Jungle Up, page 35
The butt of the knife was three inches from my mouth.
“Hi, sweetie.” I nodded my head to my left. “Can you come around a little farther?”
She continued gazing at me.
I asked Gina, “What is Benecio doing?”
“He’s watching, but he doesn’t seem too concerned.”
I snapped with my left hand. “Around, come around.” I wiggled my right shoulder.
She came around to my front a few inches. I stuck out my tongue and skimmed it across the butt of the knife.
I craned my head forward and bit at the butt of the knife with my front teeth. I was able to pull it out a half inch. I tried to slide the butt farther back in my mouth to get a better grip, but it fell out and slid back into the sheath.
I said, “I don’t think I can do this without breaking all my front teeth.”
“I’ll buy you some new ones,” Gina said. “Now go! Benecio is getting suspicious.”
I bounced Camila up two inches, squeezing her between my chest and the pole. I might have pinched her a little, and she let out a squeak.
“Sorry.”
“Go!” Gina whisper-shouted.
The hilt of the knife was in the perfect position and I bit down hard. “I hink I gard id,” I mumbled.
I moved the hilt back in my mouth an inch, so it was clenched between my back molars.
I said, “I eed ew to detagt Ben-ee-hee-o.”
“What?”
“Detragtin. I eed a di-trac-tin.”
“Distraction? Right. Okay, I’ll tell him our sloth friend is thirsty and hungry. I think he’ll go for it. He likes creatures. I, mean, I never heard him call one a ‘lovebug,’ but . . .”
“Dammit, Zheena!”
“Okay, okay.”
She shouted something in Spanish. I couldn’t see what was happening, what with my face buried in the chest of Camila and all.
“He’s walking to the supply bag. Go! Now!”
I bit down on the hilt of the knife as hard as I could and slowly began to pull—three inches, six inches—until the entire knife was out.
“Ged off!”
Camila didn’t move, staring curiously at the seven-inch bowie knife angling out from my mouth.
I shook, trying to get Camila to fall off me.
“You have fifteen seconds,” Gina said. “Maybe less.”
“Ged her od me!”
I was biting down so hard on the knife that I felt a crack in one of my back teeth.
“Camila! Camila!” Gina said, softly. “Come here. Come see me.”
Camila’s head turned. I leaned as far toward Gina as I could.
“Come on, come on. Come see me.”
The first set of Camila’s claws released from my shoulder. Then the second. I felt her weight transfer, then she was gone.
I glanced up. The knife was hidden behind the pole, but if Benecio looked in my direction he would notice something was amiss. Fortunately, he was crouched near a bag in the middle of the village.
I had a few precious seconds to get the knife into one of my hands and cut through the zip-cuffs.
I pulled my feet in and spread my legs as wide as they would go. Because my ankles were restrained and the six-inch pole was in my crotch, my butterfly was restricted. My right knee was flared out a foot and a half and raised eight inches off the ground.
I leaned my head around the side of the pole and dangled the knife over my leg. If I dropped it and it fell between my legs, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to pick it up with my hands.
I let go with my teeth. The tip of the blade hit my thigh, then the hilt fell between my legs. I squeezed my legs closed, securing the blade upright between my thighs.
I slid my arms down the pole and angled my hands down. It was tough, but I was able to squeeze the blade between my fingers. I worked the blade up until I had the hilt of the blade in my left hand.
Angling the knife up as severely as possible, I pressed the black plastic loop around my right wrist against its serrated blade and moved it back and forth.
“He’s still looking in the bag,” Gina said.
Back, forth, back, forth.
“Put it away!” she blurted. “Bill and the soldiers are coming back.”
I dropped the knife between my thighs, knocked it over so it fell flat, and then covered it with my legs.
I glanced up just in time to see Bill and two soldiers emerge from behind one of the small wooden houses. Benecio jumped up from the bag. Bill threw his hands up, and Benecio pointed at us. Bill strode in our direction and squinted. When he was within five feet, he asked, “Is that a sloth?”
Gina nodded. “She—well, I think it’s a she—just crawled out from the forest. I know you’re going to kill us here pretty soon, but could you get her some water? She’s parched.”
“You know what,” Bill said. “If the last thing you want to do on this earth is watch a thirsty sloth drink water, well, who am I to stop you?”
I waited for him to ask why there was tape around the sloth’s belly and back, but as I looked at Camila, I noticed the tape was gone.
Gina noticed my gaze and licked her lips.
I fought back a smile. Gina had somehow pulled the tape off of Camila with her teeth and eaten it. And I speculated that, like the knife beneath my legs, the sheath was hidden beneath hers.
What a fucking rock star.
Bill beckoned Benecio forward.
He filled his hand with bottled water and offered it to Camila.
Camila lapped at the water a few times, then smiled up at him. He broke off a small piece of energy bar and held it out to her. She sniffed it, then pulled her head back.
“Did the villagers escape?” I asked Bill.
“Nothing we couldn’t handle.” He turned to one of the soldiers and said, “Enough of this. Juan, go grab your machete.”
