She Is Risen (She Is Risen: The Gun Control Case Studies)

by Adams Irish, Travis

III. What Happens in the Jungle

  Antonio wipes the side of his face as droplets of sweat emerge; partially due to his body trying to cool itself, but more likely caused by his overflowing guilt. A white bandana is fixed to the top of his head, still somewhat moist from the well water; the hot Mexican sun drying it rapidly. His brown eyes and short stature make him appear unremarkable, and Antonio’s natural demeanor seems pleasant, almost as though he could be a member of your family.

  From the second floor balcony of a bright orange vacation resort, he gazes with disappointment at the jungle just a few dozen yards from his position. His eggshell colored shirt is covered in dirt stains, as are his black jeans. He puts his hands on his hips, staring down toward the black, leather belt that he procured from the father of a family of five several hours earlier. Antonio raises his head again, looking into the jungle. Just below his line of vision, he sees a warrior wasp hovering above the wooden railing right in front of his post. The wasp moves its black body tactfully above the weathered, brown wood, seeking out anything useful to its colony.

  As he looks at the wasp, he thinks about the cartel, and draws a strong distinction of common ground between the colony of deadly insects, and his organization of deadly smugglers. There is a sinister connection, Antonio thinks to himself, regarding how The Federales setup a roadblock on highway 186, preventing them from getting back to their nest. With over one-hundred million dollars in cocaine, they were forced to migrate north of the highway, pushing deeper into the old jungle. When they found the bright orange resort and only a family of five protecting it, their colony of twenty wasps slaughtered the worker bees and took refuge in the new nest.

  Antonio sighs with shame as his gaze raises back to the jungle, and he thinks about the five bodies that he just buried there. Within the cartel, he has become known as Antonio ‘Gravedigger’ Espinoche; a man who has dug over one-thousand graves, and lost count a long time ago. He ponders all the different graves he’s dug, and the various purposes for those graves. Antonio knows that a sensible grave begins by making cuts into the earth using a shovel to make an oval shape. Then digging about three feet down into the very center of the oval, allowing him to leverage the shovel and tear out large chunks of earth with little effort. It is also important to layer the earth around the grave evenly so that it can be filled in faster. Choosing the right earth with a flaky, moist consistency to dig the graves also drastically cuts down the burial time. He even came up with a cocktail of herbs to throw off the dogs that might be looking for bodies. His own mixture of chili peppers, cinnamon, and freshly ground coffee. Though in emergency situations like this one, where bodies must go immediately into the ground; those ingredients rarely present themselves in time.

  He glances over to his right at his amigo, Enrique, a senior smuggler who has seen the best and worst of everything in his thirty years with the cartel. The fifty-year-old enforcer stands vigilant on the opposite corner of the balcony, watching the cache of drugs like a faithful dog. He is clad in a light, soft material, tailored to fit his body, making him appear wise. His pants and shirt are made from the same black and gold fabric, giving it the look of a uniform. Enrique smiles wide at Antonio, unintentionally showing that he is missing all of the molars from his bottom jaw, and half the teeth in his upper jaw. Although he is nearly twenty years older than Antonio, the veteran enforcer has a powerful body, maintained by daily exercises and a diet dictated by nature.

  Antonio is amazed to see this man smiling after having lost his second son just a few nights ago. He smiles back at Enrique with a great deal of respect, knowing that the man next to him has lost both of his sons; one from a rival cartel, and the other from a shootout with Mexican authorities. Enrique turns away for a moment, scanning the jungle with the AK-47 clenched tightly in his arms. As the older man turns away, Antonio sees the familiar machete slung over Enrique’s shoulder with the black sheath tight against his back.

  Antonio looks out into the jungle again, remembering the five graves, but his heart goes cold as he sees a figure standing among the Taxodium Mucronatum Trees. A woman with long brunette hair is walking along the tree line; her body is covered by a full-length red robe. The robe is secured around her with what looks like a thick black rope. Earlier in the day, the smugglers had chopped down a few trees, and cleared a path for the helicopter to land. The woman walks around the outer edge of this new landing zone, seemingly oblivious to the men guarding the resort.

