by Matt Rogers
‘You grew up there?’
‘Yes.’
‘You sound … good. Ruby, you sound good.’
‘Thank you, I guess?’
‘You’re holding yourself together.’
‘I’m scared.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Like … in this place?
‘In Colombia.’
‘Seeing the world.’
‘I didn’t run into you in town.’
‘I just got here.’
That was when her voice wavered. It was a soft voice, drenched in monotony, but the calmness was wholly enforced. When Ruby finished her sentence she sobbed, but it was a sob like nothing Casey had ever heard before. Nihilistic and forlorn and broken. The reality of the situation was dawning on her. Casey couldn’t let that happen. Because then she would crack. She was trying to leech off the falsified strength Ruby was showing, and when she found nothing there she would break too.
They seemed to both know they were holding onto nothing.
But if they could both partake in the illusion, it might get them through the rest of their short lives with their sanity intact.
‘Relax,’ Casey said. ‘Breathe. How long ago did you get here?’
‘I just walked into town. This afternoon. I went to check into the backpackers’ and they snatched me there.’
‘How’d they do it?’
‘Drove up next to me and acted friendly. Then told me to get in. Then I looked around for help and there was no-one there. And I think I started realising … oh God … how badly I’d fucked up.’
‘Did you know the dangers? Before you came here?’
‘I guess.’
‘Didn’t think about it?’
‘No.’
‘Me either.’
‘You with anyone?’
‘Friends.’
‘How many?’
‘Three.’
‘Where?’
‘Out there, somewhere.’
‘What’s happening to them?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you want to?’
‘Probably not.’
They sat there in the dark, stewing on their circumstances, unaware of what their companion looked like.
Then Casey said, ‘I think it might be my fault you got taken.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘We fucked up. We made a bad call at the bar, and now they’re punishing us for it. I think when they realised how easy it was to snatch tourists they might have got addicted to it. Just for one day. You know? Make hay while the sun shines. Because they won’t be able to do things like this forever.’
‘So what does that mean?’ Ruby said. ‘Does it mean that…?’
‘I don’t know. Don’t think about it. Besides, there’s a chance…’
‘A chance of what?’ Ruby spat, contemptuous, distrusting.
‘I don’t know … I met this guy.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘No … no … my boyfriend’s out there somewhere.’
‘You don’t seem too concerned.’
‘I’m just trying not to think about… look, this guy. He might come.’
‘Who is he?’
‘I don’t know. He’s American. He lives around here.’
In the darkness, Casey sensed Ruby stiffen. ‘What if he just adds to all this? What if he joins in?’
‘He won’t.’
‘You said he lives around here.’
‘But he’s different.’
‘Different how?’
Casey said, ‘Just different.’
26
Slater hadn’t felt this detached from civilisation in a long time.
An impressive feat, considering the last year of his life had seen visits to the Yemeni highlands and the barren corners of the Russian Far East.
But there was something palpable about the untouched jungle, especially at night. It lay in the unknown, in the impenetrable murky gloom that encompassed everything outside the range of his own headlights. Which was almost all of it.
The jeep’s frame shuddered all around him, turning Bautista pale as a sheet from the pain of his wounds being disturbed. He proved no threat whatsoever. He barely even looked at the AR-15 resting between them. Slater had nowhere else to put it, besides his own footwell, and he wasn’t willing to risk jamming the gun against one of the pedals and careening off the potholed trail into the overgrown vegetation. Then everything he’d worked for his entire life would have been for nothing. Stranded in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing that didn’t want to kill him and rip his eyes out, he would either succumb to dehydration or starvation or a gruelling combination of the two. Unless a jungle predator tore his head off first.
So the AR-15 rifle stayed on the centre console.
He wasn’t about to let sheer bad luck lead to his own downfall.
‘You know the stakes, right?’ he said, raising his voice to be heard over the roar of the jeep’s engine.
Bautista summed up all his energy and turned his head to look across the seat. ‘What?’
‘If you’re leading me to the wrong place,’ Slater said. ‘You know what I’ll do to you, right?’
Bautista didn’t respond.
‘I’ll patch that bullet hole up.’
Despite everything, the man raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ll save my life?’
‘If we don’t find those kids in the next twenty minutes, you’ll understand exactly why that’s the worst thing you could hope for.’
Bautista didn’t blink. A vain attempt to put on a brave face. But he knew.
He understood.
In his core.
‘I’m not lying,’ he said.
‘Your best outcome here is death. You get that, right?’
Bautista nodded.
It took an ungodly amount of effort.
‘I’ll give it to you the quickest way,’ Slater said. ‘If you do what I say.’
‘I’m doing what you say.’
‘You could lead me into the middle of nowhere.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Because you’re scared of your bosses.’
‘Boss. Singular.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘I’m not scared of him. I’m a dead man.’
‘But you’re scared of what he would do to you if he killed me and kept you alive.’