One of the soldiers turned and made his way toward their supplies. Bill, Benecio, and the other soldier watched him from ten yards away.
I glanced up at my wrists. I’d cut enough of a slit in the right zip-cuff that I was certain I could snap it off whenever I pleased. But I would still need to grab the knife and cut my ankle restraints, and there was no way I would be able to do that before one of the soldiers shot me down in cold blood.
Still, this might be my only shot.
Gina coughed next to me.
When I glanced her way, she nonchalantly motioned with her eyes downward.
I followed her gaze to a small red dot on her thigh. It disappeared a moment later.
I casually peered in the direction the laser beam had originated. It was coming from the jungle to our right. Not far from where we’d left our packs.
I scanned the thick green foliage, expecting to see Vern and his rifle hiding there, but I didn’t. Instead, I saw a pompadour of orange hair.
Andy.
59
tribal village
august 23, 4:48 p.m.
days since abduction: 18
Andy was tucked behind a thicket of bushes. I didn’t see a gun in his hand, but he was holding the laser scope from Vern’s rifle in one hand. His other hand was held out, all his fingers splayed.
Once he realized I saw him, he opened and closed his hand several times.
The universal sign for a countdown.
I gave a quick nod.
Andy put the scope away, then held a walkie-talkie to his mouth. He held his other hand back up, all five fingers splayed. He said something into the radio, then dropped one of his fingers.
Four.
He dropped another finger.
Three.
Two.
One.
There were two loud explosions. They sounded like grenades.
Vern.
It had to be.
The sound echoed through the jungle canopy, and a wave of birds flew through the air. Several monkeys in a tree behind us screeched and howled. Camila squeaked and whined from around Gina’s neck.
Ten yards away, Bill swiveled his head back and forth, then barked something at the soldiers. Two of them turned and ran toward the explosions, which came from the jungle opposite our side of the village.
Benecio stayed behind.
I didn’t waste a second. I smashed my hands back against the pole. It took three tries, and then the weakened right cuff snapped off. With the zip-cuffs dangling from my left wrist, I reached down with my right hand and grabbed the knife under my legs. I leaned forward and sawed through the ankle restraints.
Two seconds later, I was free.
I turned to Gina and spent six seconds cutting through her restraints. When I was finished, she jumped up, with Camila around her neck.
Stunned by yet another round of thunderous explosions, it took Bill and Benecio two seconds to notice that Gina and I were free.
Bill’s mouth opened wide. “Shoot them!” he shouted.
Benecio gingerly brought his gun up.
“Run!” I told Gina, pushing her and Camila toward the jungle. “Get out of here!”
She hesitated a half second, then bolted toward the forest.
I marched toward Bill and Benecio. They both backpedaled.
“Shoot him!” Bill cried. “Shoot him!”
If Benecio did shoot, it was going to take every bullet in the magazine to stop me. But he didn’t. He looked at Bill, then turned and took off running.
“Dammit!” Bill shouted.
I twisted the hilt of the knife in my hand and strode forward.
Bill reached behind his back and pulled out a gun. It was Patrick’s Glock. At some point, the soldier who had taken it from Patrick must have given it to Bill.
I didn’t hesitate. I brought the knife up and I tomahawked it at Bill. It hit him just below the sternum, at the top of his protruding belly. Sadly, it hit hilt first, its signature nothing more than a soft bruise.
Bill glanced down at his belly, then back up. He let out a small chuckle, then aimed the gun at my chest. He pulled the trigger.
There was a soft click.
The gun misfired.
Bill’s face fell. He pulled the trigger twice more, but nothing happened. He tossed the gun to the ground and leaned down and picked up the knife.
I took two steps toward him and began to circle to my right. He held the knife at arm’s length and shoulder level. He was preparing for me to rush him, which in normal circumstances, I might have. Even with a knife, the aging, flabby CEO was no match for me. But in my current state, I couldn’t rely on my strength and quickness to wrench the knife away.
I continued to circle, slowly making my way backward as I did so.
Bill’s eyes widened as he realized my play.
The spears.
There were twenty of them sticking from the ground in the center of the village, which was now just feet behind me.
I reached back and pulled a spear from the ground. It was heavier than I expected, but that was likely a consequence of the dengue and my fatigue.
Bill glanced over his shoulder. He was considering making a run for it, but we both knew he wouldn’t get far. Still, he distanced himself, retreating several steps. He was now fifteen feet away from me.
“Juan!” he shouted. “Mico! Artibal!”
I had no idea how far away the soldiers were, but it was only a matter of time before they returned.
I pulled my arm back and threw the spear at him. Bill dodged to the left and the spear sailed seven feet to his right.
I pulled out a second spear.
Bill took a few measured steps backward, then cupped his left hand around his mouth and again screamed for the soldiers.
I flung the spear at him with a grunt. It kicked up dirt three feet in front of Bill.
The balding CEO snickered.
I attempted to pull a third spear out of the earth, but it wouldn’t budge. I was weary from exertion and mumbled, “What are you, Excalibur?”
