Angel Down

by Lois Greiman

  She refrained from closing her eyes, from freezing, from babbling like a lunatic, though all of those things seemed like likely possibilities. “No. If it’s who I think it was, my husband is much bigger. That was…Nathan. My brother.” She motioned vaguely. “He went to…relieve himself.”

  “I see.” He turned his head again as if scanning the jungle for her fictional kin. Eddy did the same. But Durrand was nowhere in sight. “I hope he did not get lost.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be back in a moment.”

  “It is easy to become disoriented in the jungle. Perhaps you should return to the village.”

  “Without Nathan?”

  “Sí. The sun…” He smiled. “It is hot, and I’ve no wish for your pretty skin to become burnt.”

  “Well, that’s what SPF 40 is for.”

  He stared at her blankly.

  “Sunblock. See,” she said and raised her arm. It was as pale as whipping cream. “Not a hint of color.” That much at least was true. Her antecedents, British laborers all, would have known her by her glow-in-the-dark skin.

  “Ahhh, you Americans and your many products.” He shook his head as if amused. “Still, I fear I must insist that you return to the village. In fact…” Rounding the bumper quickly, he opened the passenger door. “I believe I will accompany you to make certain you arrive safely.” He stepped inside.

  She swept her gaze desperately toward the jungle where Durrand had disappeared. “I couldn’t possibly leave my brother. He’ll—” she began, but a small click of noise made her lower her attention. It was then that she saw the pistol resting on his thigh.

  The world ground slowly to a halt.

  “Please, chica...” He smiled. Absolutely no emotion showed in his eyes. “I must insist.”

  She swallowed, nodded, and started the engine with fingers numb from fear. “What about my brother?”

  “I am certain he will be fine. So long as he does not upset Javier.” His smile looked real now. Real and chilling, and frightfully predatory.

  She felt gooseflesh prickle her arms. “Who?”

  He chuckled. “Turn the car around, señora. Or are you not truly married?”

  “Why would I lie about that?” Her face felt hot. Her mind was spinning, but she spoke again before he could answer. “My brother is going to be extremely upset if I leave him.”

  “As is my captain if an Americano ruins his bust…no matter how unspoiled her skin is.”

  “His bust?” A hundred yards to the right she saw a blur of movement. Khaki against green. Every terrified instinct in her longed to stare. To convince herself that it was Durrand, but she kept her attention in the rearview mirror as she backed around. The cords in her throat felt as stiff as telephone cables.

  “Is that not what you call it in America?” he asked. “A bust?”

  She wasn’t positive, but she thought there was a fast-moving figure scrambling downhill, skimming through the trees on a trajectory that would intersect the road. She shifted clumsily into first, grinding the gears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His teeth looked maliciously white against his mustache. “Javier was seen headed toward his little hut by the river.”

  She shook her head. “Javier?”

  “It is where he, at times, meets with his clients to sell them his wares.”

  “Like…” She shrugged and took her foot off the clutch. The Jeep hiccupped and yanked to a halt. “I’m sorry.” Don’t look up, don’t look, she ordered silently, and kept her gaze on the shifting gear. “I haven’t driven a stick in years.”

  “Start it again,” he ordered.

  She did so, killing time by studying the tiny diagram on the shifter for a moment and hoping again that she hadn’t imagined the khaki-clad figure rushing toward the road.

  “Go,” he ordered.

  “I’m trying,” she said and shifted from neutral into first while glancing at the policeman from the corner of her eye. “But what about my brother?”

  “With whom you were sightseeing?”

  “Yes.”

  “In Putumayo? Where there is more cocaine than people?”

  She opened her eyes wide. “You think we came for drugs?” she asked and let her foot slip off the clutch so that the engine chugged painfully.

  “Do you say that you did not come for the coca?”

  “Coca? No! Absolutely not. We would never—”

  “Then you were meeting Javier for the guns. Sí?”

  She felt the air leave her lungs.

  “Shift,” he insisted.

  “But the road is so—”

  He lifted his pistol. “Shift.”

