“He’s insane, isn’t he?” Emma whispered to Sumner when she returned to sit next to him.
“I think so, yes.” Sumner’s voice was bleak.
“He isn’t the leader, you know. Smoking Man in the shirtsleeves at the airstrip was.”
“Rodrigo couldn’t lead his way out of a paper bag.”
Mathilde sauntered over. She stopped in front of Sumner, tossed her hair, and struck a pose.
Sumner ignored her.
She sneered at Emma. “So, you and your lover meet mine, eh? He is one of the best leaders in the north. When this mission is done, all of Colombia will know his name.”
Mathilde eyed her fingernails as she spoke. Emma had the distinct impression that she didn’t give a damn about Rodrigo. All she cared about was his upward mobility.
“I feel sorry for you, Mathilde. A woman with your intelligence and looks stuck in this hellhole of a jungle. You deserve better.” Emma accompanied these words with a sigh, as if Mathilde’s situation was truly tragic to her.
Mathilde bristled. “I don’t need your”—she appeared to search for the right word in English—“sorry.”
“You have the opportunity to change your situation right now. But”—Emma shrugged—“if you like the jungle so much…”
“What opportunity do I have?”
Emma narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps you would like to trade, eh?”
Mathilde looked at Emma in surprise. “What do you mean? You have nothing to trade.”
Emma leaned forward in what she hoped appeared to be a friendly, conspiratorial way, like two girlfriends, chatting.
“I’ll trade my lover for yours. It is not an even trade, because mine is much more valuable to you, but yours has me prisoner, so right now he has some value to me.”
Mathilde looked at Emma as though she’d gone mad. Sumner raised an eyebrow at Emma as if to say, What the hell? Emma acted as though the conversation was routine.
“My lover works with the Air Tunnel Denial program. If you free him, it will be a sign of your good faith. He could pull strings to get you a deal under the disarmament, with no extradition. You could get out of here for good.”
Sumner shot an appalled glance at Emma. Emma kept her eyes on Mathilde.
Mathilde gave a toss of her head. “The disarmament deal is not offered to Rodrigo, only to the far right.”
“Sumner could speak to his superiors here and in the United States. Get them to make an exception for you. After all, you weren’t really involved in the hijacking with Rodrigo. Why should you suffer for his mistakes?”
Mathilde turned to Sumner. “What do you say to this?”
Sumner said nothing, but it appeared that this time staying silent was taking a huge toll on him. He looked as though he was gritting his teeth.
“Ah, yes, I remember. He is mute, this man of yours.”
“Isn’t that the best type of man?” Emma shot back.
Mathilde laughed out loud. Then she caught herself. “It won’t work. He would whine to the authorities that he’d been forced to make the deal, and they would extradite me.”
“Not if I’m part of the deal,” Emma said.
“What do you mean?” Mathilde seemed curious, in spite of herself.
“He agrees to get you a no-extradition deal and make it stick; and you free him and lead him out of the jungle.”
“Do you think I’m a fool? He would kill me and leave.”
“Not if I stay here. He knows Rodrigo would kill me in retaliation.”
Mathilde leaned forward. “Rodrigo will kill you either way.”
“Then I will only agree to get you a no-extradition deal if you agree to free Emma during the night,” Sumner said. “Once she is free, I will leave with you and speak to the authorities.” He spoke soft and low, but both women jerked in surprise.
Mathilde straightened and stared at Sumner. Emma could almost see the gears turning in the woman’s head. Before Mathilde could reply, Rodrigo stormed out of a nearby tent. Alvarado and the other guerrillas followed at a slower pace.
Rodrigo’s face shone with sweat, and his eyes were crazier than normal. Emma didn’t think it possible for the man to look even more psychopathic than he already had, but there he stood, breaking new ground.
Rodrigo waved at his men and spoke in Spanish. Emma felt Sumner’s body jerk next to her.
