“Yeah, you?”
“Yep, but we need to get out of the water. I think I can pull myself out and then drag you up.” He places my hand on the protruding boulder of rock he’s clinging to. “Hold on to this.”
I hear more splashing noises and feel Logan’s body slither past mine like a giant eel. Once he’s safely on solid ground, two strong arms I’m becoming too familiar with descend on me and pull me up.
Shivering, I ask, “What do we do now?”
“We must follow the river; it’s our best bet to get out.”
“Okay, but let’s use the lighter, I can hold it and flick it on from time to time. I’m not looking forward to another freezing bath.”
I hear Logan’s movements as he searches for it and tries to turn it on. “It’s not lighting up.”
“What do we do now?”
“We still have to follow the river.”
“What? In the darkness? How are we not going to fall in again?”
“I think it’s safer than trying to swim our way out. We’ll go slowly. I’m sure we can make it.”
And just when I thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, I discover that being soaked head to toe definitely isn’t an improvement. As we start down the tunnel again, we both drip unpleasantly, making the way even more slippery and treacherous.
Slowly, utterly exhausted, we stumble ahead for what seems forever, but could be only minutes.
Suddenly Logan stops, and I bump against him.
“Look!” he whispers. “Am I starting to have visions, or is that light?”
I strain my eyes, squinting them in the darkness… and, yes, far ahead of us, I can definitely make out a faint, glimmering spot, no larger than a cottage windowpane. It’s so dim and distant, that I, too, doubt my sight. I close my eyes and open them again, but the dot is still there. Very much real.
Squeezing Logan’s hand, I say, “I can see it too!”
With a gasp of hope, we push on. In five minutes, there’s no longer any doubt; it’s a patch of light, becoming larger with every step we take. A minute more, and a breath of living air fans on us. We struggle on, now keeping to the left as close to the tunnel wall and away from the running water as we can. It becomes easier as we go and the passage expands.
A few more steps and we’re out in the sun again.
Fourteen
Logan
After so many hours trapped in that tomb, the first gulp of fresh air that fills my lungs is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted. I turn to find Winter beaming up at me in the faint light of the approaching dawn. She’s wet as a drowned rat, smeared all over with dust and mud, bruised, the fear of certain death still visible in her eyes. And yet, I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in my entire life.
I smile back at her. “We made it!”
Winter surprises me with a high-five, and then undoes her tresses and shakes the water off, wet-dog style. I’m positively hypnotized.
“Where are we?” she asks.
I check our surroundings, trying to orient myself. We’re on a hill, the mass of the temple at our backs, and a stretch of untouched jungle expanding before us in a huge valley.
“We must’ve gotten out the other side of the temple,” I say, taking a better look at the vale opening below us.
That’s when my brain clicks.
The memory of the satellite images superimposes with the planes and hills before my eyes, turning rises into buildings and the flat stretches of ground into roads and plazas.
“Look,” I say, pointing forward. “This isn’t natural. See the straight lines and regularity of the mounds?”
I can’t believe it! It’s like staring at a monochromatic-green plastic of a city grid. There are roads, canals, and moats around all the principal structures, and the river we followed must be an artificial stream; it encloses and encircles the city. All the important buildings face east, toward the rising sun, as was often the case in local ancient cultures. The temple we came out of does, and so do the other vine-covered mounds—which are probably the city’s religious and government buildings.
At the city’s edge, forts and walls line the perimeter, and underneath the vegetation, I can see sparkles of gold in the dawn’s light. An entire city of gold—and I don’t care if it’s just a layer of paint. Once cleaned of the weeds, this will be the most magnificent historical site in the world.
Winter steps next to me. “It’s really something, huh? Pity you drowned my camera. This would’ve been a beautiful picture.”
Is she seriously blaming me for the camera? It’s not like I tried to fall into the river. “Sorry if I was busy trying to save both our lives,” I snap.
She nudges me gently with her elbow. “I was kidding.”
“Oh.”
