by Ann Walker
"A lot," he sighed, and then rolled his eyes when I looked up at him. "More than we ought to be held for, probably. But I said I'd pay him in supplies. No weapons, just basic amenities his entire organization lacks. Food, water purifiers, blankets, gas. I'm not about to fund his private military."
He sounded so sure of himself, so secure in his decision, but I couldn't help my confusion.
"How can you afford to do all this?" My inquiry was met with another small smile, one that made my core tingle in a familiar way.
"I own my company," he informed me, a little detail he'd managed to leave out during all our countless hours of conversation. "I have since I left college. It's made me… fairly well off. I can spare the cash. In fact, I'll probably make up the million over the next six months with all my investments—"
"Million!" I sputtered, sitting up and pushing at his chest. "You're paying him a million dollars?!"
"In supplies," he stressed, pulling me back to him as I tried to digest the information. "He has a lot of camps across the country… Some of his efforts have been environmental activism. We were his ticket to funding an expansion into other countries, but it didn't seem like it was going to pay off. I wasn't ready for him to take drastic measures."
"Huh." What else was I supposed to say? It was all so much to take in, we were getting out of here—and the love of my life was a millionaire. Maybe a billionaire if he had a cool million to toss aside.
And I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
"I know this is a lot to take in," he murmured, his lips brushing over my temple as he kissed me. "It's a lot for me too. All we can do is wait for things to start moving, you know? I can't promise we'll be out of here tomorrow, but… the ball is rolling, I guess, so—"
I cut him off, pressing my lips to his, and we both relaxed into a deep, long kiss. When we pulled apart, I actually felt at ease with the way the tide was finally turning.
"I only love you for your money, you know," I whispered, my hands deep in his hair, my legs wrapped around his waist. He grinned and pulled me closer.
"I had a suspicion."
And with that, we felt together once more, relief pouring over us. There was still a long way to go yet, but at least this was a start to something better.
There was officially a light at the end of this very bleak, horrible tunnel we'd been in all this time. Finally.
Chapter Six
"Nothing like a stroll in the blazing sun," I mused, gesturing up to the unrelenting orange orb above, "escorted by an armed gunman in a terrorist camp."
"There’s nothin' like it in the whole world," Grant chuckled, adding an accent for comedic effect. We both glanced over our shoulders, arms linked together, to see if our armed escort actually heard us. Although the man was watching, he didn't seem especially focused on either one of us in particular. Instead, he chewed on a piece of gum with an open mouth, snapping the bubbles noisily, his gaze a little distant. Probably had something on his mind. More kidnapping and pillaging, maybe.
We turned ahead in tandem, continuing what could have been a leisurely stroll had it not been for the militaristic atmosphere going on around us. It didn't matter whether the group that had taken us were eco-terrorists fighting the good fight, or just plain old bad people. I'd never feel comfortable within the walls of the compound. That big black wall, the one we'd walked the entirety of twice already, was a symbol of our lack of freedom, our imprisonment in the Togolese mountains.
I sometimes saw it in my dreams, and I knew I'd probably still be seeing it for years to come.
If I even had years to come. After Grant had struck a deal with Felipe to pay for our ransom in supplies, I'd expected to be out of here the very next day. However, it had been almost five full days of stress and tension and anticipation, hoping that each time one of our captors showed up at our door it would be to release us.
No such luck. I'd initially thought we were out of the woods at last, that things might finally be looking up. Instead, we still ate food that looked like it ought to be served on a public school's worst lunch day. Our free time remained restricted, though we were allowed to walk the perimeter of the camp these days after Grant put in a special request. While we weren't tied up every time our food was delivered, we still had to stand against the wall and wait, guns aimed at our back, until everything had been set out and the door was shut.