Bautista paused, half dead but deep in thought. Then he blinked twice, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath.
Something was coming.
‘Turn around,’ he whispered.
Even paler than he was before.
Which Slater hadn’t thought possible.
Slater said, ‘What?’
‘Turn around. We’re going the wrong way.’
‘I should kill you now.’
‘But you won’t. I’ll take you to my boss. I swear. But…’
He trailed off, deep in thought. Slater knew what it was. The man was staring death in the face. His belief systems were collapsing. All of life seemed like a sick joke now. Nothing mattered. Except getting to the great beyond as quickly as possible. Whatever that encompassed.
‘You should have done what I said from the start,’ Slater said.
‘Yeah, well, that’s life. Just promise me one thing.’
‘Maybe.’
‘When we get there, shoot me in the head. Straight away. Deal?’
‘Deal.’
‘Thank you.’
‘That doesn’t scare you?’
‘I don’t give a shit about anything.’
Quite a farcical statement, but Slater knew what it meant. He had enough experience in this particular realm of existence. The closeness to death. The pain and suffering and anguish. This guy was done trying to defend anyone. In fact, it almost seemed like he was deep in the throes of an identity crisis.
Strange time to redeem yourself, Slater thought.
He turned and looked Bautista in the eyes. Just for a moment. Oth
erwise he might crash, and then his problems would amplify tenfold.
So he faced the rural trail again, stamping on the brakes and twisting the wheel and following through with a rudimentary five-point turn. Then he shot back the way they’d come. They must have missed a turn. Bautista would have glanced at it as they went past, debating whether to let Slater know, opting to keep it secret. Hoping he might bleed out before Slater discovered the truth.
But now he was telling the truth. Slater saw it in his eyes. Something was shifting in the man.
‘What’s going on?’ Slater said, and the strange combination of darkness and blood and isolation seemed to encourage Bautista to speak.
‘I don’t like what I’m doing. Never have.’
‘But you do it.’
‘I would tell you I didn’t have a choice, but I did.’
‘So what’s this discussion about?’
‘I would be happy if you shot me when we got there.’
‘What if I didn’t? What if I patched you up and sent you on your way and you vowed to do as much good as you possibly could to make up for the first few decades you spent ruining people’s lives?’
Bautista shook his head.
Decided.
His mind made up.
He said, ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I couldn’t do enough good to make up for what I’ve done.’
Slater nodded.
Nothing more to be said.
‘Okay.’
Bautista lifted a bloody finger. ‘Here.’
Slater nodded again. He spotted the dark maw in the side of the trail, leading even deeper into uncharted territory, paving the way toward a section of the jungle even more lawless and deserted than their current location. If he had any less experience in the field it might have terrified him. Instead he gripped the wheel tighter. Worked his hands over the chipped, faded leather. Pumped up the veins in his forearms. Gnashed his teeth together in anticipation.
‘How far in?’ he said before they turned onto the trail.
‘Not far. Less than a mile. I’d be ready if I were you.’
‘Always ready,’ Slater muttered.
‘Remember what you promised.’
‘You really don’t want a second chance?’
‘I don’t deserve one.’
‘Suit yourself.’
‘Would you even give me one?’
Slater glanced at the man. ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’
‘Then it works better for both of us.’
‘Why the change of heart?’
‘Didn’t happen in an instant. It’s been building up for a while.’
‘This morning. Were you supposed to rough me up if I didn’t comply?’
‘That was the suggestion. I told Vicente and Iván to pretend we did.’
‘Why?’
‘Like I said. Been building up for a while. I don’t enjoy this life.’
‘Did you ever?’
‘At one point.’
‘You ashamed of it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, nice knowing you, I guess.’
It might have been a more poignant moment had Bautista not been on the verge of death in the first place. Instead, the pale man nodded once and gratefully slumped into a brief phase of unconsciousness. It wouldn’t last long. He would come to in fits and bursts, wracked with pain, succumbing slowly to the gut shot. If he hadn’t bled out by now, then it would take some time longer.
Unless Slater accelerated the process.
He twisted the wheel, sealing his own fate, turning into the narrow dirt trail. Sensing the towering jungle canopy flash past on either side of the jeep. Eyes dead ahead.
Focused.
Ignoring Bautista.
In hindsight, maybe a bad move.
Maybe he overestimated a cartel killer’s capacity for decency.
Oh, shit, was all that flashed through his mind as two things happened at once.
The jungle encampment revealed itself at the end of the trail with a faint glow. Concrete buildings wedged into some sort of half-clearing, surrounded by dense vegetation and weeds and trees. A hive of activity in the middle of nowhere.
And Bautista came awake in an instant and lunged for the AR-15.
27
Casey almost became comfortable in the darkness. At least in here she wouldn’t know what was coming. She hoped the door somehow opened without her realising, and the last thing she saw was a brief flash of gunmetal before the weapon fired and sent a round through her head. At least that would be quick. And then she could forget all about the terror of possibility and dip into an eternal slumber.
