Jamie Freveletti - Running from the Devil

Mathilde turned to Sumner. “What do you say to this?”

Sumner said nothing, but it appeared that this time staying silent was taking a huge toll on him. He looked as though he was gritting his teeth.

“Ah, yes, I remember. He is mute, this man of yours.”

“Isn’t that the best type of man?” Emma shot back.

Mathilde laughed out loud. Then she caught herself. “It won’t work. He would whine to the authorities that he’d been forced to make the deal, and they would extradite me.”

“Not if I’m part of the deal,” Emma said.

“What do you mean?” Mathilde seemed curious, in spite of herself.

“He agrees to get you a no-extradition deal and make it stick; and you free him and lead him out of the jungle.”

“Do you think I’m a fool? He would kill me and leave.”

“Not if I stay here. He knows Rodrigo would kill me in retaliation.”

Mathilde leaned forward. “Rodrigo will kill you either way.”

“Then I will only agree to get you a no-extradition deal if you agree to free Emma during the night,” Sumner said. “Once she is free, I will leave with you and speak to the authorities.” He spoke soft and low, but both women jerked in surprise.

Mathilde straightened and stared at Sumner. Emma could almost see the gears turning in the woman’s head. Before Mathilde could reply, Rodrigo stormed out of a nearby tent. Alvarado and the other guerrillas followed at a slower pace.

Rodrigo’s face shone with sweat, and his eyes were crazier than normal. Emma didn’t think it possible for the man to look even more psychopathic than he already had, but there he stood, breaking new ground.

Rodrigo waved at his men and spoke in Spanish. Emma felt Sumner’s body jerk next to her.

“What did he say?” Emma watched as the guerrillas untied Sumner.

“He said to move me from the tree. He needs a clear shot.”

Before Emma could react, Rodrigo marched up to her and kicked her in the leg.

“Why do the gringos want you so much?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Emma tried to keep her voice from cracking.

“Liar.” Luis smiled, his lips stretching so far as to show his gums, the edges blackened from rot. The light from the fire flickered, turning his eye sockets into black holes. Emma didn’t have a lot of experience dealing with Rodrigo, but she knew that what made him smile was not good.

Sumner sat next to her, watching the proceedings with a grim look. Emma watched his eyes flick over the crowd as if he, too, was reaching for options, trying to plan a way out of the camp.

“Tell me, or I’ll shoot your friend and leave him to bleed to death in front of you.” Rodrigo raised a gun in Sumner’s direction. He pointed the gun at Sumner’s temple. Sumner stilled.

The guerrillas passed around the bottles of aguardiente and started murmuring, chanting something in Spanish over and over again. It wasn’t hard for Emma to figure out that they were saying “kill him.”

“Why do the gringos want you!” Rodrigo shrieked.

“Shoot him and I’ll never tell you.” Emma was surprised to hear that her voice didn’t shake, belying the actual fear roiling in her stomach. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, watch Sumner die. She had never felt such fear, never dreamed such a bottomless pit of terror could exist inside a human being. She struggled to keep focused, keep thinking of options, but even her logical, trained mind could not shove the primal fear that gurgled up from her stomach, rendering her mind blank.

Rodrigo screamed in rage, flipped the gun around, and slammed the butt of his rifle into Sumner’s neck. He hit Sumner low, at the point where his neck met his shoulder. The force of the hit knocked Sumner sideways. He landed on his bad shoulder. He winced and Emma saw blood start to seep through his shirt at the location of the still-healing machete wound.

Sumner planted both palms on the ground and rose back into a kneeling position. Then he uncurled and began to rise. Rodrigo followed his movement with his rifle, pointing it at him, tracing an arc in the air as Sumner straightened. At six foot three, Sumner towered over Rodrigo. He glared down at the little man. The assembled guerrillas stopped their howling and seemed to suck in their breath, all at once. The entire camp fell silent. Alvarado took a swig of the aguardiente and stepped closer to Rodrigo, as if he wanted a better view of the action.

“Watch him die,” Rodrigo said.

Emma did the only thing she could. She lurched to her feet, catapulting herself between Sumner and Rodrigo. She faced Rodrigo but started walking backward, pushing Sumner with her, using her body as a block between hers and Sumner’s, and she started talking.

“He works for the United States government. A branch of the Drug Enforcement Agency. You kill him and the U.S. will hunt you down. And if you kill me, the Smoking Man at the airstrip won’t stop until he kills you.”

Emma watched Rodrigo freeze at her words. And then the entire camp went mad, guerrilla by guerrilla.

“El Chupacabra! He’s here.” A guerrilla started screaming. He clawed at his face, backing up in terror.

Luis spun around.

Another guerrilla started twitching. He fell to the ground, writhing. A third went to help him, then staggered and fell. A fourth screamed in terror and jumped in the air, keeping his feet moving in a dance, as if he was trying to avoid something on the ground. He kept howling the same sentence.

“What’s he saying?” Emma spoke to Sumner in German.

“He’s saying that the turtles are coming to kill him.”

“Turtles?” Then, feeling the need to be sure, she said, “Turtles?” again in English. She glanced up and back at Sumner.

“Yes.” A look of admiration came over his face. “You put something in their aguardiente, didn’t you?”

“Scopolamine. From jimsonweed.”

“Devil’s breath,” Sumner said.

“That would be the Colombian street term for it. Keep going back, slowly. We need to get to that machine gun, the one the sentry left on the watchtower parapet.”

“How long will it last?” Sumner took a cautious step back, moving in unison with Emma. She kept her eyes on Luis, who held his rifle and watched in stunned silence as his men started seizing.

“Depends on the concentration each one drank. Hard to tell with these guys. But I used the seeds, the strongest part.”

Another guerrilla jumped up, foaming at the mouth and yelling.

“He’s seeing snakes,” Sumner said.

They took another step closer to the tower.

Alvarado stood still. His eyes were glazed, and he appeared stuck to the spot.

Luis said something sharp to him in Spanish. Alvarado didn’t react.

“Look at Alvarado.” Sumner spoke in low tones. “That’s why the street dealers call it the ‘zombie’ drug. It makes people lose their will and become completely suggestible.”

They were three feet from the watchtower and still moving. Emma kept her focus on Luis, who remained with his back to them.

“I’ve always considered the zombie stories to be a myth. I think some people just get a paralytic reaction to it,” she said.

“Paralysis is good. We’re under the strap.”

Emma glanced out of the corners of her eyes, trying to move as little as possible to avoid drawing any attention their way.

“Can you reach it?”

“No. Too high.”

“Let’s go to the ladder.” The ladder was at least twelve feet away.

“No time. When I say ‘now,’ I’m going to come around the front of you, pick you up, and hold you against the wall. It’ll be a stretch, but I think you’ll be able to reach the gun.”

“And then?”

“Aim it at them while I lower you back down. Be ready to use it if you have to.”