  She did so. He smiled. The Jeep began to pick up speed. And try as she might, she could see no more of the khaki-clad figure she hoped she hadn’t imagined.

  “We must hurry now so that we may take our time later,” he said.

  She jerked her gaze to his. It was hooded and horrific, shining with a dozen awful thoughts. She felt sick to her stomach. “Take our time with what?”

  “Just drive, señorita.”

  “Señora,” she corrected, and he laughed.

  “I do not mind if you are married,” he said.

  She felt the blood leave her face but strove for machismo. “Touch me and I’ll turn you in to your commanding officer.”

  “My captain, he is not the kind to hold this against me. Though he prefers younger chicas, I myself do not mind some…how do you say in your country…some dust on the bottle.”

  Terror squeezed her lungs tight, but she reminded herself that she was no wilting lily. She’d been trained for such emergencies. She glanced toward him, mind spinning with escape strategies that seemed as unlikely as a miracle.

  “Neither do I mind some blood,” he said and raised the pistol.

  Chapter 24

  The passenger door snapped open.

  A bullet ripped through the Jeep.

  Eddy screamed and jerked. The policeman was yanked out. She opened her mouth to scream again, but Durrand appeared instantaneously beside her.

  “Go!” he yelled. Behind him, the officer was already rising to his feet, lifting his gun, firing. “Go!”

  Eddy slammed the Jeep into third. They hit a bump and flew. A bullet pinged off their bumper. Up ahead, two men, both afoot, were racing toward the road.

  “Get down!” Durrand ordered and, grabbing her head, pressed it toward the seat. She didn’t try to resist. Neither did she slow down. A bullet winged through the windshield. Durrand grunted. The Jeep bumped.

  Eddy jerked upright. “Are you hit?”

  “Drive!” he ordered.

  She sliced her attention back to the road and gasped. A vehicle was bearing down on them from up ahead. Three men with rifles peered at them from the bed of a pickup truck, arms braced atop the cab.

  “Don’t stop!” Durrand ordered and raised a handgun.

  Gripping the steering wheel tighter, she stomped on the accelerator. The truck seemed to jump toward them. Bullets sprayed in their direction, pelting the Jeep. The approaching men yelled, or maybe they were her screams she heard as the other vehicle was yanked to the side at the last moment.

  They careened past. Metal scraped. The side-view mirror was torn off with a whining protest. Two men were thrown to the ground.

  For a moment, every latent instinct she possessed insisted that she stop to ascertain their wellbeing, but terror demanded that she accelerate. Terror won.

  Branches ripped at them. Rocks leapt like living beasts at their tires.

  “Turn here!” Durrand rasped.

  “Where?” There was no break in the jungle.

  “Here!” he insisted and reaching for the wheel, yanked them into the trees.

  Eddy slammed on the brakes, but momentum carried them through the greenery. They landed with a jolt twenty feet from the road. The engine died.

  The silence was absolute.

  “Grab your bag!” Durrand ordered.

&n
bsp; Eddy blinked, certain they were dead. They must be dead. “We crashed,” she said.

  “Vines,” he grunted and pumped the door handle. Nothing happened. Slamming the door with his shoulder, he managed to wrest it open and stumble outside. “Just vines.” Reaching for his backpack, he shoved maps and binoculars inside. “Cover the Jeep.”

  “What?” Her knee ached. Her mind felt messy.

  “Get out! That’s an order.”

  She obeyed without thinking. He was already dragging tattered foliage back into place. She tried to help, but her hands were tingly, her legs unsteady.

  “Can you walk?”

  “What?” She glanced up at him, barely able to manage that much.

  He curled his fingers around her arm. “We’ve gotta go.”

  “Where?”

  “Down to the highway. We’ll hitch a ride from there.”

  She stumbled once, but he pulled her back to her feet. “We have a ride,” she said and half turned toward the Jeep, but he steered her away.

  “They’ll have more forces coming up the road. We were lucky to get past the first truck.”