I'd only recently been given a new change of clothes, and just before that we were afforded the luxury of a toothbrush. Still no shower in sight, but I wasn't about to push my luck. So, clad in a man's oversized shirt and a pair of cotton trousers that I needed a string to tie around my waist, I had to sit in my stink—I wasn't about to waste what little water we had on washing my armpits. Grant wasn't much better off, and I had a feeling we'd both grown immune to each other's smell.
Our captors, meanwhile, occasionally made a dig about the stink, and I bit back the urge to tell them that if it bothered them so much, we were open to a bath. Even with a hose. My hair had reached the point where it was beyond greasy—beyond anything I'd ever seen it as. It hung loose around my shoulders, depressed and flat and oily. Even Grant's luscious locks had fallen to the wayside, their charming waviness losing a bit of volume with each passing day.
"When are we getting out of here?" I murmured, moving my mouth very little on the off-chance that people were watching. Although we had a sinking suspicion that they wouldn't waste the time or money to bug our room, Grant and I had stopped talking about important topics ever since he brought up the idea of someone else listening in. Even if there were no electronic listeners scattered amongst the dirt and in the dark corners, there could have always been someone sitting outside the thin walls, waiting to catch any vital information we decided to share.
The thought was unnerving, and I wondered if there might be cameras too sometimes. Considering that, my lack of undressing didn't seem so bad.
"I can't give you an exact time, sweetheart," Grant muttered back, pulling me closer to him, our arms linked like we were an old married couple. I flushed under the term of endearment. He'd started using it suddenly, and while I'd never been too fond of pet names, any of the ones he used on me seemed to work like a charm. It was hard not to smile when he called me honey, sweetheart, cutie, and babe. I'm sure the effect would fade in time, and we'd probably resort to goofier nicknames in a less dire situation.
"I know, but Felipe said—"
"He's waiting for supplies to arrive," he said with a sigh. We rounded the bend, neither of us looking at the group of men sitting nearby having a smoke. "We're in a fairly remote area… My accounts have been processed, so I assume it's just a matter of waiting for everything to get here."
"Hopefully." I pressed my lips together tightly as soon as I said it, regretting it almost immediately. I didn't want to be negative—we'd been trying so hard to see the bright side of things, but sometimes the fear got the best of my tongue. He brought his free hand up to stroke my arm soothingly.
Although I hadn't voiced it, I worried that Felipe was just going to take Grant's money and then kill us. I'm sure Grant considered it too. It wasn't a discussion I wanted to necessarily have, but as the days wore on, the thought became harder and harder to ignore.
"Okay," our escort called, bringing us to a halt. Beads of sweat dripped down my body, rolling over my back and inching down from my hairline. "Walk's over."
Grant and I exchanged a look: apparently the man with the gun had grown tired of walking, so it was time to call it a day. I turned my gaze up toward the sun, both hating it and the fact that I wouldn't be able to feel its heat directly until tomorrow. As awful as it was to burn beneath it, anything was better than roasting in a hot room with limited air circulation.
Plus the intake of Vitamin D always felt uplifting, and when I'd eventually settle back down on one of those horribly tiny beds, it was like I could face another day. Grant and the sun. My companions in misery, but also the bridge that held me up, that kep
t me going.
And on a day like today, I was going to need them both. Because today was a continuation of the day before, and the day before that. The uncertainty of our futures was starting to take its toll.
Chapter Seven
I was roused from my sleep rather rudely a few mornings later, dragged from my bed and forced to my feet. Blinking away the restless weariness, I tried my best to make sense of things amidst the chaos, but it was impossible. The soft dawn lighting I'd grown familiar with in our prison cell painted the windows, but the men who yanked us from our beds still used flashlights—probably a disorientation tactic.
I called for Grant and he did the same, neither of us finding a way to touch one another before our hands were bound behind our backs, our limited freedom taken from us once more. Heavy hands shoved on me, pushing my shoulders and back, while others dragged my arms in ways that were horribly uncomfortable given their position latched behind my back. Had I been more awake, I would have burst out into tears. Instead, I merely complied; my reaction stunted by what I could only assume was shock.
