Jamie Freveletti - Running from the Devil

The lead pig’s corpse spun off the weapon and flew sideways. It landed four feet to the right of Emma. The other pigs turned in unison and descended on the body of their leader. They attacked it in a frenzy, snorting and stabbing at it, tearing it to pieces with their tusks. The pigs ignored Emma while they ravaged the dead animal.

Emma got up and limped her way back to the path where she had last seen the guerrilla shoot. When she found it, she kept moving. As she walked, she shook with fear. Her shaking lasted long after the noise of the maddened pigs receded in the distance.

That evening, Emma set up the tent a football-field length down the trail from the guerrilla campsite. She could smell smoke from fires and the pungent aroma of cooking meat made her mouth water. For a brief moment, she regretted leaving the dead pig behind. It would have made a decent supper. She considered going back the next morning to see if anything was left of it, when reason prevailed. By the next day it would be decaying in the heat and covered with flies. She settled into her tent, the folding knife she’d taken from the guerrilla open at her side.

18

MIGUEL, HIS PILOT, KOHL, AND BORIS HAD BEEN FLYING OVER endless stands of beautiful trees and lush green foliage for two days. The terrain conspired against them. The thick cover could hide something as big as a jet with ease. Miguel doubted that they’d find the jet at all if it had landed in the denser parts of the jungle. While in the beginning Miguel had sat in awe of the beauty laid out before him, now, after two days of flying, he watched without interest as the terrain below them flashed by. He started the search close to the coordinates for the cell phone, and expanded it a little more each day, flying in concentric circles.

Kohl and Boris the dog sat behind Miguel. Kohl held binoculars that he used to look out the window, scanning the ground. Every so often he’d reach over to give Boris a pat. For his part, Boris looked miserable. It seemed to Miguel that the dog didn’t like the noise of the rotors.

“There it is!” Kohl yelled over the noise and gestured at the ground. The pilot leaned his head to the side and then nodded.

Miguel looked down. A huge crater sat in the middle of what looked like a thin road carved into the trees.

“Looks like a huge hole,” the pilot said to Miguel.

Miguel spun his hand in a circle. “Take us back around.”

The pilot swung the helicopter around for a second pass. The jet body itself was missing, but a huge crater indicated where explosives had been detonated. Miguel tapped the pilot on the shoulder.

“Can you get closer?”

The pilot nodded and lowered the copter.

“See the long straight gouge in the earth that disappears into the crater?” Miguel said to Kohl and the pilot as he pointed to the earth.

“That’s a runway they blasted,” the pilot said.

“What’s the line on the road? Plane dragged something that created it?” Kohl said.

Miguel shook his head. “Not likely. Maybe the landing gear didn’t retract.”

“No way that runway is long enough for a jet.” The pilot yelled this information to Miguel. “My guess is she broke up on landing.”

“Take us down,” Miguel said.

“Hold on.” The pilot pulled on the collective, and the helicopter heaved to one side. Boris slid across the floor and knocked into Kohl, who threw his arms around the dog to steady him. The pilot hauled the helicopter back the other way and then spun in a circle and dropped downward. Miguel felt his stomach drop with it.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled at the pilot while he braced himself against the wall.

“Evasive maneuvers. Below three thousand feet and we’re in sniper range. We never go straight down. Not if we want to survive the landing.”

“Yeah, boy!” Kohl yelled while the helicopter swung from side to side and spun around.

Miguel felt like he was on a Tilt-a-Whirl ride at a carnival. He hated that ride. He watched the ground approach. When the copter landed, he was the first one out.

Miguel stood on the remains of the runway and looked around. Debris was everywhere, but very little of it was recognizable. He walked around the area, kicking at broken tree limbs, pieces of luggage, mounds of dirt, bits of shoes, and sections of steel that had survived both the landing and the explosion.

Kohl and Boris searched the fringes. After a minute, Kohl burst from the trees, Boris jogging along next to him. Miguel watched him stop and vomit.

“Let me guess, you’ve found the bodies,” Miguel said.

Kohl took a deep breath before answering. “Not bodies, pieces of bodies. There are a couple of heads and a torso back there.”

“Are they burned? Or are they blasted apart?”

Kohl gave Miguel an incredulous look. “Sir, no disrespect meant, but does it matter? They’re sure enough dead, I can tell you that. I didn’t hang around long enough to analyze the manner of death.”

“Manner of death counts. Burned means that the plane caught on fire and our chances of finding survivors are few. Blasted means that they were blown apart by whatever caused this crater, and perhaps there are other survivors who avoided the explosion.”

“What about burned and blasted?” Kohl said.

“Means that God and the devil fought and the devil won. But don’t worry, God may lose a battle or two, but He always wins the war.”

“I sure hope you’re right about that,” Kohl said.

Miguel marched to the perimeter and looked at the casualties. It was a ghastly sight, and he himself had to repress an urge to retch. He kneeled, said a short prayer, and made the sign of the cross when he was done. His years as a soldier killing the enemy had not taken the conviction from him that the dead needed a prayer said for them. At least the innocent dead. The killers he wouldn’t give the time of day. He waved Kohl over.

“Burned and blasted. You have to wonder what kind of assholes kill people twice. Is once not good enough for them?” Miguel sighed. “You take Boris and search the area from here in about one hundred yards. I’ll canvass the perimeter.”

Twenty minutes later, Miguel found the crudely hacked path. That it was fresh was obvious from the still-green leaves that lay on the ground. They hadn’t had time to yellow after having been cut off. Miguel bent down to get a closer look at the dirt. The marks of shoes were so numerous that they overlapped one another. Miguel felt a little hope rise in him. If the tracks were any indication, quite a few passengers may have survived the landing.

“Kohl, get over here.”

Kohl jogged over, Boris at his heels.

Miguel showed him the path. “That’s where we start hunting. Looks like a bunch of passengers made it.”

“Why would they leave the area?” Kohl said.

“Their guerrilla welcoming committee must be moving them to a secure location.” He pointed to the jagged branches that stuck out, about shoulder height. “These cuts were made by a machete hacking at the branch. While the TSA misses a lot of contraband at airport screening, Transit Security is a lot better than that.”

“What next?” Kohl said.

“Let’s head back to camp and get the others. Tomorrow we come back and take this path.”

19

THE NEXT MORNING, MIGUEL, KOHL, AND TEN OTHER SPECIAL forces personnel swarmed over the bomb site. They’d found several bodies in the surrounding forest, but the bulk of their finds were body parts, not intact bodies. They collected them all, however. DNA would help identify the dead. Miguel led Boris the dog into the tree line. After a few minutes, he found the hidden luggage.

“What do we have here?” Miguel patted Boris on the head. He checked out the bags. The first black roller was good quality, but utilitarian. The kind of inconspicuous bag that Miguel would buy if he ever needed to travel out of uniform. He flipped over the tag.