Chapter 22
Two days had passed since Shep had escaped from Treg and his buddies. Two days of scrambling through the undergrowth like a terrified bunny. Of hiding from every scrape of noise. Of eating only what the jungle supplied.
His head was buzzing. Or was it the flies? Those damned insects that circled like vultures. He swept his hand upward, but the movement was slow and disjointed, doing little more than infuriate his tormentors. They hummed louder. Two landed on his neck, one on his cheek. He let them be. Fatigue rode him hard, gouging him like rusty spurs. Sweat rolled between his shoulder blades.
But, it wasn’t the heat, it was the humidity. Isn’t that what people always said as they sat on their shaded verandas and sipped sweet tea. He grinned as he hurried on. A root, gnarled and bare, caught the toe of his boot. He fell hard, rested a moment then forced himself to stand again.
Something warm spread across his wrist. He lifted his arm to examine it. Blood. His gut wound was oozing again. But it could be worse, though he wasn’t sure how. Oh yeah, the bullet could have become lodged in his intestines instead of passing straight through. He was the lucky one, he thought and caught himself against the solid trunk of a nearby tree before he fell on his face again. The plant life was ragged here. Small trees were broken and bent. As if some giant beast had plowed its way through. A giant beast or… a bulldozer!
The idea froze in his mind. If there were bulldozers there must be people. Maybe it really was his lucky day. Maybe—
“Fucking jungle.” The Spanish words were spoken low but close.
Shep ducked down, half falling, half lunging into the broken flora at his feet.
Foliage scratched against something off to his left. From his right, a twig snapped. Shep gritted his teeth and held his breath.
“When this is over, I’m going to lay in bed for a week.”
The man at two o’clock chuckled. “Do that, and Pia will kill you herself.”
“Who said I was going to spend that time with my wife?”
There was a snort from the man on the left. “So your niece is visiting again.”
“Dulce always comes for All Saint’s Day.”
“Good Christ, you’re a pervert.”
The first man chuckled. Close now. So close Shep could smell the onions he’d had for dinner, but he waited, tensed. One step closer. One more step and he would leap. He’d take out the pervert first then—
“Linus,” his mother said.
He jerked at the sound of her voice, head reeling.
“Your face is dirty again,” she said and, leaning down, brushed her thumb across his cheek. Her skin felt like magic against his.
“Mama.” His voice sounded guttural, but she just smiled. Marjorie Shepherd always smiled, eyes soft beneath the purple scarf she wore to hide her baldness.
“I swear, you’re the messiest boy I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure why he was apologizing. A dozen things all at once he supposed. His cheeks felt wet.
“’Course you’re the handsomest, too,” she said and winked, periwinkle eyes shining.
“Where’ve ya been?” he whispered. His voice sounded whiny.
She shook her head. Her lips were still smiling, but her eyes were moist, shining with a thousand regrets. “Don’t you worry about that, young man. You just take care of yourself,” she said and turned away.
“Mama!” Whiny had turned to panic. “Don’t go!”
“I’d stay if I could, Saddle Tramp. I’d stay for you,” she said but she was already fading.
“Mama!”
“Jesus Christ!”
The coarse words snapped him from his trance. The nearest man stood not two yards away, feet braced, AR-15 trained on Shep’s chest. “This guy got the jump on Treg?”
His friend chuckled. “Looks like the American has had a run-in with our friend the jungle.”
The first man cocked up his rifle and switched to English. “You don’t look so good, amigo.”
Reality leached slowly into Shep’s faltering psyche. His mother’s image slipped slowly from his mind. So he was delusional. Not surprising, he supposed. And not so bad. Because despite the scores of beautiful women with whom he had spent time, there wasn’t one he wouldn’t give up for a few more moments with Mama. He chuckled. If that little scrap of truth got around the barracks, he’d never hear the end of it.
“Hey!” The nearest man snarled and kicked him. Pain burned like wildfire through his ribs. Consciousness turned to gray ooze then brightened stubbornly. “What you laugh at?”
Shepherd shook his head slowly. Two days ago, he had been certain death was preferable to bondage. But damned if life wasn’t a hard thing to give up. He rolled painfully onto his back. “I’m glad to see ya boys,” he said.
The man to his right was scrawny and jittery. A dirty white bandana was tied around his forehead. “Not so happy as we to see you.” When he smiled, you could see he was missing a molar. Apparently, hostage-nabbing, drug-running bastards didn’t spend a lot of time on dental care. “There will be a pretty reward when we return you to Quinto.”
“Linus,” Mama called.
Shep closed his eyes and sent his mother back into the shadows, but not without a hard bite of guilt.
