by Glenn Ball
She remembered the first time her young curiosity about their private parts had been satisfied. A number of times as a girl she had seen their thing and couldn’t understand why it was so different from her own. Then when she experienced it inside of her it had begun to make sense. She didn’t like it.
…Because she did. Doña Zen had told her she would be a prostitute, and against her will she had become one. And she didn’t like the fact that she liked that ugly thing inside of her.
She could almost feel it inside of her as her eyes shut completely. She could imagine it going in and out.
Over the years she had grown accustomed to what had seemed so strange at first, and she knew that she liked it. She liked it inside of her any way that she could get it. And that infuriated her, because she never had the choice of the man that put it there.
So many it had sickened her. The majority of them were brutes. She would end up bruised inside and out. It seemed there was no part of her that had not felt battered.
But there were times when a man was satisfying. She would actually feel wanted…almost loved. Those experiences were the worst. As great as they were, she would never see the man again, and the inner pain of the loss she felt…the betrayal…was more than she could bear.
The hand disappeared. Her eyes shot open. They were turning. Now they were on some farm road lined by pine trees.
She felt a chill…an empty space inside of her. It was an inner space, a sort of shrine that she used to keep for Antonio, The One; the man she had put all her hopes in. She had loved him and felt that he loved her in his own peculiar way. But that idol had been shattered, the chapel left empty. More than any man he had hurt her. He made her do things with other men to make money for him. He had kept her against her will as a slave. He had at times beaten her, threatened her, and then made her watch her friends die torturous deaths. His betrayal of her love hurt the deepest of all.
Again, she felt a hand on her thigh.
Her mind had drifted. Her eyes caught Joe’s looking at her in the mirror. He was obviously very attracted to her. In spite of everything inside of her rebelling against his sexual tyranny, she could not help wondering what he would be like. How would it feel to have his arms around her? How would he feel inside of her? Did she want to let him in?
She felt the hand move along her leg. Reality struck her hard. It was the bald one, the ugly one, the other one who had his hand on her this time. She would not be able to escape relations with Buck if she let Joe have his way with her.
Oak trees stood on both sides of the road. They were undoubtedly getting close. “We should be there in just a few minutes Buck.”
“A few minutes…” All the horrors of forced relations came flooding back through her mind; all the times she swore to herself that she would somehow escape all this, and when she did, she would never let it happen again; never. The resolve welled up from deep inside of her. If she was ever going to enjoy a man in that way again it would be with a man that loved her for who she is. It would not be with a man that was merely out to use her. She would escape these two somehow.
The farm road was crowded by the trees, as if they hovered over the road hoping to watch. They were like an antagonistic crowd with their arms out, ready to get a piece of the action. She could feel the tension in Joe’s and Buck’s legs pressing up against her on both sides, the heated anticipation reaching a fevered pitch in both of them.
Joe turned off the farm road onto what seemed like a driveway. It was a lonely little worn patch of grass that snaked through an opening in some trees hiding it from the farm road. The truck stopped.
********
The rattling sound behind Susanna was getting louder. She was too close, and the snake was about to strike.
In her rush to get back to boil the water she had walked right into a thick grassy area. She’d had her walking stick but had not used it properly, and now she was paying the price. There was no telling how many rattlesnakes surrounded her in this grassy area. Apparently, they had been attracted by the shade and the field mice and frogs that wandered there.
Susanna had been well-trained by her father Sky in all things outdoors. That included how to deal with poisonous snakes. She had failed the first lesson, which was to avoid them whenever possible. “Stay away from their habitats and use a walking stick to make extra vibrating noise on the path in front of you to alert the snakes of your presence,” he used to say.
Having failed in the first lesson it was time to move on to lesson two. She would use the walking stick she’d made to get her out of this mess, and even turn her misfortune into a meal. The stick she’d made for walking she had sharpened into a spear on one end, giving her some protection from bears and other wild animals, as well as a way to kill small game. The other end was forked. That was the end she aimed.
The snake reared its head, but she moved swiftly back out of its range. It was nevertheless too angry to let her go and ducked its head to slither rapidly toward her. Her stick was poised for the attack and thrusting it down she skillfully trapped its head in the forked end.
The snake was furious, wriggling to break free. Susanna was fast, and before the snake knew what was happening, she had grabbed its backside. Pulling its head close to the “y” in the stick it could no longer threaten to strike her. With her foot firmly on the snake’s back she took her knife from its sheath and cut its head off.
After throwing the wriggling body of the snake into a part of her hammock that would not soil the fish, she carefully picked up the snake head from the ground with her knife, letting the blood drain out of it. Then she put it in a small Tupperware container she had in her backpack. The last thing she would normally due was to carry a lethal rattlesnake head around with her, but there were killers out to get them and it might come in handy.
Using her walking stick she made it out of the grassy area without further incident. Once again in more cheerful spirits she walked lively to the cave, armed with her trophies.