Winter runs her fingers between her wet locks, distracting me from my irritation. “What’s the plan now?” she asks. “Where do you reckon Smith’s at?”
“Judging from the sun’s position, we must’ve been trapped in the temple for about twelve hours. I bet Smith used this time to move the boxes out of the building, but he can’t carry the booty away by himself. He must plan to use the mule, and Somchai took it back to base camp. If we’re lucky, he’s waiting at the temporary camp for them to return.”
“And then what?” Winter asks. “He single-handedly takes everyone out and escapes?”
“Nah, Carter or Montgomery will be in the group, and those two do everything Smith tells them. They’re professional fighters with weapons, and even if they’re outnumbered, they can overpower the others in a blink.”
“Okay, then we need to take Smith out before they arrive.”
“Why?”
“Because he thinks we’re still trapped in the temple. With the element of surprise, we might stand a chance against one armed ex-Delta Force, but no way we can take down two. Surprise or not.”
“And how do you plan to take out Smith?”
“Easy. We steal his rifle.”
“Sorry, but that would be useless, I can’t shoot.”
Winter flashes me a wicked smile and slowly walks toward me. “You may not, Doctor.” She stops a foot away from me and gently pokes me in the chest. Then, with a wink, she adds, “But I sure can.”
***
One hour later, we’ve circled our way back to the front of the temple and have eyes on our temporary camp. The place is absolutely still, which hopefully means Smith is still asleep in his tent. But his M16 is nowhere to be seen.
“No rifle,” I whisper.
“Well,” Winter whispers back, “if I were a crook sleeping alone in the jungle, I’d take the big guns to bed with me.”
“So what do we do?”
“Cover me,” she says. “I’ll sneak inside his tent and steal it.”
“And how am I supposed to cover you?”
“I don’t know.” Winter shrugs. “Grab a shovel. If Sleeping Beauty wakes up, smash it on his head, I don’t care. He had it coming.”
Gingerly, careful not to make too much noise, we approach Smith’s tent. But when Winter pulls the flap open, the inside is empty. Well, not exactly empty. The rifle is there, but Smith isn’t.
With a quick precision that’s half-hot, half-scary, Winter grabs Smith’s M16, checks it for ammunition, and then cocks it over her shoulder. A rustling sound coming from behind makes us turn, and before I’ve had time to realize what’s happening, Winter bursts through the tent flap, trains the rifle on Smith, and shouts, “STOP RIGHT THERE! Hands up where I can see them.”
At the edge of the jungle, Smith, probably back from taking a leak, freezes with his hands in the air. His ever-present leer is not one bit dimmed by the fact of suddenly finding himself on the wrong side of the weapon.
“Come on, Barbie,” the soldier snickers. “We both know that rifle is useless in those pretty hands of yours—”
He reaches for the gun at his belt, but Winter is quicker, and sends a bullet
flying an inch from Smith’s foot. Dirt explodes in a circular bubble near his toes, and Smith backs his hand away from his gun.
Eyes fixed on the rifle sight, she says, “Try a move again, and the next bullet goes in your kneecap.”
Again, I don’t know if I should be turned on or frightened to death.
“Oi, Barbie can shoot.” The soldier chuckles mockingly. “The world is full of surprises. I confess I hadn’t hoped to see you again so soon, Miss Knowles.”
“What can I say,” Winter quips right back. “I was missing you too much. Now, would you be so kind as to remove that gun from your belt, and the one at your ankle. The knives, too. Go slowly, and not another funny move.”
Some sort of unspoken sniper secret code must run between them, because to my utter surprise, Smith does exactly as he’s told. He must have finally decided Winter is a threat.
Once the colonel has removed all the weapons from his person, Winter instructs him to kick them our way. He does, and I quickly collect them, still eyeing my companion skeptically.
“How come you’re such a good shot?” I ask.
