The Long Run, page 18
“Get back!” he yelled. “Back!”
The damn AK. It was the only thing preventing their getaway. The guard seemed to know it, too. He sneered and gripped the barrel tight. How could they escape? Fermin glanced at him and shook his head. They would die if they rushed the guard now. Israel balled his fists. Sofia was somewhere in this compound. What if her cell was collapsing also? He braced himself. Be ready to act.
“Hey!” a voice came from the doorway. The darkened figure wore a poncho and rubber boots like the other guards. But the newcomer pointed a rifle at the man guarding Israel and Fermin. The guard glanced at the hooded figure and back to Israel. His rifle wavered, and the barrel dipped in his indecision. Now was the time.
Israel bolted. He bounded across the room and snatched the rifle’s handguard. He pushed the barrel up and away and slugged the guard on the upper bridge of his nose. A blow meant to stun and confuse. A burst of errant rifle fire tore into the far wall. Fermin ran in from the side, wrapping his arms around the guard’s waist. They fell together with Fermin landing on top. The man’s grip loosened and released the rifle. As Fermin beat the guard into unconsciousness, Israel grabbed the loose rifle and turned to face the outsider. He couldn’t be one of Chucho’s men. But if not a narco, then who?
The stranger lowered their poncho’s hood and stared at him.
Israel’s chest tightened at the sight. He shielded his face against the driving wind and rain as he stared at the newcomer. It was a woman, with damp raven hair that spiderwebbed across her face, wrapping over the bridge of her nose and the curl of her lips. Eyes narrowed and mouth agape. Rainwater poured over her round cheeks and drained from her chin. Her bulky poncho pressed into her body from the hurricane’s wind, revealing her slender frame. A sudden wind gust pressed her into the door frame. Israel rushed forward and took her grasping hand. He held her by one arm, helping her steady herself. As the gust subsided, she peered up into his face. Her eyes reflected the same disbelief playing out in his mind.
“Izzy?” Sofia said.
“Sofie,” he replied with a wipe of his face. “It’s me.”
Her jaw spasmed as she searched for words.
“What… Why are you here?”
“For you!”
“I… How? I…”
“Talk later,” Fermin said, breaking the spell. “Where are the other women?”
“Uh… they’re still in the cell. They didn’t want to leave.”
“Show me where!”
“OK.”
Sofia turned to leave and faced Chucho, standing inches away. There was no time to act. No time to raise the rifle to defend herself. One powerful fist caught her flush in the left eye. She dropped like a bag of rocks and didn’t move. Chucho then launched himself at Israel, grabbing the rifle as he raised it. They fought for control and banged into the cell bars. Fermin joined the fray, punching Chucho in the kidneys. A blow that dropped most men to their knees. But not Chucho. His eye twitched and his fanged teeth bared in fury. Fermin cocked his arm for another blow when a rifle muzzle pressed into his cheek.
“Get back! Get back!” the guard wielding the rifle screamed. Another guard appeared beside Israel and pointed his rifle at his head. The black muzzle hovered inches from his right eye. Israel stopped fighting and released the rifle. Chucho claimed it and stepped back. Driving rain peppered his face. Water filled the cell an inch deep.
Chucho glared at Israel then down at Sofia, who laid on her back with the rising water pooling below her ears. “Goddamn Americans,” Chucho growled. He swiped rainwater from his eyes. A trickle of blood leaked from his nose. At least Israel got in one good punch. “Take them to the house!”
“Get beside him!” a guard yelled at Israel. He stepped away from Chucho until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Fermin.
“Next time,” Fermin said, low enough for only Israel to hear. That was putting a brave face on their chances. This had been their time. Everything had worked in their favor to grant them their chance. And they’d failed.
Chucho faced Israel and Fermin with his pistol pointed at their chests.
“Pick her up! Take her with you!” He nodded towards Sofia, still unconscious on the ground.
Israel and Fermin kneeled and took one arm each to lift her up. They wrapped her arms around their shoulders as they stood. Her feet rested cockeyed on the floor and her head lolled to one side. Her eyelids batted with uncertain consciousness.
“Don’t worry, Sofie,” Israel said. “We’ve got you.” She lifted her head and looked at him with half-opened eyes.