It was just a matter of minutes and she was at the entrance. Pedro was still asleep. Peering around with her flashlight she put the hammock down, then her backpack. He stirred slightly, and she spoke in a loud but pleasant voice, “Time to get up Pedro. We need to get the fire going again so we can have some more tea and breakfast.”
He stirred a little more and then rolled over on his back to look at her. His eyes were full of sleep, the lids hanging groggily. He looked more confused than she had been when she had awakened. Slowly his eyes began to adjust and the cloudiness over his face to dissipate. It was all coming back to him as it had to her as she could tell by the depressed countenance.
“Cheer up. I caught some fish we can share and a large rattlesnake for lunch. I also brought back more water.”
He barely mumbled in response, though his face flashed the glint of a smile.
“Speaking of the rattlesnake…be careful if you get into my backpack for anything. I kept the head of the snake in a container in the side pocket of my backpack. It’s safe if you don’t open the container. It could be useful in defending us against the death squad that is after us.”
“Wow, you’ve been busy!” His voice sounded scratchy.
“You bet. And there’s still a lot to do. We need to get more wood and kindling to get this fire going again, boil the water, and cook the fish. We should round up some plants for our vegetables to balance out the meal too. Then I need to prepare this rattlesnake for smoking so we can have it for later.
“We also need to decide what our plan of action is going to be. Do we move on deeper into the wilderness, make our way to the next town over, or hide out here till it seems safe to return to my house?”
Pedro squinted and cringed as if his head was swimming.
“I’m sorry. I know you just woke up. Let’s just focus on getting firewood for the moment. We can talk about the rest as we get food in our stomachs.”
********
He turned the key, killing the engine.
It was an ominous sound…the silence. The motor stopped…dead…her heart stopped. She could hear the accelerated breathing. The adrenaline pumped their every movement, testosterone oozing from their pores. She could smell their heat, their desperate sexual drive to consume her.
“Get the bed ready and I’ll bring her back there in a minute.” Joe’s voice strained with sexual agitation.
Buck wasted no time. He was out in an instant, eager to have his chance. She could feel the truck sink to its haunches as Buck landed in its bed having hopped over the side. Boxes fell with a crash behind her as he yanked out a sleeping bag throwing it out on the truck bed.
Joe also wasted no time. He was zipping down his pants, exposing an already firm private part ready for action.
“Swallow it,” he commanded. His voice was gruff, unattractive. She again wondered how she could have been attracted to this bully.
He snatched her hair in his hand, and with a fist of it pushed her down toward his awaiting part.
She was prepared for the moment. There was nothing new to her about being violently abused. Her mind was sharp, her hands steady for action. As he pushed her down her right hand reached up; finding the key still in the ignition she turned it. At that same moment she pushed his right leg into the accelerator. He had not noticed she had already put the gear shift in drive, anticipating the moment.
The truck lurched forward violently, uncontrollably slamming into a tree. Buck had fallen off the back of the truck and was on the ground screaming and cursing in pain. Joe, whose head jerked back as the truck lunged forward had been knocked unconscious when his head banged into the steering wheel at the moment of collision.
Alicia snatched the keys and ran into the woods. A hundred yards out she tossed them into some thick shrubs.
Following the direction from which they had come, she ran with the farm road some fifty yards off to her left. She was headed for the highway. The trees were alive with insects buzzing, the breath of a rhythmic orchestra in off-chord harmony with her every step. There was a sharp “kerplack” of a branch snapping some hundred yards behind her. Her cocktail dress already frazzled, hardly more than shreds of nearly transparent silk, snagged on the branch of a small tree. It ripped as she pulled it free, the cold wet fabric hugging her skin like a shroud. Everything beautiful torn to shreds…would she ever succeed in escaping the prostitution and violence? The terror of her predicament was magnified by the rebounding nightmare that she seemed destined to be unable to escape. Déjà vu waited for her with open arms like the Santa Muerte.
********
A day had passed. The fish and snake from the day before had helped to restore their strength somewhat. Susanna felt a little better on her walk to the brook. The morning was again fresh and clear, with not a cloud in the sky.
As she approached the grassy area with the rattlesnakes, she made a detour, being sure to skirt around it. When she came upon the rabbit snare she was struck with a sad sight, yet it brought a smile to her face after the pathos for the dead rabbit passed.
Continuing on she gathered water and caught two more fish. “This could become a daily routine,” she mused. In spite of their misfortunes she was feeling a little uplifted in spirit at having plenty of food and water.
The previous morning, they had been able to get the fire going again without any difficulty. After a good breakfast they had discussed their options and had both agreed that it would behoove them to remain where they were while recovering their strength. After that they would follow the trail toward the next town and if they discovered any traces of the death squad they would head deeper into the wilderness.
The idea suited her. She had not realized how much she had missed being out in the wild.
After cleaning her catches of the day, she started back, trophies in hand. She could not wait to see Pedro’s reaction at their good fortune.
After she passed the grassy patch the hair on her skin stood on end. She felt another presence; something threatening. She wondered if maybe it was another snake. She quickly ruled out the probability of a rattlesnake. She had been faithfully using her walking stick this time, and the presence felt bigger. It was more like something was stalking her.
