Chaco yelled out, “Espera. Tengo una idea.” He hustled off, returning a few moments later. He thrust my former pistol into the front of my pants, handed Vladimir a rifle, and shouldered a machete. Ezequiel, with a rare smile, gestured at his teeth to insinuate I show mine, then snapped our picture.
After waving the photograph to help it dry, I handed the snapshot over to an eager Chaco. At that moment of camaraderie, we all paused simultaneously, registering and processing a far-off, monotone thrumming sound.
“Helicoptero.”
Instinctively, we stationed ourselves behind trees or in thick brush and peered down the valley. A lone helicopter zigzagged and circled, slowly navigating along the course of the river, moving in our direction. Nora said it was about two kilometers away. We watched for about fifteen minutes before it shifted its maneuvers, straightening its course to directly approach our hilltop. The machine moved steadily past us, never pausing. I was conflicted and fearful, lying low, hoping it didn’t spot us, yet wishing I’d be rescued. As the chopper passed over treetops below our hideaway, I could see its occupants clearly. The pilot had on sunglasses and wore a khaki uniform. A man with a pair of binoculars jammed up to his eyes sat next to him. Behind them, a soldier stood in an open side-hatch gripping a mounted, Gatling-style machine gun.
The military helicopter curved out of sight deeper into the Andes, then returned ten minutes later, whump-whumping past our position. It resumed its crisscross pattern of searching while making its way down to the entrance of the valley. The rebel group discussed quietly if the chopper was looking for me or their guerrilla band. There was obvious disagreement among them. Picking up snatches of words and interpreting looks in my direction, I knew my fate was being reevaluated. The idea that I wasn’t going to make it out of the jungle alive had lain dormant after Shadow Creature visited me, but now it resurfaced with razor-like apprehension as I watched the military chopper circle downstream. I was careful with every shift of my feet, the way I moved my hands, each breath I took, and the cast of my eye in hope of not further antagonizing any of the tense group of armed outlaws I was sitting with.
Ezequiel stubbed out a cigarette and ordered us to gather our equipment. He signaled our intent to move down towards the river and deeper into the mountains, away from the search activity. He took Nora aside and gave her different instructions. While I rigged the extra gear assigned to me, she slipped into the bush and headed back towards the small chicken farm. She carried no supplies except for a machete. A bubble of understanding popped into my mind. Reconnaissance.
We hiked for two days. After passing through a patch of towering elephant ear plants, we set the equipment down and strung up our hammocks. Nearby, a small stream of water bounced and gurgled down a mossy granite cliffside. Lush ferns encircled our new encampment, and multi-colored orchids trailed down the sides of trees. Lizards skittered up the rocky waterway. Struck by the surrounding beauty, I took out my sketch pad and drew for the first time in weeks. Chaco chattered continuously while looking over my shoulder, and Ezequiel demanded every once in a while that I hand him the pad. He studied the pencil-gray rendering of plants and moss with a frown before finally determining that I was not revealing any crucial information detrimental to his cause. Vladimir looked ill, and I imagined he wanted the fall semester to hurry up and arrive. Although Carlito avoided any eye contact with me, I observed him probing at his now-healed wound. Afterwards, he stared up through the tree branches, open bewilderment painted on his features. Pablo slept with his rifle tucked under one arm.
A lizard froze and posed for me.
Nora appeared in camp a few days later, immediately holding a hushed conference with Ezequiel. They walked away from camp as they talked.
When they returned, Ezequiel opened the group’s only metal box. I had never seen its contents, but now ammunition clips and bandoliers with bullets were being handed out. Chaco and Pablo were both given a grenade while Carlito hefted the submachine gun.
Nora, Pablo, Chaco, and Carlito listened intently while Ezequiel pulled out a map and slid his finger around it, punctuating his plan and different strategic positions with jabs at the green and brown paper terrain. They walked to the camp’s lookout area, from where they had a clear view of the nearby river and the mountains on either side of us. Ezequiel pointed down our home valley and gestured in a circular motion. Chaco wandered about thirty feet away from them as he peered through a pair of binoculars.
