The Arcturus Man

  “Do I have your word of honor that you will leave and that you will never again seek to kill me or anyone close to me?”

  “You have my word of honor. I yield.”

  At that Jared pulled his knife away. Jared yelled out in Kuna. The rifle shots stopped.

  “There is no shame in this for me,” said Rubio.

  Jared shouted to the Kuna again that it was over and that they could all leave. He thanked them. His words were in Kuna. No one else understood what was said.

  It was over, but not quite yet. The Kuna fired salutes for the victory as they waded away, backwards. Bursts of automatic weapons fire came from the directions of the various bunches of Rubio’s men spread out around them. Jared and Rubio immediately dropped down into the water. The Kuna immediately began to return fire, aiming at the muzzle flashes. Another man screamed.

  “No, do not fire,” yelled Jared. “No, do not fire,” he yelled again, but this time in Spanish.

  Rubio pulled his handset from the Velcro holder.

  “Cease fire. No more firing. That is an order. We all shall leave now.”

  He turned to Jared. “Is it safe for them? Can they use lights?”

  “Yes, it is safe.”

  He spoke into his radio again. “You may turn on lights. You will not be fired on.”

  The men were suspicious. What had happened? How could it be safe again?

  After many minutes of waiting, a flashlight came on. It was only three meters from Jared and Rubio. Then another and another. With light, new torches were made. The men began to gather.

  They were relieved when they saw Rubio and that there wasn’t a gun pointed at his head. They didn’t know why they were instructed to leave, but they didn’t care. This swamp was Hell.

  Now—it was over.

  Rubio talked to his men. He didn’t explain that he had yielded, but he said that the matter was settled and that they could all leave. There was a unanimous cheer. They trickled in, walking toward where they first entered the swamp. The jungle would be paradise—even in the night—compared to this swamp. Several helped the wounded trudge through the water. Seven were clearly dead. They were carried out so their families could give them a proper burial in a Church. Several men were unaccounted for. They might be stragglers who will show up later. Perhaps a few deserted.

  Now—it was really over.

  Rubio extended his hand. With light, he saw the Jared was hurt. He didn’t know it was a snake bite but that Jared was infirm was obvious.

  “I made a vow and I will keep my word,” said Rubio.

  Jared shook his hand.

  “And I will return the favor some day. I do not wish for this obligation to last,” said Rubio. He slogged backward toward his men and soon was out of sight.

  The adrenaline had kept Jared going, but now that the danger had passed, he saw that his body was trembling. The letdown was sudden. The venom was destroying tissue, he was bleeding internally, and his mind was clouding. He thought of Jenny again. He wanted to be with her now. He wanted it more than anything he could remember ever wanting.

  He called out to the Kuna for help. Jeronimo came quickly, followed by two others. The rest were too far away to have heard him.

  Jared pulled out his Bushmaster knife and opened the handle again. He took out waterproof matches and a miniature flashlight. The little light helped, but not much. At least he could see what he was trying to do. His clothes were soaked. He had nothing dry to make into a torch and the miniature flashlight in the knife handle was too small to help much. Jeronimo understood what he was trying to do. The Kuna never submerged themselves during the night. Their shirts were damp from sweat and humidity, but drier parts would burn. Jeronimo ripped his shirt into strips. He broke a branch from an overhead tree and wrapped the cloth strips around the end. He soaked it with the mosquito repellant that was snapped to Jared’s belt. He lit it with a match. Now they had good light.

  “Jared, you are sick,” said Jeronimo. It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes.” He showed him the fang marks. The burning torch gave his skin a yellow look. The skin looked putrefied. The swelling was pronounced, even in the bad light.

  “I see. We will carry you. What snake did this?”

  “Bushmaster.”

  Jeronimo could not hide the worry in his face. Jared would die and it would be soon. He knew that enough time had passed that there was nothing that he could do to save Jared. If time had not passed, he would have quickly hacked off Jared’s arm to stop the poison from spreading, but now it was too late. Jared will die.

