by Ward, H.
The translator explained the plan and the two bowmen dragged their prisoner to the riverbank. He turned back to Cal and Ramiro, “I am coming with you—the blowgun can be very useful.”
“Okay,” Cal relented, “But stay behind us.”
While they were interrogating their prisoner, one of the marshals had climbed up some rocks to get as high a vantage point as possible. He was scanning the jungle with the binoculars, looking for any movement or anything else that might give them more information.
“Shit,” he breathed out, and the group raised their eyes to look at him. “We’ve got trouble.”
“What do you see?” Cal asked; itching to go now that he knew Amber—and possibly his father—was merely the length of two football fields away.
“It’s a column of soldiers, maybe twenty of them, descending from a ridge top.” He scrutinized the tiny figures in the distance. “And…they are headed this way…in another few minutes, they’ll all be down on the jungle floor…and I won’t be able to follow their movement any more.”
Ramiro shut his eyes for a moment, and Cal didn’t know if his partner was thinking or praying. “Then we have to move fast…or things are going to get really hairy. Let’s move out single file—and quietly. No more talking unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Duke nodded, “Yes sir, we are locked and loaded.”
The expression on Cal’s face was grim as he considered the possibility of being so close to Amber, and perhaps even his father, and not being able to save them.
###
What if I have to kill Victor? What if Cal doesn’t get here, and I have to kill Victor, and we have to make a run through the jungle? What was that movie the Colonel used to love…Logan’s Run? It was about people running to Sanctuary so they wouldn’t be terminated. I wish the two soldiers gathering wood would get their asses back here so we can get on with the plan, but we don’t dare run with them wandering around out there along with Mariana and the other one. And where the hell are they? I can understand Mariana dragging her heels about coming back to camp, but why hasn’t the other guy brought her back yet?
Holding a pair of scissors at someone’s neck is harder than it sounds. It takes a lot of attention and I’m getting tired. Maybe Paco could do it for a while, but Victor might try something if we switch places, although he is tied up, so I don’t know what he could do. God, my mind is spinning. I can’t even think straight anymore.
Are you out there, Cal? I need you to come; I don’t think I can kill a man, no matter how terrible he is.
“Tania,” Victor said softly.
“I told you to stop calling me that, my name is Amber.”
“Alright, Amber…you might consider making a get away.”
“Get away?”
“When we radioed this morning, well…we learned that one column of my forces are much closer than I thought. They crossed into Panama two weeks ago. They are joining us for the march back, to give us some relief handling…our guests.”
“They can’t be moving very fast out there in the swamps.”
“Oh, actually they are very adept, and now, they are very, very close.” Victor smiled maliciously.
“So how will it look when they find you tied up like a pig ready to roast?” Amber pricked him a little with the tip of the scissors.
Victor shut up, but Bill and Wilson had heard, and the news disconcerted them.
“We’ve got to figure out where the other four are, so we can get out of here. They have a boat, right?” Bill asked.
“I arrived in a boat, I would think it’s around somewhere, but they’ve probably hidden it so it can’t be seen from the river,” Amber sighed as she pushed the shears into Victor’s neck, drawing a drop of blood from his skin, “Where’s the boat?”
She wondered if this was the way torture started, as one became more desperate, one crossed further and further over the lines of conventional morality.
“Having no further use for it, we destroyed it.” Victor smiled gleefully, and Amber wanted to ram the shears all the way through his neck.
“Anyone ever tell you that you are a total prick?” she said, instead.
“You want me to gag him?” Paco offered, “I’m kind of tired of listening to his shit.”
“Except he keeps giving us bits of information,” Wilson said.
“Arrogance can rarely keep its mouth shut,” Bill added.
“What are we going to do…so we don’t go south?” Tomás asked.
His literally interpretation of a figure of speech for once made sense, Amber thought. “Colombia is actually a little more to the southeast, but all the same, good question.”
“We need to deal with the other four before we dare take off. We can’t chance meeting them in the forest,” Wilson said.
“And then what? We leave these guys trussed up to die of dehydration?” Amber wondered aloud.
“If his men are as close as he says, then they’ll be found long before they die,” Bill blinked, remembering something. “I’ve been three days without water, and I didn’t die.” He turned his gaze to Victor, “This one thought it would be amusing to see how we did if they refused us water.”
One again, the homicidal urge to spear Victor on the scissors ran through Amber. Maybe, she thought coolly, maybe she could be capable of killing Victor, after all.
Suddenly, there was a cracking sound and everyone twitched: shots had been fired in the jungle.
Chapter 18
The two soldiers gathering wood had dropped their bundles and pulled out their guns upon seeing human movement through the trees. A flash of red signaled to them that it was neither Mariana nor their other comrade. Taking cover, they waited, allowing the people moving toward them to get closer. The younger one, a boy maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, fingered the trigger on his rifle nervously. Behind him, a howler monkey suddenly screeched, and startled, the boy pulled the trigger.