The morning air was cool, but it was hard to feel any relief in it. I staggered along, propelled forward by the weight of men's hands on me. Grant was shouting something, and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw his mouth moving, but all the words were muffled nothings. It was like someone had stuffed a wad of cotton in each ear, leaving my deaf to the words hurled around me.
Outside our prison shack, the camp was the busiest I'd ever seen it. Torch lights flickered where I'd never noticed them before, and men gathered like they were on their way to a show. Smoking, chatting, laughing—oblivious to my current state of emotional turmoil. All I wanted was to curl myself inward, preferably with Grant's arms around me, and block out the whole ordeal.
We were brought before Felipe in the middle of the camp, where he stood on what I could only consider a pedestal, all of his best men around them. Everyone was armed to the teeth, and my eyes lingered on the nearest gun as I was thrown to the ground. A grunt slipped through my lips when my knees hit the very solid earth, and I heard a few chuckles around me. My panicked look to Grant, who was soon on his knees beside me, was ignored. Instead, I found the man I loved staring daggers at Felipe…. if looks could kill.
Someone cocked their gun noisily in my ear, and I closed my eyes, flinching when movement whooshed by my ear.
"You bastard," Grant growled, and fury made his voice tremble. "I thought we had a deal!"
Felipe laughed, the sound grating, and I slowly looked up at him. Should I have done something when we were alone so that this could have all been avoided? Should I have flirted with him? Should I have lied better about my feelings for Grant? Maybe if we had something between us, I wouldn't be about to meet my maker.
That was what it felt like. This whole time, I'd always been worried that I was about to die, but none of the previous encounters felt as real as this did. There was a sense of finality in the air—it made the hairs across my arms stand at attention, the ones on the back of my neck raised in fear. This was where the story ended—my quest to discover myself, my love story, my everything.
"We did have a deal, my rich friend," Felipe mused, clasping his hands in front of him as he crouched down on his poorly constructed little wooden stage, going low as if he needed to hold Grant's gaze. "We had a very fair deal, I thought…"
"More than far," Grant spat. He finally looked to me, the rage softening for a moment, though I knew the hardness would return when he turned his venomous stare back to Felipe. "Let her go. If you're going to do anything, do it all to me—"
"You Americans," the man sighed, rolling his eyes and pulling his gun from his holster. I stilled, my heart pounding in my ears. "So impulsive… You never let me get a word in."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grant open his mouth, but he seemed to think better of it and remained silent.
"What I was going to say, when you so rudely interrupted," Felipe continued, fiddling with his gun, "was that we did have a deal. A good one. And today's the day… you've finally come through for us."
A hush fell over the crowd, and I watched Felipe gesture to one of his companions. The man then muttered something into a black walkie-talkie, and suddenly I heard the gates creaking open. When I looked over my shoulder, the crowd behind us had parted, and I watched several large trucks roll in, met by the sounds of cheering men. The vehicles stopped within ten feet of me, and moments later men were pulling sacks of rice and bags of flour from the nearest truck.
Relief flooded through me when I caught Felipe smiling.
"It's beautiful," he announced, holstering his weapon and hopping off the stage. He patted Grant's cheek, to which my man flinched away, but I didn't care. If supplies were trickling in, it meant our part of the deal was done—Grant's bargaining had paid off. "Untie our American friends!"
Rough hands seized me once more, but this time it was to remove the ropes from my wrists. I barely moved as unseen men handled me, but when I no longer sensed a presence looming over me, never had I moved so fast for Grant's open arms. I collapsed into him, my armed curled between our bodies, my head buried under his chin. He held me tight, hands in my hair, but a part of me still didn't believe that this ordeal was over.
"Once we've finished unloading the new arrivals," Felipe said as he crouched down in front of us, his arms resting on his knees, "we'll put you in one of those trucks, and I will escort you to a nearby town. From there, you may contact your rescue groups to bring you to safety."