“What did he say?” Emma watched as the guerrillas untied Sumner.
“He said to move me from the tree. He needs a clear shot.”
Before Emma could react, Rodrigo marched up to her and kicked her in the leg.
“Why do the gringos want you so much?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Emma tried to keep her voice from cracking.
“Liar.” Luis smiled, his lips stretching so far as to show his gums, the edges blackened from rot. The light from the fire flickered, turning his eye sockets into black holes. Emma didn’t have a lot of experience dealing with Rodrigo, but she knew that what made him smile was not good.
Sumner sat next to her, watching the proceedings with a grim look. Emma watched his eyes flick over the crowd as if he, too, was reaching for options, trying to plan a way out of the camp.
“Tell me, or I’ll shoot your friend and leave him to bleed to death in front of you.” Rodrigo raised a gun in Sumner’s direction. He pointed the gun at Sumner’s temple. Sumner stilled.
The guerrillas passed around the bottles of aguardiente and started murmuring, chanting something in Spanish over and over again. It wasn’t hard for Emma to figure out that they were saying “kill him.”
“Why do the gringos want you!” Rodrigo shrieked.
“Shoot him and I’ll never tell you.” Emma was surprised to hear that her voice didn’t shake, belying the actual fear roiling in her stomach. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, watch Sumner die. She had never felt such fear, never dreamed such a bottomless pit of terror could exist inside a human being. She struggled to keep focused, keep thinking of options, but even her logical, trained mind could not shove the primal fear that gurgled up from her stomach, rendering her mind blank.
Rodrigo screamed in rage, flipped the gun around, and slammed the butt of his rifle into Sumner’s neck. He hit Sumner low, at the point where his neck met his shoulder. The force of the hit knocked Sumner sideways. He landed on his bad shoulder. He winced and Emma saw blood start to seep through his shirt at the location of the still-healing machete wound.
Sumner planted both palms on the ground and rose back into a kneeling position. Then he uncurled and began to rise. Rodrigo followed his movement with his rifle, pointing it at him, tracing an arc in the air as Sumner straightened. At six foot three, Sumner towered over Rodrigo. He glared down at the little man. The assembled guerrillas stopped their howling and seemed to suck in their breath, all at once. The entire camp fell silent. Alvarado took a swig of the aguardiente and stepped closer to Rodrigo, as if he wanted a better view of the action.
“Watch him die,” Rodrigo said.
Emma did the only thing she could. She lurched to her feet, catapulting herself between Sumner and Rodrigo. She faced Rodrigo but started walking backward, pushing Sumner with her, using her body as a block between hers and Sumner’s, and she started talking.
“He works for the United States government. A branch of the Drug Enforcement Agency. You kill him and the U.S. will hunt you down. And if you kill me, the Smoking Man at the airstrip won’t stop until he kills you.”
Emma watched Rodrigo freeze at her words. And then the entire camp went mad, guerrilla by guerrilla.
“El Chupacabra! He’s here.” A guerrilla started screaming. He clawed at his face, backing up in terror.
Luis spun around.
Another guerrilla started twitching. He fell to the ground, writhing. A third went to help him, then staggered and fell. A fourth screamed in terror and jumped in the air, keeping his feet moving in a dance, as if he was trying to avoid something on the ground. He kept h
owling the same sentence.
“What’s he saying?” Emma spoke to Sumner in German.
“He’s saying that the turtles are coming to kill him.”
“Turtles?” Then, feeling the need to be sure, she said, “Turtles?” again in English. She glanced up and back at Sumner.
“Yes.” A look of admiration came over his face. “You put something in their aguardiente, didn’t you?”
“Scopolamine. From jimsonweed.”
“Devil’s breath,” Sumner said.
“That would be the Colombian street term for it. Keep going back, slowly. We need to get to that machine gun, the one the sentry left on the watchtower parapet.”
