Eye of the Storm

by Amy McKinley

  “Amazing, although I think I may need a nap.” She snuggled closer. Her hand toyed with the short hairs brushing the back of his neck. “If the jungle was always like this, I’d want to stay here with you.”

  He tilted his head and snuck a peek at her face. “We’ll figure out a way to visit tropical paradises in the coming years. There are so many places we can go. So long as there aren’t any active missions, we’ll spend time doing what we love.”

  Her body stiffened. “Missions?”

  “Hmm?”

  Pulling back, her hands on his shoulders, she stared at him, her mouth open in surprise. “You said ‘missions.’ What did you remember?”

  He frowned, unsure of why his saying that would cause her such worry. Then he realized exactly what he’d said, and with it came a flash of whirling helicopter blades, gunfire, and the burning on his head after the bullet grazed him. There were loud noises, then something propelling his parachute off course, too far from the intended target. He vaguely remembered something like a drone flying by. Whatever it was, he chose to keep it close until it revealed itself entirely. “I don’t know exactly. I can see a helicopter above me and hear a lot of noise. There are gun shots and…not much else afterwards.”

  Her arms wrapped around him in a fierce hug. “I’m scared, Chris. I feel like we just found each other.” He felt her shudder as she pressed against him. “Things are so different. I don’t want to lose you.”

  The desperation in her embrace sent tendrils of wariness through his mind. He ignored them. She was in his arms, and nothing would tear them apart.

  Chapter 13

  Mari

  Water dripped off of Mari as she lifted herself out of the small lake. The slight breeze felt pleasant on her bare, wet skin. Tired and still itching from the ant attack, she walked over to the base of a palm tree, intent on picking up a coconut she had watched fall to the ground.

  Focused solely on the round orb, she stumbled a little over a stick. “Ow.”

  “You okay?” Chris shouted from the water.

  Turning in a circle, she checked to make sure she hadn’t unearthed anything she needed to be careful of. Sharp, piercing pain stabbed her ankle, and she cried out. Her leg spasmed in horrific agony, contracting over and over again. Water splashed her, and she looked up, working to focus on how fast Chris appeared before her.

  “What the fuck just happened?” He gripped her shoulders tight, panic swirling in the depths of his green eyes.

  “My leg.” Her body locked up with the next wave of misery. As it subsided to a dull burn, she pointed to the pile of rotted wood off to the left. “Snake.”

  Chris picked her up and ran to their canoe. Setting her inside to lie on an incline, her heart above her leg, he carefully inspected the bite without touching it. “Did you see the color? Do you know the type?”

  “Yes.” She groaned. It was bad, very bad—the worst possible snake that could’ve attacked her. “Fer-de-lance.” It’d had dark-brown triangular markings along its body. Mottled green and black made up the rest of the discerning pattern. It was deadly. She was screwed.

  “Shit.” He riffled through his pack, pulled out a vial, inserted a syringe, and filled it with antivenin. He swabbed her skin and quickly injected the medicine. “Okay, babe, let’s hope the first dose works.” Vial and syringe set aside, he tore through his bag again and withdrew a canteen. “Drink. You need to stay hydrated.”

  He laced his fingers with hers, and she held on tight. Holy hell, the pain is unbearable. Pulling her naked body into his lap, he cradled her, allowing her to dig her nails into his arm without complaint when the pain came. Her nerves fired as if they were locked into the on position. She saw the snake—it was a baby, but still able to cause intense agony.

  She’d need more than one dose, and she knew it. “Why not more?” Panting from the venomous poison that attacked her body, she had to know. How many vials will I need? Ten? We don’t have that many. Tears ran down her face.

  If she survived, this would surely delay their progress. More than anything, she wanted to get out of the jungle. Have to leave. They would come for her. It wouldn’t be long until they figured out where she was. No one would save her then, if the snakebite didn’t kill her first.

  God, the pain. “Morphine?” Begging wasn’t beneath her. In fact, she’d swallow all their pills to escape this awful agony.