“Izzy?”
“Let’s go! Move!” one guard yelled. The other narco posted himself outside the open door. Israel glanced inside. Chucho kneeled beside the fallen guard. He stayed there as Israel stepped into the raging hurricane.
Sheets of wind and rain and debris pelted them from all sides. A tree beside the jail house laid on the ground. Its twisted roots pointed to the boiling clouds. A shouting guard followed behind, pointing his rifle at their backs. A burst from his rifle could cut them down in an instant. They were surrounded by armed men. His only chance for escape was gone. His only chance to save Sofia. And he’d blown it. There would be no other.
CHAPTER 27
Dominica
Dominica staggered backwards against a furious gale that drove her away from the nearest tree. She fought to remain upright until the gust subsided, then returned to the safety of the grove. Sofia had told her to wait there while she checked on the men’s jail house.
“Why?” Dominica had asked minutes earlier.
“What’s your father’s name?” Sofia had said.
“Fermin. Why?”
“Because he might be inside that building.”
“Papa?” She glanced at the crumbling building. The notion stunned her. Her father might be alive? She didn’t dare believe that. But hearing it come from someone she trusted gave her hope. Terrible hope. She clutched at it like a life preserver.
“I want to come with you!” Dominica had pleaded. She didn’t want to be alone in this roaring thunderstorm. Especially not if she could help rescue her father.
“No! Stay here! If something goes wrong, run away! Go find the police! Tell them where we are! And don’t be afraid to use your gun! I’m serious!”
That part was easy. Dominica was no stranger to handling weapons. Her father handed her his service revolver when she was a noisy five-year-old. Empty of ammo, of course. She turned it over in her tiny hands, ogling its matte black metal. Papa laughed until she pointed the pistol at her face and pulled the trigger. “Never point the gun at yourself,” he had told her. “And never pull the trigger unless you have to.” Her training began that day and continued for years after. He brought her to the gun range on her thirteenth birthday and let her practice on their human shaped targets. Papa’s service weapon was a Smith & Wesson 459 with adjustable sights and nylon grips. Now, here alone in the storm, she held Hugo’s pistol tight against her chest. It was a Glock nine-millimeter. A very good pistol, according to Papa. “I will,” Dominica had told Sofia. Then Sofia turned towards the jailhouse. Staying low, she had hurried across the open lawn and leaned into the doorway. She lifted her rifle and pointed it at something or someone inside. A burst of unseen gunfire erupted. Dominica screamed in fear. But Sofia remained standing. Seconds later, a bald man appeared. He looked like a narco, though he didn’t dress like them. Sofia seemed… happy? A second man appeared beside them. Lightning illuminated his features. He had a full beard. Bedraggled. He resembled… could it be?
Dominica stepped out of the trees. She wanted to run towards the jail house. She needed to know who he was. But gale force winds knocked her to her knees. When she lifted her head, Chucho was entering the jail house. Two more narcos were behind him. They carried rifles. Dominica screamed to alert Sofia. But it drowned in the roaring storm swirling around her. Chucho punched Sofia, and she fell. A fracas followed as the other guards followed inside.
It had gone wrong. Sofia told her to run if that happened. Go find help. But when the two prisoners carried Sofia out of the jailhouse, lightning flashes made the second man’s features clear. Dominica recognized the fierce eyes and proud chin. Papa. She had lost her mother and believed she had lost her father. Both times, she was powerless to help them. She wasn’t powerless now. She gripped the Glock and laid flat on the wet grass as they marched past. They continued, missing her in the roar and gust of the storm. She stumbled to her feet and entered the thicket.
What would Sofia do in her place? She was smart. Careful. Like how she took Hugo’s gun. Be patient. Get in position first. She wouldn’t charge at them, gun blazing. Dominica weaved through the thicket of trees, clinging to branches for support, as she followed the group. A gust staggered the men carrying Sofia. She buckled and dropped, dragging the men down with her. The guards swiveled and barked commands as their prisoners fought to regain their feet. Dominica took advantage of their delay. She hurried ahead, following the tree line until she noticed a copse between the group and the ranch house. The guard’s path would pass within feet of those trees. A quick glance back revealed the prisoners continued struggle to stand. Sofia seemed in a daze, unable to withstand the fierce winds buffeting them. When their attention diverted, Dominica sprinted out of the tree line and into the copse. She took position behind the furthest tree and glanced back. The group was moving again, with Sofia slung between her father and the other prisoner. Her head hung low, and her feet dragged behind her.
