Austin Camacho - The Payback Assignment

She ached everywhere. Hunger gnawed at her belly. Not the first time in her life for that, either. She was very thirsty too, but she ignored it. Hatred, gleaming in her eyes, was all that sustained her.

She had no idea if she was even pushing on in the right direction. She saw no landmarks, and the scenery was totally monotonous. She felt as if she was walking on a monstrous treadmill, a lone, lost hamster spinning her wheel, expecting somehow to make progress. Yet she continued.

She made it ten twenty-six a.m. when she first heard the new sound. An engine, she thought, and it seemed to be getting louder. A vehicle, heading her way! For a brief moment, she reflexively tried to straighten her dress and touch up her hair, before realizing what a hopeless effort that would be. Her chance for rescue would most likely turn out to be a simple local farm boy approaching in an old pickup truck. He would probably beat her, rape her, and dump her in the next jungle.

Then again, maybe that was not the worst possibility. As the vehicle approached she identified it as an aging, green army jeep. A big black man in camouflage fatigues was driving. He stared stonily ahead, keeping the vehicle centered on the bumpy road.

At the last possible instant, she nimbly leaped to the side. The silent driver locked up the brakes. The jeep ground to a halt directly in front of the girl. The driver’s head never turned.

“Get in,” he growled in a hoarse voice. It took Felicity only a second to weigh her options and decide that any company was better than being alone in the jungle. With a shrug she put one hand on the dashboard and the other on the back of the seat to lift herself up. But with one foot in the jeep, she froze. Her eyes were riveted on the small submachine gun lying on the passenger seat. That sight prompted her to look up and reevaluate the driver. He carried the foul stench of river water and was covered with a talc-like layer of road dust.

“Well, you’re no prize either,” the driver snapped, seeming to read her mind. “Come on! It’s either me or the coral snakes and rattlers.”

Her eyes bulged. Snakes? She had not thought about snakes. Gingerly she picked up the gun, which turned out to be heavier than she expected it to be. She placed it on the jeep’s back seat with both hands, then climbed into the passenger seat. Her behind had barely touched the seat when the driver slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The jeep bolted forward like a spurred stallion, slamming Felicity back into the hard seat.

Before she could speak, he tossed a question into the silence.

“Name?”

“Felicity,” she responded, starting to blush a bit. “Felicity O’Brian. Listen, glory, I wanted to thank you, and I didn’t even think to ask your name.”

“Morgan Stark,” he said, smiling slightly. “And you certainly can thank me. I drove a few miles out of my way to pick you up.”

Felicity wasn’t sure how that could be, but she decided to let his remark lie. The silence lasted for a good two minutes. Finally she had to ask.

“Okay. I give up. How could you know I was out there?” She found herself smiling broadly when he finally turned to look at her.

“I don’t know, lady. Really. I just felt this pull, you know? Somebody over this way, in trouble. Alone. Maybe lost. But not scared.”

“I see.” She was about to elaborate when a sharp curve almost threw her out of the jeep. “Are you in a particular hurry, Mister Stark?”

“Well, actually, there is a small chance that most of the local army is on my trail. I think I lost them, but I don’t like to push my luck.”

“The army?” She was grinning uncontrollably now. “I seem to have hooked up with quite a character. Just exactly what did you do?”

“Well, let’s just say I got caught on the wrong side of a little local political conflict.”

“Oh.” Felicity’s mind was alight with a dozen romantic notions concerning “mercs.” Was he a hardened killer? A professional soldier? A bored adventurer? Perhaps all of these. In any case, she was instantly fascinated.

“What about you?” Morgan asked. “How did you come to be alone, in the jungles of Belize, miles from civilization, and so, well, inappropriately dressed?” This guy sounded mighty literate for a grunt type field soldier to her. She figured she had best tread lightly.

“Well, the truth is, a business associate of mine decided to play a little trick on me.”

The two travelers glanced at each other. She decided she liked his smile and got the impression he liked hers. After the brief nonverbal exchange he turned his attention back to driving.

“How long you been out here?” Morgan asked.

Felicity looked down, shaking her head in self-mockery. “Gawd, I spent the night in a tree.”

Nodding, Morgan reached up under his seat and presented her with a green plastic canteen.

“You dear, sweet man is that water?” A shake told her that the canteen was about two thirds full. She gratefully accepted it, starting to guzzle greedily. The water was warm, but it was wet and clean, and she hadn’t known how thirsty she was until she tasted the first precious drop.

“Slowly,” Morgan said. “If you drink too fast, you’ll give yourself cramps. How long since you’ve had any water?”

“I don’t know,” Felicity said between swallows. “Late yesterday afternoon I guess. Is this all we got?”

“Afraid so,” Morgan said. “And we won’t have any more for a while. The next safe town is about thirty-five clicks away. I kind of need to stick to small towns until we hit Mexico.”

Felicity nodded. “Hey, can I ask you a question?” When Morgan shrugged, she continued. “You sure seem to know this area awfully well. How is it you know which way to go?”

“Got a map,” Morgan said. “The next town is almost due north.”

“Oh. You’ve got a compass too, then.”

“Nope. Don’t need one. Always know where north is. Now, any more questions?” His face flashed defiance, as if he expected an argument.

“Well, yes. What’s a click?”

“A kilometer,” Morgan said, flashing a sarcastic smile. “Thirty-five clicks is about…”

“I know what a kilometer is. Thirty-five kilometers is a little over twenty miles, I’d guess. Not far, really.”

However, fifteen minutes later, their transportation almost vetoed their plan. The jeep slipped completely out of gear. Morgan almost growled, but despite his playing the pedals furiously, it happened again. Noxious fumes belched out of the undercarriage. Morgan’s right arm knotted as he yanked and shoved the gearshift lever. Alternately cursing and pleading, Morgan managed to cajole the vehicle to the edge of a dirt street village in first gear.

“Any idea what’s wrong?” Felicity asked. Morgan looked at her as if she just asked him what the steering wheel was.

“Oh, nothing except a burned out transmission. Probably just hasn’t been serviced right. No big surprise.”

“Well, how far are we from any place worth being?” she asked as they descended from the jeep.

“About five clicks from the border.”

“Three miles,” Felicity said. “Not that bad. How about to a real city?”

“Two hundred and seventy miles from Merida. Long walk,” he said. “Especially with…” his voice trailed off.

“With what?” she asked. “Excess baggage?”

“You said it, I didn’t.”

“I’ll try to keep up,” she said. “Now, do you suppose we can get something to eat in this place?”

A sharp look told her she might be pushing too hard. Grabbing up the canteen and shoving his submachine gun into a sack from the back seat, Morgan headed toward town. The track they were on slowly swelled to almost twice its width. It appeared to be the village’s main street. In fact, Felicity began to suspect it was the only street. Despite his long, powerful stride, she followed close behind her rescuer. His grim visage would intimidate anyone they encountered, including her. She simply could not understand why some people can’t try to make the best of a bad situation.