  The Kuna called the Bushmaster the “silent bringer of death.” Jared noticed yet another irony. The Latin name for the Bushmaster, lachesis muta, literally meant the silent fate. This could be understood to mean the silent bringer of death. Wasn’t that interesting? Jared’s mind was wandering again. He was getting delirious. His fever was high now. His eyes were glassy and he was sweating heavily. His breathing was labored. Jeronimo put his ear to Jared’s chest. Yes, the heart was slow. He had seen Bushmaster victims before. None had ever survived. The snakes were rarely seen by people, even the Kuna. They lived deep in the rain forest, away from people. When someone was bitten, the victim was too far away to have any chance of medical help.

  Jeronimo would take Jared’s body back to his woman. The three Kuna lifted Jared above their heads and propped him on their shoulders. They slowly carried him out of the great swamp.

  There was more darkness in front of them than behind them. It would take a long time for the sun to return. Once they got to dry land they quickly built a stretcher. Now they could move quicker. They walked all night. They could not use their cayucos. Even with torches, they could not find their way in the dark. The river had hundreds of tributaries. They had to walk. As the sun was finally coming up, they finally reached the savannah near the lake.

  They were all old men but none had stopped and none complained. By this time four more Kuna had found them. They changed bearers often so that they could get their friend to help as quickly as possible. He should already be dead by now. As Idel often said, the spirit of the earth was in Jared. The spirit was keeping him alive, but it could not last. It could not defeat the spirit of the great snake. Jared lost consciousness in the dark. The bite wound was now very bad. The green, foal smelling death might have already entered the arm. His life would escape his body soon.

  The Kuna walked quickly but they didn’t talk. Everyone knew that Jared would die soon. Conversation would be an insult to their friend. They were walking through the high grasses. The lead man beat at the grass with a stick. There were snakes in the savannah grass but they would retreat if they knew something large was approaching.

  There was a low, throbbing sound in the air. They stopped and looked up. The sound was coming out of the sun. Now they finally spoke.

  “Helicopters, it is helicopters. I have heard this sound before,” said Jeronimo. Many of the Kuna had part-time jobs with the Army, working at the Jungle School at Fort Sherman. They knew helicopters.

  Two green choppers descended on the savannah. The downdraft from the blades was flattening the tall grass. Debris from the dry dead grasses on the earth was being kicked up into a dust storm. It was difficult to see.

  The helicopters flanked the small group of Kuna, driving them into a tight bunch. There were no markings on the choppers. They were hovering twenty feet high. Suddenly men began to fly out on zip lines, dropping to the ground with small automatic weapons aimed at the Kuna.

  Shots were fired into the air. The Kuna did not panic. They unslung their ancient rifles from their shoulders and quickly hid in the tall grass. They would die before they would surrender.

  A loud speaker came on from the helicopter to the east of them. Someone spoke in Spanish.

  “Lower your weapons or we will fire.”

  Lopez chambered a round. The men in green uniforms without insignias fired another burst into the air. The Kuna tried to read her faces but th
ey all had green and brown paint on their faces. They looked fierce. They could not read their faces.

  “Lower your rifle, Lopez,” said Jared in Kuna. Lopez looked at his friend on the stretcher. He was awake. He had not died yet. He lowered his rifle.

  “I don’t think they intend you harm,” said Jared. “Please, place your rifles on the ground.” They did as he asked.

  Rubio had broken his promise. Jared knew that he intended to keep his promise when he made it, but now he had changed his mind. The Kuna would be slaughtered. He couldn’t allow that to happen. They only wanted him. He hoped they would allow the Kuna to leave unharmed. He felt bad about lying to his friends but it was for their own good.

  “Mr. Siemels? Is that you Mr. Siemels?” asked one of the green men. “Yes, I am Siemels. Who are you?”

  “We are here with the compliments of the President. We are to escort you out of here. It looks like you need medical attention.”

  “The President?” What did that mean, “thought Jared. Then he focused. The sleep had given him back his edge, or at least enough of it. This was a rescue party. Had the President really sent them? Why? Who ordered it?

  He spoke to the Kuna again. “These men will not harm you. They have been sent to help me.”

