by H. L. Wegley
He leaped toward her, trying to scoop her upper body and stop her face plant.
Jeff's hands slid under her arms.
Her falling body took him to his knees.
He rolled backward, pulling the young woman.
She landed on top of him.
The back of Jeff’s head slammed against the dirt road.
He had cushioned her fall, but at what price? His left knee screamed a sharp, stabbing complaint after it folded under him. The back of his head throbbed from striking the road.
Jeff rolled onto his side, easing the woman's body onto the ground. When he straightened his knee, it stopped complaining. And he could deal with the headache, but how should he deal with the woman?
Her gasps for air had turned to deep, steady breathing, and those brown eyes that displayed terror moments before, remained closed.
He scanned her perfectly sculpted face. What did it look like without the dirt mask?
Angry voices and the sounds of running feet came from where the woman had emerged.
Warning sirens sounded in Jeff's mind. The young woman's danger would soon become his.
The pounding of running feet and the voices grew louder.
He gathered the woman in his arms, scanning the area around him for a hiding place.
On the creek-side of the road, a bushy Madrone tree had grown up from the stump of its amputated predecessor. He carried her behind its dense foliage, trying to avoid stepping on the crispy scrolls of Madrone bark that lay ready to betray him.
As he peered through a small opening between branches, two dark-complected men ran out onto the main road.
At the sight of their weapons, Jeff stopped breathing.
Both men carried assault rifles.
What started as an act of kindness had become a matter of survival.
The two men stopped.
The forest remained silent, except for the occasional buzzing of grasshoppers' wings … and the young woman's heavy breathing.
He pulled her face against his neck, trying to muffle her respiration while he studied the men for any indication they had heard her.
The gunmen scanned the road both directions as if unsure which way she had gone.
They would soon conclude she’d been running toward the small town where he lived. From this location, she had no other good option.
One of the men gestured toward town with his gun, and the two hurried away.
Jeff also needed go toward town. The small town of O'Brien lay two miles down the road. His house, on the edge of town, was the first place of refuge he would reach.
How could he carry her home and yet remain unseen? Maybe he could follow the creek, hidden by the bushes and trees lining it. But the creek meandered all over the small valley. Following the stream would make this a three-mile trek, and if she didn't wake up soon, a three-mile trek carrying a 120-pound woman. He'd already run two miles in the ninety-degree heat.
Could he do this? Yes. He was Jeffrey Jacobs, Olympic decathlon, gold-medal contender. The words mocked him. Maybe he wasn't a contender anymore, but he would carry this young woman to safety.
When the men had run two hundred yards down the road, Jeff turned toward the creek. He sidestepped a patch of blackberry vines, backed through the willows lining the creek, and stepped out onto its rocky bed.
The stream was running low, channeling only a small flow of water that wouldn't impede him. The smooth, flat rocks would provide a hidden path where he would leave few tracks.
It was a good plan, but he needed to hurry, to get as far down the creek as he could in case the men returned to look for tracks. No telling what kind of trail he had left in the dust where he fell down with the girl.
But what if the gunmen waited at the edge of town, trying to prevent her from entering it to reach help? They would cut him off from his house, from the police.
As he trudged along the creek bed, Jeff explored every plausible scenario he could think of and sought a safe course of action for each one. In the end, he concluded there was only one safe course for the girl and him. He took it, praying softly as he followed the winding creek bed.
He prayed for the strength and the wits to carry this young woman safely to his home and for wisdom to determine what he should do once he got there.
Leaves and twigs crunched loudly a short distance behind him.
The men were coming to check the creek.
He broke into a labored run, trying to round the next bend before the goons with the guns emerged. His heart shifted into its highest gear. Adrenaline shot through his body.
Jeff ran hard. As he ran, he prayed that he wouldn't stumble. He prayed that the men wouldn't hear his heavy running steps and the clattering of rocks as he carried the young woman down the creek bed.
Who was she? Why was she in serious danger, danger that had already engulfed him?
Jeff glanced up into the blue sky and prayed the woman's words.
Help me. Please.
* * *
Alejandra’s eyes opened. She gasped and surveyed the area around her. It was a house. Neat, clean and homey. Best of all, no gunmen. She was lying on a couch … near a man. A knot formed in her stomach.
Her face. She touched it. The dust caked on by perspiration was gone. He must have … The knot tightened. She clenched her jaw, raised her head, and examined her denim shorts and the buttons on her sleeveless blouse. She was clothed just as she had been when—she must've passed out when she ran toward the man, the man sitting in the chair only a few feet away.
She studied him.