  The young enforcer closes his eyes for a moment, and as he reopens them, the woman is no longer there. His heart starts to beat fast as he remembers killing the mother of the family, and wonders if, in his haste, he neglected to finish her off. He glances over at Enrique, but his comrade has obviously not seen anything that is attention-worthy. Antonio closes his eyes again, grabbing his canteen and drinking with a remorseful thirst, trying to put the family out of his mind. As he opens his eyes, he sees the warrior wasp staring at him, settled on top of his silver canteen. The black, menacing little body is less than an inch from his fingers with its yellow eyes focused directly on Antonio’s brown eyes. The young man holds perfectly still, breathing heavily and watching the wasp creep slightly toward his dirty hand.

  Soon the sound of a helicopter approaches from the north, and the large insect takes flight, zooming around Antonio, and disappearing behind the resort. The young enforcer smiles and breathes in with relief, screwing the cap back on his canteen as he looks out at the landing zone. His eyes squeeze tight as he sees the woman in the red robe again, walking around the outer rim of their helicopter landing zone.

  “Señorita, you cannot be out there!” Enrique shouts to the woman. “There is poison gas from a truck explosion on the highway. You need to leave!”

  Antonio is relieved that Enrique can also see the woman, and he watches her carefully as the sound of the helicopter becomes louder every second. In the distance, the woman reaches out and touches a large, one-hundred-and-twenty-foot Montezuma Cypress Tree. Then she calmly and dutifully moves a few steps closer to the resort, staying at the edge of the tree line. After a few seconds, there is a crackling sound of fresh wood breaking, and the enormous tree snaps at its base right where the woman touched the trunk. The entire mass of branches and leaves crashes down behind the woman, falling away from the landing zone.

  Antonio’s eyes grow wide with awe as he tries to understand what has happened. Just fifty feet above his head, and thirty feet away, the black helicopter is descending to the landing area. In the distance, the woman steps gracefully forward, and touches another large tree, strolling casually toward the resort as the approaching helicopter begins to blow her robe tight against her petite body. The young woman’s hair flows backward in a wild whipping motion, but she remains uncharacteristically calm for someone near a helicopter.

  When the helicopter is just fifteen feet off the ground, the sound of wood breaking is heard again, and another massive tree snaps from its base, falling inward on the landing zone. Antonio watches with surprise, shielding his face instinctively as the branches and leaves of the heavy tree bear down on the vulnerable helicopter blades. He hears two whacking sounds in quick succession before the bulk of the tree pushes the helicopter to the ground with a thunderous crash. The top of the tree misses the resort, falling at an angle past the corner of the building where Antonio is standing guard.

  With a confused expression, the young enforcer looks down at the helicopter that is now crushed under the weight of the tree. Smoke rises from the wreckage, and he cannot hear any sounds of life coming from within. Antonio looks over at Enrique, and the older man shrugs with a spooked expression. Both men turn their attention to the woman approaching the resort from the tree line, feeling uneasy and confused.

  As she encroaches within forty feet of the resort, Enrique aims his AK-47 at her and opens fire. Antonio watches with mixed feelings, waiting for her body to hit the ground. But his face displays concern as he notices that Enrique’s bullets are pelting the
earth halfway between him and his target. This is impossible for the angle of fire, and the velocity of the bullets, but nonetheless, they are striking the ground as if bouncing off a wall of steel.

  Enrique stops firing after also noticing this unnatural occurrence, and lowers the rifle, staring at the woman with the contempt of a seasoned killer, but the fear of an intelligent hunter. When the woman gets within twenty feet of the resort, she holds up her palms toward the two men with her fingers outstretched, and then rolls both hands into tight fists. Antonio feels his body go limp, and hears Enrique fall onto the wooden balcony in unison with him. For a moment, he tries to pull himself up from the rough, dark stained wood, but his mind feels immediately exhausted, and he loses consciousness.

  “SAN PEREZ, YOU SONOFABITCH!” Enrique shouts through gritted teeth.

  Antonio opens his eyes to see Enrique charging toward him with his machete gripped tightly in his right hand. The older man’s pupils are dilated with hatred as he moves toward Antonio shouting the name of his son’s killer; the rival cartel chief.

