Andrew Klavan - If We Survive

She was still holding Nicki by the shoulders, but she lifted her hands now to her face, to her cheeks. Gently but firmly, she turned Nicki’s face toward her.

“Look at me, Nicki,” she said very calmly. “Nicki, look at me.”

“What?” asked Nicki. “What’s happening? What’s… Are they going to kill us now?”

Holding Nicki’s face in her hands, Meredith gave her a soft shake. “Quiet. Look at me. I want you to be quiet now. I want you to stop crying and be quiet.”

“But… I don’t know… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” said Meredith. “Look at me.” Now, finally, Nicki did look—her crazed, terrified eyes met Meredith’s clear, steady gaze. Nicki sobbed again and trembled and then seemed somehow to grow more still. Her next sob was quieter. “That’s right,” said Meredith with an encouraging nod. Nicki took a breath. Then another breath. “That’s right,” said Meredith again. She wrapped her arms around Nicki and hugged her and Nicki held on to her—grabbed her as if for dear life—and was finally quiet, trembling in Meredith’s arms.

I looked up to check on the guards again. I saw one of them—the one at the front door—draw a deep breath as if he were relieved the annoying noise had stopped. The other one—the angry one at the back exit—a sort of bloated, hamster-faced, mean-looking character—went on casting his baleful glance Nicki’s way. But after another second or two, he seemed to lose interest.

Palmer turned from one guard to the other, lifting his beer as if in a toast. “Que típico de una mujer, eh?” he said. Just like a woman .

The guards liked that. It made them smile and nod. Finally, they looked away from us.

And I was relieved. I was. But I was angry too. Suddenly, in fact, I was really angry. I guess it was a late reaction to everything that had just happened. Suddenly, I was angry at everybody and everything. Angry at Mendoza for what he’d done to Carlos and to Meredith. Angry at the gunmen for imprisoning us here. Angry at Pastor Ron for not knowing what to do. And angry at Palmer—Palmer with his arrogant smirk and his insulting talk.

“Maybe…” Startled out of my own thoughts, I turned at the sound of Pastor Ron’s voice. He was still blinking behind his glasses as if trying to wake himself up. “Maybe if we called… someone… The US embassy in Santa Maria…”

My eyes lifted to the phone at the back of the bar. I’d seen it there before, sitting on the bottom shelf under the bottles of wine and whiskey. It was the oldest phone I’d ever seen. An ancient squat thing that looked like a phone in some black-and-white movie. It actually had one of those curlicue wires on the handset.

“I wouldn’t try reaching for that, if I were you,” said Palmer Dunn. “Mendoza gave orders to kill anyone who tried. Anyway, the Volcanoes have probably cut the connection by now.”

Pastor Ron nodded dully. “If only our cells worked…,” he murmured.

“If only,” I heard Palmer mutter into his beer.

Somehow, that did it for me. His sneering tone of voice. His disdain for everyone. Somehow, that was the thing that made my anger boil over.

I found myself standing up out of my chair. I found myself taking a step toward Palmer.

“Well, what’s your bright idea?” I shouted at him. “If you know so much. If you’re so tough. If you’re so tough, why didn’t you do anything? Huh? You just stood there while he… while he… You just watched TV! So, I mean, what makes you so great?” I was so angry I didn’t know what I was saying. I gestured wildly at Meredith. “You didn’t even help her! He pushed her around like that, like… like… He hurt her. And you just stood there! You didn’t do anything!”

I know. I sounded like an idiot. But I couldn’t help myself. The words just came bubbling out of me.

And Palmer—he barely glanced my way. He took one last swig of his beer before clonking the empty bottle down on the bar.

“Well, you did something, kid, didn’t you?” he said. “And how did it help?”

I started to talk again, to shout at him some more, but nothing came out. He was right. What had I done while Mendoza dragged Meredith around the room like a rag doll? I just stood there. Watching. Helpless.

“You don’t get any points for good intentions,” Palmer said softly.

“All right.” A chair scraped. Pastor Ron stood. He seemed finally to have overcome his shock, to have regained his senses. He stood next to me. “It doesn’t do any good for us to fight among ourselves.” He faced Palmer. “What is happening here, Palmer?” he asked—and I was relieved to hear him sounding more like his usual calm and thoughtful self. “Do you know? What exactly is going on?”

It was the first thing any of us had said—or that anyone had said—that Palmer seemed to take seriously. He actually seemed to give the question some consideration before he answered.

“It’s an old-fashioned revolution, Padre. Most of the countries around here have gotten over this sort of thing, but in Costa Verdes, it’s been building up for years. Mendoza and his guys—the Volcanoes—that’s their nickname—they’re reds— or progressives, or whatever you want to call them. They figure the people who own most of the land and plantations in the country ought to share them with the other people, the peasants.”

“They should!” The words broke out of Jim Nolan. “Ninety percent of the country’s wealth belongs to a handful of people. It’s ridiculous!”

Palmer only shrugged in answer. “Whatever. My guess is the Volcanoes are planning to slaughter themselves a bunch of plantation owners. That’s the usual progressive idea. Plus, they’ll bump off all the poor slobs like Carlos who haven’t supported them in the past. Then they figure everything will be peaceful and fair happily ever after.”

“Wait a minute!” Jim protested. “You can’t just reduce this to—”

But Pastor Ron waved at him to be quiet, and he was. The pastor continued to question Palmer. “Do you think it’s just happening here in Santiago?” asked Pastor Ron.

“I doubt it,” said Palmer. “Mendoza’s just a local thug. The main fighting must be in the capital, in Santa Maria. That’s where most of the government’s army is. The rebels are going to have to defeat the army if they really want to take control of the country.”

“That’s why he let me go, isn’t it?” asked Meredith suddenly. She still had her arms around Nicki, but she turned in her chair to look at Palmer. “That’s why Mendoza let me go. You reminded him that the army might win, the revolution might fail…”

Palmer nodded. “The last time they tried this stuff, the United States put a hand in to help the government hold on. When it was over, when the revolutionaries failed, the people who killed or mistreated American citizens found themselves on the end of some rough justice.”

“So you scared him,” said Meredith, thinking it through. “You scared Mendoza into leaving me alone.”

Palmer shrugged.

“Thank you, Palmer,” Meredith said.

“I just told him the truth, that’s all,” Palmer said.

“Thank you,” Meredith said again.

Palmer shifted where he stood. He looks uncomfortable, I thought. He didn’t answer Meredith. He spoke to Pastor Ron instead: “Anyway, none of that’s going to do us much good, if the rebels take the capital. The Volcanoes are plenty angry this time. And they have long memories.”

“You mean, if the Volcanoes win…,” Pastor Ron began to say.

“If the Volcanoes win, you can bet Mendoza will be back in here in a city minute. And this time, he won’t be such a nice guy about it.”

That got Nicki started again. She pulled away from Meredith. “You mean… You mean… he’ll kill us! He’ll shoot us!”