  “I’m sorry, Mari. It won’t help. The only thing that will is the antivenin.”

  “Give me more.” Seriously, I’m fine with begging. They were moving. Chris’s arm brushed her as he paddled them along the water, retracing their prior path to the waterfall.

  Why back? She must have looked at him with her question written all over her face because he answered.

  “We have one vial. That probably won’t be enough. I’m going to have to raid the guerrilla camp to get more.”

  No. There’s no way. He’ll be killed. “It’s not safe.” In between the worst of the gut-wrenching agony, she tried to talk to him. The world phased in and out around her as she suffered. She could only manage brief moments of clarity.

  Chris shifted her, and she cried out. She couldn’t move her leg—a temporary paralysis had set in. If only it would stop the pain. Moaning, she fought to stay awake as she watched Chris drop the paddle in their canoe and inject her with another shot. At least she knew the vial was less than a month old from the date scrawled across the label. It would be safe for a few more weeks without needing to be refrigerated. With that, she was lucky.

  Black dots swirled through her unfocused sight, competing with her churning stomach. Sweat dripped down her face, and chills racked her body. Another bout of intense pain seized her, climbing up her lower leg to her thigh. It was spreading. Panting, she clawed for consciousness, but she didn’t win. Blackness eclipsed her vision.

  Chris

  “Fuck, Mari! Wake up.” Chris felt the talons of fear sink into him the moment he laid Mari down in their canoe, shoving their packs beneath her back and head. He had to raise her heart above the wound. The bruising began at the snakebite, and he feared it would cause tissue damage, or worse, necrosis. Fucking hell, this is bad.

  The canoe drifted as he worked on her. The wound had been bleeding cleanly for about thirty seconds, so he set about cleaning it with the utmost care, careful not to push on the injury itself, focusing on removing any excess poison on her skin. If it was safe to do so, he’d have sucked out the blood from the wound with a vacuum pump, but that wasn’t the recommended procedure. They could only wait it out and pray that the injections would do their job and neutralize the dangerous venom. Still, it bled, and he would need to watch it closely for signs of blistering and discoloration. In time, when they were out of immediate danger, he’d bandage it to keep bacteria out.

  He filled another syringe with antibiotic, which he’d taken from the two guerrillas they’d disposed of at their first camp. They only had one more vial left. Injecting her with it, he prayed that it would leave her free of infection and that the antivenin would take effect. She could lose her leg. He’d seen it happen, and the process wasn’t a pretty sight.

  The swelling continued, and he adjusted her body in an attempt to isolate the venom. There was a little inflammation around her ankle caused by the bite. Bruising mottled her leg, spreading upward. I already suctioned the fuck out of the antivenin vial with the syringe, so I’ll just pray that I got everything I could into her.

  He lined up the bottles of antibiotics, and he gave her all of what was left. They had six hours until things would get really bad. They’d know after about two hours just how bad, given the visible effects. He didn’t plan on letting the worst happen, but that meant that he’d need more vials. According to the handwritten notes on his map, the guerrilla camp was close to three hours away. He’d make it there in less time. He hoped she’d sleep—and not freak out—while he was gone. He’d leave his pack with her. That way, she’d know he was returning.

&
nbsp; Short-term memory loss could occur from a fer-de-lance bite. It wouldn’t be good if she woke and couldn’t remember that he’d planned to get more meds from the camp.

  Gritting his teeth, he paddled as fast as he could. Blistering sunlight shone down on them. There was nothing he could do for protection from the rays. He needed to be able to glance down at Mari, to make sure her chest moved in an even pattern, verifying that a constricted airway wasn’t a cause for concern.

  Every now and then, she’d twitch, and he could see the pain, as it caused her features to go taut. It was bad even while she was unconscious. No wonder she’d passed out. Chris saw a mental flash of a man in fatigues sprawled on the ground, surrounded by a handful of others, all dressed alike, who stomped a snake to death. A realization struck him: he’d known grown men in a similar situation.

