us. I made a wad with the scarf and held it in front of Scott’s face.  “Okay. I’m gonna take my hand off your mouth, but don’t you dare make a sound.”

“Open up,” I ordered and as soon as he did, I unceremoniously forced the blue bundle beyond his teeth and on his tongue, smothering any complains he might have thought of directing to us. As a temporary solution, I held it in place with my hand, but not for long; there was still another surprise.

“Raise your arms,” Collin said. They complied and we yanked their t-shirts off, which we then used to secure the scarves in place: each one was folded and pressed against their stuffed mouths, tying the ends at the back of their heads with much tightness, producing a neat but effective cleave-gag. After ensuring their silence, we continued to ensure their stillness. Collin and I snatched the coils of rope from the boyscouts’s pockets: soft white cotton. Since there was no need to order them to turn around, I grasped Scott’s wrists, positioning palm to palm, and tied them very securely: first, rope around each hand; then I wrapped several loops more – tightening every turn - around both, cinched vertically in between the wrists and finally knotted it off where he couldn’t work it with his fingers. Additionally, a long piece of cord was wrapped around his bare chest, thus bringing his already bound arms closer to the body.

Collin then subdued Gus likewise. As always, the ropes were snug and firm, yet they didn’t cut off circulation or produced any pain.

We spun them around.

“Comfortable?” Vainly, and to much of our delight, they tested their bonds by squirming and fighting against them, only to confirm what they and we already knew: getting loose without help was unattainable! We weren’t completely satisfied though. Looking forward to seeing them wiggling just about so they know how helpless they were, we decided with a quick look at each other to further immobilize our new prisoners.

“Okay,” said Collin, “lie down over there, on your stomach.” They reluctantly obeyed and we tied their ankles crossed in a similar manner as the hands, and using a second rope lashed them to the wrists. Now they writhed within the constraints of a very strict hogtie, their fingertips almost touching their heels. We stepped back to admire our handiwork, which we congratulated each other for and judged pretty neat and skillful, since all our prisoners could do was barely flex fingers and whimper pathetically under their gags. We stared at them for a while as they mmphhhed for mercy at us and rocked on their bellies on the sandy clearing.

“We’re gonna to let you think about your situation while we decide what to do with you. Don’t go anywhere!” I laughed at the last phrase and then stepped back along with Collin to avoid being heard.

“So, what do you think we should do?” I asked Collin.

“I think we should just ask them about how they found out our plans,” he said matter-of-fact. I gave him a puzzled look. “Haha! Just kidding! Let’s tickle the crap outta them!”

A broad wicked grin took over my lower face.

We returned to find Gus and Scott the same way we had left them, only sweatier; they had been mightily trying to get some slack on the ropes during our absence, and getting none, caked their arms and chests with dirt. Scott was particularly engaged in an intense writhing as drops of sweat ran down his reddened face from his spiked brown hair.

I sighed. “Don’t you get it? You can’t escape! Calm down or - I tell you this from personal experience - you’ll get some nasty rope burns,” I said. Soon they gave up and rested their heads on the ground, breathing heavily through their nostrils.

I decided to release their gags - they were already drooling from them –, though not without beforehand assuring them that even the mere  attempt of crying for help would be punished severely. They spat the scarves out on my hand and remained quiet, glad to give their aching jaws some relief.

Collin squatted in front of the hogtied boys.

“Ok. This is it: how did Mike find out where we were going to?” he asked with a friendly tone, pausing between each word to give it meaning.

The boyscouts looked at themselves and said nothing in response, a defiant expression on their faces.

Therefore, I barged in with the bad-cop attitude, “We can do this the easy or the hard way; either way we’re getting what we want. You decide.”

I already knew they wouldn’t give in that easy. Teenage pride, male predisposition to tough show-offs, loyalty to the tribe, all those played a role. But perhaps, even though they would never admit it, because they also wanted to know what we had in store for them.

“You’d better put the gag back on because there’s nothing that’ll make me talk,” said Scott. “Me neither!” Gus nodded.

“We’ll see that,” I said and inserted the scarves while they willingly opened their mouths; I used the same t-shirts to hold them in, and in no time they could do no more than grunts, as requested. Stupidly stubborn brats.

“Oh, wait, I think I made a mistake. I swapped the soggy scarves each one had inside your mouths, but you don’t mind, do you?” Gus and Scott showed the worst signs of disgust and glared with mad eyes over their cleave-gags.

“Too late. Sorry!” I said with a shrug and Collin burst out laughing, which only produced more grunting from our prisoners.

Next, we undid their hogties and dragged them to the tree they had been under. We sat them side to side and dragged them towards the trunk so their bare backs leaned against it it. The rope around the chest was removed; their hands were untied and retied in the same fashion in front. Using a long coil, Collin bound the boys’s wrists together and threw the rope over a branch, pulling until their armpits were completely exposed. Gus and Scott started to mew, apprehensive.