  “I am not San Perez!” Antonio pleads, glancing at his own AK-47 just ten feet away, leaning against the corner of the wooden railing. “Enrique, it’s Antonio; look at me!” He pleads with a respectful gaze, hoping the older man will come to his senses.

  Antonio realizes that Enrique is not backing down, and he begins to shuffle backward clumsily, half crawling and half walking to where his rifle is resting. Enrique approaches closer, staring him down as if he were an abomination, rapidly closing the space between them. When Antonio is only three feet from his rifle, Enrique strikes with the machete, bearing down hard with his sinewy muscles. Antonio raises his right arm to protect his face from the blade, and the machete connects, slicing deep into his muscle just above the elbow. The younger man screams in agony as the blade impacts his bone; he can feel the heat of freshly cleaved flesh hanging from his arm, and the warm blood is saturating his chest. Antonio kicks with his legs and lunges for his rifle with his left arm, feeling his heart pounding in his ears as Enrique bears down on him with intense rage.

  Antonio grips his rifle as the older man raises the machete again, and brings it down repeatedly toward the younger man’s face, trying with all his might to finish him. He protects his face with his right arm for a second time, and the machete cleaves into it just below the elbow. Antonio grits his teeth as the blade lands another strike against his bone, and to his horror, it comes down a third time, hitting in almost the same spot, instantly breaking the bones of his forearm. The pain is unmerciful, and Antonio uses all of his strength to raise the rifle across his body at an angle. However, the machete connects a final time with unrelenting accuracy, slicing through the remaining flesh as the young man helplessly watches his right arm fall onto the filthy surface of the walkway.

  Antonio shrieks in pain as he fires a burst from his AK-47 into Enrique’s torso, causing the older man to fall straight backward from the force of the gunfire. The young cartel enforcer winces in agony, watching the blood shoot from the remaining upper half of his arm. With desperation and panicked movements, he lays down on the walkway, releasing the rifle, and using his left hand to remove his black leather belt. Once he has the belt in hand, Antonio uses it to apply a tourniquet to his wounded right arm. With his left hand and teeth, he cinches the belt tight around what remains of his limb, shaking all over from the intensity of the pain.

  As Antonio looks up from the walkway, he sees the woman standing in front of him. She has beautiful olive skin, and unforgiving green eyes. He doesn’t recall at what point she arrived, or whether she was there the entire time.

  “Tell Miguel Horatio to stop hurting my people.” The woman begins with a sinister tone, staring evenly at Antonio. “If he harms another of mine, I will claim his firstborn son.”

  “Who are your people?” Antonio asks with a shaky voice, feeling suddenly cold as his heart begins to pound from the loss of blood.

  “You are not my people, Antonio.” She declares with a powerful stare, showing ancient strength and wisdom. “All those who have been deceived and abused; living or dead… are my people.”

  “Antonio!” A voice calls out from within the resort. “Enrique!”

  Another cartel enforcer steps out onto the walkway and beckons for the two men. His aging face shows panic from the recent helicopter crash, but this is further aggravated when he glimpses the bloody scene on the balcony. After a quick mental inventory, he realizes that Enrique is dead, and rushes to where Antonio is lying on the floor. He then uses his strong, sturdy frame to lift him up on one shoulder and carry him into the resort, being careful not to touch his severed arm.

  “Did you see her?” Antonio asks in a weak voice as he fades in and out of consciousness.

  “Did I see who?” The enforcer asks quickly.

  “The woman in the robe?” Antonio demands eagerly.

  “There was no woman,” the man replies dismissively, “we need to get you a doctor. The helicopter has been destroyed, and everyone is downstairs. What happened to Enrique?”

  “He went mad. She makes you see things… that aren’t real…” Antonio mutters before passing out from blood loss.

  IV. Paranoia - Reservation for One

  :: Begin Encoded Message ::

  H.E.N.A.

  D2vl3n McC4nn2ll6 3s N4 L4ng2r P1rt 4f H.2.N.1.