Dominica took a deep breath. A tree tilted and crashed somewhere behind her. She ignored it. Only the sounds of the approaching guards mattered. She checked the Glock. A round was chambered. And the safety was off. Her father had trained her for years. She was ready for this.
“Move! Come on!” one guard yelled behind her. Muddy earth squelched under his boots. A few seconds more. Sofia said don’t be afraid to use the gun. Papa had told her not to point a gun at someone unless she meant to pull the trigger. Another halting breath. “Hurry!” The guard appeared inches beside her. A living, breathing man inside a rain slick poncho. A narco pointing his rifle at her father. Several more steps and he was past her.
“Hey!” Dominica yelled as she lifted the pistol. The guard’s head swiveled. His eyes widened. Mario. The jackass who tormented Sofia. His rifle swung around, but it was too late. She squeezed the trigger. The explosion punched a hole above Mario’s eyes in a misty burst of red. His knees buckled, and he dropped. Dominica turned to find the second guard pointing his rifle towards her. She ducked behind the tree as a crackle of automatic gunfire splintered the bark near her elbow. A second burst rippled the tree. Their impacts reverberated through the thick trunk. The covering tree line was several yards away. The remaining guard would catch her in the open if she ran for it. She was dead if she remained. Trapped. Another burst clawed the ground at her feet.
“Hey—” a man’s rough voice called out, followed by a grunt and a hard thump. No more gunfire. She risked a glance around the tree trunk. The guard was on the ground. His rifle lay on the grass beside him. Papa was on top of him, raining punches. Sofia and the other prisoner laid on the ground. Dominica ran past them to help Papa.
“Is this what you do? Is this what you do?” Fermin shouted as he battered the guard’s nose and jaw. The man offered no defense with half-closed, lazy eyes. His crushed nose bent to one side. Blood streamed from his nostrils and thinned in the driving rain.
“Papa!” Dominica kneeled beside him. He froze with his hand cocked to deal another blow and stared at her. Neither rain nor gusting wind broke their shared wonder. They were both alive. He released the unconscious guard and wrapped his powerful arms around her. It took her back to her childhood. The father who walked her to school and bought her ice cream on Sundays. The father who protected her against the horrors of the world. She held him tight and felt the warmth and happiness she had despaired of ever feeling again. Her grip trembled as she clutched his wet shirt.
“Mija,” he said. “Are you all right?” He released her and leaned back.
“I’m OK, Papa.” She wiped rain and tears from her eyes and smiled. “You’re alive! I’m so happy you’re alive!”
“I’ll never leave you, mija! Never!”
She would never doubt him again. If any man could survive cartel custody, it was her father. She would ask him later what happened to him after they took her away.
“We have to go!” It was the other male prisoner. He stood nearby with one arm around Sofia to support her. She slumped against him, rubbing and blinking her eyes. They struggled to stay upright against the raging storm.
“He’s right!” Fermin said.
They fought the storm to stand. A distant crash caught their attention. One wall of the men’s jail house had collapsed. Cement blocks scattered the wet earth. Moments later, another wall followed. Roof panels flipped and tumbled away in the hurricane’s gusts. She wondered about Chucho, who had remained inside. Maybe a collapsed wall had buried him under the rubble. She gasped when a dark figure clambered over the pile, just ahead of the collapsing final walls. He stood wobbling, his poncho whipping and billowing around him. The outline of a rifle barrel was in his arms. He jumped from the pile and rolled forward on the ground and stood. A flash of lightning revealed his features. It was Chucho. And he looked straight at them.
