by Maria Herren
Eric nodded. "She's always been a fighter," he said, leaning down and kissing the purple mass of her forehead. "If she's got to die it doesn't have to be here. We don't have a get down plan, right?"
"Right," Jesse agreed.
"Are we going down the way we came in?"
"Maybe not," Jesse said, watching Charly's eyelids flutter rapidly, then fly open. They were an incredibly vivid green. She stared straight through him. "Where's Jerry?" she asked.
"Jerry's the tall guy?" he asked, softly. She tried to nod.
"I think he's coming back shortly. Eric and I, well, we're just about to get you out of here, ma'am." It had been a long time since Jesse had seen such beautiful eyes.
She closed them briefly, then refocused. "Did you say Eric?"
"I'm here, my love," Eric whispered.
"Oh, god," she moaned, reaching up to touch his face. "No, it's not real. I'm dying and this is a dream ... I don't care what it is ... Heavenly Father if this is my dream then let him see his son ..."
"It's me, Charly. I'm real," Eric murmured, stroking her face gently.
Jesse wiped his eyes that were wet with tears. "I'm really sorry you two, but we have got to move now. Fast. It's important."
"I haven't heard your name;'' Charly said. Her words came slow but they weren't confused. Jesse was surprisingly humbled that she gave importance to knowing who he was. While Eric was carefully helping her up he made the introductions.
Her feet were unsteady and she started to fall forward. Jesse stepped in quickly, catching her by the waist to hold her upright. "My friends call me Gator, ma'am."
Charly stood shakily, steeling herself against the pain in her legs. Her head wobbled back on Eric's shoulder. Eric and Jesse exchanged a glance. She was in a state of middle ground. Alive, but too badly brutalized to walk on her own and the bubbling cuts in her throat needed immediate attention.
"Your call," Jesse said. "I'm faster in the dirt. Or you take her, I'll take care of Jerry and I'll catch up with you later."
Charly started to cough and choke, then bent sideways and spit out a mouthful of blood. Which made up Eric's mind. "Get her down as quick as you can, Gator. He'll be coming in the front, go down the back way. Move!"
"I'm gone," Jesse said, twisting Charly into his arms. At the door he turned. "How many pops did you pack?"
"Two," Eric told him.
"I've got extra. Dig in," Jesse offered.
Jesse was halfway out the door when Charly went totally limp and became dead weight. "She's out again, Eric. It'll probably be easier on both of us that way. You sure you took everything you need?"
"Yeah, thanks, Gator. I'll clean house as quick as I can and try to catch you halfway down."
Jesse nodded. "You take care."
Eric smiled a slow smile while he began to unwire the package in his hands.
"You take care of her. I was hoping I'd want to tell you that you were right about coming with me when this was over. You were right. Thanks for coming with me."
"You're welcome," Jesse said, graciously, moving out the door. He turned around again and looked back at Eric. "When she wakes up, is there anything you want me to tell her?"
For a brief second Eric's hands hesitated over the wire and he stared up at Jesse, then he looked down again, shaking his head. "No, I'll tell her myself."
He clipped the wire. "Maybe you're right. Tell her that I've always ..." he started, looking back up several seconds too late, "... loved her," he finished to himself.
Jesse was already gone.
⇼
Eric waited low in the leaves for Jerry to come toward the fire. He'd been listening to his steps and the effort he was making to hum and sing a little song that he was trying to find the right words for.
"She's a little tramp who ... nah ... I got to make it in the past." He hummed a little more then. "She was a dark haired little tramp ... damn! That sounds good! Jack! C'mere and listen to this!" he bellowed.
It wasn't the first time that Eric had heard his voice. He recognized the cold cruelty of it from the tapes of the conversations he'd heard. However this was the first time he'd ever seen the man and he absorbed the force of his blunt physicality.
"C'mon out little brother!" he yelled, walking up to the fire and setting the water down. He giggled while he warmed his hands. "Bet you're in there doing it to her again to try to beat my record. You won't be able to!" he warned, his face growing darker while his hands warmed. "I'm tellin' you to get your bony butt out here NOW!" he screamed.