But, of course, that didn’t happen.
She heard heavy thudding footsteps on the dirt outside. Ordinarily inaudible, but it was so silent in the concrete bunker that she could make out every morsel of sound across the encampment, filtering through the cracks in the big concrete door on the other side of the room. She thought she could hear a couple of people hyperventilating. Their breathing sounded masculine. Heavy. Laboured. Jake and Harvey, probably. Kept separate from the girls.
So where the hell’s Whitney?
She didn’t want to think about it. To her it felt like an eternity, but she knew they couldn’t have arrived at the jungle camp more than half an hour ago. So the cartel gangsters were probably still co-ordinating, figuring out what exactly to do with the fresh stockpile of hostages they could have their way with. Maybe splitting up who was designated to which prisoner.
Maybe there were a couple of narcos out here in the jungle who swung both ways.
Who wanted Jake and Harvey all to themselves.
A shiver ran down Casey’s spine. At that point she lost all hope. The guy from earlier that afternoon wasn’t coming. He wouldn’t know where to start. He wouldn’t even know they were missing in the first place. She was out here, alone, burrowed in a bunker with a girl she didn’t know, patiently awaiting her own demise. However that came.
She sobbed again.
Ruby said, ‘It’s not your fault.’
Remarkably composed.
‘It is,’ Casey said.
‘Who’s this guy you talked about?’
Prodding, again.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. It was all too much. ‘I have no idea. There’s no-one coming to help us. Just give up.’
‘Casey…’
‘Look, I’m sorry, but it’s better if you just accept—’
Ruby burst into a sentence, about to cut Casey off, but both of them shut right up as the giant concrete door slid open. It ground against the floor of the bunker, scraping and whining. Ominous as all hell. The big man with the fat lips stepped into the room, backlit by the artificial lighting illuminating the clearing outside. Barely visible, just a silhouette looming over them.
And he seemed enraged.
‘Who’s your friend?’ he barked at Casey.
In the lowlight, Casey flashed a glance at Ruby, seeing her for the first time. She almost did a double take. Ruby was stunningly beautiful. Amber eyes, tanned skin, straight brown hair. Draped in dirty, baggy clothes, with filth matted to the strands of hair hanging over her forehead. Thrown around by the cartel thugs, most likely. But Casey could see why they’d taken her. She was model material. Tall and slim and gorgeous. Briefly, Casey shook her head at the ridiculousness of it all. What was a girl like Ruby doing roaming around rural Colombia on her own?
And that made her more terrified for what was to follow.
Please, don’t hurt her too bad, Casey thought.
She said, ‘I don’t know her.’
The big man snarled. ‘Not her. Your other friend.’
‘Oh.’
‘Well?’
‘I don’t know anything about him.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘I’m telling the truth!’ she screamed. ‘Why would I lie to you?’
‘I put up with your shit at the start,’ he
snarled. ‘But not now. Not after this.’
‘After what?’ she said.
Growing increasingly desperate.
‘There’s been an incident.’
‘Where?’
‘I sent some of my men to take care of him.’
A surge of hope tickled the base of her spine. Barely perceptible. But there all the same. She found it, in the depths of her nihilism.
‘And?’
‘They didn’t do so well. I can’t contact any of them.’
‘I don’t know where he lives. I don’t know anything about him. He just helped us.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Yes you do,’ he said.
He dragged her to her feet by her hair, kicking and screaming.
Then he hauled her out of the bunker.
28
Before that evening, Slater hadn’t seen combat in months.
Sure, he’d beat down the three narcos in the back lot of the general store earlier that afternoon, but there was a world of difference between fighting to send a message and fighting for your life. He’d been fighting for his life when the cartel thugs stormed his property, and as a result he’d killed seven people in a little over a minute. But he hadn’t quite transitioned over yet. Hence the tendency to believe Bautista. To think that maybe a guy who had killed and raped and tortured for the unforgiving Colombian drug cartels might have the capacity to change. Because Slater didn’t know the extent of the guy’s issues. He didn’t know anything about him. He was still reluctant to transition back to the hardened killer of his past.
Then he saw Bautista’s fast-twitch muscle fibres firing, and saw the desperate lunge for the rifle, and saw the bared teeth and the wide eyes and the animalistic desperation…
…and he realised he never should have given the man a chance in the first place.
Not out here.
Not in the jungle.
Bautista was fast. Blindingly fast. He was an athletic man with no body fat, and he’d killed people before, so he was probably deeply familiar with that kind of desperation. Maybe this wasn’t the first time his life had been on the line. So his fingers blurred as they shot through the air, coming down on the AR-15 before Slater could take his hands off the steering wheel. And there were those milliseconds of processing power firing in his brain, putting two and two together, realising, Oh, everything this guy just told me was absolute bullshit.