It looked to my untrained mind they were planning an ambush. Nora must have spotted ground troops.
Nora jerked her thumb back at me, and Ezequiel answered her with a cold stare, whispering in a dreadful timbre. A harsh command had just been issued. Carlito stared at his boots. Pablo checked his rifle.
Whatever was happening, I had become a liability again.
The deep rhythmic chop-chop-chop of a helicopter’s blades echoed in the distance.
The four rebels huddled together, watching their enemy approach.
The motor’s hollow, even pace was growing from a distant aggravation to an overhead roar.
When I first sensed the chopper’s pressure stirring the tree leaves, I turned my head and noticed the ammo box was unlocked. No one was paying attention to me. Their eyes were still riveted on the sky.
My throat went dry, my hands became slick with sweat as I listened to the thoughts inside myself.
Maybe there’s a grenade still in there. I could take them all out with one throw. No, Christ. That’d be murder. Can I do it?
Toss it and run.
Chaco’s probably far enough away to survive. Vladimir’s not around. I don’t want to hurt them.
They’ve kept me alive, but I’m sure Ezequiel just issued my death sentence again.
If I’m going to survive this, I’ve got the chance to strike first.
Now.
No, somebody will see me.
Do it. The box is only ten feet away.
I stood slowly, took a step. One part of my mind screamed to hurry, another urged me to stay stealthy, yet another warned me of my targets’ slightest movements. The helicopter’s steady pulsing engine provided a cover for any noise I made. My hand paused above the latch, but once I touched it, I quickly slid it off the catch and raised the lid. There were six grenades, a radio, and a lot of red boxes of bullets stacked inside.
A grenade, now in my hand, looked just like the ones I’d seen in movies. My immediate impression was to judge its weight, and yes, it really did have a pin that I would have to pull. It struck me as being heavier than... what? I had never fully understood the reality of throwing a chunk of metal that would explode. Would its blast kill me? This wasn’t one of the plastic toys that Richard and I had pretended with when we cavorted as kids in the woods. How many seconds did I have before it detonated? Richard and I used to count to eight then yell, “Boom.” We’d fall, writhing and screaming, as we imagined what it would be like to be blown to bits, or we’d pump our still intact arms and legs, dashing to a new hiding place, hollering defiantly, “You missed me.”
This is it.
My targets weren’t jellyfish. Nor were they spooks from wherever Doctor Steel dwelled.
Their backs were to me.
The plan to murder arranged itself automatically. Pull the pin, don’t mess with counting, toss the grenade overhand at them, and race in the opposite direction.
Then Carlito turned. Our eyes met.
He’d raise his machine gun. He’d alert Nora. She’d freeze me with her dead-eye stare while she shot me with Johnny’s pistol. Or he’d yell a warning, and his companions would roll to safety as they riddled me with gunfire.
But he didn’t. With our eyes locked, we were transported together away from the sound of war machines to a place where he held his weapon as if it poisoned his soul. He wanted to drop the gun, wanted to tell me that Johnny’s grin haunted him as he st
ruggled with the memory of pulling the trigger at point blank range. I could hear a mournful wail rising within him and saw he was terrified that it would totally overtake him, that the absolute pain he had inflicted on Johnny had already driven him mad, and he would never feel anything but the torment of guilt. With his steady stare, he told me that since the murder, all beautiful things in the world had faded. He didn’t care whether his life ended right then.
“Throw the grenade, but don’t believe your troubles will be over by doing so. Did you save my life only to take it like I took Johnny’s? Even if you erased me from your future nightmares, could you do the same with Chaco if he went down too?”
And I knew he had just blessed me. I put the grenade back in the box. Even if I only had a few more minutes alive, I would be thankful to feel the absolution of my decision not to kill.
I went back to my hammock, grabbed my backpack, and strode to the cliffside stream. Vladimir appeared.
“Oh man, I’m so sick. Watch where you step back there.”
I said nothing.