  Those damn snakes were unpredictable, aggressive, and easily excitable. Fucking hell. Chris clenched his jaw. They needed a break. It was as if the jungle had suddenly turned against them, first with the guerrilla attack, then the fire ants, then the snake bite. Bad things happen in threes, and that was three. Please be done with us now, Karma. He hoped good luck was due to come their way.

  He paddled the canoe as if possessed, and they arrived sooner than he expected. The guerrillas must’ve already swept the area—that’s what he’d do. With that in mind, he figured the safest place could quite possibly be in their tree hut. He maneuvered the canoe into a more secure spot than where Mari had stashed it before. He slipped one of his shirts over her head then threaded her arms through and tugged it down. The end of his shirt fell to the middle of her thighs. Thankfully, it was loose and not constricting. At least she’d have a little bit of coverage. He lifted her and their packs then carefully stepped out of the boat and walked to settle her beneath a canopy of leaves.

  There were footprints all over the place. The guerrillas had obviously been there already and hadn’t bothered to disguise their presence. They wouldn’t expect to find anyone else back there, which was one good thing that worked in their favor. Chris set Mari down for a moment so he could hook up one of the hammocks and pulled the netting from the pack. Then, he picked her back up and placed her in the hammock with her injured leg dangling from the side.

  Before he left, he went out and plucked a coconut from the ground. After opening it, he filled one of the empty canteens with the milk. Wanting to make sure she stayed hydrated, he coaxed as much as he could down her throat. He left it capped and next to her for easy reach in case she woke. She needed to flush the toxin out. When he returned, he’d make her drink a veritable lake.

  In a matter of seconds, he dressed then strapped on every weapon on his body except one handgun and a knife. At the sight of one of his knives, he remembered when he’d caught her throwing knives when she was angry or bored. He placed the weapons beside Mari before dropping the netting around her.

  He’d given her two doses of antibiotic and a full vial of antivenin. To up their odds, she would need more, and fast. From the recesses of his panic-stricken mind, he seemed to remember reading a story about a woman getting bit and pulling through with no damage after a quick injection of ten shots. Most didn’t fare so well.

  It was late afternoon, the hottest time of the day. He downed the other coconut he’d split before setting off for the guerrilla camp. With his map, he had a general idea where it was.

  The pace he kept was grueling in the heat, and he sweated by the bucket load. It didn’t matter—all he cared about was getting what Mari needed and returning to her. Rather than focusing on his exhaustion, the humidity, and the fear that he could lose her, he thought about what he’d gained with her in his life as his feet pounded the distance to the camp.

  He sensed movement not too far ahead, so he slowed and took care with each step. Through the leaves and branches, he could see a large group of men in camouflage milling about. He dropped to his elbows and army-crawled closer. Three men were deep in conversation, their expressions deadly serious. He listened as their voices carried to him, wanting to hear any intel that could up his and Mari’s odds of getting out prior to an ambush.

  A group of three men were situated closer to him than the rest. All wore the tan-camouflage pants and shirts. One of the men seemed to command the respect of the other two, and Chris zeroed in on what he was saying.

  “The captains are looking for her—this is serious. All we have to go on is mostly from the guide who dropped her off. She paid a good sum of money to ensure her safe passage. From there, she traveled on foot. If we return her to the captains unharmed, we’ll be rewarded and given a full supply of guns and ammo for our regiment. We’re going to split the men off in groups of two and send them to flush her out.”

  “Assuming she’s alive,” the shorter man said.

  “She better be.” The leader slapped the men on the shoulder. “Now go. You two travel north of here. And if you find her, I’m told she goes by the name Mari.”

  Rage slammed into Chris. None of this made sense to him. Captains? That told him it was either mafia or cartel—which would make more sense—that was after her, but the manner of search he just heard the man describe seemed off. Someone else was fueling the hunt. If they come anywhere near her, they’ll pay with their lives. She’s mine.