Her eyes flicker to me for a fraction of a second, and she smirks. “My mom’s from Indiana, originally.” She refocuses on Smith. “She was born and raised on a ranch, and we went to visit our grandparents every summer. Pops taught us how to shoot before we could walk.”
I swallow. “Remind me to never make you angry again.”
“Oh, I will.” She gives me that sweet, bone-chilling smile of hers, and then her face loses all humor. “Logan,” Winter says, her voice hard as steel. “We need to find a wire or something we can tie him with. I can’t keep him at gunpoint forever.”
I check the supplies Somchai left us and come back with two lengths of rope.
“Throw one at him,” Winter instructs.
I frown. “Why?”
“So he can tie his own feet.”
“I can do it,” I offer.
“No, you can’t,” Winter says. “He could grab you in a hundred different ways the second he gets his hands on you and threaten to choke you or snap your neck. Our government paid top dollars to transform him into a living killing machine. We’re both staying well away from him until he’s incapacitated.”
Smith’s responding sneer is evil. “Other than being a good shot, you’re smarter than I thought,” he says, something close to admiration audible in his voice.
I throw him the rope, and Smith obediently ties his feet together. I’ll make sure to check that the knots are tight once his hands are bound.
Winter gives him her next order. “Now tie the other rope around your wrist, bring your hands to your back, and loop the rope inside your belt twice. Then turn around—as always, slowly.”
Smith does, and when he has one hand securely restrained behind him, Winter says, “Logan, time to finish the job.”
I tie his other hand, then lift the colonel bodily, drag him to a nearby tree, and use the rope to secure him to the trunk.
Once Smith is restrained, and I’ve double-checked the knots, Winter lowers the rifle, letting her shoulders relax.
“What’s next, G.I. Jane?” I ask. “Should we wait for the rest of the group?”
“No, we make a run for it.”
“Why? We have him. There’s no more danger of—”
“Carter or Montgomery will arrive soon. They might just blunder in and get the jump on us, or they might scout ahead, see Smith tied up, and ambush us. Too many things could go wrong. We need to get lost, find civilization, and call for help.”
“You expect me to leave him here? With all the gold? So he and his cronies can steal it?”
“I don’t care about the stupid treasure; I just want to make it out of the jungle alive. We have to find help.”
“And what of the others? We need to warn them.”
“We can’t; Logan, we have to go. Every second we lose is thinning our chances.”
“Listen to Barbie, Professor,” Smith taunts. “Make yourselves scarce and hope we don’t catch you.”
Winter scowls at him but doesn’t engage. “Let’s gather all that we can and get out of here.”
First, we drink as much water as we can from the stock Somchai left behind. After a day and a night spent rationing, the water is sweet and fresh as it flows down my parched throat. I gulp it down until my stomach begins to stretch. Then I fill all the canteens I’m comfortable carrying without collapsing, and, finally, reload my backpack with more food. Lastly, I pick up one of the machetes. I’d like to take them all, but they’d be too heavy to bear. Winter, her hair now dry, combs it back in her signature twin braids, gathers her camera gear, and nods at me she’s ready.
“Which way should we go?” I ask.
Throwing a hateful glare at Smith, she comes next to me to whisper in my ear. “Let’s retrace our steps on the road for a while, then we can decide. Should make it harder for them to track us.”
“Okay. Somchai and the others shouldn’t arrive before noon, which should give us a good head start.”
“All right.”
We nod at each other and, without sparing Smith another glance, we head for the thick of the jungle.
“Au revoir,” the soldier calls mockingly after us, just as dark, heavy storm clouds obscure the sky and a clap of thunder rumbles in the distance.
Fifteen
Winter
Of course we have to make our escape under an avalanche of water. And, in the Thai jungle, it doesn’t just rain buckets—we’re flooded by so much rainwater, it’s as if someone opened the sky’s tap and is in no hurry to close it.
By now, I should’ve learned any situation can get worse, and that, lately, being soaked in water is what does the trick. Why did I ever complain about the heat? Compared to the wet cold sneaking down my spine, the excessive warmth of two days ago was heaven.
