by Candace Camp
Mora cursed and shouted something in Spanish. He ducked out the door and ran across the median with the guard.
There was another crash and another, exploding with ever louder noise. “What’s happening?” Leslie cried, running to Cutter.
He glanced at her, his face grim. “The army’s bombing the encampment.”
Leslie gasped, her eyes widening, and peered out the door. A house burst into flames before her eyes, and she let out a cry of horror and revulsion. There was thick black smoke everywhere, and people ran here and there frantically. Three planes droned overhead, banked and turned for another run.
“Stay here,” Cutter told Leslie tersely. “I’ll be back.”
He ran out into the village, and Leslie watched in terror. The planes were over them again, and there came the fierce whine and explosion of more bombs. Great chunks of earth flew up and fire burst in the street. Leslie heard the rapid, staccato firing of a gun and saw bits of dust spray up in the street. They were shooting out of the low-flying planes, too! Her eyes were glued to Cutter’s running figure. Gray smoke swirled out of a building, and the ground spurted up behind Cutter as a plane buzzed over him. Leslie gasped as Cutter disappeared into the smoke and bullets.
Chapter 12
Leslie stood frozen, staring at the hazy area where Cutter had disappeared. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move, could hardly breathe. Eons passed. She watched the shells explode in the street, gouging up huge chunks of earth and spraying dirt and metal. She saw women and children scurrying for cover and huts going up like torches. Her ears rang, deafened by the bombs and the rapid bursts of bullets.
She waited, trembling and numbed, praying that Cutter wasn’t wounded or dead in the ruins across the way. Then Cutter darted out of the smoke again, alive and whole, and Leslie sagged with relief. He ran across the dirt street, guns in his hands and a bundle of some kind tied over his shoulder. He jumped through the doorway just as a shell landed behind him, blowing in most of the front wall of the house and tossing Cutter and Leslie to the ground.
“Leslie! You okay?” Cutter shoved logs and roof fronds off her legs, pulling her out.
“Yeah. I think so.” Leslie stood up, brushing off her clothes. “How about you?”
“Fine.”
“Where’d you go?”
Cutter knelt to retrieve the bundle and weapons from the heap of crumpled wall. “I saw where Velasquez put our weapons and supplies, and I figured we better get them and get out of here. The government’s about to overrun the village, and they’ll either kill or capture us. If we’re lucky enough and that doesn’t happen, afterward the Moristas might start thinking it wasn’t a coincidence that we turned up the day before the attack. I don’t want to be around if that happens.”
He strapped on his revolver and machete and slung an ammunition belt over one shoulder. He re-tied the canvas-covered bundle into a sort of sling and stuck his head and the other shoulder through it, so that it hung crosswise across his body. He shifted the bundle to his back so it wouldn’t hinder his reaching either the knife or the gun. He picked up the rifle and held out his other hand for Leslie.
“Okay. Let’s go now. We’ll have to run.”
“All right.” Leslie was amazed at how calm her voice sounded as she put her hand in his.
They sidestepped the rubble and advanced cautiously into the street. Cutter glanced up at the sky and slipped around the hut to the back. Staying close to the walls, he trotted along behind the row of huts, Leslie right behind him. They skirted two huts that were in flames. Behind them, a shell hit one of the huts they had just passed.
There was a new kind of shell winging in now, Leslie thought. It fell in an arc and had a different whine. Before each explosion there was a loud boom off to the left. The new shells must be coming from land-based artillery. It seemed an enormous attack to be mounted against a collection of mud and wooden huts.
Cutter paused at the last hut, gazing across the small clearing to the thick trees beyond. He looked up at the planes. There were three of them, and they flew over the village one right after the other, banking and flying back around to start another run.
Cutter tensed, and his hand tightened around Leslie’s. The third plane flew over them, and Cutter jerked her hand. “Now!”
