The pain in my back wakes me up the next morning even before the first sunrays filter through the jungle’s dense canopy. But dawn is close, and the day promises to be another scorcher in this blasted furnace of a jungle.
As I stir, my body hurts even more than yesterday, if that’s possible. Lactic acid is attacking my every joint, and every muscle in my limbs is screaming in protest. Sleeping on the humid ground hasn’t helped either, I bet.
I shake Winter awake, and from the way she winces in pain before she even opens her eyes, I can tell she’s not faring much better.
We don’t have any food or water left, and the stomach cramps just add to our general state of misery. But at least we’re free, and we have each other.
Winter smiles at me. Last night we fell asleep before we even had time to discuss our respective missions. I assume she succeeded, or she would have said something, but I still want to hear it from her lips.
“Did you manage to get to Archie?”
“Yeah, and I gave Tucker some extra pills, too. Did you call for help?”
“Yep, Smith’s coup should be over soon. The good guys are on the way.”
“So, what now? We just wait?”
“I guess. And we should keep an eye on the camp, although I’m not sure how we can stop Smith if he decides to hurt our friends.”
“I’m sure we can think of something. Did they say how long before the police get here?”
“No. I talked with a clerk at the embassy, but the phone died halfway through the conversation. I managed to give them our exact position before the line got cut off, and also stressed the direness of the situation. They should arrive soon. But I want to check on Archie anyway, make sure the drugs worked.”
Winter nods. “Let’s go.”
When we reach our usual vantage point, we lay flat on our bellies and monitor the clearing through Winter’s telescope. The camp is already stirring with activity. Smith & Co. are loading the mule, and it looks like they’ll be ready to take off at any minute.
I train the magnifying glass on Archie’s face next, and sigh with relief. Some color has returned to his cheeks, and he’s sitting up much straighter than yesterday. His head isn’t lolling lifelessly to the side anymore, and his eyes are open and attentive. Still, the grimace of pain that pulls at my best friend’s mouth is unmistakable.
“What do you see?” Winter asks.
“Archie is much better, here”—I push the telescope into her hands—“see for yourself.”
As she looks, I kiss her temple. “Thank you, it’s all because of you.”
Nothing significant happens for about half an hour, while the soldiers are busy with their preparations. But once they’re done, Carter asks Smith the question I’ve been dreading all along, “What about the prisoners, sir?”
Smith, eyes dark and cold as those of a falcon, turns toward our friends and colleagues and frowns.
A sense of foreboding takes residence in my gut. I don’t like that scowl. I don’t like it one bit.
Smith’s eyebrows draw closer together, and he walks over to the prisoners and squats right in front of Archie.
“Well, Mr. Hill, if you don’t look rosy as a peach this fine morning.” He roughly pulls Archie’s hair to lift his head and presses the back of his other hand to my friend’s forehead. “No fever, either. CARTER! MONTGOMERY!”
Like obedient dogs, his minions immediately respond to the summons.
“Sir.”
“Sir.”
“It seems we have a bit of a miracle on our hands…”
“Sir?” Carter repeats.
“Our esteemed guest, Mr. Hill, has prodigiously recovered from his fever. Now, I’m not much of a spiritual man myself… so I suspect we might’ve had a pair of unwanted visitors last night. Two little critters sneaking in the dark. Carter, Montgomery, did you notice anything unusual during your guards?”
“No, sir,” Montgomery says at once.
“Carter?”
Carter shuffles on his feet, uncomfortable, but Smith doesn’t even have to talk to convince him to speak. The colonel’s mean stare is enough of a threat. “Sir, I found Montgomery asleep at his post when I relieved him of his duty at zero three hundred hours last night, sir.”
Montgomery looks affronted for a second at being ratted out like that, but he doesn’t have much time to show his indignation before Smith makes his head snap sideways with a backhanded blow. “You idiot! Search all the tents. I want to know where they went and what they took.”
Next to me, Winter tenses. “What do we do now?”
“Nothing. Even if they figure out what we took, they don’t know where we are.”
“What if they come searching for us?”
“I doubt Smith will want to lose precious time coming after us.”
“Sir!”
A shout makes us turn our eyes back to the camp. We watch as Smith walks toward the supply tent, while Montgomery relates his findings. “There’s a tear in the back of the tent, Sir, the supplies are in disarray and most of the medicines are gone.”
“So, Mr. Hill’s miraculous recovery is explained. Carter! You find anything?”
“Yes, sir.” The other soldier joins them. “I found a similar tear in Wallace’s tent.”