And if Vladimir had been standing with the rest of them?
Grimly, I made the short leap across the shallow waterway.
Greg, I almost…like you did... Christ, a vengeful, trained killer didn’t have a chance in hell of saving himself while that Cong village burned.
Vladimir buckled his belt, grimaced in discomfort. “Deets, are we moving out? It’s risky with that helicopter almost overhead.”
Suddenly an angry Nora yelled something to Vladimir about “el gringo.” She pointed at me and pulled her pistol. Vladimir became alarmed and confused, not understanding why my relationship with the group had taken such a sudden turnaround again.
I began to run, not knowing how I was going to escape but not willing to wait around for my execution.
Then the trees exploded above my head, and I dove down a steep hillside, sliding through mud and heavy undergrowth. My hands were nicked and sliced by elephant grass. My pants and jacket caught on branches and thorns. Screaming and gunfire took over the valley. Uniformed men appeared from out of the underbrush to my right. They were raising rifles and firing uphill at the campsite. The helicopter hovered above them, fire spouting from the black muzzle mounted behind the cockpit. A tall, thick tree was ripped in half by the chopper’s gunfire. Large branches splintered, toppling down onto the troops storming the encampment.
The hardwood wreckage stalled the riflemen’s advance, but I heard a steady popping of shots from further away and realized there were more soldiers involved in the attack than the ones I could see advancing up from the river.
As I hurtled through brush and tall swamp grass, I didn’t pause as I took in my surroundings on the run, letting instinct direct me away from the chaos. The air by my temple shrieked, then I heard a thump as an object penetrated a tree near me. A fraction of a second later, the crack of the shot I knew had just missed me reached my ears.
Christ, I never would’ve known what killed me. Another bullet whistled by, and this time I saw the air ripple open as a blur crossed inches in front of my forehead.
Jesus, everybody’s trying to kill me.
The world was backwards, mixed up. A constant barrage of fury threw itself at the jungle. Men yelled and gunfire exploded. The sky roared while limbs and leaves rattled onto me. A blast of air from the chopper’s blades knocked me off balance as the machine swerved away from the battle in a sharp, low turn. It screamed up the valley, then returned, its gun cracking. Everywhere I hid or ran, it stationed itself directly overhead. Impossibly, I could hear a radio sputtering static over the eruptions of the heavy weapon and the thunder of the roaring motor.
Nora was cursing and screeching somewhere ahead of me. Somehow she had passed by me as I clawed and ducked my way upriver. The rapid staccato of Carlito’s machine gun would burst first from one area, then another, and I knew he was on the move too. A wild, perfect echo of each of his shots reverberated from across the river, ringing off the cliffs. The battle was being recreated audibly in the jungle on the other side of the narrow valley.
Vladimir stumbled into me. We ran.
We saw Chaco leaping, practically flying with each stride, making his way down the embattled slope.
Oh god, how we ran.
Nora appeared, dodging bushes, hurdling massive tree roots. Blood from her head was flinging back through the air in thin streams. Vladimir pumped his arms and legs, battling the terrain, his illness forgotten.
I cut around a tree and into a trap. A sticky entanglement engulfed my upper body, wrapping itself around my arms as I flailed to fight it off me. Frantic, not knowing what gripped me, I closed my eyes, shut my mouth, and ripped at masses of a white stringy goo stuck to my face. My feet were telling me to keep moving. The rest of me was saying I couldn’t. I was in a maze of gunk that kept smothering me the more I tried to remove it. Finally, I burst clear. Moving freely, pulling gobs of gauze off my face, I looked back to see I had just fought my way through a six-foot-deep spiderweb tunnel.
I had lost sight of the others but could hear them crashing through the jungle ahead of me.
A blast of gunfire sounded directly behind me. Carlito had his finger pressed to the trigger of the machine gun and was relentlessly firing to our rear. He was walking backwards as he peppered our pursuers. He turned to look at me, and I saw Johnny’s reckless grin spread across his face—telling me to get moving, assuring me he’d take care of these goddamn soldiers, and what’s the worry, wasn’t he always helping me through some jam?