He started across the clearing, and Leslie ran with him, straining to go at top speed and not slow him down. Behind them the next bombing run began. Leslie’s legs pumped, and her breath whistled in her throat. It seemed incredibly slow, the trees as far away as when they started. The first plane whipped past overhead, but there was no spurt of gunfire. The gunner must not have spotted them. Now the second one roared over, but it didn’t break formation, either. Cutter and Leslie burst into the vegetation, breaking through small bushes and vines and into the larger trees.
A few feet into the trees, Cutter stopped, and Leslie slumped against a tree to catch her breath. Cutter didn’t give her long before he struck out again, walking so rapidly that Leslie sometimes had to trot to catch up. “Where are we going?” Leslie asked, and Cutter shrugged.
“Away from the camp and hopefully not into the middle of the army.”
He moved quietly, and Leslie tried to imitate him. They slipped through the heavy undergrowth, and when it grew too thick to pass, Cutter handed Leslie the rifle and took out his machete to hack through it. The tremendous noise of the bombardment grew less and less, replaced by the hysterical chattering of parrots. They went south for a long time, and the ground began to slope downward. They turned east. Cutter suddenly stopped, then moved quickly backward, propelling Leslie with him. They slipped behind a tree covered with thick, looping vines and waited. Cutter peered through the spaces between the leaves. Leslie’s heart pounded, and her hands were icy.
Something moved a few feet from them, and through the heavy vegetation Leslie glimpsed the glint of metal. Soldiers. The bushes moved and cracked as they passed through. She could see them better now. They were dressed in camouflage and carried rifles at the ready. They moved cautiously, their eyes trained before them. Leslie could see at least six of them, and she suspected there were others besides this group. They had almost stumbled into an army unit moving toward the guerrilla camp.
Leslie’s knees went weak with relief, and she sank to the ground. Cutter squatted down beside her, his eyes still scanning the area around them alertly. After several long minutes had passed, they left their shelter and moved back west and then south to skirt the army.
After a time they came to a narrow gorge with a tumbling, clear stream at the bottom. Cutter studied the drop. It was not nearly as deep as the gorge over which they’d driven on the rickety bridge, but it was as sheer a drop-off, falling straight down to the narrow banks of the stream. Cutter knelt and reached over the edge, tugging at the mat of vines flowing over the ground and down the side of the gorge. They were tangled and thick, many of the stems old and as big around as Leslie’s wrist. Cutter yanked hard, but they stayed firmly in the ground. He pulled again and again, but still they remained fast.
“What are you doing?” Leslie crouched down beside him.
“Seeing how strong these vines are. I think we can climb down them to the streambed.”
“What?” Leslie’s voice rose. “Are you crazy? That must be three stories high!”
A grin touched Cutter’s mouth. “So says the city girl.”
“I’m serious! What if we fall?”
“That’s why I tested them. I’m going to try first.”
“Cutter, no! Please.”
He pulled her to him for a quick hug and planted a kiss on her hair. “Don’t worry. I won’t get myself killed. I’m too fond of myself for that, remember?” He winked and released her, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. Hands free, he turned around with his back toward the edge of the cliff and lay down on his stomach. Carefully he backed over the edge. Leslie closed her eyes, suddenly dizzy and terrified, as if she herself were the one hanging on to the vines so hig
h up. Of course, if Cutter did manage not to die she would be hanging there herself in a minute.
The vines held and soon his full weight was over the edge. He looked back up at Leslie’s pale face. "Watch me, and when I get to the bottom, you follow. I’d take you down with me but I’m afraid of putting both our weights on these at the same time.”
“Great. As if this wasn’t bad enough, you have to take a jab at my weight.” Leslie tried to keep her voice light and teasing, but her underlying fear caused her words to tremble slightly.
“So, can you do it?” Cutter kept his gaze focused on the cliff, searching for the best path down.
Leslie nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “If you can do it, I’m sure I can. I’m not nearly as heavy as you.”
“Good girl.” He laughed. “See you in a few minutes.”