Duke dropped to the ground with a grunt, clutching at his leg as blood spurted from the wound. The bullet had gone all the way through, but it looked to Cal as if it might have nicked Duke’s femoral artery. Duke was trying to put pressure on his own wound, but it was clear from the pallor of his face that the marshal was going to pass out soon. Everyone had taken cover, and then, the two FARC soldiers retreated. Cal and the translator both ran to Duke’s side. Cal pulled off his t-shirt, balling it up and pressing it to the wound.
“We need a tourniquet,” Cal said.
Quickly, the translator ripped a wide piece from his loincloth, and then looking around, stripped some leaves from a plant. “Put this on the wound first, it will make the blood clot.”
Cal didn’t argue, he knew that the Embera were skilled with natural remedies. They ripped and tied the t-shirt around the wound, then made a tourniquet with the cloth and a stick above the bullet hole.
Ramiro and the other two marshals had made their way over. “We’ve got to get him out of here, to the hospital in La Palma as quickly as possible. He could lose that leg if the tourniquet is on too long,” Ramiro said with concern.
“But we need all the boats to get everyone out of here if there are five hostages.” Cal looked at the injured man in front of him who had put himself at risk for people he didn’t know. But he couldn’t shake the thought of Amber—and his father—so close, yet still so far away.
“I can hear ya’ll,” Duke muttered. “Our Embera friend here can help me back to the river—you guys have to go get those hostages. I’m a tough ol’ bastard, I’ll be okay.”
One of the other marshals started to argue with Duke, but he interrupted him. “We always get our man. We agreed to the mission, now go finish it.”
Ramiro slipped off a necklace he was wearing, kissed it, and put it around Duke’s neck.
“I hope that’s not a St. Jude’s medal,” Duke wisecracked, referring to the patron saint of lost causes.
“Uh uh, that’s a St. Michael—patron of lawmen.”
“We
ll, alright then. Get me up—then get out of here.” Duke grimaced as the translator and one of the marshals helped him get upright. He leaned on the translator, “I’ll be fine, shoo.”
The pair limped back toward the river, as the others cautiously made their way through the jungle.
“We’re four against five now,” one of the marshals noted.
“Yeah,” Cal said, “But I bet we’re smarter.”
###
Amber looked to Bill and Wilson, “What do we do now?” There was no way for them to know who had shot at whom.
Victor laughed, “Oh, that was one our rifles, I’d recognize the sound anywhere.”
Amber had a horrible vision of Cal lying in the jungle, torn and bleeding. She dug the shears into Victor’s neck, enough to make him wince. “If anything has happened to one of my friends, well, you’re going to owe me a pound of flesh.”
“You really are under the delusion that someone is coming to rescue you? I imagine my men were just scaring off poachers.” Victor seemed to thoroughly enjoy being spiteful.
“I’m in no mood to be provoked, Lieutenant. Stop being a dick and I might not kill you.” Amber jabbed him a little again.
“As counter-intuitive as it sounds, we need to hold tight,” Bill said. “The worst thing we can do is start moving blindly.”
“I feel like a sitting duck,” Paco opined.
“Why would you feel like a duck?” Tomás knitted his brow. Then as an afterthought asked, “Shouldn’t we hide?”
“Yeah, let’s move into the trees,” Wilson said.
“Um, I can’t really go anywhere,” Amber said. “But you guys should go, I know you have my back…and I have hostage Numero Uno at my front.”
When the two wood-gatherers burst into the campsite, they were breathless and confused. In front of them were two of their comrades tied up, and Amber holding a knife at Victor’s throat. They looked around, wondering where everyone else had gone.
Amber heard Paco yell, “Drop your weapons” and they immediately pointed their guns in the direction of his voice. Bill and Wilson stepped out from the trees behind them, and before the soldiers could turn, Bill and Wilson had their gun barrels pressed to their heads. Neither seemed interested in dying for the cause of the revolution, and they dropped their guns and kneeled down, putting their hands behind their heads without even being asked.
Wilson looked at Bill and shrugged at the lack of resistance, “Paco, Tomás, come tie them up.”
The unarmed pair hustled out of the woods, and in moments the firewood gatherers were restrained, sitting back to back with the other pair of soldiers.
“Okay, that leaves the woman and the other one unaccounted for,” Bill said.
“Should I go scout?” Paco asked, “I’m pretty good at moving quietly in the jungle.”
Wilson screwed up his mouth, thinking, “I don’t know. You’re unarmed.”
Then behind them, to the south, there was the sound of a gunshot, it was still at a distance, but definitely audible.
Tomás turned his head in the direction of the sound, “What was that?”
“That,” Amber sighed, “Is the sound of things going south.”
Victor laughed softly, “That’s my men signaling that they are close to the GPS coordinates we gave them. Even revolutionaries know how to use technology.”
“There’s no choice now, we need to head toward the river,” Bill moved toward Amber, “But we’re taking this son of a bitch with us.” He pressed the muzzle of Victor’s own gun against the back of Victor’s head, ordering him to get on his feet. But before Victor could find his feet, there was the sound of someone moving through the foliage toward them. Bill turned, aiming his gun in the direction of the movement, as had Wilson. But it wasn’t FARC who burst into the clearing.
It took Cal’s mind a moment to process what he was seeing and then his mind was finally able to grasp it—that his father was standing in front of him, pointing a gun directly at him.