  “We have a corpsman. What is your problem?”

  “Snake bite. A bushmaster.”

  “Bushmaster? Friend, why aren’t you dead?”

  “You can lower your weapons now. The Kuna are not a threat.”

  They lowered their weapons. The corpsman ran up.

  “I don’t have any antivenom for this, but I know where we can find some.”

  “Let’s get moving,” said the first man. All of the choppers landed but they kept the blades spinning.

  “How long ago was the bite,” asked the corpsman.

  “I think about five hours ago.”

  “Wow! You should be pushing up daises by now.”

  “Move it,” said the first man.

  Several slung their weapons and took the stretcher from the Kuna. Jeronimo and Lopez signaled the rest to back up. They did.

  They put Jared into the helicopter and the two groups each returned to their positions on the choppers. They lifted off.

  Jared leaned from the open door and waved to his friends. They waved back to the friend they would never see again.

  “Where to corpsman?” asked Jared.

  “Costa Rica. San Juan. I will get on the horn and clear this with command and ask them to call ahead for us. We have to get to Instituto Clodamiro.”

  Another man, the one who acted like the leader of the group spoke. “Do it. I don’t think he has much time. There has to be gangrene by now. The wound is horrible. His skin is rotting away.”

  The chopper pitched and picked up speed. It was more than 400 miles to San José. Even with pushing it, it would take them almost three hours, maybe longer, to get to the institute. Worse, they had to refuel. They didn’t have the range. The corpsman stayed on the radio.

  “There is no option for mid-air refueling, but I found a refueling stop in Puerto Armuella on the coast.”

  “Can this guy last that long?”

  “No, but then he shouldn’t be alive now.”

  “Kenny, I want a heavy foot. Get all the speed you can.”

  With the refueling stop, it took them more than four hours to get to the clinic in San José. Jared was unconscious again. They took him off as soon as they landed and ran him on a stretcher into the clinic. The local officials were waiting. It was clear that everyone was nervous about these mysterious men who had no uniform insignias landing in an aircraft with no markings. But they received orders to cooperate and to ask no questions. This wasn’t the first time. They suspected it was CIA but no one dared ask.

  Doctors were waiting. They administered at least 20 vials of Wyeth Crotalidae Polyvalent Antivenom. They cleaned the gapping wound. The fang points were now the size of silver dollars. The muscle tissue had already begun to break down. It didn’t look like human flesh anymore.

  The doctors said nothing but they secretly had already given up any hope that this wretched man would live. Jared spent the night in the clinic in an intensive care unit. The nurses hovered over him all night long. Jared was delirious, but he didn’t die. They talked among themselves that he actually looked like he was improving. By morning the bite wounds had shrunk to the size of quarters and by noon to dimes. The skin color was returning to normal. His fever was gone. They couldn’t tell without more tests, but his hemorrhaging may have stopped. His heart rate was climbing and his blood pressure was normal. It was a miracle.

  The team leader of the rescue mission walked into Jared’s room the next evening. Jared was sitting up in bed, talking with one of the doctors.

  “Holly Cow Man. I thought you were a goner, Sir.”

  Jared glanced at his uniform. There was no name tape over the breast pocket.

  “I have a lot of questions, but I guess they can wait for now.”

  “Later is better, Sir,” said the team leader. “Call me Red Leader. No names, OK?”

  “No problem,” said Jared.

  “How long are they keeping you here? We have to leave in the morning, but someone else will come to pick you up whenever you’re released.”

  “I’m leaving in the morning. Can you take me?” asked Jared.

  “Huh? Really? Sure! No problem. Where to?”

  “Can you take me back to San Blas?” asked Jared.

  “You got it, Sir. We have a military transport waiting for you in Panama City, but take whatever time you need in San Blas. By the way, Sir, I have a message from the President.”

  “Really? Let’s hear it,” said Jared.

  “I don’t know exactly what it means but that message is the he is pleased that he could be of help. He said there are no strings attached but the nation would be very appreciative if you gave him the gadget you invented. If the answer is no, there are no hard feelings. That’s what the message was.”