“How long will it last?” Sumner took a cautious step back, moving in unison with Emma. She kept her eyes on Luis, who held his rifle and watched in stunned silence as his men started seizing.
“Depends on the concentration each one drank. Hard to tell with these guys. But I used the seeds, the strongest part.”
Another guerrilla jumped up, foaming at the mouth and yelling.
“He’s seeing snakes,” Sumner said.
They took another step closer to the tower.
Alvarado stood still. His eyes were glazed, and he appeared stuck to the spot.
Luis said something sharp to him in Spanish. Alvarado didn’t react.
“Look at Alvarado.” Sumner spoke in low tones. “That’s why the street dealers call it the ‘zombie’ drug. It makes people lose their will and become completely suggestible.”
They were three feet from the watchtower and still moving. Emma kept her focus on Luis, who remained with his back to them.
“I’ve always considered the zombie stories to be a myth. I think some people just get a paralytic reaction to it,” she said.
“Paralysis is good. We’re under the strap.”
Emma glanced out of the corners of her eyes, trying to move as little as possible to avoid drawing any attention their way.
“Can you reach it?”
“No. Too high.”
“Let’s go to the ladder.” The ladder was at least twelve feet away.
“No time. When I say ‘now,’ I’m going to come around the front of you, pick you up, and hold you against the wall. It’ll be a stretch, but I think you’ll be able to reach the gun.”
“And then?”
“Aim it at them while I lower you back down. Be ready to use it if you have to.”
Another guerrilla started walking in jerky movements, like a robot. The majority of the guerrillas were affected now, but Emma counted at least ten who were not. Mathilde had worked her way around the group to stand next to Luis. She held a rifle as well. She prodded Alvarado with the tip while she yelled at him. Alvarado turned his attention to her, but there was no recognition on his face as he stared.
The passengers huddled in the circle drew closer together. One of the affected guerrillas fell into the center. He writhed and screamed on the ground.
“Get ready,” Sumner said. “Now.”
Sumner stepped in front of her. He grabbed under her arms, lifted her in the air, and held her against the watchtower wall. His muscles bunched as he held her up.
Emma grabbed the parapet edge with her hands. Now she hung from the parapet, but if she let go to grab at the strap, she’d fall to the ground. She needed to brace herself and to stay high enough to reach the strap. She wrapped her legs around Sumner’s waist.
She gripped him tighter with her legs while she pushed herself higher against the wall. Her head struck the underside of the wooden parapet. She crooked her neck to allow her arm to reach up and over. She moved one hand farther onto the parapet. The angle forced her to bend her arm, elbow forward. She swept her hand along the shelf, feeling for the gun.
One of the drugged guerrillas started screaming “Rat, rat, rat,” and let loose a volley of gunfire at a beast only he could see. His bullets bounced off the ground. Emma glanced forward. She saw Luis turn to look behind him. He locked eyes with her.
Emma’s fingers closed over the machine gun’s strap.
36
EMMA BROUGHT THE MACHINE GUN DOWN AND AIMED IT OVER Sumner’s left shoulder just as Luis yelled an order to the remaining sober guerrillas and swung his rifle into position. She squeezed the trigger. The gun vibrated in her hand and gunfire exploded in her ears. She swept the gun to the left, spraying bullets in a semicircle. The gun bucked like a wild animal, hitching upward with each recoil. She watched the men rear up and plunge into the trees. Some made it to safety, but most went down, blood catapulting out of their bodies.
She swung the gun back, showering them with shot, trying to control the weapon long enough to aim for Luis. The bloodlust rose in her. She wanted Luis dead. She saw the back of him disappear behind a tree and she aimed that way. Bullets hammered into the tree, sending bits of bark flying. She concentrated on the tree and the area around it before swinging the gun back the other way. She heard high-pitched screams from the circle of passengers. They scattered and ran straight into the woods.
