Pajaro quickly stepped across the cut around the tents and plunged into the surrounding forest. Sheila hurried to catch up to his receding back. The trees were widely spaced. The bushes around then were surprisingly pliant. But the undergrowth and roots on the forest floor threatened to trip her. Her first true senior moment was a fall apparently caused by not lifting her left foot high enough to clear a step. She had literally landed on her face and ended up with a black eye. She couldn’t afford a mishap like that. If she fell and hurt herself, Pajaro would probably leave her. Well maybe not since she still owed him a very large sum of money.
They walked in single file. Sheila kept her eyes on the ground for low lying danger. The backs of Pajaro’s boots flicked at the top of her peripheral vision. Almost immediately she felt short of breath and her legs felt heavy, as they used to upon climbing flights of stairs or walking up a steep grade. The personal trainer she’d hired last year had explained that regular exercise would keep the problem at bay. She considered the eighty-five dollars an hour well spent when she was able to breath easy and keep up with Nicholas on their hikes. But the moment she skipped a few sessions of swimming in the jet pool and doing water aerobics, the problem came back. Now she had no choice except to bear down and power through, as her trainer used to say.
“Is Mateo very far?” she said, trying not to wheeze.
“You’re making too much noise,” Pajaro said.
Not too far behind them, she heard the bay of the hounds. “They won’t be able to hear us over the dogs,” she said.
“Vilar’s men might not be the only ones around.”
“Great. So we can be killed at any time.”
“No one’s going to kill us out here. They’d have to carry our bodies back to collect the reward.”
“That’s comforting,” she said. And in a really weird way, it was. As long as they were alive there was hope. Nevertheless, she tried not to make so much noise.
“You’re moving too slow,” Pajaro said.
Sheila stopped and said, “I can do quiet. I can do fast. But I can’t do them at the same time. I prefer slow and quiet.”
“Okay,” Pajaro said. “It’s your three hundred and fifty thousand. Just remember if we get into a scrape, you’re on your own.”
He couldn’t possibly mean that. A branch came at her. She slapped it away. A misstep almost sent her tumbling. Something – a bird or an animal or a person – thrashed in the bush beside the trail.
“Ignore that,” Pajaro said.
But she had recoiled and nearly fell again. She clamped her lips tightly together. She would be damned before she’d complain to Pajaro. The last thing she’d done that was this hard was deliver her babies. It was the seventies and bearing children without the benefit of pain medication was in vogue. She and William had taken La Maze classes. Much to her surprise, it had worked. The dark smudge on the back of Pajaro’s left boot would be her focal point. She could almost hear Sweet William’s voice close to her ear, as it had been then, saying concentrate on your breathing and everything will be okay. The memory of that had gotten her through plenty of tough times after he’d died. It would get her through this.
She trudged on with sharp points on branches tearing at her clothes. She lost track of everything except the smudge on Pajaro’s boot and the rasp of her breathing, which was oddly comforting. Her mind wanted to roam over all of the problems brewing back home, but she couldn’t afford to indulge in the least bit of negativity. So she thought about Tom, allowing herself only one thought. She imagined him getting well after Doctor Neill had given him the tetracycline and having a wonderful, long talk with him as she sat on the side of his cot. Then she bumped into Pajaro.
“Oops. Sorry,” she said as she looked up.
“They’re gaining on us,” he said. “We need to find a place to hide.”
“What if they find us?”
“I’ll deal with them.”
He looked around, selected a stand of bushes, and crawled slowly into it. He thrashed around. Dust rose and some rotting foliage flew out. Metal scraped against rock. He said, “Son-of-a-bitch!” He came out carrying a stick with two snakes coiled on it.
Sheila said, “Oh shit!” and took a step backward. “Are they poisonous?”
“Colombians call them Senior Three Steps because, if they strike you, their poison will kill you before you can take three steps.”
“Kill ‘em,” she hissed.
“Get the shelter half from my pack.”
Sheila pulled out the large piece camouflage silk that had once been a parachute and handed it to Pajaro, staying as far away from the stick and snakes as possible. Then she backed away. Pajaro carefully draped the cloth over the stick and then in a lightening fast move pulled the hanging ends together. He dropped the stick and tied the ends to trap the snakes. When he picked up the stick again, it looked like a hobo’s bundle. Except this one writhed.
He placed the snakes in an open area and loosened the knots. The howling of the dogs had grown louder and individual voices could be heard. Sheila followed Pajaro as he hurried back to the bush. He pointed to an opening in the growth, “Get in.”
Sheila didn’t move.
“Come on. It’s safe now.”
“You’re sure?”
“Safer than out here.”
The men hunting them were only a short distance away. If she didn’t move right then, they’d be seen. She ducked and crawled in. Pajaro pushed in behind her.
The hounds led the men to the old piece of parachute and went crazy. Much to Sheila’s surprise there were only three men and two dogs. One of them strained at its leash in the direction where Pajaro and Sheila crouched. Pajaro had taken out his gun and was tightening down a silencer. She braced herself for the moment when he might have to shoot the dog or, for that matter, the men. One of the men handed his dog’s leash to the other with a dog and signaled for him to take them back the way they’d come. He led them a short distance and then settled them down a signal. The two men standing over the bundle reached for the corners of the cloth and opened it. Both cried out and gripped their wrists and started to run.
“One, two, three,” Pajaro whispered.
Both men fell, convulsed, and then were perfectly still. Then man holding the dogs called out, “Gilberto? Carlos?” He took one step toward the fallen men. “Gilberto? Carlos?” He took one step toward the shelter half and saw the snakes. He dropped the leashes and ran away screaming, “Gilberto es muerto! Carlos es muerto! Chinga! Mordedura de serpiente!”
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