  Jared thought for a few minutes.

  “Red Leader, please tell the President that I’ll think about it, but no deal if they classify it.”

  Red Leader look perplexed.

  “Yes Sir, we will tell him exactly what you said.”

  In the morning Jared was taken to the helicopter in a wheel chair, but he climbed out of the chair as soon as they reached the helipad. The doctors were astounded. It was a shame that they couldn’t tell anyone about it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three – San Blas

  Isla La Maqina - Early January 2014

  She hadn’t heard from Jared in two days. Maybe it was three days. She wasn’t sure. She was worried but, oddly, for the first time in a long while she felt safe and happy. Jared was right. The Kuna were a wonderful people. Zobeida had given her a special mola to wear. It had taken her months to make it. It was made much better than the molas she sewed to sell to the tourists. Those only required a few days of work.

  What made it a special mola? She didn’t know, but it seemed to make a difference as to how she was treated by other women. It was a blouse that had colorful appliqués sewn on the fabric in many layers. There were odd layered shapes and patterns on a bright red background. The patterns were in yellow, blue and green. Some of the shapes looked like strange fish. One might have been a sea bird. Another patch showed a man in a boat. He was fishing. Yellow and blue lines surrounded each of the shapes. Jenny thought it was beautiful. She couldn’t wait for Krissy to see it. Then she remembered. Krissy is pregnant. Jenny focused on the small flotilla of fishing boats around her. She didn’t want to think about Krissy. “At least, not right now.”

  She also couldn’t bear to think about what might really be happening to Jared. She must not think like that. He will be back. Jenny smiled and nodded at the other women. Tourists were coming. Jenny got a sense that they wanted her to get into one of the boats so the tourists wouldn’t see her. Her blond hair continued to be a problem. The women didn�
��t wear the muswe, the scarf, to cover all of their hair. The front of their heads and hair always showed. If Jenny wore it differently, she would stand out.

  Jenny was amazed how much of her high school Spanish was coming back to her. It was truly amazing. Some of the women were roasting iguana on soaked wooden skewers over small charcoal braziers. It was mostly for the tourists. The Kuna didn’t care that much for it. The island was lousy with iguana. Jenny tried it. It was tasty.

  She climbed into one of the cayucos. A young boy—he couldn’t have been older than 10—raised a small sail. The wind caught them and they quickly slipped away. A group of boats followed them into a cove. It was an impressive sight. Jenny noted that the woman were very attractive and clearly took great pains at how they looked. Sexual attraction was a universal value, wasn’t it?

  Most of the women wore a blue cotton skirt. It was also covered with patterns. Their arms and legs were covered with many beaded bracelets. Language was surprisingly no barrier. She was able to be understood and to understand what was expected of her. Jenny had one year of Spanish in high school. They all spoke Spanish as well as their own tongue. The younger ones seemed to be talking mostly in Spanish. As Idel promised, Jose’s oldest boy, Thomas, spoke English. She saved up her essential conversations for when he was around.

  Jenny appreciated the friendliness and hospitality of the Kuna. It was more than she could have imagined. After all, she was a complete stranger. Jose and Zobeida were especially kind and understanding. They did everything they could for Jenny and constantly tried to anticipate what she wanted.

  It was late afternoon. The strong afternoon sun glinted in the gentle waves that came in a slow procession against the side of her boat. The water was radiantly clear as the white sandy bottom reflected the sun back to the surface. She could see the boys and girls diving for fish. It was as if they were flying. She had learned that the Kuna word for snapper was nalu. It was a start.

  The boats were small hand-carved wooden canoes. Many, but not all, had a sail, but all of the sails were down now. Nine of the boats were bunched together in a small lagoon ringed with powder soft white sand and heavily leaning palm trees. The trade wind blew softly, but the relentless pressure of the wind made the trees bend to its will. Some of the children were bringing up crabs and lobsters. Others were spear fishing. Spear fishing was strictly managed in the San Blas Archipelago. Generally, only the Kuna were allowed to spear fish. They were good managers of their environment and resources.