At the moment, I’m drenched, shirt to socks, and my boots are caked in mud. With every new step, I half expect my feet to fall off from their weight.
Suddenly, the ground beneath me gives way, swallowing me whole. A scream rolls out of my throat as, head over heels, I tumble down the landslide, rocks, mud, and rubble falling in a waterfall around me.
I lose the rifle in the plunge, but I’m kind of glad. The last thing I need is a pointy slab of metal batting all over me as I fall. Did I put the safety on? I can’t remember. It’d be ironic if I got shot by Smith’s stolen M16 by accident.
As I careen around a bend, Logan rolls past me like a sled-less racer. Hell, that’s where we’re headed. Satan is taking me home with him: to the pitch-dark bottom of this inferno of a jungle. Having been trapped in the bowels of the earth wasn’t enough. Oh, no. Now I’m sinking into an abyss where only mud and torn branches exist.
A runaway boulder smashes into my elbow as it rolls past. As I keep tumbling, I bring my arm closer to my chest. I don’t think it’s broken, but it stings worse than a scorpion bite. With my other hand, I frantically try to grab onto something to stop my downward plunge, but my fingernails scrape the earth in vain, finding nothing to hold on to. The force of the slide plummets me down relentlessly. Like in a nightmare from my childhood, when I slipped off a rafting boat in West Virginia to be immediately carried under by a powerful current with no hope of rescue. Only, I’m not lost in the rapids today, but in a sea of mud. I’ll end up being buried alive, again!
My clothes rip in multiple places as thorns and sharp rocks slash at the fabric. I cover my face to prevent more dirt from entering my mouth, and close up in a tight ball, steering sideways to take most of the slide on my back, where the backpack protects my skin. But it’s no use. My ribs hit something, throwing me off balance, and the next moment I find myself on my stomach, legs flung behind me in a bad imitation of a belly waterslide.
I’m in a panic, but I refuse to give in to hysteria. We didn’t escape a stone tomb just to plunge into a dirt grave. I cool my mind, focusing on all the
people I love and want to get back to: my parents, Summer, Lana, the rest of our team—they need us. I repeat their names in my head, my love for them working as a shield protecting my body against the pain of the rockslide. Until, mercifully, I crash to a halt at the bottom of the cliff.
Seconds later, Logan tumbles on top of me, the rifle bouncing down right after him and missing both our heads by inches.
“Whooo-hoo!” Logan hollers, rolling off me. “Heck of a ride. Are you okay?”
Heavy raindrops smack my face, washing the mud away. “I think so,” I say, swallowing a mouthful of rain. “I’m still in one piece.”
The adrenaline from the fall must jack up my system, because I feel no pain. Only the rain rinsing the dirt out of my braids and shredded clothes.
“You?” I ask.
“Only a few scratches,” Logan says with a big grin. Then he offers me a hand. “Come on, we gotta press the advantage. We don’t know how long we have before Smith gets free, and you can bet he’ll be onto us again soon.”
I let him pull me up and lose my breath as our faces come within inches of each other. All I’d have to do to kiss him would be to rise on tiptoes.
Whoa.
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.
Where did that thought come from?
All these life-threatening experiences are playing funny games with my brain.
And his, too, judging from the way his green-hazel eyes darken as he looks at me. As if he, too, was thinking about kissing me.
Thunder cracks in the distance, sounding disturbingly like a gunshot. The sudden noise pulls us both back to our senses, to the urgency of the situation and away from any crazy romantic fantasies.
I step back and scan our surroundings. We landed in a small clearing, but except for the spot we’re standing, the terrain is still jungle all around. “Which direction?” I ask.
“Depends where we want to go.”
“We have options?”
Logan considers for a second. “I see only two choices: either we try for the village or walk back to camp.”
“The village would be safer, but it’s farther away.” I gnaw my bottom lip and twist my fingers. “And I don’t feel right not checking on the others.”
From Thailand with Love Page 12