“Mmm.” Smith ponders this for a moment, then walks back to the prisoners. “It’s obvious why they went after the medicines in the supply tent, but…” Smith squats in front of Tucker. “Hey, Jonas Brother, what were they looking for in your tent?”
“I don’t know,” Tucker says.
“Really?” Menacing as a cobra, Smith rises to his feet, unsheathes his handgun from his belt, and points it at Tucker’s head. “I’d love to interrogate you the old-fashioned way, buddy, but unfortunately there ain’t time for that. So either you tell me what’s going on, or”—he lowers the gun—“I bust your kneecaps. The right first, then the left.”
Tucker, talk, I pray silently. No point in playing the hero.
A cold rage fills me at how powerless we are against these brutes.
“Come on,” Smith threatens. “Don’t make me count to ten.”
“My gun, okay?” Tucker snaps. “I had a gun hidden in my backpack. Logan knew about it.”
Winter gasps next to me. “Why is Tucker telling them we have a gun?”
“He’s being smart,” I say. “He doesn’t want them to realize we called for help.”
“But why?”
“Because if Smith knows about the reinforcements, he might change his plan—take a different path, maybe bring along some of the prisoners as hostages… Right now, the only threat he knows about is us. And I think he considers us more of an annoyance than anything.”
“Yeah, but now they think we have a gun,” Winter says. “Smith won’t stand for that. He’ll come after us just the same.”
“He still has to find us first.”
Smith takes a few steps back, still clutching his Beretta in one meaty hand.
“Dr. Spencer, Miss Knowles,” he shouts. “How very impolite of you not to stay for breakfast. Now I feel like you just used me for a night’s fun and left me to hang the next morning.” He approaches the prisoners again and points the gun at Archie’s head. “I suggest you don’t try anything funny with that gun you stole, or I’ll blow Mr. Hill’s head right off. A pity, really, after all the effort you’ve put into saving his life. And even if you shoot me first”—he makes a jerking motion with his chin at Carter—“Carter here will take care of Mr. Hill for me.”
The sergeant takes out his own gun and points it at Archie, while Smith keeps shouting threats. “I’m sure none of us would want that, now, would we?”
Winter and I both keep dead still on the ridge, looking aghast at the scene below us, unsure what to do.
“No need to act like children,” Smith continues. “Do I really have to count to ten?”
We still don’t move.
“All right. You have until ten. ONE… TWO…”
I turn to Winter. “I have to go.”
“THREE…”
“What? No! Are you crazy?”
“FOUR…”
“It makes no difference if they have me, too,” I say. “But you stay hidden right here.”
“FIVE…”
“If you’re going, I’m going,” Winter protests.
“SIX…”
“No, you’re not.”
“SEVEN…”
“Logan, please.”
“EIGHT. I’m running out of patience. NINE…”
I stand up, shouting, “I’m coming!”
All the soldiers’ heads turn toward our hiding place, and Montgomery points his gun at my chest.
“Good boy,” Smith says, not lowering the gun pointed at Archie. Neither does Carter. “Now come down very slowly, hands above your head, and don’t try anything funny. You, too, Miss Knowles. We all know you’re the real shooter of the group.”
Before I can tell Winter to stay hidden, she stands up, shrugging at me in a what-was-I-supposed-to-do? way.
We draw courage from each other as, hands raised above our heads, we walk down the hill to join the others.
“Search them,” Smith orders as we step into the camp. “I want that gun.”
Carter pats me down while Montgomery drags his hands all over Winter’s body. I’ve never felt anything more violent than the rage rising in my chest at seeing the filthy soldier’s hands on her.
“Sir,” Carter says. “He’s clean.”
“Yeah,” Montgomery echoes. “Her, too.”
“So, where’s the gun?” Smith asks.
“I dropped it,” Winter says. “When you started shouting. You startled me, and it slid down the hill before I could grab it.”
“Oh, really?” Smith looks unconvinced. He’s no fool; he knows something’s off. “Carter, go check if you can find a gun where Miss Knowles has indicated.”
With a sinking heart, I watch Carter trek up the hill.
What happens when he gets there and finds nothing? They’ll start asking questions, that’s what, and if they threaten Winter I’ll tell them everything.
“Sir!” Carter shouts after a few minutes. “There’s nothing here.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Smith says. “So, where’s the gun?”
Winter stares at me, eyes wide. We’ve run out of excuses. I’m sure Smith can read the lies on our scared expressions.
“Okay, Dr. Spencer, I tried to be reasonable, but I really don’t have time to play games,” Smith says. He steps behind Winter, wraps one arm around her waist, and points his gun directly at her temple.