Cold Day In Hell

by Monette Michaels

  “Yes. Can we make the coast, today?”

  “With the speed of the current and some luck at avoiding drug smugglers and guerilla patrols, it’s doable, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Gotcha, potentially another night camping out.” She buttoned her shirt all the way to the top button. “Um, about this potty break.” She couldn’t help it, she blushed. Risto had the decency not to laugh. He just shot her an inquiring, almost indulgent, look. “Where will we, um, do it … and how do we avoid the insects? My dad had some horrible stories.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “We kids thought he made them up until Keely read some books on surviving in jungles and they were confirmed.”

  Risto’s humoring look turned serious. “Sweetheart, do you think I’d let your adorable bottom come anywhere near anything harmful?”

  “I don’t … um, no.”

  “Good answer.”

  “But how can we avoid them? I read these fleas burrow into the skin while a person is um, well, you know.”

  “They’re called tungas. Usually the fleas hang around a pre-dug latrine. If we were staying here for a while, we’d just spray the latrine area regularly and that would take care of it. Just using a spot once won’t be a problem. And we’ll both use different areas just in case, okay?”

  She nodded but she must not have convinced him, because he added, “I have never had an issue with a tunga infestation, and I’ve had bodily functions in jungles all over South America. You’re in far more danger of having a mosquito bite that lovely butt than a jungle flea. Just make it quick and you’ll be fine.” He stood and picked up the heavy duffle and his pack. “We’ll move farther from shore to higher ground where there are some drier areas. That’s where I placed the alarms. You can help me pick them up once you’ve taken a bathroom break.”

  “Okay.” Callie packed her stuff into her tote then helped Risto fold the netting and the mats and pack them away. “What about water?” She jiggled the canteen she carried in her tote. “I’m getting low and I suspect you are also.” She wouldn’t let him know how thirsty she’d been even with drinking regularly. She’d forced herself to sip all night, but the treated water was hard to get down and didn’t seem to help with her thirst. She hoped they could stop in the town he’d mentioned last night—Ungaía—and get something good to drink.

  “There’s an underground stream flowing from a slight escarpment about two hundred yards into the forest. We’ll fill our canteens there. With the addition of the iodine tablets, we’ll have fresh water until we reach Ungaía where I think we should try to take a short break if the coast is clear.”

  Callie said a silent “yippee.”

  “If we had to, the Atrato is not a dirty river,” Risto said. “It has a lot of volume and runs too swiftly. So, if needed, we could fill our canteens in the middle of the channel.”

  “I know that makes sense intellectually, but,” she made a moue, “it makes me feel all squicky, thinking about drinking river water.”

  “I know, but trust me, we’ll be fine. The iodine tablets take care of any bad stuff and these canteens also have filters in them. Conn got us the state of the art purification system.”

  “I’ll have to thank him once I get back to the States.” She turned to pick up her holster to put it on. She’d already strapped her knife sheath to her thigh.

  Risto gripped her arm and turned her to face him. “The son of a bitch actually gave you his number?”

  Other than when Cruz’s goons had threatened her and the attack at Conn’s, she’d never really seen Risto anything other than calm. He was definitely furious now. “Yes.” He swore an ugly oath under his breath. She flinched and hurried to explain. “Um, he told me I could call him any time I needed help, that he and Berto would come. He said they owed me for taking care of the men who killed Berto’s cousin.”

  “Callie, if you ever need help, you call me first … not them. Understand?”

  His hands on her arms, he shook her lightly. The look on his face was a mixture of anger and pure male possession. His inner animal had claimed her. He didn’t want any other man to take care of her. Good. She hid her satisfaction. She wanted him present, every day and every night, for the rest of her life, taking care of all her needs. Mr. Risto Smith might not want to acknowledge it, but he was all but hers. He just hadn’t realized it yet.

  “Callie? Do you understand? Call me … not Conn or Berto.” He shook her again.

  “Call you. Got it.” She looked at his hands still clenching her arms then up at his flushed face. “But what if I can’t find you? What if you aren’t there?”