“Dad?” Cal said in disbelief.
“Oh my god…Cal…it’s really you.” Bill’s arm dropped, his hand trembling at the thought of how close he’d come to shooting his own son.
Then Cal saw Amber, holding a pair of scissors to someone’s throat.
“”For god’s sake, Cal! Hug your father, then we’ve got to get the hell out of here!” Amber said.
Ramiro looked at the four soldiers tied up, “Doesn’t seem like you guys needed that much help.”
One of the marshals came to relieve Amber as Cal and Bill embraced.
“Who the hell are you?” Amber asked, as she slid away from Victor.
“Deputy US Marshal, m’am.” He grinned as he pressed his gun against Victor.
“Marshal?” Amber echoed, a little stunned.
Cal let go of his father and grabbed Amber by the hand, “We’ll explain later.” He kissed her quickly.
“There’s a couple of patrols of FARC headed this way, and they are uncomfortably close.” Wilson reminded them.
“And we’ve got a wounded man we need to evacuate ASAP,” Ramiro said.
The marshal cut the rope binding Victor’s feet, “Try to run asshole, and I will shoot you in the back.”
The group moved out, as quickly as they could, but the density of the forest soon had them split up. Ramiro was with Tomás and Paco, Wilson was with the two marshals and Victor, and Bill, Cal and Amber were moving together.
There was a noise, like two coconuts being smacked together, and one of the marshals grabbed his nose as blood spurted out. Victor had head butted him, and now Victor was trying to make his way back in the direction of the camp.
That son of a bitch!” Amber yelled. “He cannot get away!” She brandished the scissors still in her hand and in a moment of total irrationality, took off after Victor.
“Amber! Stop! We don’t have time for this!” Cal’s voice was anguished.
“Let him go! It’s not worth it,” Bill called after her.
Amber’s feet churned through the leafy debris covering the jungle floor, and then she felt water soaking through her sandals. But Victor was just ahead of her and she knew she could catch him in just another moment. Then Victor stumbled, and suddenly disappeared from view. Amber crashed after him, and when she pushed aside the leaves blocking her sightline, she was horrified to see Victor thrashing in quicksand. With his hands still tied, there was little he could do; the sucking goo was already above his waist.
“Go on!” Cal yelled at Ramiro, “Get everyone else out of here. I’ve got to get Amber.” Cal looked at his father, “You too, Dad. You most of all need to get the hell out of here.”
“I’m not leaving you son…or the woman you love,” they pushed aside foliage as Cal screamed for Amber.
A matter of life and death, Amber thought, and it had to be this terrible man. She took in a deep breath; dying like this was perhaps poetic justice, but not real justice of any sort. She realized that she couldn’t simply watch him die. “Stop moving Victor! You’re making it worse.”
She looked around for something with which she could hook the ties around his wrists, something to try to keep him afloat. She quickly found a tree branch and tried to fish him toward her.
“Please Tania,” Victor sniveled, “Don’t let me die.”
“Some hard-ass revolutionary, you are! And don’t call me Tania—or I will let you sink.”
As Cal and Bill arrived, Amber had managed to pull Victor to the edge, but she wasn’t strong enough to pull him out. The two reached down and with Amber’s help, the three managed to pull Victor out of the sinkhole.
“Thank God,” Victor whimpered.
Amber nudged him with her foot, “I thought good socialist revolutionaries were all atheists.”
“Apparently,” Bill quipped, “There are no atheists in sinkholes.”
Cal pulled Victor to his feet, “We can debate the existence of God later, but we’ve got to go now!” He pushed Victor is front of him, “
I have an automatic weapon, you won’t survive if you decide to run again, or if you don’t move fast enough! Head to the river now!”
There was a rifle shot behind them.
“The FARC patrols—they’ve reached the campsite,” Bill said, worried.
“RUN!” Cal ordered, and the group took off.
They could hear the sounds of motors going down the river, throttles open. When they burst out on the riverbank, the Embera translator was waiting with one last boat, one that Cal didn’t recognize. “They must have found the FARC boat.”
“You didn’t destroy it, did you?” Amber poked Victor with the scissors.
“Quickly!” The translator motioned to them, as he moved to the back of the skiff and let it drift into the lazy current as they piled aboard. He pulled the ripcord on the outboard, and it coughed and sputtered, but didn’t start. He jerked again. The engine tried to catch, but then died once more.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Amber pointed. There were a half dozen soldiers spilling out of the trees.
The translator whispered something in Embera, and when he pulled the third time, the motor caught. He opened the throttle and they headed downstream. The FARC soldiers started to aim at them, but then they must have recognized Victor, because they lowered their guns. Amber prodded Victor with the scissors. “Looks like you saved our lives, dickhead.”
Bill winked at Cal, “Does your girlfriend always talk like a sailor?”
“Not always,” Cal said with a smile. “Sometimes, she can be quite a lady.”
Chapter 19
Ramiro and the two marshals headed straight to the hospital in La Palma with Duke. Their cover was that Ramiro had taken his clients to visit the Embera, and they had accidentally run into poachers. It was entirely plausible, and the Embera would confirm their story if anyone got suspicious.