Her mind ran through the possibilities. There weren’t many. It could be a bear, though bears rarely pursue humans. It could be a cougar. That was much more likely, though she thought she detected shadows moving simultaneously on more than one side of her. “More likely wolves…” she thought out loud “…or men.”
Her pace quickened. Her senses sharpened, observing every movement, every shadow of every rock and tree. If she was being stalked, she would discover who or what was doing the stalking. If it came down to playing cat and mouse, she would be Jerry getting the best of Tom.
The woods were still. It was as if all the animals held their breath, all the insects had gone on strike and the birds had flown away. Even the trees and other plants held their silence. The hush had an evil feel to it.
Yet alert as she was, she could detect no other creature following her. She decided to make a break for it. It might flush them out. And if she had somehow lost them, she would have a better chance of getting back to the cave undetected. Running gingerly, she made good time getting back to the cave without mishap or any more shadows.
With one cautious glimpse behind her she crept into the hidden cave entrance where she had left Pedro sleeping as on the day before. Eager to show him her trophy catches of the day her jaw dropped. Pedro was not there.
CHAPTER 28
Out of the Pit
Adam laid with his eyes closed, helpless and alone, buried in a nest of human vipers.
A song from U2 came to his mind:
“I waited patiently for the Lord
He inclined and heard my cry
He brought me up out of the pit,
Out of the miry clay
He set my feet upon a rock
And made my footsteps firm
Many will see, many will see and fear.
I will sing, sing a new song.”
The experience of singing “40” in the audience at one of their concerts had haunted his memory for years. At the time he could not understand why they left the stage with the audience still singing. Even now in the deepest pit the unexplainable presence he had felt at the time filled him once again with hope.
There were footsteps. He opened his eyes. The two men stood over him with a third man.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Acting as if he did not understand the Arabic he waited as the interpreter restated the question in Spanish.
“Ah, you speak Spanish!” He responded with an air of tremendous relief, rattling off his dire need of a bathroom, and how he’d been lost looking for one when they dragged him right where he needed to go, but wouldn’t let him use the toilet. If they didn’t let him soon, he would pee all over himself.
As the interpreter did his best to repeat Adam’s story, Valencia could see the two other men losing their patience. He could see in their eyes the anger at having waisted time on something so petty as one of their guests looking for a bathroom.
Bending down one of them freed his hands from the pipe, while the other spoke to the interpreter, holding his eyes with an intimidating gaze. “Take him below to the Mexicans, but don’t let him go till you confirm he is one of them.”
“It will be done as you say,” responded the interpreter.
After the two had turned to go Adam could hear the interpreter mutter in Pashto under his breath, “Who else could he be?”
The interpreter then turned to Valencia with a pistol pointed at him. “Do your business quickly.”
********
After leaving the bathroom the interpreter kept step behind Adam, directing him only when necessary. After a few minutes a hum of voices reverberated below them. As the sound of Spanish words became distinguishable, Valencia prepared to make his move. The hallway opened up into a large space packed with Mexicans. It se
emed like there were hundreds of them standing about busily distracted in their conversations. His adept mind automatically took an accurate estimate; it was an unthinking habit. There were thirty-two.
The interpreter was a few steps behind him as Valencia Dominguez stepped into the crowded room. Bending over as he passed among the outer men Adam pulled a hidden turban over his head, dropping the black outer garment from it that covered his entire wardrobe. It all happened so fast that his interpreter on entering the room to announce his captive had completely lost sight of him.
“Hey, I am returning one of your men to you that was lost in our hallways.” Though he spoke in Spanish, none seemed to be too interested in his comments, not even halting their conversations. “Hey, did you hear me?” he shouted. “I need to make sure he is really one of your men.”
The conversations all stopped for a second, as if the room held its breath. Sixty-six eyes turned toward the interpreter. None were friendly. They did not like interlopers. It was bad enough that they had had to come to the other side of the planet in doing their master’s bidding, but to be treated like goats being herded into this tiny underground room had highly offended each and every one of them. And now the audacity of this man to shout at them, demanding that they halt their conversations; this man, the only one they had heard speak their language…they could hardly have been more offended.
But they were Mexican, and in spite of being criminals they were respectful enough to acknowledge his thoughtless interruption with a curt nod of the head. It was a way of saying, “We heard you,” without having to stoop to gratifying his rudeness with a truthful response. He mistook the nods for a “Yes” and was gone again.
The conversations resumed all over the room as if they had not been interrupted. Adam shuffled through the crowd unnoticed. Now dressed as one of the terrorists he was confident they would not challenge his identity.
When he was just three steps from the door of another hallway a huge Mexican stopped him, blocking him from leaving the room. Adam apologized in Arabic for bumping into the man, trying to show by the look on his face that he was not looking for trouble. The man glared for a moment. Turning to two other men who were blocking the coveted exit, he voiced his discontent at their mistreatment.