Jamie Freveletti - Running from the Devil

“Good thing I didn’t tell the press that we’d flown five hundred soldiers into the country.” Banner spoke to Whitter under his breath.

Whitter shot him a dirty look before turning back to Mr. Montoya.

“Mr. Montoya, has the Colombian government told the embassy what it intends to do to find these passengers?”

“I understand they have sent a search team,” Mr. Montoya said.

“That found nothing,” Banner said. “Do you believe them?”

Mr. Montoya sighed. “I don’t believe anything until I can confirm it through trusted sources. The corruption here is staggering. But understand that these people may have been long gone before the search team flew over. However, the Colombian president is also aware of the statistics regarding missing planes. He intends to mention these statistics in his defense of the Colombian special forces, and to defer any claims of corruption.”

Banner leaned toward the television. “Mr. Montoya, I need to hear from someone in the administration. I want to know the steps they are taking to locate these people. If they are not adequate, then I will form an alternate plan.”

Mr. Montoya held out his hands. “I understand and I’ll arrange a liaison with the proper authorities. There are over sixty political prisoners held in Colombia. The Colombian president is right now negotiating their release as part of the disarmament. Perhaps he should add this latest group to that list and then all the hostages will be released once the deal is finalized.”

“And if the deal falls through? Then what?” Banner said.

“Then I think we need to have faith that the Colombian government will put all its resources behind the search. That’s all we can do right now.”

“I’ll assume that the Colombian government will do its job, but if it does not, then I intend to do mine,” Banner said.

13

EMMA TRUDGED ALONG, NOT LOOKING RIGHT OR LEFT, WHEN she nearly stumbled over the hand of a woman lying on the side of the path. The woman lay sprawled on her back. Her brown flowered polyester dress was covered with bits of nettles from various plants that she must have brushed against and her heavy legs were covered in bug bites. Emma squatted down next to her. The woman’s gray hair flowed over her face, obscuring her features. Emma moved it away. The woman looked to be about sixty-five, with the heavily lined face of a smoker. Her skin had a pasty white color. She gasped in short breaths, like a fish gulping air. Emma slid her arm under the woman’s shoulders to lift her up. The woman’s eyes fluttered and then opened.

“Please help me,” she said.

“Are you from Flight 689?”

The woman nodded. “I’m Gladys Sullivan. I lost my heart medication in the crash. I can feel my heart is failing. I need my medication.”

The woman struggled to sit up. Emma moved behind her to support her back.

“What were you taking?” she asked. The woman mentioned a pill that Emma knew worked to regulate heart rate.

“My heart’s been getting worse every day. I kept telling them I needed a doctor, but they didn’t care. They left me here to die.” The woman’s eyes shone with tears. Emma took the woman’s pulse. The beat was erratic, and it was clear she wouldn’t last much longer without her medication.

“I’m a chemist. I can’t replicate your medication, but I did see some foxglove back on the path about an hour ago.” The woman seized in Emma’s arms, her whole body shaking. The convulsion passed and she grabbed at Emma’s hand.

“Foxglove? Will it help?”

Emma hesitated. She hated to give the woman too much hope. When properly distilled, foxglove became digitalis, one of the most effective heart medications for the past two hundred years. Problem was, it was also highly toxic.

“It’s the plant that makes digitalis, but—”

“Oh, yes! Please. You must get some for me.” The woman choked out the words between gasps.

Emma shook her head. “It’s highly poisonous. I wouldn’t know the right amount to give you, and it could veer into toxicity too quickly for you to survive.”

“What’s your name?” Ms. Sullivan said.

“Emma Caldridge.”

“Well, Ms. Caldridge, does it look as though I’ll survive much longer without it? I think it’s worth the chance.” Emma couldn’t argue with the woman. She looked dreadful. Emma shrugged off her pack and set up her tent. The woman’s eyes widened.

“Will you look at that,” she said.

“Let me help you inside. You can rest in there while I run back for the foxglove.”

The woman clutched Emma’s arm. “Promise me you’ll return.”

“Of course I will. Let me help you into the tent.” Emma wanted nothing more than to get moving. The light was fading. Soon the path would be too dark to navigate and they’d have to wait for dawn. Emma didn’t think Ms. Sullivan would last that long. She helped the woman shift into the tent and then patted her hand.

“Just rest here. I’ll go get it.” Ms. Sullivan closed her eyes and let her head fall.

Emma bolted out of the tent and ran down the path. She moved more freely without the pack. It was almost a joy to have the weight off her. She sped back, her head swinging from side to side. Perhaps she’d missed some more foxglove that was closer? Forty-five minutes later she spotted the tall plant with its white flowers surrounded by what looked like dried grass. She carefully removed the leaves and placed them in the leg pocket of her cargo pants. She spun around to return to Ms. Sullivan.

By the time she reached the tent, the sky had deepened to a red glow. A minute later, the jungle plunged into full dark. Ms. Sullivan lay on her side in the tent, still gasping. Emma flicked on her lighter. The woman’s face held a white sheen and her breath was even more labored. She opened her eyes but seemed to look right through Emma. Emma pulled out leaves, ripped one in half, and gave the other half to the woman.

“Here, chew on this. I don’t know if it’s enough or if it’s too much.” Ms. Sullivan nodded. She took the leaf in her shaking hand and put it in her mouth.

No hesitation there, Emma thought. She watched as the woman grimaced.

“Tastes bad?” Emma said.

“Awful,” Ms. Sullivan managed to whisper. “Do you have any water?”

“I’m sorry, no. I collect it in a small plate when it rains, but there is no way to transport it, so I have to drink it all and wait until I can collect more.”

Ms. Sullivan waved a hand in the air. “Don’t worry,” she said. “When will we know if I swallowed too much?”

Emma felt helpless. “I have no idea. It should take at least twenty minutes to start entering your system.”

Ms. Sullivan lay back down and closed her eyes. Her chest still heaved with each breath, and her face stayed pale. Emma switched off the lighter.

After ten minutes, she switched it back on. Ms. Sullivan’s face looked pinker, and her breaths came in the longer, slower rhythm of sleep. Emma lay next to the tent’s wall and fell asleep.

The next morning, Ms. Sullivan’s breathing was once again labored, but not as much as it had been. She opened her eyes, looking around the tent before spying Emma.

“So you weren’t a hallucination,” she said.

“Not at all. How do you feel?” Emma checked the woman’s pulse at her wrist.

“How is it?”

“Erratic. But better than before, I think,” Emma said.

“Help me out of this tent, will you? It’s as hot as Hades in here.”

Emma helped her slide out of the tent, where she sat on the ground to catch her breath.

“Do you have any food?” Ms. Sullivan said.

Emma handed her a food package. Ms. Sullivan opened it and wrinkled her nose.

“This is turning.”