After rummaging in the inside of one of the bags, we found a couple of stakes, a toothbrush and a feather. Interesting. We stretched their legs out; with the aid of a rock, one stake was driven in the ground near Gus’s bound feet and another next-to Scott’s, and we lashed their feet to them. Finally, we removed their shoes and socks. There they sat, vulnerably bound at our mercy: ribs, bellies, armpits and soles waiting to be tickled for information. The look on their faces was priceless.

Without notice, I launched a reckless tickling spree on Scott’s body, beginning by the sides. He jumped in surprise and tried bringing his arms down but it was too late. The more I wiggled and brushed my fingers against his taut skin, the more poor Scotty thrashed and laughed hysterically.

He went absolutely berserk.  “MMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPHHHHHHHFFFF!” I could almost hear him say ‘stop’, but his gag did the job. He desperately tried to lose himself, but all his efforts only made him lower his resistance to endure my attacks. I went up under his arms where he showed to be even more ticklish, and when I got down to his feet, oh boy, he almost fainted. Gradually I took control over Scott’s body by tweaking the right spot to increase intensity. I carried on like that for three, four-and-a-half minutes, only as a demonstration of what would come.

Gus, who had been spared of the treatment, watched his friend’s predicament very noticeably anxious. Who can take the torture of a buddy right next to you knowing you’ll get the same treatment minutes later?

 Abruptly, I stopped. Scott, exhausted and panting, remained still to regain strength for a second round.

“So, Gus,” I said, “this is just the tip of the iceberg. Consider this chance. Maybe you’ll be smart enough this time and change your mind before we go on.”

Actually, it was very kind of us; it was not common for prisoners receiving alternatives or any kind of offers for that matter. Captors would normally savagely tickle the information out of them when they were on verge of peeing themselves!

Gus gulped, and for a second I saw a trace of fear in his eyes - that he would give up - but Gus turned to Scott who shook his head no, and that was enough to convince him to refuse our advice.

“Very well. This will show you not to turn kind offers down!”

I picked the toothbrush while Collin chose the feather and approached our captives menacingly. Collin was to torture Scott and I was to work on Gus, since I held a receipt for him (due to the ‘breakfast’ episode). Both boy’s eyes widened in terror as we got closer, tightening their muscles in anticipation; and we were hardly an inch away when we heard footsteps behind us.

“Shit!” We dropped the feather and toothbrush to fetch the pistols, hid hastily behind the tree and waited. I thought we were going to be caught and was already imagining all kinds of terrible punishments. Immense was our surprise and joy, for we were expecting Klaus and Doug to return, when nobody less than Phil emerged from the woods, accompanied by a bound and gagged Dan!

“Hey Nick! Collin! Is that you guys?” Phil called.

Having noticed a team member, we stepped out. You could tell Dan wasn’t happy at all; he struggled and mmphed while Phil pushed him rather roughly around.

Phil captured Dan, but why?! – he’s on our team!

As soon as the slim blond boy saw us, his look changed.

“God!” he said pointing our shorts, “where the hell have you guys been?” I looked down and saw my lower body covered in sloppy mud, still not entirely dry. Funny enough, we had only become aware of it now, since we were so busy hunting and tying boys down to notice such a thing. We broke into a general laughter and quickly filled Phil in with the details. We also updated him on the disclosure of our plans to the enemy.

“Yes, there is a traitor,” Phil said with severity, “it’s Dan.” He and pushed the auburn haired kid who stumbled forwards.

“WHAT? What happened?!” I gaped at Phil, bewildered, and then at the twin, duct tape around his wrists, arms and mouth, who was restless and whimpering mightily under his gag. “

“Oh shut up, you coward!” Phil kicked him in the shins and Dan shrieked. “When we were alone deep in the forest, this… viper tried to take me from behind; we wrestled and he had the upper hand in the beginning, but I managed to take out my gun and shoot him…” Phil put a finger on his chest.

“Oh my…” I almost couldn’t believe it.

“So he surrendered by the rules?” Collin asked, inspecting Dan who was protesting a great deal under several layers of silver.

“Sorta,” said Phil, “I still had some trouble taping him up.”

Those damn boyscouts, would they ever play fair and square?

My eyes lit in anger. We almost got caught because of this traitor. “You’re a lucky bastard I wasn’t the one you tried to take, or else I would’ve left you tied under a beehive!”

“You interrogate him yet?” Collin asked as we both removed our shorts with the purpose of washing them in the creek or changing clothes at our base.

“No, no time for that. I had to come and warn you guys. We’ll have plenty of time for interrogation once we take’em all, including those two over there,” he pointed at Gus and Scott bound under the tree, “to our base. Tyler and Chris’ll take care of them while we go tell Adrian and Adam… that is, if they haven’t been already captured. I wanna get to the end of this too, but now we have to act fast,” concluded Phil and helped us untie our prisoners from the trees.

Quick and dirty, for the scouts could return any moment now, we then secured their wrists behind their backs with tape and attached them to their waists using several rounds. We removed the gags, gave them some water, and plastered their lips shut.

So they could walk more comfortably, we put their shoes on them and we were about to set off when Phil, out of the blue, said,
“Wait a second… how do we know Collin isn’t a traitor just like Dan?”

