by Toby Neal
The young man’s blue eyes were wide and terrified. “Shit! The fucker bit me!”
“I’m sorry!” Falconer grabbed his wrist. “Let me see.”
MacDonald resettled the pig in its carrying rig as Falconer inspected the oozing bite marks on Kerry’s wrist. “Need to get this poison out if we can. I need to make a cut on the marks and suck the venom out. Okay?”
Kerry nodded mutely, eyes huge. Falconer tugged the young man down, and they both knelt. He braced Kerry’s wrist on his knee. “This bite is really close to your vein. I hope it didn’t go right in.” He carefully stabbed the point of the knife into the holes. Kerry shut his eyes, tightened his jaw, and swore. Falconer put his mouth over the cuts and sucked, spat. Sucked, spat.
MacDonald looked away into the jungle, took the M16 from me. “I’ll keep watch.”
He looked like he was going to puke, his face pale and greasy. I felt that way, too, especially when Falconer looked up at me and touched his lips. They were bloody as a vampire’s.
“My mouth feels numb. That’s not good. Give me some water.” I grabbed Kerry’s canteen off his belt and handed it to Falconer. He rinsed his mouth, spat, looked back down at the wrist clamped in his hands. Blood welled sluggishly from the cuts. Kerry lowered his head to his knees, his arm extended across the other man’s knees as if in appeal. All I could see was the young man’s bent back and ruffled blond hair.
“I’ll try again.” Falconer’s voice was hoarse. The poison was affecting his vocal cords. I shuffled over to Kerry, reached down to touch his neck, feeling his pulse.
The man’s heart was racing at trip-hammer speed, but his skin was cold and clammy. “You okay, Kerry?”
He didn’t answer.
Falconer dug in with the knife again. More blood flowed. More sucking and spitting, now interspersed with rinsing his mouth and pouring water over Kerry’s wrist.
Suddenly Kerry leaned to the side and retched. Nothing much came up. Shudders racked the young man’s body. I moved in, squatting beside him, and draped an arm over him, holding him tight. I remembered how he’d held me the same way in the pit, keeping me warm and steady with his body heat.
“Relax, Kerry. Deep breaths. Calm your heart rate down.” I didn’t want to tell him that panicking would speed the poison’s route to his heart. Falconer’s grip tightened on Kerry’s arm, refusing to let go of it. He redoubled his efforts to get the poison out.
But Kerry died anyway, suddenly and without a word—a slight stiffening, which I felt jolt through his body. Then he went limp, slumping in my arms like a puppet with its strings cut. I felt his neck for a pulse.
There was none.
Lei waited to call Westbrook until after they had eaten the dinner her father had made and she’d hugged her father goodbye. She settled Kiet in front of some cartoons. She badly needed a shower, but she needed to know what the army liaison had to say first.
“Mama has to make a phone call. I’ll be in the office, okay?” She pressed a kiss on the little boy’s thick hair, remembering the other boys she hadn’t been able to bring home.
“Okay. But come right back.” Kiet put his thumb back in his mouth. He hadn’t sucked it since he was three, and she knew her son was going to end up in bed with her again. Kiet hadn’t adjusted well to Stevens’s departure. She had to keep any further stresses out of his life.
Elizabeth was right. Lei could hardly take care of those who really needed her, let alone three psychologically damaged foster kids—and what effect would they have on Kiet? There was no way to know, and she needed to keep the boy on his routine.
She carried the satellite phone into the back office room and called the number Westbrook had left.
He picked up. “It’s a bit late, Sergeant Texeira,” the army officer said by way of greeting. “I left that message this morning.”
“I’m sorry. I had an intense case. The phone was in my truck, and it got shot up with automatic weapons fire. Took a while before I could retrieve it.”
“You should join the army. At least it’s not your own vehicle getting shot up,” the officer said with perfect composure. Lei gave a little snort of laughter.
“Couldn’t be more hazardous than what I went through today. What is this news you have for me?”