  “But we can’t…” She felt strangely teary. “We can’t just leave it.”

  He was still steering her downhill. “Would you feel better if I put it out of its misery?”

  “I meant it’s our only security,” she said.

  “Security’s an illusion.” He glanced behind them, expression grim. “Can you run?”

  She nodded, though she may have been taking the question in a more existential way. Theoretically she could run. She had run in the past.

  “Let’s go,” he said and picked up a jog.

  She followed as best she could, but her legs felt rubbery, her stomach gelatinous. Staggering to a halt, she bent double and threw up beside a towering banyan.

  It was several moments before she could straighten.

  “You ready?”

  She nodded.

  After that, it was a nightmare of movement, endurance, and exhaustion.

  After what seemed a lifetime, they stumbled onto a road. It stretched before them like a winding viper. Durrand squinted into the distance, breathing hard. The sun was setting. He tugged her firmly back into the shelter of the trees.

  “Did we overshoot?”

  “What?” She bent double once more, trying to squeeze oxygen into lungs that had threatened to shut down hours ago.

  “Which direction to Chaviv?”

  “Not sure.” In fact, she had no idea. Terror and exhaustion had consumed any hope of differentiating east from west.

  “We have to get a new vehicle.”

  She glanced down the road. It was empty as far as the eye could see. “How?”

  “You’re going to have to convince someone to stop.”

  “What?” She jerked toward him. “Why me?”

  He grimaced as if his own lungs were complaining. “I don’t think anyone’s going to care if I show a little leg.”

  “You want me to show my—” The idea was so absurd she actually laughed. The sound came out on a tortured wheeze. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Shooting the tires out of a passing car would be counterproductive.” He raised the gun and winced at that slight motion. “And we only have one bullet left. We’re going to have to depend on your sex appeal.”

  She blinked down at herself. Her arms were scratched and covered with mud, her clothes tattered. “You’re crazy.”

  He exhaled heavily and glanced into the jungle behind them. “You’re overestimating the average male.”

  She swung toward him. He’d dropped his pack on the ground and removed his shirt. His chest was taut with muscle and smeared with…

  She stumbled back. “Is that… Is that blood?”

  He glanced up. “Don’t faint,” he said.

  “What?” Her voice sounded hopelessly small to her own ears.

  “You’re not going to faint are you?”

  “No.” She shook her head. The world tilted a little, but she hardened her voice. “Of course, not.”

  “Good,” he said and fainted dead away.

  Chapter 25

  Eddy stared at Gabe. Six feet four inches of solid male lay at her feet. “Durrand?” She said his name softly. There was no answer. Not even a flicker of recognition. “Durrand!” Nothing.

  Squashing every fidgety instinct in her, she knelt beside him. She’d been trained to field dress wounds. She’d been trained, she reminded herself and found she had forgotten the simplest instructions. Taking a deep breath, she settled back on her heels and forced herself to examine the injury. It was high on his shoulder, well away from his heart. That was something, at least. Still, she’d have to staunch the bleeding, she thought, but realized in a moment that it was far too late for that. He’d probably stopped hemorrhaging hours ago…while they were racing downhill dodging bullets and boulders. She exhaled slowly and dropped her head between her knees. No point in passing out, as well. Not that a trained operative would pass out. She closed her eyes.

  Then again, how much worse could it be if she were unconscious? They were alone in the jungle with the police chasing them. They were lost, and the lead on their suicide mission had been wounded, maybe fatally.

  She inhaled carefully. Exhaled slowly. No time for that kind of thinking. First things first. She had to get him out of the elements. Get him fluids. Get him medical help.

  Which meant that he was right, they needed a car. She’d have to convince someone to stop. Maybe if some Good Samaritan saw him lying there he’d stop to help. More likely, they’d careen past and call the police. Colombia was not a wealthy country, but everyone and his sister had a cell phone and…

  The sound of an engine stopped her thoughts. Someone was coming. Standing quickly, she dashed toward the road then jerked to a halt. There was no reason to assume the motorists weren’t the very same people they’d been running from. But perhaps that was a moot point. If she didn’t get medical help, Durrand would die. Stumbling onto the road, she braced her legs and waved both hands.