CHAPTER 28
Chucho
Chucho chose a man named Felipe to guard the prisoners during the transfer. Unlike the other men, who hailed from impoverished homes and held little combat training, Felipe was a former Mexican paratrooper trained by the gringos. He once fought the cartels alongside the federales. Like La Doña, he had been drawn by the money and power of the cartel and switched sides. Now he held Chucho’s full confidence. But neither of them had anticipated the unexpected. The gringa had escaped and interfered. Chucho found Felipe splayed on the floor, breathing, but oblivious to the surrounding squall. Chucho dragged him under the remaining roof panels and propped him against a wall. His left eye was puffed and black. His split lips bled over his chin. Chucho grimaced. He needed Felipe’s help to track down any escaped prisoners. Had they all escaped? Or just the American? Chucho slapped him once across his good cheek. After two more, Felipe’s good eye fluttered.
“Chucho…” Felipe’s weak voice faded after recognizing his boss. His eyes closed and his body slumped against the wall.
“Goddamn Americans!” Chucho would make them pay for this. All of them. He would do it tonight. Hurricane be damned. Time to make some examples. U Buluc Chabtan, ti’ prometo. If La Doña complained about the lost ransom payments from the dead prisoners, he would tell her where to go. He stood and retrieved Felipe’s rifle. He inspected it for clogs and ammunition. As he did, he heard a distant crackle outside. A popping sound that resembled fireworks. It was hard to define through the howling winds and thunder. But it was there. And it meant one thing.
He hurried to the door—intending to race outside—when the compromised wall’s remaining blocks gave way. They leaned back, driven by the gusting wind, and collapsed in a crescendo of crumbling cement. Chucho leaped away from the tumbling door frame and roof panel. Behind him, another wall failed. Felipe still laid unconscious at the wall’s base. Chucho moved towards him, but there was no time for a rescue. Hammering winds pushed the wall inward, crushing Felipe under a pile of broken and jagged concrete. The remaining roof panels wrenched free from their fastenings and tumbled in the wind. Chucho dropped to the floor, avoiding one panel’s sharp edges as it flew over his head. A rumbling vibration in the foundation rattled his chest. He looked back as the third and fourth walls failed as well. One was falling backwards. The other towards him. He skittered away—his feet splashing and sliding on the wet floor—and clutched the rubble of the first wall. The remnants of the men’s jail house collapsed behind him as he pulled himself forward over the crumbled pile. He stood hunched over, bracing himself against the gusts and the jumbled concrete under his boots. A hard drop to the soaked earth followed. He rolled forward and popped back to his feet.
Where were they? Where did the gunfire come from? He scanned the blackness. A crack of lightning illuminated the compound. He spotted four figures in the distance. The two Americans and the policeman. And one other. Was that… the frightened child? Not so scared anymore. And what of his men? Two bodies laid on the wet ground. Unmoving. Oh, they would pay. He had vowed to the God of War that they would. He lifted his rifle and fired a burst at the gathered prisoners as the compound faded to black. Their shadowy outlines bolted towards the trees. One figure fell. Maybe hit? The crackle of return fire betrayed their location. It came from behind a tree. He ignored the barrage whistling past and continued firing and running towards them. No bullets could penetrate his magic. Only blades could hurt him. He had seen it in his visions.
He reached the location they had vacated. No more return fire. No more flashes of super-heated gas to pinpoint their location in the darkness. Lightning revealed only the dense jungle surrounding the compound. He scanned the grounds. Mario stared up at him with a black hole between his eyes. The other downed guard—it was Julio—sat upright and shook his head. No one else. Chucho cursed and spat. The hurricane be damned. The other prisoners too. Even La Doña. He would make these people pay. But he had to find them first. He pulled Julio to his feet.
“Go check on the women!” Chucho said. “Make sure they haven’t run away!” Julio gave him a shaky nod and staggered away. Chucho turned and ran towards the ranch house. Its lights glowed thanks to the generator humming outside. The front door slammed open on a side wall, driven by the wind. Chucho stood in the open doorway and gripped his rifle. Guards milled inside the house, dressed in all their rain gear. Four sat at the table in the converted dining room playing cards. Five more rode out the storm in the living room. They all stared at Chucho’s sudden appearance. “Everyone! Grab your rifles and come outside!” They looked at the storm outside doubtfully. Lazy bastards. Chucho pointed his rifle out the door and fired a burst. “Now!”