“It’s not good, I’m afraid.” The man’s voice sobered. “We got proof of life and an increased ransom demand.”
“I thought you were paying the ransom.” Lei frowned, her chest tightening with stress.
“We—there was a glitch with that. But things are progressing. We’ve got the kidnappers’ location.”
“Rescue ops often go wrong.” Lei kept her voice calm with difficulty. “What is this proof of life?”
“I really can’t say. But it shows that the hostage is alive, and like I said, plans are moving forward.”
“The hostage? Only one hostage sent proof of life?” Lei was shrill.
“This call was a courtesy to keep you informed. The next time you hear from me will be when I have something to report that applies directly to your husband.” Westbrook hung up, a soft click that felt utterly final.
She’d pissed him off with her questions, but now she was really alarmed. A rescue operation in a Central American country had too many ways it could go wrong. She set the Security Solutions phone down and picked up her regular cell phone, calling her tech friend Sophie Ang.
“Lei. I’m glad you called.” Sophie’s slightly husky, accented voice was tense. “I was going to contact you when I had this all put together, but it’s been hard to tell what’s really going on.”
“I just got a phone call from Westbrook. Said they had another proof of life, but only for one hostage. And that they were mounting a rescue op.”
Sophie hissed a breath. Lei had seen her do that before—Sophie’s angled brows pulled down, full mouth pinched, brown eyes narrowed. “So that’s what all this chatter is about. I’ve been doing a little hacking. Just looking, not messing with anything out there. I opened a file about the kidnapping. It appears that the army and Security Solutions weren’t on the same page about paying the ransom. Security Solutions wanted to. According to their memo, ‘That’s what we have insurance for.’ The army is sick of getting hit, especially down in Central America, and wants to find a way to send a message to kidnappers and rescue the victims at the same time. Your proof of life? It’s an ear from a contractor named Carrigan. They sent video of it getting cut off, and the ear was sent to the rescue team.”
“Oh my God,” Lei whispered.
A knock came from the office door. “Mama? I’m scared.” Kiet’s voice sounded shaky.
Lei felt shaky, too. “Let me know the minute you know anything more. Kiet needs me right now, but I have to decide what to do.”
“Don’t do anything stupid!” Sophie exclaimed, but Lei ended the call.
There must be something she could do.
Lei went to the office door and unlocked it, dropping to embrace Kiet. “What’s the matter, little man?”
“You were going to come back and watch TV with me.” His lip quivered. Lei smoothed his glossy hair out of dark green eyes and her hand drifted down his soft cheek. What would a child she and Stevens might have look like when the one Anchara had given them was so beautiful?
“Just a half hour of TV. Then bath and bed.” She took his hand. “What was interesting in school today?”
“Nothing.” He put his thumb sulkily back in his mouth as they went into the living room and settled on the couch. He snuggled close, and she put an arm over him. She stroked his hair as they watched some Cartoon Network, and then she ran a bath for him.
He didn’t want to get into the bath without her there, so Lei occupied herself cleaning, scrubbing, and spritzing the neglected sink and toilet while he took his bath, splashing happily as long as she stayed in the room.
She was going to have to talk to her longtime psychologist colleague, Dr. Wilson, about the problems Kiet was having. If their s
on found out Stevens was in trouble…Lei couldn’t even complete the thought.
Eventually she got the boy down for the night in their big king-sized bed and was able to take her own shower. But she didn’t have the energy for anything more than getting into bed with him, her hair still damp.
What a day.
Maybe tomorrow more things would become clear, like what she could do to help Stevens. Desperate as she felt about his situation, she couldn’t think of one thing she could do that would help—and leaving Kiet was out of the question right now with his anxiety so flared up.
She could still pray.
On her back, her hands folded, she gazed up at the stucco ceiling. The plaster had been brushed on with a flat, spade-like implement. She remembered the day they’d done it. The house had been filled with friends helping them complete this last bit of work to make the place ready for occupation. A radio playing Hawaiian music had accompanied the mellow backbeat of friendly voices echoing slightly in the unfurnished space.