  The leader signaled for his followers to get into formation. He began to address them. It was Chris’s chance. He saw tables stacked with guns, but farther down, he spotted medicine and spare clothing. While the group was distracted, he crawled in slow increments over to the last table, which was near a dusting of brush. Threading himself through the bushes, he took care to check for dangerous wildlife. All Mari needs is for me to be bitten and then killed before I can get back and protect her.

  Carefully, he reached around the side of the table and slipped as many of the little packs from it as he could. He looked down at the assortment. He’d grabbed vials of antibiotics and syringes that were wrapped in baggies. Needing the antivenin, he tried again. There would be less of that, and he hoped it was the right kind. With an eye on the soldiers, he moved with caution. If one of them shifted their focus from their leader, they’d catch him in the act.

  The guerillas didn’t stray from giving the man in charge their full attention. It was probably considered treason to look away. Fanatics. As he checked the small bag he’d just swiped, his heart soared. This is it. He took everything he’d grabbed. Out there, it paid to be prepared.

  As he started to slither back, two of the vials clinked together, and a few of the men turned their heads in his direction and noticed him. Shit. He twisted and dashed to the tree line just as an uproar from the troop sounded. He crashed through the brush, purposely weaving away from the direction where Mari was. He circled the camp as they closed in.

  The pop of gunshots made him sprint faster, and branches whipped him in the face, arms, chest, and legs. He thundered through the brush, slipping here and there, but not going down. He could see the river—he was close. Sparing a quick glance over his shoulder, he counted four men leading the pack, their guns in their hands. One raised his weapon as Chris burst through the trees and dove, head first, into the river.

  With the vials secured in his pocket, he took a big lungful of air and swam beneath the surface as a trail of bullets surrounded him. He ignored the stinging in his shoulder and continued with powerful strokes, never breaking the surface of the water that carried him further downstream.

  The bullets that peppered the water let up. Only one or two came too close for comfort. His lungs burned, but he kept going. He needed for them to give up and the distance to increase. He deliberately continued with the wrong direction, taking a few more strokes before risking a breath then dunking his head back under. Switching directions, he moved farther from the edge and powered on, this time going the right way—toward Mari.

  When he absolutely had to, he surfaced for another breath before plunging back under and swimming. He focused on how long he swam, gauging how
far he’d gone and how much longer it would be until he reached the general area where Mari slept.

  On his next breath, he looked back to see if any followed. No one was there. He’d gotten lucky. Taking inventory of where he was, he guessed he had another ten minutes of swimming until he reached the bank where Mari was. He needed to hurry. Blood was in the water from the bullet grazing his shoulder, and crocs were a problem.

  When he pulled himself out of the water, he began jogging to where Mari was. In no time, he’d be by her side, and they’d be on their way again.

  If the medicine worked.

  Chapter 14

  Chris

  Ten shots had been administered. Chris ran his fingers through his hair and paced. He could only wait now. The bandage she wore was freshly changed, and the puncture marks looked good. They were lucky. He’d heard of—and even seen—some cases where the wound would pus, the toxin virtually eating the tissue.

  As often as he was comfortable, he woke her long enough to ply her with liquids, hoping to aid her body’s fight. Evening had passed, and night ushered in on its heels. He still needed to slip out of their camp to survey the perimeter. In the light of the moon, he’d tied tripwires all around them. They were not easy to spot. Even if someone got past them, he’d taken other measures and set traps to alert him.

  Needing something to do, he went outside their hideaway and did another sweep of the area. Through the trees, a patch of brown and green shifted, and he crouched down. Careful of the root buttresses spreading over the ground from the tree, he maneuvered behind the thick trunk.

  There were two of them.

  Staying low and peering around the edge, Chris tracked the guerrillas as they headed in the opposite direction. That didn’t mean he and Mari were in the clear. The men could easily swing back around. In a little while, he would have to look for them again.