I licked my lips, and my mistrust must have been riddled across my face. Felipe poked at my cheek, grinning, and Grant pulled me away.
"Of course, your release is conditional on your silence," he added with a shrug. "Should the police or military somehow find their way to our camp… I'll kill you first," Felipe pointed to me, and I gulped, "and I'll film it. Then you," he nodded to Grant, "can watch it before I slit your throat. Deal?"
"We just want to leave," Grant remarked, his voice remarkably steady. Mine would have been all over the place. "We have no interest in exposing you or your group. All we want is to go home."
I nodded in agreement: home. Not the volunteer village. After all this time, I don't know if I could sleep in another round hut made of what was once exotic red dirt. Now, it was mundane, filled with bad memories and pain. No thanks.
Felipe clapped his hands together. "Good! I'm glad we are all men of our word."
From there, we were instructed to join the line of men unloading the trucks, passing bag after bag of heavy grain and rice and blankets down to the storage units. Grant stood in front of me, and occasionally he bypassed me and shoved the load into the hands of the man on the other side of me. Maybe he saw the way my hands shook, the way my arms struggled to keep up the weight.
We finished long after the sun had risen, my stomach growling and my body coated with sweat. As a reward for our hard work, we were given a huge bowl of freshly cooked rice each, and were permitted to eat it on the back of one of the trucks. My feet swung haplessly as a light breeze rolled through, though it did nothing to help with the humidity.
"I can't believe this is actually happening," I murmured, leaning against Grant as I struggled to eat all the rice—my body wasn't used to consuming this much food in a single sitting anymore.
"I'll believe we're free once we leave this place," he said in reply, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and stroking my damp skin with his thumb. "Felipe seems to enjoy messing with us."
A nod was all I could give in return, my attention drawn to a group of men arguing with Felipe some distance from us. They were too far for me to make out what they were saying, but from all the gesturing and talking over one another, I could only assume it wasn't good. Plus with the way they kept shooting us murderous looks, it was hard to assume they were discussing anything other than Grant and I.
It seemed to go on for a long time, the back and forth between Felipe and various men, until finally it came to
an abrupt halt. There was a brief staring contest, during which I held my breath, as if waiting for someone to pull a gun, and then it was over. Felipe strolled toward us, an easy smile on his face like nothing had happened.
"My men think it's a bad idea to release you," he informed us as he approached, his stride large, his arms swinging by his side. My body tensed, my mouth set in a thin line, and I felt Grant stiffen beside me. "They believe we should still push for the ransom from government agencies." There was a pause, perhaps for dramatic effect, before he laughed and patted my bare knee. His touch made my skin crawl. "Lucky for you two, I call the shots around here. Get in the truck."
I don't think I'd ever moved so fast in my life. Bowl of rice forgotten, I practically raced to the doors, Grant hot on my heels, and dragged myself up onto the hot leather seat. Once in, there was no way any of them could drag me out, they'd have to shoot me. I didn't even mind sitting in the middle of the bench, not even when Felipe climbed into the driver's seat. Squished between Grant's body and his, I should have felt awkward as hell, but I didn't. All I could do was stare at the gates ahead, waiting, hoping with a strength I'd almost lost since we arrived.
The engine started.
The truck rumbled to life.
The gates peeled back.
And freedom loomed.
Tears rolled down my face, and I grasped Grant's hand as tightly as I could. Felipe went for the radio, and hummed the whole way through the jungle. My eyes never wavered from the horizon.
****
Even if we wanted to lead a police force of some kind back to where we'd been held for what felt like a full year, there was no way I'd remember the route. Our truck, followed by a pair of SUVs, crossed through the dense jungle road, the truck many different directions to get to our drop-off point that I was dizzy. A part of me wondered if that was a tactic on Felipe's part—which wouldn't surprise me—to ensure we followed through with our promise if the fear of death wasn't enough.
