Jack Wilder - The Missionary

12

Stone held Wren tight against his uninjured side, trying not to let her get jostled. They were on a bus heading north; he was thinking of Quezon City, a lively area of Manila where two Americans wouldn’t be quite so out of place. He wasn’t heading south toward downtown commercial Manila, though. That’s where they’d be expected to go. They were both a mess, and drawing stares. Stone was clearly gunshot. Wren was covered in mud and shit, barely conscious, and obviously in pain. He’d stuffed the pistol into his waistband, but the butt was still visible.

Inconspicuous they were not.

They rode the bus for around twenty minutes, and then, simply to throw off any possible pursuit, switched lines. As they transferred, Stone grabbed a guide to the Manila bus lines, consulting the map as he held onto a vertical bar. Four stops later, they were heading toward Quezon City, part of the massive, sprawling Metro Manila area. It had been the capital of the Philippines for a few decades, and was still the wealthiest part of the country. Which meant access to better food and hopefully some kind of medicine.

After far too long on the rumbling, rattling bus, Stone half-carried Wren off the vehicle and onto Visayas Avenue where it dead-ended into Tandang Sora Avenue. Here, their rough and ragged appearance drew even more stares from the scurrying crowds. Cars rushed by, honking, squealing brakes, buses rumbled, voices chattered. Stone tried to push away the burning shriek of pain in his side, and the stares.

He pointed. “There, a Savemore.” He directed them toward it, then found a small gap between buildings and slumped into it, wedging himself in place. “Go in, buy us some supplies. Bottles of water, as many as you can carry. Some tampons. A shirt for me. Bandages and medical tape. Antiseptic spray, if they have it.” He handed Wren a wad of pesos.

Wren took it, and hesitated. “Tampons? Why? I’m not—I mean—”

Stone grunted as he shifted to a more comfortable position. “Not for you. Me. Small ones, light ones. Best thing for through-and-through wounds. We’ll need food too. A backpack to carry everything.”

“I’m going in by myself?” she asked.

Stone nodded. “You’re less…conspicuous than I am. Don’t talk to anyone. Keep your eyes peeled, watch around you, behind you. You feel anything weird, like a bad feeling, or if you see anyone suspicious, get out of there ASAP. Don’t stop, don’t come back for me, just run.”

“But what if—” Wren’s eyes were wide, her voice tremulous.

Stone cut her off. “You can only deal with the here and now, babe. This is all there is. What ifs won’t keep you alive.” He took her hand in his and tried to send courage through his gaze. “You’ll be fine. You’re just getting some supplies. Don’t worry about me. Don’t even think about me. Get in, get out.”

Wren nodded, straightening the folded, wadded, colorful pesos. “You won’t…you won’t leave without me?” She wouldn’t look at him, staring at the ground between her feet.

Stone shifted upright, gathered her against his chest. She felt small and warm against him, fit perfectly underneath his chin. “No, Wren. I’ll never leave you. I’ll be right here. Promise.”

She took a deep breath and stepped away, folded the pesos in half and straightened her body, wincing as the movement stretched her injured ribs. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

“Remember, water, a shirt, tampons, food.”

“Got it.”

“And Wren?” Stone didn’t let her hand go just yet. “I need you to hustle, okay? On the double, babe.”

She nodded, swallowed hard, and backed away, entering the market. Stone moved deeper into the space between buildings. It was a gap, really, not even properly an alley, so narrow he had stay sideways to fit. Now that Wren was out of sight, he let himself slump, let himself hiss and groan as he pressed a hand to the wound. It hurt so bad, so bad. He was worried about infection, but he doubted he’d find any antibiotics. He’d just have to keep it clean and hope. And pray.

He was struggling to stay upright, beyond exhausted. Then he felt the tingling at the back of his neck, the tightening of his gut. Warning signs. Apprehension.

He slid a pistol from his waistband and shifted farther back, deeper into the gap, ignoring the heat and the pain. He felt his senses sharpen, his focus tuning in. He heard a heavy footfall, voices. The sounds stopped near his hiding place, and then he heard two voices conversing.

“ Nakita sila nung matandang babae na bumaba malapit dito. ” The old woman saw them get off the bus near here.

“ Hanapin sila. Ibalik nyo yung babae kay Cervantes. Patayin yung lalaki. ” Find them. Cervantes wants the girl. Kill the man.

Stone’s Filipino was sketchy at best, but he caught enough to know they were talking about him and Wren. He tightened his grip on the pistol and held his breath. He heard them move forward, saw them pass by him, one and then a second. He waited a few more seconds, then moved to the street, peering out from his hiding place. They were readily identifiable, two powerfully built men with submachine guns out in plain sight, interrogating people on the street. They cornered a man sitting in the lee of a building, old and wrinkled and tired, hunched over a bottle. The old man pointed with an unsteady hand, seemed to be speaking at length, gesturing. When the two thugs had the information they wanted, they turned away. The old derelict lifted a hand in supplication. Even from a few hundred feet away, he could see the cruelty in the way the two thugs stopped, turned around, tossed a peso to the dirt in front of the old man, and then kicked him when he reached for it. He hunched into a ball as kicks rained down, the thugs laughing as they brutalized him.

Stone’s fury burned hot as he watched the two men stroll away, laughing and shoving each other. They were heading directly toward the market. Wrenching himself into action, Stone followed. Ahead, he could see the entrance to the Savemore, where Wren had gone for supplies. The two men wove through the crowds, scanning, shoving people aside, casually ignoring the glances and curses. Stone had to stop them before they spotted Wren. But he had to do it without attracting attention.

A vendor stood at a cart, chopping vegetables with a large knife. Stone dug another wad of pesos from his pocket, pointed at the knife and held out the money. The vendor looked baffled, but shrugged and handed over the knife. Stone shoved his pistol back into his waistband and returned his attention to the market. The thugs were inside the pharmacy. Stone broke into a run, pressing his palm to his side and stifling the groans of pain. He headed through the door, down an aisle, behind one of the men. They’d split up, providing him with an excellent opportunity to take them out one at a time.

The first thug was alone in the aisle near the corner, surrounded by deodorant and shampoo and soap and toothbrushes. Stone gathered his nerves, tightened his grip on the knife, and lunged. The thug heard or sensed something at the last second, whirling, and the blade missed his throat—Stone’s original target. The tip glanced off his cheekbone, and Stone sent his fist into the thug’s face, buying a split-second. With a quick slash, he dragged the blade across the man’s exposed throat, unleashing a sluice of blood. It was messy, but effective. Stone danced away from the hot spray, moving past the falling body, around the corner before it hit the tile. He had to search three more aisles before he found the second thug, who had taken a bottle of soda, opened it and was chugging it, earning the irate scolding of an apron-clad worker. As he approached from behind, Stone heard the thug laughing, telling the terrified but determined young man to get lost. When the thug hefted his gun, the worker scurried away. Guzzling the soda, the thug didn’t hear Stone come up behind him, nor did he notice the blade as it flashed upward, under his diaphragm and into his lung, collapsing it. Stone lurched toward the exit once more. Shouts and screams erupted as the bodies were discovered, and Stone used the sudden chaos as an excuse to slip away, hopefully unnoticed. As he stumbled back toward his previous hiding place, he saw Wren spinning in circles. She had a child’s pink Hello Kitty backpack on her back, and a terrified expression on her face.