I moved to the next spear and after two long sucking breaths, I pulled it out. I thought about chucking it at Bill, but I only had so much energy left.
I held the seven-foot spear near the butt end with both hands and took three steps toward Bill.
Again, he glanced over his shoulder, but if he turned to run, it would be suicide. Even in my weakened state, I would catch him in six strides.
I ran forward and I swung the spear like a baseball bat. It hit Bill in the left shoulder with a crack.
He let out a loud groan.
I pulled the spear back and brought it straight up, like I was getting ready to hit a two-hundred-pound piñata. Bill covered his head with his left arm, and I brought the spear crashing down on his right arm. The knife fell from his hand and thudded to the earth.
Bill knew he wouldn’t stand a chance with me continually clubbing him, and in the half second it took me to raise the spear back up, Bill rushed me. His head was down, his arms out, and he dove at my midsection.
I brought the spear down on his back, but he was too close to my hands for the impact to do much.
He crashed into me, and the two of us went sailing backward. Instinctively, I let go of the spear to brace my fall. My elbows smashed into the earth, followed quickly by my head.
I was dazed, but still acutely aware of the giant sea lion atop me. I smashed my fist into the sea lion’s side, but between the lack of power behind my blow and the dense layer of fat girdling Bill’s midsection, it had zero effect.
Bill pushed himself up a foot, then slammed back down on me. His only advantage was his weight, and he knew how to use it. The wind was knocked out of me, and I found myself wheezing.
I guessed that Bill must have wrestled at some point, and while I struggled to pull in a breath, he straddled me, squeezing his knees in against my ribcage. I sent a flurry of jabs at his face, but he warded off my punches with his forearms. A left hook somehow snuck through his defenses, hitting him in the cheek and sending his tinted glasses sailing.
He shook off the blow, then wrenched my left arm down and tucked it under his leg, locking it in against my thigh. Within ten seconds, he’d done the same to my right arm.
I thrashed my body up and down, but he had me pinned under his weight, his knees locking my arms to my sides, and his hands pushing down on my ankles. It was the position an older brother might use just before he starts dangling a loogie over your face.
Bill gritted his teeth and squeezed his knees even deeper into my sides.
He wasn’t a sea lion.
He was an anaconda.
With my diaphragm unable to expand, I was fighting to get even the smallest of breaths. And with each exhale, Bill constricted me tighter and tighter.
“You should have just let me cut off your head,” Bill said with a light chuckle.
I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but I lacked the airflow to form words.
I felt the pressure of his hands come off my ankles. A half second later, I felt his hands wrap around my throat. His thumbs dug just below my Adam’s apple, and the rest of his fat, fleshy fingers clamped around the outside of my neck.
I bent my legs and tried to free my arms. But every ounce of energy I had, even the reserves, was gone. Without asking, my legs went flat and my arms relaxed; it was as if every muscle in my body had turned off.
Bill’s face began to swim in and out of focus. Darkness began to seep in at the edges of my vision.
My left hand was bracketed to my left thigh, and under my forearm I could feel a faint bulge.
The EpiPen.
If I could inject myself, maybe I could get my muscles working, get one big burst of energy and shake Bill off.
With Bill putting all his effort into strangling me, the vice around my ribcage had lessened slightly.
I tried to wiggle my left arm, but it didn’t move, the signal lost somewhere in my oxygen-starved brain.
Un-kee!
I don’t know where the word came from, but I could hear it, as clear as if Clark were screaming it into my ear.
Un-kee!
There was no way I was leaving that kid without his Uncle Thomas. There was no way I was leaving Lacy to plan my funeral. And there was no way I was leaving Gina to live the next fifty years without me.
My left hand twitched.
I slid it up one inch. Then two. I could feel the bottom seam of my pocket. I squirmed my arm up, until my hand was at the top of my pocket. I slid my hand in and felt my fingers close around the EpiPen.
Bill’s hands continued to tighten around my throat. My head started to pound. I could feel my heartbeat thrum in my ears.
Unconsciousness was seconds away, death not lagging far behind.
I flipped the cap off of the EpiPen. I could feel the point of the needle on my left thigh. The pens were made to go through clothes. I just needed to angle it a bit and get my thumb on the plunger.
Bill must have figured out that I was trying something, and the pressure on my left arm and hand increased. The pen was squeezed parallel to my leg, and I couldn’t get the needle angled enough to pierce the skin.
With single digit heartbeats until I lost consciousness, I let out a primal scream in my head. I thrashed my body and shook my left arm. I felt an opening, a half inch of space, enough to jam the needle into my thigh and push down the plunger.
Only, I didn’t.
I pulled my left hand out of my pocket and continued moving it up along my side. My hand came free of Bill’s knee.
Bill’s face swam above me in a tunnel of black. I watched his head swivel slightly, his gaze settling where my left hand was floating just above my ear.
I thrust my arm up and smashed the EpiPen into Bill’s eye, then slammed the plunger down with my thumb.
Bill screamed.
I felt the pressure come off my neck.
I sucked in a huge breath. Then another. The darkness at the edges of my vision evaporated by half with each inhale.
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