“Who else is with Genesis Shipping and Wainwright Pharmaceuticals?” Silvana demands.
To my surprise, Indiana steps forward.
After a second, Domenica joins him. I hear her whisper as she passes Silvana, “No soy americana. Por favor, no me mates.”
“I don’t care if you’re not American.” Silvana motions her toward us with the butt of her pistol.
Penelope finally takes one shaky step forward, staring at the ground.
“I’m their tour guide,” Nico says as he joins us.
Silvana shoves him back into line. “You four, over there.” She waves us toward the post where Holden stands. Then she studies the remaining hostages one at a time. After a couple of minutes, she shoves Rog toward us, then orders everyone else to lie facedown on the ground with their hands behind their backs.
Armed gunmen don’t tell people to lie facedown on the ground because they’re about to hand out candy and send everyone home. Chill bumps rise on my arms and legs. The tour guide’s stray dog lies by his side and tucks her nose beneath her paws.
Penelope watches with wide, teary eyes, and Indiana looks sick when one of the gunmen comes forward with a bundle of zip ties. He begins binding the prone hostages’ hands at their backs.
Two of the women are crying, their wet cheeks pressed into the dirt, and I want to look away. My own terror is more than enough to deal with. But I know what’s going to happen to them, and I won’t turn away from their pain.
Not this time.
“Don’t look, Genesis.” She’s choking on tears, facedown on the floor, but I can still understand her. “Close your eyes, baby.”
“Listen to your mother.” The man’s face is in shadows, but light glints off his knife.
“Just keep your eyes closed, baby, no matter what you hear.” She’s sobbing, and I don’t know what to do. “It’ll all be over in a minute.”
So I close my eyes.
I refuse to look away.
But when the gunman has bound them all, he only stands behind them, rifle at the ready. He’s going to drag it out. He’s going to torture them with the inevitability of their own deaths.
Bastard.
“Silvana! ¡Vamos!”
I follow the voice to find another man in fatigues coming out of the bunkhouse carrying an automatic rifle.
“Oh, shit. Sebastián.” Nico’s friend, who danced with Maddie in Cartagena. He didn’t just follow us to the beach. He led us to Tayrona, through Nico. Then he led us into the jungle.
I clench my hands together to keep them from shaking.
We’ve been targets since the moment we stepped off the plane.