Lei had still been raw with sorrow over losing their baby and had worked back here in the bedroom alone, leaning up off of a ladder to swipe the stucco onto the ceiling, getting blobs of the hard white plaster in her hair.
Stevens had come in, tugged on her leg. “Take a break.”
“I’m almost done.” Lei was at the corner of the room. A couple more swipes. She shaped the ceiling material into a heart.
She pointed. “See? Done.”
He laughed and tugged her leg again. “Come down here.” Smiling, she descended the ladder and stowed the trowel.
He framed her face, hot from her exertions, in his big hands. She loved gazing into his crystal-blue eyes. “I like it. Sure you don’t want to do the whole ceiling in hearts?”
“That would be cheesy.”
He plucked a piece of stucco out of her hair. “And you are many things, but never cheesy.”
He pulled her close, wrapping long arms around her. She fit just right against him, her head tilted and tucked in the notch between his neck and shoulder. They were both warm from working, and she breathed in his unique, slightly spicy scent. He kissed her, sweet and deep, a kiss filled with all the hopes he had for the new house. She’d answered the kiss with her own: dreams of peace, plenty, and family.
The kissing went on a while.
Pono had knocked on the doorframe and interrupted them. “At least shut da door if you goin’ get up to dat kine,” her partner drawled, his pidgin heavy with teasing.
Now, in the almost-dark of the bedroom, Lei could just see the fragile tracery of the heart in the stucco of the ceiling.
“God, bring him home,” she whispered aloud. “Please, just bring him home.”
Chapter Nineteen
Kerry’s skin felt cold and rubbery and his body was floppy as I held him. Nausea swept through me at the tragedy. Kerry had been like a little brother, helping me and looking out for me from the first day I woke up in the pit. Here one moment, gone the next. Jesus, take him in your arms. I stroked Kerry’s hair. It still felt alive, silky and resilient under my fingertips.
“Stop,” I told Falconer, who was still sucking and spitting. “He’s gone. Wash your mouth out really good.”
Falconer let go of the young man’s wrist, now swollen and red. Kerry’s arm dropped limply onto the leaves. Falconer’s face was a statue in carved ebony, expressionless and set. He lifted the canteen, sipped, swirled the water in his mouth, and spat.
Did it again.
“He’s dead?” MacDonald’s voice was charged with horror as he returned from his short walk. “Holy crap! He was alive five minutes ago!”
“That was one of those snakes whose venom is a paralytic,” Falconer whispered. “I can tell because even a tiny amount has made my mouth numb.”
“Get it all out,” I told him. “We need you alive.”
He hung his head, then nodded briefly and took another pull off the canteen.
“Son of a bitch! What the hell just happened here?” A burst of panicked adrenaline seemed to have hit MacDonald. “The kid’s gone? Just like that? How do people live here?” He threw an arm wide in frustration. “This place! It’s the ninth ring of hell!”
“People have lived here for thousands of years. We just don’t know how to,” I said.
MacDonald stomped back and forth, muttering furiously, swinging the rifle as he tried to assimilate what had just happened. Falconer and I sat numbly. I felt bad for the big black man. He’d saved us half a dozen times already, and the one time he tosses a snake, it nails one of us.
“It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.”
“Doesn’t matter how it happened. He’s still dead.” Falconer retched. I watched the man closely to see if he was going to succumb to the poison as well. Finally he stopped dry-heaving, sat back on his heels, and covered his face with his hands.
MacDonald had a lot more energy than I did right now, and he could put it to use. “We need to bury the body as best we can. Use the stick to dig. I’ll take anything useful off the body,” I told him.
Falconer stood and picked up his walking stick. The two men found an open area and began digging, gouging the pointed ends of the sticks into the soil to soften it, then scraping it away. It was going to take a while and burn a lot of time and energy, but just leaving our companion to rot was out of the question.
