Dangerous Love (ONC 2019 - LGBTQ)

4. The Camp

☆ Dedicated to MoonLoop and her story "Turned" - a bitingly gruesome vampire story for the ONC 2019 ☆

Neither Miller nor Werner was surprised to learn when they returned to the station, that no-one matching Harlan Quinn's description had boarded the shuttle to Syden. Miller updated the alert she'd sent to other police stations around Belus with the information they'd gained about Quinn from Patrick Morgan, but she was almost certain he wouldn't be turning up in Syden, or any other major town, any time soon.

Belus was a relatively young planet, settlement-wise. Covered with dense native forest, bisected by wide rivers and two medium-sized oceans, it was a wilderness lover's paradise. The capital, Syden, though impressive by local standards, would barely have made the grade as a suburb on some of the more settled planets. There was a single space station above Syden, catering primarily to adventure tourists rather than traders, though there was always a market for luxury wooden goods on other, more barren, worlds.

Being an ex-Patrol officer, Miller expected that Quinn would be an expert in survival, whether he was out in space or the wilds of Belus. Unfortunately, she had no way of tracking him if he stayed out of sight. He'd already gotten rid of his Patrol-issued wristcom, and although he was likely to have acquired a disposable one, she was unable to discover its identity as he hadn't used his account to make payment.

She wondered if—or more hopefully, when—he was intending to meet up with his lover, Morgan. Reminded, she glanced at her wristcom. Yes, there was Morgan, or at least, his wristcom, and judging by the direction and speed he was travelling, he was inside a shuttle on the way to the small town of Cascade in the northern hemisphere. She programmed her device to alert her when he landed. He was her best lead, so far.

Oblivious to all this, Patrick was fully occupied with his new tour group. He'd met them at Cascade's small space port, full of apologies for his tardiness, and now they were ten kay into the rainforest, setting up camp for the first night.

He helped the Jons family finish putting up their tent, and then cast a professional eye over the campsite. Four tents stood in a rough circle around the campfire (yet to be lit) and the hygiene unit was set at a suitable distance between two trees. Technically, a back-to-nature tour should have dug pits into the ground but most of his customers thought that was taking things too far.

This particular group was more mixed than usual, with the Jons family of four on a family holiday, an older couple of two women who were experienced hikers, and two brothers, seventeen and eighteen, who were first-timers—hoping for an adventure. On the face of it, not the most compatible of groups, but a few days together in the wilderness was likely to forge some bonds.

"Katy and Pieter, would you like to light the fire tonight?" he called across to the Jons children, ignoring the slightly crestfallen expressions from Georg and Rik, the two young men. They could be in charge of the fire the next evening. Patrick always did most of the work himself on the first night, making sure that everything was set up properly, but he'd be dishing out the chores tomorrow.

Soon the entire group was sitting around the fire, toasting slices of bread on the ends of sticks, a custom that Patrick had read about in an old Earth history. It was always a popular activity, whatever age the participants.

"What else can we toast?" asked Georg, digging around in his carisak.

"Tomorrow, we'll keep an eye out for a bana palm tree," answered Patrick. "They grow wild in this area. Good on the fire if you toast them with their skins on."

"Hot!" said Georg eagerly, his eyes lighting up.

"And when we reach the river, I'll show you how to trap fish, if you like," continued Patrick, enjoying the boy's enthusiasm. "We can wrap them in palm leaves and bake them in the coals."

"Real fish? We won't actually have to eat them though, will we?" asked Serra Jons with a look of horrified dismay.

The two older women exchanged amused glances.

"No of course not," Patrick hastened to assure her. "Not if you really don't want to. But they are very tasty, I assure you. Well worth a try." It was true that he had a lot of packaged rations, but one of the advertised features of the trip was the promise of hunting and gathering their own food. He couldn't help wondering why Serra Jons had chosen to come on this type of holiday in the first place, but most likely the rest of the family had persuaded her.

"Right, just a reminder that we'll be up at dawn tomorrow for an early start to take advantage of the daylight," announced Patrick, "so can I suggest that everyone might like to think about turning in for the night? I'm afraid I'll have to put the fire out shortly for reasons of safety, but there'll be a light attached to the hygiene unit which will stay on all night."

It took another hour before everyone was settled in their tents for the night, and Patrick could still hear Serra Jons complaining faintly to her husband about the narrow camp beds, but eventually he felt it was safe to retire into his own tent. He usually slept lightly during the first night of a tour, one ear alert for any sounds of trouble, but an hour later a totally unexpected sound woke him. In a flash, he was sitting bolt upright, his heart thumping as he reached for his boots.

Someone was screaming.