He started down the web of vines, finding handholds and toeholds in the tangled limbs. At first he climbed slowly, but he moved with greater and greater confidence as he went. Leslie lay flat on her stomach, her fingers digging into the earth, and peered over the side to follow Cutter’s progress. When he reached the bottom, he jumped the last few feet and looked up at Leslie. He signaled her to come down, pantomiming that the trip had been fine.
Leslie sat up and drew a few deep breaths. She wondered if she could do it. She wasn’t terribly afraid of heights, but the thought of slipping over the edge and entrusting her life to tangled vegetation made her freeze. She considered the alternatives. She could stay up here alone in the unknown jungle with enemy soldiers creeping around, or she could climb down the network of vines and be with Cutter again. It wasn’t a difficult choice.
She turned and crept backward over the edge, as Cutter had, holding onto the thick vine limbs that grew on top of the cliff. There was a moment when her feet had not yet found a toehold and most of her body was over the cliff, held up only by her arms, and she was swamped with an icy terror. But then her groping feet found a hole in the vines. She pushed her toes deep into the hole and tested it, gradually putting more weight on it. With her weight more evenly distributed, her arms no longer felt that they were being pulled out of their sockets. A resting place for her other foot was easier. Then she was able to let her hands slide down a foot or two, and she was off the top and onto the cliff wall.
Slowly, groping, she moved down the vines, her fingers clenched around the limbs, her feet searching cautiously for the next downward step. She was careful not to look down, for she was sure the height would freeze her again. The trip seemed to take forever, and her hands and arms ached with the unaccustomed strain. She persisted, realizing that there was nothing else she could do. The cliff above her grew taller and taller, testifying to the long way she had come, but she suspected it was still a long way down to the ground. Her arms began to tremble, and a cramp started in one calf. She made herself move a little faster.
“Okay.” Cutter’s voice was so close it startled her, and Leslie whipped her head around. He was no more than three feet below her. Tears of relief sprang into Leslie’s eyes, and she scrambled down the rest of the way. Cutter’s hands went around her waist, helping her, and she sagged gratefully against him. When he set her on the ground, she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest.
“You were fantastic!” Cutter told her, squeezing her tightly and raining kisses over her hair.
For a long time they clung to each other, but at last Leslie’s trembling stopped, and they moved reluctantly apart. “We better get going,” Cutter said, swinging his rifle off his back.
Leslie nodded. “I’m ready.”
They followed the rapid stream, making better time here because the ground was rocky and less choked with plants. They walked the rest of the day, stopping to rest only a few times, even eating their lunch of beef jerky as they walked. By the time night began to close in, Leslie’s legs and lungs ached. She couldn’t imagine how she would have made it if she hadn’t been accustomed to running every morning. Even though she was in good shape, she was utterly exhausted.
Cutter cleared a space on the ground with his machete and set up a small makeshift tent with the tarp he had grabbed with their supplies this morning. Apparently their actual tent had been nowhere to be seen and with bombs raining down it hadn’t been a priority. It was cramped inside and the ground was hard, but at least it gave them some protection against the elements, insects and snakes. Cuddled up with Cutter, it even seemed cozy. They ate cheese and crackers for supper.
Then they closed their tent behind them, weighing down the flap with small rocks. Cutter massaged Leslie’s feet and legs, rubbing out the knots. It didn’t take long for his massage to lead to passion, and they came together hungrily, burning away the fears and trials of the day.
They awoke the next morning cramped and chilled, despite the fact that they lay curled up together. They crawled out, stretching and yawning, and ate the same bland meal they had the night before. “I think I could get tired of cheese, crackers and beef jerky real quick,” Leslie remarked.
Cutter grinned. “You’ll get even more tired of them before we get back.”
When they finished eating, Cutter wrapped up their tent, supplies and remaining food in a tight bundle. They drank from the stream and set out again, following the course of the creek. After they had tramped along for a while and Leslie’s muscles had stopped complaining with every step, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“This stream runs generally southeast. That takes us a little off course for the mission, but my first objective is to avoid running into the army. We should get far enough away before we risk heading back due east. As soon as we reach a good place to climb out of the gorge, we will.”