I removed Kerry’s dog tags and a cross on a silver chain from around his neck. If we made it to safety, his family would treasure these. I rolled his body over and unbuttoned his shirt. Crude as it was, we needed everything we could use, beginning with the shirt. I took it off, and then tore strips from his undershirt. I was able to shed the banana-leaf dressing and tie the rags around my wound, which was still oozing and angry-looking.
I took off Kerry’s belt. “Do we need his boots? Pants?” I asked the other men.
Both shook their heads and went on with their grim chore.
“We might as well make our fire and cook.” The thought of eating made me queasy, but we needed to be practical. “We’ve been here a while, and we’ll be here a while longer.”
“You know how to start a fire?” Falconer tipped his head, assessing.
“I know the bow method. I just need the knife and some dry wood.”
“That’ll do. I’ll help if you run into problems.”
I stood and shuffled through the damp leaves, picking up a pile of sticks and finding a small log. It seemed the driest of the lot, but I needed it bone-dry.
Perhaps some fiber would help. I could make the string for the bow out of fiber, too.
I picked a green branch and peeled it, bent it into a two-foot bow and tied a narrow strip of fabric off Kerry’s pants to it as the string. Whittling a bowl-like hollow into the log, I set aside the dry shavings and mixed them with cut-up cotton fibers from Kerry’s clothing. Finally, I found a sturdy stick, carved a sharp point, peeled the damp bark off it, and then, using the bow, began spinning the stick in the bowl of the log. The tinder piled around the point of the spinning stick would provide fuel for the spark and heat as it developed.
Falconer and MacDonald moved loosened soil out of the area they’d dug with their hands. Falconer got up and came over to inspect my rig. “Not bad,” he said, as I began the spinning.
He returned to the hole and I kept going.
The tiniest breeze moved down on us through a hole in the thick canopy far above. I was sweating freely as I worked the bow. It was tricky to hold the log, work the bow, and not lose balance of some part of the rig. After five or so minutes I could feel heat being generated by the friction of the stick’s spinning point in the bottom of the bowl.
Falconer sniffed. “I smell smoke.” He came to check my progress again. We both watched the spinning point of the stick. My shoulders had begun to cramp, and he must have noticed because he reached out and took the bow. “You go help dig. Just don’t open up your side.”
I surrendered the bow and he continued the spinning
without missing a stroke. It was essential that, once started, the motion and friction be maintained. Falconer had come in at just the right time, with fresh energy.
MacDonald was loosening soil out at the edge of the pit as I joined him. “If you can keep digging the soil, I’ll scoop it out,” I said, and he nodded.
Looking at MacDonald was like watching a human figure melt, as the man’s pudginess disappeared, leaving bags and folds behind. MacDonald’s plump, rosy cheeks had imploded into pale flaps of skin that hung off craggy cheekbones. He didn’t look better thin.
He stabbed the soil with the stick, and I scooped.
“Do you think Falconer meant to throw the snake on Kerry?” MacDonald whispered.
I frowned. “You’re joking, right?”
“Maybe he’s not leading us in the right direction,” MacDonald said. “Maybe he wants something.”
I rocked back on my heels, forgetting my injury for a moment. I clutched my side with a groan. “You’re paranoid.”
“His kind always has another agenda.”
“His kind?” I hissed. “You mean—what, exactly?”
“He’s black.” MacDonald had the grace to flush a little.
“Yeah, and you’re an asshole,” I snarled. “Shut the hell up, man.”
“Something wrong?” Sweat gleamed on Falconer’s forehead and muscular arms as he looked up at us, but the man was a machine. He didn’t slow for a minute.
“Nothing. This guy’s just not thinking straight after what happened.” I narrowed my eyes at MacDonald. “Feel free to leave. Good luck making it fifty feet without us.”
“Sorry.” MacDonald spat after he said it, and it came a little close to me. If I hadn’t been in danger of opening up my wound, I’d have taken him down right there.
“I’m gonna remember what you said,” I hissed quietly. “If you give Falconer any shit, you aren’t coming out of this alive. Get me? We’ll just leave you behind.” I didn’t like what I was seeing come out of the camp manager.