And another odd thing—Carlito was wearing Johnny’s wraparound sunglasses.
He turned back, spraying bullets to cover our escape.
Vladimir, Chaco, Nora, and I huddled, crouching in two feet of river water, leafy limbs surrounding us, our heads stuck up into a fallen, hollowed-out tree. Face to face, our bodies crammed up next to each other, we couldn’t, or even dare, maneuver for comfort. The helicopter moved up and down the valley. Closer by, we heard soldiers talking and orders being barked as patrols maneuvered through the jungle, all searching for escapees.
We stayed hidden, with only a rare whisper, for hours. As the sun went down, Nora ducked underwater and disappeared. I breathed easier. I had been expecting a knife in my heart the whole time she was practically sitting on my lap.
Chaco and Vladimir had a long whispered conference.
Vladimir’s face appeared inches in front of mine. “Ezequiel and Carlito were killed. We do not know where Pablo is. Nora will be back to report on how to elude the soldiers.”
“Carlito was right behind us.”
“No. Chaco says he and Ezequiel were killed immediately when the helicopter attacked the camp.”
“That’s impossible. He was still alive when we were running along the riverbank.”
Vladimir relayed this information to Chaco.
I could sense Chaco shaking his head in the dark as he answered.
“Chaco says he saw the bodies clearly. The bullets cut Carlito in half just like they did to Ezequiel and that giant tree.”
Johnny. And his killer.
I had heard that machine gun blazing the whole battle. Heard its echoes bounce from across the river. So the two of them had met on the other side of the River Styx and decided to help me out. No matter how many times I caught glimpses of inexplicable spirits or interdimensional creatures or witnessed miraculous events, I was always shocked and stunned, humbled by the mysterious powers that kept fitting into the universe with perfect randomness.
It appeared I had spared Carlito, so his ghost could help Johnny save me. Did fate work these convoluted details out in advance?
Thanks Johnny. Thanks Carlito. If you see Santa Pigeon, tell him I resent him saying this trip wasn’t what it seemed. Damn straight it isn’t. He could’ve been more specific. And if you’re in contact with that slimeball Doctor Thre
e-Step Steel, ask him what’s next and let me know. God bless you guys, wherever you are.
Vladimir continued, “We think you should get out of here now. You are not part of our revolution. Nora might still kill you. She will see you as nonessential. Ezequiel wanted to ransom you, but she said no. Besides, now you know the danger we constantly live in. You are safer on your own. One thing we ask of you. Do not go to the military right away. Believe enough in our cause to give us a chance to escape.”
His ass was in a cold river, his head stuck up inside a moldy, rotten tree, soldiers were crawling the hills looking for him, and here he was, adhering to his ideals, talking revolution.
“Vladimir, I’ll do it because I want you and Chaco to live through this. Yeah, I’ll keep to myself for awhile before giving myself up.”
“Thank you, comrade.”
“Where do I go?” My body trembled with the thought of setting out on my own into a valley swarming with armed men. I would miss the human presence of this defeated group, but Vladimir was right. My best chance of survival lay in eventually surrendering to the troops.
“Cross the river and hide. Yell out that you are a gringo Americano if the soldiers see you.”
I could hear his doubt. He knew they might mistake me for one of his band and shoot anyway. “Go now, in the dark, before Nora gets back. Don’t try to swim the river. It’s too powerful.” He paused and we listened to the crash of nearby rapids and felt the slight tug of the current in the shallows we hid in. “Stay close to the water’s edge. There is a waterfall about a kilometer upstream. With a strong jump from it, you can reach a group of rocks in the middle of the river. From there, you will be able to reach the other side easily.”
Chaco squeezed my shoulder. “Vete.”
Go. Get out of here.
I ducked my head, then pushed my way through muck and reeds until I reached the embankment. The two communists whispered in unison, “Vaya con Dios.”
Magic (The Remarkable Adventures of Deets Parker Book 2) Page 12