When there was no response he glanced quickly around the small clearing and stalked forward. "Are you ignoring me to prove you're dumber than Jimmy was?" he questioned, glancing around again. "Cause if I get in there and you try to act like you didn't hear me ..." He was visibly confused by the lack of response. "What did you do? Wander out to take a piss and get lost?" He waved his arms and shouted, "Yoo-hoo, dummy, we're over here!"
Eric watched it all. He was tempted to step forward. His good judgment and years of training held him back, waiting for the right moment to strike. Jerry quieted down with the instinct of a wild animal. He turned into the wind and sniffed the air, suspiciously. Finally he walked into the lean-to.
Eric waited for a long count of seven before he eased up, sliding slowly through the leaves to make the least amount of noise, quickly across the dirt. He'd drug Jack's slim body easily across the same path and positioned him in Charly's bed. He wondered how long it would take for Jerry to recognize his brother in the darkness.
Not long at all.
Jerry came roaring out and Eric rose to meet him, blade held strongly in one hand, meeting the face with a closed fist squarely in the long, thin nose. Jerry's cheekbones buckled to make room for his knuckles. The blow dropped him square in a cross-legged position, still conscious.
"Recognize this?" Eric hissed, dangling a length of wire in front of his face. Jerry couldn't quite see. "It's yours. It's been used once or twice on your previous guest."
While he was stunned into submission Eric wired his hands and drug him next to the cot.
"Where did you put the girl?" Jerry whined, tears and blood running down his face, staring into the face of his dead brother.
"She's gone, Jerry. She's on her way to a doctor," Eric told him, busying himself with the timing of the explosives.
"No, she wouldn't leave us," Jerry protested, his head wobbling sideways. "I think she likes me better than my brother," he mumbled into his shoulder. "You fucked up my nose!" he wheezed.
Eric walked over and twisted his head erect by the nose. Jerry screamed in pain. "I'm going to kill you, motherfucker!" he swore, his eyes hideous with hate.
Eric stared back at him with a chilling coldness. "No," he said with finality. "You're the one who's dying today." He held up the timer so they could both watch it. In exactly four minutes and 24 seconds ... 23 ... 22."
Jerry kicked his legs frantically to roll away but Eric leaned around and rammed a finger up his broken nose, jerking him around like a hooked fish. Jerry was insane with pain, screaming a high pitched scream and biting at the hand. Eric grabbed his hair and bounced his head back, then pulled him forward again by the nostril, glaring icily.
"Shut up," Eric commanded.
Jerry did, shifting his eyes toward the ticking bomb, then back to Eric. "Who are you?" he whispered.
"My name's Eric Tyler," he told him.
Jerry's eyes widened. "I know you! Not the husband! She called your name a lot, especially when I ..."
Eric hit him with such force that it lifted Jerry's whole body off the ground. He slumped back against the cot, glaring.
Eric stared back at him, breathing evenly! "Don't get excited to follow me out. I didn't wire your legs for a reason," he said, unsheathing the knife from his belt. "I've left you the option to run out of here. I'd like you to do that," he paused. "If you do you'll feel this knife in your balls. Maybe. Maybe I'll miss."
He left Jerry staring at th
e methodical blinking of the bomb.
⇼
He waited on the outskirts of the tamped dirt, watching the darkness of the opening. "One and ten, one and nine, one and eight," he kept time. With one minute and four seconds to go Jerry staggered out of the shadow.
Fool, Eric thought. You should've waited longer.
"Don't hit me!" Jerry screamed his legs planted wide for balance. "They made me do it!"
Eric rose from the other side of the fire and they faced each other through the flames. "I mean it! This wasn't my idea! It was some Italian guy!" Jerry yelled at him.
Eric held the knife by the tip to line up the shot. "You'll never hit me! You're too far away!"
Eric threw with a lightning like quickness and all of his force, a little to the left where he knew it would hurt the most.