  “Ren will know where I am.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then you can call Conn—but only as a last resort. Ask Ren or Tweeter for help first if I’m unavailable. Understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.” More than you want me to. His demands went against his “not a permanent kind of guy” statement and his insistence that he’d leave her once he got her back to the States.

  “Good. Now let’s get this show on the road. Hand the packs down to me so I can put them in the dugout. Once the boat is loaded, we’ll go ashore and take care of business before we shove off.”

  * * * *

  Risto shook his head. He’d all but beat his chest and marked Callie as his woman. She seemed to accept his pronouncements, but who knew what she really thought. She was a modern, independent, intelligent woman who was used to taking care of herself and those around her. She didn’t need him, and she sure as hell didn’t need the baggage which came with being with him. But something inside him had urged him to force her to acknowledge his right to care for her needs.

  With their bodily needs taken care of without a single hitch, he left Callie packing up perimeter alarms while he obtained water. The area was heavily treed and he didn’t want her getting hit by an errant branch or anything the monkeys in the trees decided to toss at intruders. Shoving aside a large fern, he located the small waterfall created by an underground stream. The water was as clear as any he’d ever seen in the mountains of North America, but he’d throw in the iodine tablets to be safe. Neither of them needed dysentery.

  After filling the canteens, he set out, back to where Callie waited on him. Without any warming, something dropped onto his shoulders and immediately twined about his chest, crushing him in an unbreakable hold. Fuck! An anaconda. An adult by the size of it. He must’ve threatened it in some way—or it was hungry.

  One arm was secured to his side by the rapidly coiling body. His other arm had instinctively moved to hold off the snake’s head and the unhinging jaws which had opened to take a bite to hold him to be swallowed. He couldn’t let go of the head to get to his knife and his other arm was useless.

  “Callie! I need you.” And didn’t that go against every male instinct he possessed. He didn’t want Callie anywhere near this monster reptile.

  Callie’s approach was swift. “Risto! What’s wrong?” Her voice was tight with fear and he could hear her gasping for breath as she crashed through the low-growing foliage and volunteer saplings.

  “Slow down, sweetheart. I don’t want you falling.” God knows what was lurking on the ground. The snake might have a mate or friends nearby. He spied her clothing in the dim green-gray light of the jungle. “To your left a bit. Get your knife out and approach slowly.” He also didn’t want the snake startled into deciding he wanted a smaller, easier prey. Anacondas moved fast.

  “Oh … my … God.” Callie stopped about four feet from him, a look of pure horror on her face. She stood for what must have been only seconds but seemed like an eternity. Her gray eyes darkened with too many emotions to categorize, but underlying them all was something almost feral.

  “I need to cut the head off.” She looked to him for affirmation.

  “Yes.” He gasped out the answer. His diaphragm was being constricted with each breath he took.

  “Don’t talk. Breathe shallowly.” She shook her head. “God,
I never thought all those pop quizzes Dad and Colonel Walsh gave us kids from the Marine Survival Manual would ever have a use.”

  Knife in hand, she approached him slowly and at an oblique angle. To the snake, she would seem non-threatening—he hoped. “Careful.”

  “Shut up. Every time you talk, the snake tightens. God, your poor ribs.” She looked down, and he could tell, forced herself not to jump back and away from him. “Fuck that is one long-ass snake.” She shuddered and turned pale green. Swallowing loudly, she took a deep breath and visibly shook off whatever she was feeling.

  God, I love her courage. I fucking love her.

  A determined look entered her eyes and she muttered under her breath, her undivided attention on the snake and not him. Good girl.

  “Just like cutting through a piece of meat, Callie,” she muttered as she inched closer. He didn’t know how all that courage could be packed into one slender female, but he thanked God it was. “Just think of the stories you can tell your friends.” She raised her hands and covered Risto’s hand, holding the anaconda’s head with one of hers, adding her strength to pull the head away from his face and steadying it for the cut. Her calm, determined gaze switched to Risto. “I’m going to cut through the body just below the snake’s skull—away from your and my wrists. So hold tight, I will slice on three.”