“How much?” Shepherd forced the question from between gritted teeth.
They stared at him.
“How big is the reward?” he asked.
“A million pesos.”
Five hundred dollars. Shep considered trying a whistle, but there was no point attempting such challenging vocalization. It was fortunate as hell he could even talk…but then, he’d always been the lucky one. “That is a pretty reward,” he said.
The man on the left grinned. He had a moon tattooed on the biceps of his right arm. “The boss, he holds a grudge, amigo. Says he want you alive.”
Shep tried a casual shrug, but the bruising across his deltoids made that almost impossible. “I suppose it’s only fair that he keep the lion’s share for himself.”
There was a moment of silence then, “What you talk of, gringo?”
“Linus...”
Shepherd winced at the sound of his mother’s voice. She wasn’t real. Hadn’t been for twenty years. There was no reason to feel guilty for ignoring her now. But his gut felt cramped.
“Quinto told ya about the reward for me from the Americans, didn’t he?” Shep asked.
“There is no reward, amigo. None wants you.”
Shepherd caught the man’s gaze and tried the smallest hint of a know-it-all grin. “I’m sure you’re right. A guy like Quinto wouldn’t cheat his buddies.”
The two exchanged a glance. Shepherd could see that much though his vision had been for shit the last few days. He wiped his knuckles across his eyes.
“There is no reward from the Americans,” Bandana repeated.
Shep shrugged. He needed a plan. And he needed it fast, but he wasn’t altogether sure he could get his feet under him. And most plans were going to require a little bit of mobility.
“There is no reward!” the man demanded and kicked him again.
“Just ten thousand dollars.” They were the first words that came to mind, and were barely audible. His bottom lip, split weeks before, still stung when he was lucky enough to find a sip of water. “Ten thousand American dollars.”
“You lie like the pig.”
He was slipping again, sliding toward oblivion.
The closest man kicked him hard enough to jolt him back to reality.
“I’m not.” Shep’s voice was raspy. Blood trickled from his mouth.
“Who’s paying?”
“Gabriel,” Mama said. “He’s coming for you, Tramp. You know he is.”
“He doesn’t know where I am.” The words were whiny.
“We Shepherds aren’t quitters,” she reminded him.
“But I’m so tired.”
“You answer the man,” she insisted. “You answer him.”
“Gabe.” He could barely force out the name. “Gabriel Durrand will pay.”
“How much you say he give for you?”
“Ten thousand.”
“He lies,” Bandana had switched back to Spanish. “Nobody’s gonna shell out that kind of cash. Not for a corpse.”
The man with the moon tattoo was glowering at him. “He ain’t dead, yet.”
“As good as. He’s not going to make it all the way back to camp. Not on his own anyway.”
Moon’s expression was getting grimmer.
Bandana slapped a mosquito the size of a train. “You want to carry him?”
Moon sighed. “Reward ain’t nearly so big if he’s dead.”
“I expect you to do what you have to do,” Mama said.
“What?” Shepherd asked, turning toward her. “What do I gotta do?”
Bandana snorted. “He’s loco already.”
Shepherd shook his head, though he wasn’t altogether sure the man was wrong. “If ya take me to the village, I’ll get ya the money. That’s a promise.”
Bandana grinned. “Think what kind of bauble I could buy Dulce for that kind of money.”
Moon chuckled. “You sick bastard.”
“You’re just jealous ‘cause your niece has a face like a capybara.”
“You want to get laid, you carry him out of here,” Moon said.
“Don’t think so,” Bandana argued and raised his rifle.
“Quinto must be more forgivin’ than I remember,” Shep said.
Moon scowled.
“He’ll hear the gunshot…” Shep shook his head. It was painful to breathe, almost impossible to speak. A rib, he supposed, was poking into his lung. “He’ll know ya killed me. Cost him the ransom.”
“Man’s got a point,” Bandana said and lowered his weapon.
“He does,” Moon agreed. Pulling a knife from the sheath at his side, he stepped forward.
Fear seeped through Shep’s system, but it was slow, lethargic. Still, Mama didn’t raise no quitter. “Let me go. Please.” He tried to imbue his voice with pathetic desperation. It wasn’t as difficult as it should be. Scrambling backward on his hands and feet was harder. His progress was practically indiscernible. The foliage scraped his hands. “Please,” he pleaded again but the moon tattoo kept coming. Closer. Just a little closer. Shepherd dropped his butt to the ground and kicked. His left foot was almost useless, but his right struck true, slamming the man’s legs out from under him.
Moon screamed as a severed sapling pierced his eye.
Shep leapt to his feet, but his legs crumbled. He toppled onto his side and froze at the sound of a cocking rifle.