  1tt2nt34n t4 1ll f32ld 4p2r1t3v2s, D2vl3n McC4nn2ll6 3s n4 l4ng2r fr32ndl6 w3th H.2.N.1. 645 1r2 t4 c1pt5r2 4r d2t13n h3m b6 1n6 m21ns n2c2ss1r6 4r t4 5s2 d21dl6 f4rc2. W2 1r2 4ff2r3ng 4v2r $100,000 3n b4n5s m4n26 t4 1n64n2 wh4 c1n br3ng h3m t4 th2 4p2r1t34ns c2nt2r. 1ll f32ld 1g2nts w3ll r2c23v2 ph4t4s 4f th3s 1g2nt v31 s2c5r2 2m13l. C4nt1ct 4p2r1t34ns 3f 645 g13n s3ght 4f h3m 3mm2d31t2l6. F13l5r2 t4 c4nt1ct 4p2r1t34ns f3rst w3ll r2s5lt 3n t2rm3n1t34n.

  Maxwell Out

  :: End Encoded Message ::

  Gloria walks across the patches of grass in a local Chicago suburb, smelling here and there at the ground as she gets ready to relieve herself after a day of waiting for Devlin. The Golden Labrador is special, having trained for six months in Auburn University’s vapor wake bomb detection program. The dog raises her head, smelling the air for threats. She picks up the scent of a woman’s perfume in a signature that carries over one-hundred yards down the sidewalk to the left. Her ears stand on end as the Labrador detects another unique odor that is uncommon to everyday life. Over forty feet away, across the street, a bottle of solvent has leaked through a cheap toolbox into the trunk of an old car, but the dog soon dismisses this as not being a threat. After assessing the area, she soon finds a nice place to do her business, while Devlin stares off into the distance.

  As the afternoon traffic passes them by, Devlin’s hair stands on end, and he is filled with conflicting emotions. Just a week ago, he was in the employment of the CIA, working on a program to isolate and monitor unstable people who might commit gun violence. After the movie theater shooting in Colorado, The Speaker of The House, Henri Edwards, commissioned a team of experts to help gather data for The President. According to Henri, they would be creating the foundation for a new organization similar to the TSA, but specializing in gun control screening.

  He feels the sun and wind on his face, closing his eyes for a moment of peace, trying to stay alert despite only sleeping two or three hours per night. The black leather leash tightens in his hand, and he looks down with a smile at his furry protector. Gloria is watching him with her head turned sideways in a curious manner. Devlin grins as he looks at her face, feeling like this is her way of telling him to man up and stay strong. After taking a quick glance around the area, Devlin leads the dog back to the hotel just fifty yards away. He keeps his head down as they move, watching for Gloria to signal that a threat is nearby. The dog’s sense of smell is 44 times greater than a person, because she has more than 220 million olfactory receptors in her nose, whereas Devlin has only 5 million. This means that Gloria can detect scents for hundreds of yards, long after the odor has passed. Sh
e can even smell a urine sample to determine if it contains bladder cancer cells.

  As they get near the hotel, Devlin pulls the leash to the left, even though the dog is trying to maneuver right. He wants her to smell the car again, ensuring that no tampering has taken place since they were gone. When they approach the stolen black Escalade, the dog takes a short lap around the SUV with Devlin in tow, wagging her tail to show that she doesn’t detect any danger.

  Now that he is satisfied with the vehicle, Devlin signals the dog back onto her original course, heading for a side door entrance of the hotel about thirty feet away. He admires the foliage and fresh smell of the grass after a recent rainstorm, enjoying everything around him, and trying to avoid arousing suspicion.

  Soon Devlin and the dog reach their familiar hotel room door, a nice, solid white oak with inlayed wood and a brass handle. After inserting his card, he steps into the entryway with Gloria, seeing that she is clearly excited to be home, wagging her tail briskly as he undoes the leash from her collar, allowing her to roam free in the room.

  Devlin steps over to the edge of the bed near the window and leans down to an ice chest where he retrieves two bottles of cold water. He then pours one bottle into Gloria’s dish, and places the other bottle against his neck, feeling the soothing moisture and cool plastic. As he sits down on the corner of the bed, Devlin realizes how much he misses his wife. This is the first time in over a year that he has been away from the lovely brunette Russian since he was serving the Army in Afghanistan and Iraq. Although they talked a few days ago, he feels stressed thinking about her now. His mind wanders a bit to what Henri could be plotting against the love of his life, but he decides not to consider it anymore.