EDITING AND COMPLETING! || Three sexy hunks on the run in the South Pacific islands. Kidnapped scientists, pirates, cannibals, an island lost in time, and the wrath of ancient gods are only a few of the obstacles plaguing their every move. But thes...
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PHOTO above - tribal boy with scarification
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"Death?"
Clint stood there on the rocks in astonishment. His voice hardened with sudden anger. "For using the pool? Are these guys nuts or what? They gotta be kidding."
"Cool it," Brad hissed at him. "They're primitive warriors. Like from back in the Stone Age."
"Headhunters too," Jimmy added. "Look at the skulls and shrunken heads they're carrying."
The men stood there in their outlandish tribal regalia looking as tough and mean as a pack of ghouls. But Clint wasn't convinced of the seriousness of the situation. He rolled his eyes at Brad and Jimmy and let out an exasperated sigh. For him, it just didn't jive.
"Aw, come on, fellas, this is the middle of the twentieth century."
"Right," Jimmy gritted impatiently. "And this is also the middle of the New Guinea jungle!"
Clint scowled, stepping back as the natives moved in closer. "But we were just in Rabaul, a modern city not fifty miles away."
"Calm the fuck down," Brad told him.
"Right," Jimmy whispered. "Don't give 'em a hard time. It'll just make things worse. My grandfather was a tribesman - the king. He probably was a headhunter, too. This is New Guinea, Clint. The world's last frontier ..."
His words choked off as the men moved in around them, two of them approaching each one of the boys. The Wambutu grabbed them by the arms and coaxed and pulled them off the rocks toward the jungle. The boys couldn't help but resist and it angered the native men. They shouted and cried out, and prodded the boys with rifle butts and spears.
The men holding Brad were so strong that their grip was hurting him. He watched as Clint struggled against his captors, and he nerved himself not to fight the two muscling him along. They were big and strong and he knew it'd be futile to resist.
The warriors stunk of sweat, and the oily paint that covered their faces and hair was strong and pungent. Their bizarre collection of primitive and modern weapons, and the smoking skulls and shrunken heads they carried, finished off the wild man picture they fit so well. Brad kept trying to tell himself this was just some kind of mistake, a bullying threat because the men were mad at them. But it was, in truth, so sinister that it was difficult for him to believe it was really happening.
Clint's anger diminished somewhat by the time they were being herded through the swamp and led down a path through the jungle growth. The native men chattered in passionate dramatic talk, as if they'd just done something eventful, heroic, something far more earth-shattering than abducting three boys who'd been swimming in a pond.
"Well, so much for the Garden of Eden," Brad gibed with angry sarcasm. He let out a long sustained breath and forced a grin. "I doubt that Adam and Eve had to worry about this kind of crap. "