  He nodded and mouthed the word “careful.” The move she intended to make placed her upper body in danger of being cut. One slip … if she cut herself … no, he wouldn’t think about it or he wouldn’t be able to move when needed.

  She took a deep breath. “One.” She tightened her hand over his wrist and slipped the knife between his wrist and the snake’s body. “Two.” She placed the knife a mere inch away from the snake and stiffened the arm holding on to him. “Three.” She struck swiftly and strongly, with so much control she managed to cut through the snake and avoided cutting herself.

  As Risto tossed away the head of the anaconda and pulled off the snake’s coils, the reptile’s nervous system still synapsing, he kept his eyes on Callie. She had turned whiter than freshly bleached white bed linens. She held the knife, dripping with snake blood and tissue, away from her. Blood spatter covered her shirt and face. Small whimpers came from Callie’s throat and her body began to shake. Violently. She dropped the knife and turned to the side to vomit.

  Swearing a blue streak, he shoved away from the snake’s body as quickly as he could then closed the few steps separating him from Callie. He surrounded her with his body, one arm supporting her and the other hand holding her hair away from her face as she lost what little was in her stomach. The sound of her dry heaves hit him in the gut and he swore even more.

  “Shh, baby. My brave woman. You saved me. So brave. So brave.” He held her with one arm and stroked her hair, her back. She cried now, great heaving sobs. “Hush, love, you’re killing me.”

  She shoved at his arm and moved away from him. He released her reluctantly. Turning, she shuddered, once, twice then stiffened her spine. She touched his ribs then seemed to notice the blood on her arm. “God, get it off me.” Pleading eyes turned to his. “Please, please, get it off me.” She stroked a trembling finger over his torso. “Off you.”

  Shoving his way through the heavy foliage, he led her to the small waterfall. He pulled off his shirt and hers, hanging them in the flow of the small waterfall on a jagged piece of rock. Then he placed her hands under the water to clean them and used his to wipe her face clean of the blood. “Lean your head over, baby. I want to get the blood out of your hair.” She let him move her where he wanted, and he rinsed her hair until no blood and snake flesh was visible. He stood her back up and carefully wrung the excess water out of the long strands. He clumsily wove a braid which he tied with a piece of vine he cut from a tree.

  Watching him with dazed slate gray eyes, she stood completely still but for the constant tremors sweeping over every muscle in her body. “You, too.” Her voice was a mere wisp, strained as if she were holding back screams. “I can’t stand seeing the blood on you. Knowing the snake could’ve killed,” she managed to choke back a sob threatening to escape her throat, “could’ve eaten you.” She touched his arm with shaky, ice-cold fingers. “I wouldn’t have survived if that had happened. I’d have died right here with you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.” He sluiced off the snake remains, all the while talking to her in a calm tone in an attempt to keep her from freaking out. “You’d have called for help just as I ordered. You are not to die … ever.”

  “Everyone dies.” Her eyes turned silver with a flash of heat. Good, he’d rather her be mad than scared shitless or in shock.

  “Not you. Not now. Especially not here.” Risto pulled her into his arms and brushed frenzied kisses over her face, her hair. “You were so brave, braver than any woman I’ve ever known.”

  She rubbed her cold nose against his wet throat. “I detest snakes.”

  He chuckled. “I know, baby, so do I. You sure taught him a lesson.” She sniffed and held on to his waist as if she never wanted to let go. He massaged her back from her neck to her bottom, long soothing strokes. Her body trembled constantly, a combination of shock and the icy water used to clean her off. He needed to get her dry and off her feet before she crashed.

  “Damn right.” She nuzzled his throat, licked and teethed his pulse point. “Kiss me. Make me feel something other than bone-chilling fear. I could have lost you.” The last words came out as a wail.

  He took her lips in a searing kiss, warming them. Her fingers digging into his waist, Callie clung and sobbed into his mouth, meeting his tongue with hers. With every touch and kiss, with every act of courage and intelligence, this woman burrowed ever deeper into his body, his heart, his soul. How will I find the strength to leave her? It was a question for another time, another place. Right now, he had to calm his little soldier’s fears and get her out of this fucking Hell on Earth and to a place of safety.