"Fuck you!" Jerry howled, writing against the knife between his legs. Eric walked toward the woods.
"Hey! Hey you! Eric Tyler! How soon ..." he stopped, doubling over with pain. He straightened with his hands wrapped tightly around the knife. "How many seconds? Before that ... bomb goes off?"
Eric coolly retraced his footsteps, kneeling in front of the fire to warm his hands, the light dancing warmly in his cold eyes. "Which bomb?" he questioned, darkly. “The first one's going in 17 ... 16 ...15. That's going to be on your right, Jerry. Big enough to scare you, not close enough to kill you. The rest will."
"I'll see you in hell, motherfucker!" Jerry screamed, pulling as hard as he could against the knife when the first blast went off.
''Not if I see you first, asshole," Eric answered, watching his agony for another second before taking refuge in the trees.
Twenty-Two
Jesse was running hard down the mountain with Charly cradled in his arms when he heard the first blast. He took a break to reposition her and say a small prayer. "Just in case he went up with that one," he explained apologetically to her unconscious form. He took another minute to try to get through on the cell phone. Still out of area.
He started up again, hugging her close to his chest, swaying, ducking, sidestepping and running backward, graceful as a dancer, taking the brunt of the blows to protect her from being cut by the brambles and caught by the limbs. He was full tilt focus to get her down when he felt the danger and heard the other explosions. Which immediately arrested his downward impetus.
Jesse stopped in an enclave of rock and evergreen, holding her loosely, trusting his feeling of uncertainty.
He looked down into wide open green eyes.
"What's wrong?" she asked hoarsely, "I can go on."
"Close your eyes, Charly," he whispered. "I need a breather."
"Jesse," she said, and her eyes begged him not to lie.
"I ... I really do!" he stuttered. "Go back to sleep!"
"Your heart's barely beating, Jesse," she smiled weakly up at him.
He smiled back. "Close your eyes."
"If you're breaking because of me, don't. It doesn't hurt me .... much ... when you run. Not much at all, really," she added. She coughed, choked on blood.
"Go ahead, spit it out," he coaxed.
She shook her head and swallowed hard several times. "You've worked so hard. I don't want to be the one who leaves a trail."
Jesse stared at her with admiration. "Next time, Charly, just spit. I'll take care of it from there, okay?"
She nodded, reaching up to gently touch his face. "You can leave me here and go ahead to call for help, if you want. Eric will be coming."
"No. I mean yes, he will be, but I can't leave you here. Something's not right. I'm not sure what it is, but ..."
"... but you're going to have to leave me somewhere," she finished his sentence for him.
He nodded.
"Do you have an extra gun?" He nodded again.
"You'll leave that with me...now," she demanded.
"No," he whispered, gathering her up again. "Not yet."
She seemed even lighter than the last time when he pulled her into his arms, breathing shallowly. With effort she brought up a hand to close the holes in her throat.
He wanted to tell her not to, but it made it easier for him to listen for other sounds, so he didn't.
They were about two thirds down when he felt it again. Strong. He'd flirted with danger for enough years to know the warning feeling, and he'd stayed alive by listening to it.
"What is it?" she asked when they stopped, again. "Is it Eric?"
"No. He's covering our back. I'm gonna run forward and see what's waiting for us, okay?" he said, gently untangling her tightly wrapped arms and laying her beside a thick bush, brushing leaves up around her.
"Wait, Jesse! I think I hear something. It's not English. It's Italian! They're speaking Italian!"
"I don't hear anything," Jesse told her.
"Quiet! Listen. Yes, I'm sure it's Italian."
"I've never been good with languages. I'd like to know what they're doing on this mountain. How do you say hello?"
"They're speaking a southern dialect like I've heard in Sicily. Carlo has arranged this. They must be coming for me!"
"I don't want to be too quick to think so. Let me check them out, first." Reaching into his pack he pulled out a gun and put it firmly in her grasp. "Do you know how to shoot?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, nodding slowly. "I'm a good shot."