He sat, hands clasped in his lap, eyes closed, but his lips were moving. Was he praying? Yes, he was. A lot of good that would do. But a man of faith … if he was genuine, she would be safe with him. And he was very handsome.
Girl, you've got way too many problems to even think such thoughts.
What about Mom, Dad, and her little brother, Benjamin? Would the cartel kill them because of her? Where were the gunmen? Maybe this man could answer that question.
She pushed down on the couch with her hands, trying to sit up. Pain racked every muscle in her body. Her joints ached from the abuse she had inflicted on them during her long run.
When she glanced at the man, his eyes were open, staring at her.
The man looked safe, but she would divulge as little as possible. “Where am I?” She hardly recognized her hoarse, raspy voice.
“Let me get you some water.” He returned quickly with a large glass of ice water and handed it to her.
Allie took a sip, then a big guzzle. She took a breath, then another gulp.
“Whoa. Slow down. You'll make yourself sick.”
Back to her original question. “Where am I?”
He sat down in his chair. “You're in my house.”
She fought through the aches and pains and sat up. “Who are you, and where is your house?”
“We are a little overdue for introductions. My house is on the outskirts of the small town of O'Brien. My name is Jeff Jacobs.”
“Mr. Jacobs, where are the two men who—”
“You know, it's polite to reciprocate after an introduction.” He smiled and propped an ankle on his knee.
That was a good sign. The gunmen must not be near or there would be no smiles, no relaxed posture. “My name is Alejandra Santiago.”
“That won't do.” He shook his head.
She glared at him.
He smiled. “I mean…it's a beautiful name, but if I'd tried to say it when they were chasing us, we wouldn't be—it's too long. I'll call you Allie.”
“Mr. Jacobs, you can't just change my—”
“I'm Jeff, you're Allie … for survival purposes. Deal?”
She stared at him, meaning to glare again. But the gentleness and warmth in his eyes defused her anger. “Okay. It's a deal … Jeff.” She met his gaze and gave him a weak smile.
So now I'm Allie.
She sighed, resigning herself to the name change, and t
ook another swallow of the cold water. “Allie thinks Jeff should tell her what happened after she passed out. And she wants to know where the two gunmen are.”
Jeff stood and walked to the couch.
He was invading her space. She started to protest, but there was nothing threatening about him.
Her logical mind shouted a warning while her gut instinct said, “Trust him.” Torn in two directions, she tried to relax by looking away from him and through the sheer, living room curtains. It was now twilight. That meant Jeff had been with her for two or three hours and who knows what dangers he had faced. Maybe his familiarity came from some bond he felt between them, a bond she didn't feel.
She stiffened when Jeff sat down beside her.
“Allie …” He turned toward her and paused until she met his gaze. “I caught you when you fainted. You must've run a long, long way. I've never seen anyone so exhausted. Well … then the two gunmen came after us. I carried you. I prayed a lot, and we got away.”
She had led them on a wild chase for ten, maybe fifteen miles or more through the mountains, and she, a good runner, couldn't shake those two men trying to catch her. Now, however, she feared catch had been replaced with kill. But Jeff had escaped them while saddled with her unconscious body. He must be an incredible athlete … and smart … or lucky.
“Have you notified anyone?”
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Frankly, I didn't know what to do until I heard your story. You look like you're, uh …”
“I am Hispanic. My home is in Nogales … Mexico.”
Jeff nodded slowly, cautiously. He was obviously trying to conceal his suspicion.
“I'm here on an international scholarship to Oregon State University.”
His face relaxed.
“So now you know.”
* * *
As Jeff pondered her response he was puzzled. Allie's situation didn't compute. She was an incredibly beautiful young woman. He noticed that while washing the dirt from her face. She was intelligent, educated, but she had been chased through the mountains by people who were likely drug cartel thugs.
He would have called the police immediately, but he feared she was here illegally, and since he had eluded the two men, he decided to wait, but he couldn't wait any longer. He needed to know and understand more of her story. “I'm glad that you're here legally. But, Allie, we barely escaped from two men who wanted to kill us.”
His voice grew louder as memories of the shooting echoed through his mind. “You need to tell me who they are and why they shot at us. You need to tell me the whole story. I can't help you if I don't understand…” His voice trailed off after he vented his frustration, and he looked down at the floor.
When he looked up at her face, the smile was gone, and tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked so hopeless that he struggled to keep from wrapping her up in his arms. Instead, he reached out a hand.
She tensed.
But when he brushed the tears from her cheeks, she collapsed against him, sobbing. “They're going to kill my family, Jeff. And I don't know what to do.”