“What are you talking about? Of course he’s not!” I chuckled.
 
“How can you be so sure about it?”

“Duh! Because if he was he would’ve done like Dan – he would’ve tried to capture me when we were alone! And he didn’t!”

“Yet! He hasn’t tried yet!” added Phil, paranoid, “Plus, he was freaking out earlier this morning so Mike take him in their group again. I think he’d do anything to win Mike’s trust, even becoming a traitor.”

Well, he had a point there. I couldn’t draw hasty conclusions but if Dan, a boyscout, turned against us, then logically Collin would do what’s best for them; if pushed, Collin was very likely to betray us, or if captured, easily give our whereabouts and strategies away.

 “I’m just saying that we should tie him up too, until he proves he’s on our side.”

Collin gasped. “What?! I’m not a traitor!” He cried in outrage.

“Can you prove you’re not?”

“What?! No no no, can you prove I am?”

“See, he’s avoiding to answer,” Phil stated. I wasn’t versed yet in the subtleties of sophism, so I saw this as a good argument against Collin.

“Huh?! I’m not a traitor!” Collin shrieked, frustrated.

 I slowly turned to the light-haired boy. I didn’t want risk losing the game.

“Collin, I…”

“Come on, Nick! Are you going to believe that load of crap?!” he replied in panic. I lowered my head.

“Now,” Phil ordered, “put your hands behind your back.”

“Nick!”

“I’m so sorry, Collin.” Then I shot him on the chest, the cold water expanding on his t-shirt.

Within seconds, we had him trussed up and gagged like the others. Then we set off the way we had come. We lead the four boys so they didn’t trip or fall until, and after a long quiet stroll during which Dan didn’t stop grunting, despite Phil’s severe threats, we arrived at our base, the main clearing.

It was unusually quiet.

“Hmmm, this is weird,” I said. “No sign of Tyler of Chris.”

“Let’s wait for a couple of minutes. They should be around here,” Phil said. I helped Gus, Scott, Dan and Collin down on a log, in a row.

That’s when I saw it – there on Dan’s back.

“Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“You told me Dan first tried to take you down but then you shot him on the chest, right?”

“That’s how it happened!” he said airily.

“After struggling on ground?” I looked at the filthy floor.

“Uh-huh. He put up a great fight, though. I have to admit it.”

I turned around and faced him. “Then how come the patch of water is on Dan’s back and your shirt is so white and clean?!” I snapped.

Dan mewed in his gag, mightily swinging his head up and down, confirming my suspicions.

Phil turned pale. He knew I knew. It was impossible to wrestle here and keep an immaculate shirt, and that patch was a proof that Phil shot Dan from behind when he had no chance of defending himself.

“Nice job, Sherlock,” Phil chuckled.

At the same time, Klaus, Doug, and Rob showed up bringing with them two bound and gagged prisoners: our buddies Tyler and Chris. Phil didn’t say a word in response; he looked triumphantly at me and slowly raised his water pistol. I had no time to react.

“Too bad you didn’t figure it out earlier, Nick. Now you’re trapped. Drop your gun and put your hands where I can see’em.”

“Why did you do it, Phil?! Why?!” I yelled at him.

“Because I didn’t wanna lose – again.” He smiled.

“You poor bastard. You are so dead. When we get our hands on you…”

“The gun. Now!” he barked. With a feeling of impending doom, I reached inside my pocket, took it out, and threw it at Phil’s feet. He started walking in my direction.

Goddamnit. Why did I have to say it out loud? Why couldn’t I just attack him or run away? But no. Instead I was: ‘Look how smart I am! I figured it all out and have to announce it to the whole world! Bring the cameras, cable TV!’. I sighed. I’m such an asshole, I looked like one of those corny Scooby Doo wannabe detectives.
 
Phil produced a long coil of rope from his pocket. He reached behind me, and I was already feeling the first loops around my wrists when all of a sudden Dan and Collin tackled Phil to the ground! Using the sheer weight of their bound bodies, they smashed against him in a joint attack!

I stared at them, jaw open, not sure if I wasn’t in some Hollywood movie.

“MMMMMMMMMMMPHHHHFF!”

I snapped back to reality, blurred figures shrieking at me from the ground through their gags, as though saying, “RUN, YOU MORON, DON’T JUST STAND THERE!!!!”
 
I actually had to kick my legs out of shock before I bolted towards the forest, running as desperately and fast as the adrenaline boost could propel me, leaving my captive friends behind. I heard orders being shouted and a rush of footsteps. Fortunately, I wasn’t too worried they’d caught up. False modesty aside, I was the best middle and long-distance runner probably in all school.

Smoothly diving under branches and making my way through the dense vegetation, changing direction twice, I soon lost them.

I have to act – and fast.

Still running, I muttered, “I have to warn Adrian,” and turned north.

My mind was racing and in no time I realized the dilemma. What if there’s more than one traitor? What if Phil was just making cover for the big strike?

What if Adrian is involved in this too?!