"Terrific," he said, watching while she strained to stabilize her shaking wrist. He knelt down and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "Listen, Eric told me to tell you that he loved you."
"Thanks for saying that," she said, sighting the pistol with her cheek pressed hard against the wet leaves.
"Okay, not today. He told me a couple years ago. When he found out you were getting married. He kind of told me accidentally."
She didn't look at him. "I believe you."
"I hope you do. It's true," Jesse said. "It's just a hard thing for him to say." Charly wiped the tears from her eyes.
"He doesn't have to say it," she said with finality. "Why don't you let me go forward? These guys aren't looking for you, plus I speak Italian. They're looking for me and they'll kill you."
Holstering his gun he brought her back into his arms. "I can hear them, Charly. Are you sure that's Italian?"
"Certamente, signor."
He'd been moving slowly. Now he stopped, kneeling down and laying Charly behind him, laying his finger on her lips for silence.
There were four of them. Two that he could see, one that he heard on the left and another on the right.
The two visible men slowed when he stopped. One was young. Too young, Jesse thought. I remember being that young and excited and scared to death.
The other took the lead. "Stanno di la," he whispered, signaling for a forward movement.
The younger man shook his head no.
"Andiamo!" the leader commanded. Again the young man shook his head, walking cautiously toward the place where Charly and Jesse were concealed.
Shit! This is not good! Jesse thought, leveling his gun at the boy’s heart.
He was concentrating so hard that he heard her movement in his own heartbeat one beat too late.
Too late to tell her to stay covered. Too late to tell her not to move. "Non sparare! Non devil," she yelled, standing to face them.
She'd pushed Jesse's gun aside and he watched the young man swivel toward her, scared by the sound of her voice, finger caught in the trigger.
He leaped quickly, suspended in mid-air by the barrage of bullets that ripped into his chest.
"Chi sono?" someone screamed.
"Basta!" came another voice.
"Non devi sparare!" yelled another.
"Are you okay?" he whispered up to Charly. Her tears rolled off his nose. "Stop crying! You're ... going to...drown me, babe!"
They were his last words.
Twenty-Three
Eric was halfway down the mountain when he heard the gunfire. "Jesus! I thought the party was over!" he muttered, ripping thro
ugh the branches.
He heard the purr of foreign voices and it instantly made sense. "Italian. Carlo did something to get them here."
He unstrapped his gun on the run and held it over his head. "Sono un amico di, Carlo!" he bellowed, holding his gun high, barreling through the underbrush.
He almost tripped over Jesse's body. He slipped across the leaves on all the blood, facing the guns, holding his arms high. "Dove la signora Charly? Dove? Tell me, where is she?" he demanded.
They faced him in a semicircle with the hard eyes of the mercenary soldier. Even the young one had the hard eyes, although his lip trembled.
"Sono un amico di Carlo," he repeated, hands in the air. The lead man lowered his gun. "Chi sei?"
"Sono Eric Tyler. Parlo Italiano abbastanza. Do you, sir, speak English?"
"Certo. I do. Your friend, it was an unfortunate accident."
Eric didn't answer immediately. When he finally spoke he said, "Don't let anyone touch him. I'll come back and get him myself. Where's Charly?"
The answer didn't come quick enough for him. The others had been lulled by the seemingly civil discussion. Dropping in a crouch he grabbed the leader by the throat and jerked his knife.
"Don't waste anymore time, pal. I'm a little shook up right now and the words aren't coming to me so tell your friends all I want to do is follow this trail down the mountain to Charly."
"Are you really a friend of Carlo?''
"I've met him."
Dark eyes met green eyes.
"Yes. Okay," the leader said. "We are on the same side. Let me go. You go ahead. Go quickly to catch up. We won't let anyone move your friend." He looked down at Jesse. "He died very quickly. It was truly an accident," he said with compassion.
They stared at each other for a second longer, then the leader let out a piercing whistle. "Via! Go quickly!" he told Eric.
The whistle pierced Eric's ears twice again while he followed the newly trampled path.