  A white pickup truck raced toward her, swung wide and rushed past, leaving fumes and a raw feeling of panic in its wake. She stared dismally after it then fought to contain her despair. No time for that.

  Maybe if she had a flag, something to wave, they would see her early enough to realize she posed no threat.

  Hurrying back to Durrand, she retrieved his discarded shirt. Then, noticing his gun, she snatched it from the ground and raced back to the road. Another car was coming. She could hear it. White-hot hope surged inside her. She rushed downhill and fell, sliding five feet before stopping herself. Pain seared her hip, but it was her shin that ached the worst. Gasping, she wobbled to her feet and limped on. A red Volkswagen, far past its prime, was roaring up. Stumbling from the trees, she waved the shirt, but the dilapidated Beetle breezed past.

  Shaking, she lurched to the nearest rock and sat down. Her leg throbbed. She pulled up her pants. A stick had pierced the pale skin near her shin bone. She pulled it out with unsteady hands. The wound appeared to be minor. Barely a trickle of blood marred her flesh.

  Still, she was so immersed in her own woes, she barely noticed the next car. It was nearly upon her when she glanced up. Thirty feet past by the time she realized it was slowing down. Shoving her weapon into the waistband near her spine, she stood, jittery now that it seemed someone was willing to stop.

  The car was aqua blue and angular, harkening from an earlier era. In a moment, a man stepped out of the vintage vehicle. He was young, barely out of his teens, and wore a white suit a little too large for his lanky frame. A cocky fedora shadowed his eyes.

  “You’re a long way from home,” he said.

  “Oh!” Relief flooded her. “You’re American.” It was strange how seeing a compatriot felt tantamount to euphoria.

  “Philadelphia originally.” He sauntered forward, grin a white slant in his lean face. “Name’s Greg Timpany. That’s my Thunderbird.” He je
rked a thumb over his shoulder. “Wanna ride to—”

  “I need your help!” Her voice sounded panicked. She tried to smooth it. “My friend’s been wounded. We—”

  “Wounded!” He stopped dead in his tracks, cocky taking a right turn toward scared.

  Seeing it was too late to retract those damning words, she tried to soothe him. “He didn’t do anything wrong. We were just—”

  “Listen…” He was already backing away. “I’ll get you an ambulance. They should be here in…” He shrugged, shook his head. “Shouldn’t take more than a couple of—”

  “I’m sorry,” she said and yanked the gun from her waistband.

  He froze.

  “Really sorry,” she said and winced.

  He glanced toward his car, thoughts of escape all but visible as they raced through his brain.

  She shook her head. “I can…” She was breathing hard, visibly shaking. “I’m an excellent shot.”

  He lifted his hands a little then kept them even with his chest. “My wallet’s in the Bird. If you’ll let me get it, I’ll—”

  “I don’t want your money.”

  Somehow, those words didn’t seem to soothe him at all. He glanced at his car again.

  “I don’t want to shoot you either,” she said and cocked the weapon.

  “Okay.”

  Another vehicle was coming. She could hear it rumbling down the hill toward them. Dammit! “I’m going to lower the gun. If you do anything…” She ran out of words, out of breath, out of ideas, but he shook his head.

  “I won’t.”

  “Put your hands down,” she ordered.

  He did so slowly. She lowered the pistol, letting it fall unseen beside her injured leg.

  The motorist slowed to gawk but kept driving.

  Eddy breathed a sigh of relief as it rounded the bend and slipped out of sight, swallowed by the jungle. But pain suddenly slashed her arm. She jerked back. Too late. Timpany had knocked the pistol from her fingers. It skittered in the dirt. She dove for it. He grabbed it first.

  She rose slowly, heart racing.

  He straightened, too. Gone was his convivial grin. “What now, perra?” he asked.

  She ignored the pejorative as best she could. “I still need help.”