  Slowing the kiss from the speed of light to lazy, soothing kisses and nibbles, he finally eased Callie away from him. “We need to get going. We’ll be safer on the river.”

  She nodded, her forehead brushing his chest. “I know. I’m fine.” Another full body shudder shook her.

  “Like hell you’re fine.” He swept her into his arms and began the walk to the boat. He’d get her situated and come back for their gear.

  “Risto? I can walk.”

  “No.” He rubbed his cheek over hers. “Let me take care of you. Christ, Callie, I watched, couldn’t do a damn thing as you conquered your horror to save my ass. This is twice you’ve saved me. I came to Colombia to save you and have only brought you more hell.”

  “No!” She jerked her head up, cupped his face with a fierce grip. “You saved me.” She gasped, her breathing fast and erratic, as fear once again appeared in her beautiful eyes. “Cruz would’ve hurt me, beaten me down.” His angry snarl had her caressing his face, soothing the beast in him who’d kill anyone daring to hurt her. “So, I have to face some fears, so what? Cruz drove both of us into Hell. You aren’t the bad guy.” She turned her face into his neck and her hand clutched his shoulder as if he were a lifeline to sanity.

  In silence, he carried her back to the boat. He gently placed her in the middle, using the duffle and a pack to support her in a reclining position. He pulled out another one of his long-sleeved shirts and helped her into it. He placed her hat on her head. Through it all, she hadn’t said a word, uttered a sound.

  He tipped up her chin so he could see her eyes. Her pupils were so dilated, only a thin silver-gray rim was left. Despite the sauna-like heat, her skin was cool to the touch and clammy. She shivered with each rasping breath. He swore and pulled out a thin solar blanket, blessing Conn for being an efficient son of a bitch, and wrapped it around her. She hummed her pleasure at the added warmth as she snuggled into the nest he’d made her. Since it was a fucking ninety degrees even under the cloud cover, she had to be cold from the inside out to tolerate t
he extra layers.

  “Sweetheart? Look at me.” She lifted her head, her eyes finding his. At least she was responsive. “Once we get started, if you need to stop. If you need anything, you let me know. I don’t want you … suffering alone. These arms are always here to hold you.”

  Her lips twisted into a slight smile. He breathed a sigh of relief. If she could attempt to smile, she’d be fine. She just needed time—and TLC, which he’d provide if he had to take on every fucking guerilla in the Darien. They’d definitely be stopping at Ungaía so he could see she got proper food and could clean up properly. A chance at some small amount of normalcy after all the abnormal curveballs thrown at her.

  “Don’t worry so. I’ll be fine. No s-s-s-stupid snake is going to get me down.” She clenched her jaw against the chattering of her teeth and patted his face. “Now, go get our stuff.” She reached for his Glock, her Ruger still back at the waterfall, and took it from his holster with a steady hand. He wondered what that must have cost her in control. “I’ll guard the boat.”

  “You are fucking amazing.” He kissed the top of her head and left the boat to get the rest of their gear. When he looked back, Callie held his gun on her lap, her gaze quartering her surroundings. He shook his head and muttered, “fucking amazing.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rescue Day Three—Ungaía, Columbia.

  Callie sat in the dugout while Risto and a helpful young man pulled the boat onto the ground. With all the rain, the shore was a quagmire. She wasn’t sure if she was to get out or just wait in the boat. “Risto?” She struggled out of the nest Risto had made her.

  “Stay put, sweetheart. I’ll carry you.” He turned to the young man, a dark-skinned native whose skin tones had to do more with the African slaves the Spanish brought to this area of the New World many centuries ago than the native Indian tribes here when Bolivar and his ilk mapped South America. The Ungaía citizen smiled and took the money Risto slipped him. “Teo will watch our boat and things until we get back. He says the guerillas have been quiet lately. It’s also market day so you will see Ungaía at its best.” He lifted her from the boat, tote bag and all, and carried her to an area where the rain had not managed to wash away the rocky pathway.