Emma continued to empty the gun. She couldn’t stop. It was as if she were possessed. She heard her name, repeated over and over, but the voice was far in the distance. The shooting stopped only when the gun was empty. She heard a long series of hollow, clicking sounds.
“Caldridge, stop!” Sumner said.
He still braced her against the wall with his body. Emma tore her eyes away from Luis’s tree and looked down at Sumner. She tried to open her mouth, but she couldn’t speak. He put a hand on the side of her face. She felt the warmth of his palm, and it helped to calm her.
“The gun is empty. I’m going to lower you down. We need to run. Can you run?”
Emma didn’t move. She wanted to nod but couldn’t. Sumner let go of her. For some reason, she stayed where she was. Her legs remained locked around Sumner’s waist in a vise grip.
“You need to release your legs.” The urgent sound in Sumner’s voice got through to her. It took all her willpower to relax her leg muscles and release her grip on him. The minute she did, Sumner crouched low and jogged to the fallen men. He rooted around the corpses until he found one with a machete in a sheath attached to his belt. He took it off, belt and all, and wrapped it around his waist while he reached for a machine gun. He collected the gun with the grenade launcher and pulled rounds of ammunition out of a pile. He slung the rounds over his shoulder, grabbed several more, and returned to Emma.
Emma stood there, shivering in the heat. Sumner laid the rounds down and jogged back to the main tent. He disappeared inside for a few seconds. When he emerged he was wearing a new, clean T-shirt. He carried a second shirt in his hand as well as her backpack.
“Yours,” he said.
Emma still held the gun. Now she was having a hard time getting her fingers to release their grip on the gun so she could take the shirt. She took a deep breath and reached out. She slid the shirt into the backpack, and then accepted the ammunition rounds Sumner held for her. She put the rounds across her body, over her shoulders. She put the backpack on last.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Sumner said.
Emma looked around the encampment before she turned to Sumner. “Not until after we burn this place to the ground.”
“We don’t have the time.”
“I don’t care.”
“Let it go.” Sumner sounded aggravated.
“No.”
Sumner made an irritated motion with his hand.
“God knows you’re stubborn. Let’s not stand here in the open longer than we have to. You get the fire and I’ll move toward the tree line and give you cover.” He jogged away.
Emma went to the bonfire and pulled at the end of a stick protruding out of it. As she headed back to the watchtower she snagged a bottle of liquor lying abandoned on the ground. She sloshed the alcohol over the watchtower’s supports before applying the fire. The old wood lit up with a satisfying whoosh.
The sound of gunfire erupt
ed from the trees, somewhere near Sumner’s hiding spot.
She heard Sumner yell, “Caldridge, run!”
Emma flung the stick away and ran. Her arms and legs pumped as her feet flew. She ignored the sounds of gunfire behind her. She ran out of the clearing onto the path, paying no attention to the rocky, narrow, and at times slick surface. She scanned the ground only long enough to avoid the obvious obstacles. She avoided the rest by using her peripheral vision. Her feet flew and her heart pumped. The path curved upward and she powered into the rise, the exact opposite of what she would do on an endurance run. She wasn’t aiming for endurance, she was aiming for speed. A branch lay across the path ahead, creating a natural fence. Emma hurdled it like a pro, leaping into the air, front foot extended out in front of her. She landed on the other side and kept moving, not missing a stride. She lowered her head and forced her muscles to bring on another burst of speed. Her arms and legs pistoned in a precise rhythm.
She ran even faster. She careened through the jungle and shortened her stride, trying to add even more speed to her already blazing pace. She heard Sumner’s grenade launcher fire, the distinctive thud overpowering the lesser sounds. The noise faded into the distance as she chewed up the miles.
37
MIGUEL, KOHL, AND THE REST OF THE TEAM STARED INTO THE night sky. It glowed dark red in the north.
“Little early for sunrise,” Kohl said.
“It’s them. They’ve burned the old army base,” Miguel said.
Running from the Devil Page 18