Leslie didn’t relish climbing back up the steep cliff, so she was glad to see the walls of the gorge gradually become lower as the stream widened. Before long, they left the stream and scrambled up the side of the gorge. They spent the rest of the day hacking through the thick jungle.
Late in the afternoon, they came upon a sprawling adobe house, half-covered in vines and creepers. They approached it cautiously, but as they grew nearer, it became obvious that the place had long been deserted. One wall had collapsed, and rain had slowly melted the mud of several others until they sagged and crumbled. Trees and bushes had sprouted close to the house, even inside the room where the wall had collapsed, and vines were crawling up the outer walls. The jungle was already reclaiming the place, pulling it back into the dark impenetrable greenness.
It was an eerie spot, obviously once a grand hacienda but now silent and ruined. The rooms were spacious, and in the center of the U-shaped wings was a large patio. Grass and vines had overrun the brightly patterned tiles and the large marble fountain in the center. Leslie shivered; it was ghostly. Inside the house, most of the heavy furniture remained—tables, beds and couches. There were even clothes hanging in the bedroom closets, covered with mildew, and ancient, spotted cans in the kitchen pantry.
“This is spooky.” Leslie surveyed the large kitchen with its round brazier in the center. “What do you suppose happened here?”
Cutter shrugged. “I suspect it’s an old cocoa plantation. I saw a lot of cocoa trees as we approached. It was probably a mountain plantation that was just too close to the guerrillas. They might have raided the place, or the people got scared and decided to abandon it. They could even have been wiped out by disease.”
Leslie and Cutter swept out the kitchen with primitive brooms Cutter made from the branches of low trees. Then they located a pump and managed to get it to work. Cutter pumped up a large bowl of water, and Leslie scrubbed out a pot and plates. Cutter disappeared and returned a few minutes later, carrying a bunch of bananas and several large, spiky green balls.
“What in the world are those?” Leslie asked, moving closer to examine them.
“Breadnuts. They’re fairly tasty cooked. And I found a few banana trees on the south side of the house. Here, have one.”
Lesli
e took the banana and ate it eagerly, though she continued to eye the breadnuts rather warily. Cutter peeled the fruit with a small kitchen knife, cut them into chunks and boiled them over the low brazier. Leslie was surprised to find that they were good; even the seeds were edible. It was a relief to eat something besides cheese and beef jerky.
Since they had cleaned the floor, they slept in the kitchen that night, closing the door and windows tightly to discourage any creatures from returning. Cutter made a bed of sorts with banana tree fronds and other leafy branches, and they spread their tarp over it. It made for a more comfortable rest than the one they had had the night before.
The next morning they ate more of the breadnuts and bananas, loaded some of the fruits into a sack and started out again. Day after day they continued to walk toward the east, slashing through the jungle, skirting mountains, searching for any sign of a trail to follow. They ate meagerly from their hoard of beef and cheese, supplementing it with nuts and fruits they found along the way. When they ran out of the beef jerky and cheese, Leslie grew tired of breadnut fruit, whether fried or boiled. One day they came across a cashew tree and picked some. That night, for a treat, Cutter hulled the nuts, his hands wrapped to avoid the blister oil of the hulls. He roasted them over the fire, the only way to render them edible, and he and Leslie stuffed themselves on the delicious nutmeat.
They were weary, hungry and dirty, and sleeping on the ground inside their small tent kept them stiff and sore. Leslie longed for a bath and a real meal. Yet, strangely enough, they were happy. They talked and joked and laughed, telling each other about their childhoods and recalling books they had read, movies they had seen. No matter how her muscles ached, Leslie hardly noticed; it was too nice being with Cutter, talking or simply walking in companionable silence. They came together every night in their tent, spinning away from the dangerous world outside in a shower of white-hot sparks, each of them insatiable for the other. They teased, explored and fulfilled. During those nights, nothing else existed for Leslie except Cutter. They were locked together, in a place apart from the rest of the world.