-9-

 

            The baked sand of the narrow road burned into the soles of Felicity’s feet.  It was a pain she accepted.  She could not have walked another step in those damned high heels.

            She had shivered through the night but fear had kept her awake.  When dawn finally came she had started walking.  Within an hour she was barefoot.  That was no big deal.  She spent most of her youth that way anyway.  An hour or so later she discarded her hosiery.  Soon after she tore off her gown to just above her knees.  Thai silk gowns, she soon discovered, do not rip easily.  Just getting a hole started cost her another fingernail.  It hurt, but the gown was too restrictive for walking.  She needed the mobility.

            She ached everywhere.  Hunger gnawed at her belly.  Not the first time in her life for that, either.  She was very thirsty too, but she ignored it.  Hatred, gleaming in her eyes, was all that sustained her.

She had no idea if she was even pushing on in the right direction.  She saw no landmarks, and the scenery was totally monotonous.  She felt as if she was walking on a monstrous treadmill, a lone, lost hamster spinning her wheel, expecting somehow to make progress.  Yet she continued.

            She made it ten twenty-six a.m. when she first heard the new sound.  An engine, she thought, and it seemed to be getting louder.  A vehicle, heading her way!  For a brief moment, she reflexively tried to straighten her dress and touch up her hair, before realizing what a hopeless effort that would be.  Her chance for rescue would most likely turn out to be a simple local farm boy approaching in an old pickup truck.  He would probably beat her, rape her, and dump her in the next jungle.

            Then again, maybe that was not the worst possibility.  As the vehicle approached she identified it as an aging, green army jeep.  A big black man in camouflage fatigues was driving.  He stared stonily ahead, keeping the vehicle centered on the bumpy road. 

            At the last possible instant, she nimbly leaped to the side.  The silent driver locked up the brakes.  The jeep ground to a halt directly in front of the girl.  The driver’s head never turned.

            “Get in,” he growled in a hoarse voice.  It took Felicity only a second to weigh her options and decide that any company was better than being alone in the jungle.  With a shrug she put one hand on the dashboard and the other on the back of the seat to lift herself up.  But with one foot in the jeep, she froze.  Her eyes were riveted on the small submachine gun lying on the passenger seat.  That sight prompted her to look up and reevaluate the driver.  He carried the foul stench of river water and was covered with a talc-like layer of road dust. 

            “Well, you’re no prize either,” the driver snapped, seeming to read her mind.  “Come on!  It’s either me or the coral snakes and rattlers.”

            Her eyes bulged.  Snakes?  She had not thought about snakes.  Gingerly she picked up the gun, which turned out to be heavier than she expected it to be.  She placed it on the jeep’s back seat with both hands, then climbed into the passenger seat.  Her behind had barely touched the seat when the driver slammed the gas pedal to the floor.  The jeep bolted forward like a spurred stallion, slamming Felicity back into the hard seat.

            Before she could speak, he tossed a question into the silence.

            “Name?”

            “Felicity,” she responded, starting to blush a bit.  “Felicity O’Brian.  Listen, glory, I wanted to thank you, and I didn’t even think to ask your name.”

            “Morgan Stark,” he said, smiling slightly.  “And you certainly can thank me.  I drove a few miles out of my way to pick you up.”

            Felicity wasn’t sure how that could be, but she decided to let his remark lie.  The silence lasted for a good two minutes.  Finally she had to ask. 

            “Okay.  I give up.  How could you know I was out there?”  She found herself smiling broadly when he finally turned to look at her.

            “I don’t know, lady.  Really.  I just felt this pull, you know?  Somebody over this way, in trouble.  Alone.  Maybe lost.  But not scared.”

            “I see.”  She was about to elaborate when a sharp curve almost threw her out of the jeep.  “Are you in a particular hurry, Mister Stark?”

            “Well, actually, there is a small chance that most of the local army is on my trail.  I think I lost them, but I don’t like to push my luck.”

            “The army?”  She was grinning uncontrollably now.  “I seem to have hooked up with quite a character.  Just exactly what did you do?”
            “Well, let’s just say I got caught on the wrong side of a little local political conflict.”

            “Oh.”  Felicity’s mind was alight with a dozen romantic notions concerning “mercs.”  Was he a hardened killer?  A professional soldier?  A bored adventurer?  Perhaps all of these.  In any case, she was instantly fascinated.

            “What about you?”  Morgan asked.  “How did you come to be alone, in the jungles of Belize, miles from civilization, and so, well, inappropriately dressed?”  This guy sounded mighty literate for a grunt type field soldier to her.  She figured she had best tread lightly.

            “Well, the truth is, a business associate of mine decided to play a little trick on me.”

            The two travelers glanced at each other.  She decided she liked his smile and got the impression he liked hers.  After the brief nonverbal exchange he turned his attention back to driving. 

“How long you been out here?” Morgan asked.

Felicity looked down, shaking her head in self-mockery.  “Gawd, I spent the night in a tree.”

Nodding, Morgan reached up under his seat and presented her with a green plastic canteen.

“You dear, sweet man is that water?”  A shake told her that the canteen was about two thirds full.  She gratefully accepted it, starting to guzzle greedily.  The water was warm, but it was wet and clean, and she hadn’t known how thirsty she was until she tasted the first precious drop.

            “Slowly,” Morgan said.  “If you drink too fast, you’ll give yourself cramps.  How long since you’ve had any water?”

            “I don’t know,” Felicity said between swallows.  “Late yesterday afternoon I guess.  Is this all we got?”

            “Afraid so,” Morgan said.  “And we won’t have any more for a while.  The next safe town is about thirty-five clicks away.  I kind of need to stick to small towns until we hit Mexico.”

            Felicity nodded.  “Hey, can I ask you a question?”  When Morgan shrugged, she continued.  “You sure seem to know this area awfully well.  How is it you know which way to go?”

            “Got a map,” Morgan said.  “The next town is almost due north.”

            “Oh.  You’ve got a compass too, then.”

            “Nope.  Don’t need one.  Always know where north is.  Now, any more questions?”  His face flashed defiance, as if he expected an argument.

“Well, yes.  What’s a click?”

            “A kilometer,” Morgan said, flashing a sarcastic smile.  “Thirty-five clicks is about...”

            “I know what a kilometer is.  Thirty-five kilometers is a little over twenty miles, I’d guess.  Not far, really.”

            However, fifteen minutes later, their transportation almost vetoed their plan.  The jeep slipped completely out of gear.  Morgan almost growled, but despite his playing the pedals furiously, it happened again.  Noxious fumes belched out of the undercarriage.  Morgan’s right arm knotted as he yanked and shoved the gearshift lever. Alternately cursing and pleading, Morgan managed to cajole the vehicle to the edge of a dirt street village in first gear.   

            “Any idea what’s wrong?” Felicity asked.  Morgan looked at her as if she just asked him what the steering wheel was.

            “Oh, nothing except a burned out transmission.  Probably just hasn’t been serviced right.  No big surprise.”

            “Well, how far are we from any place worth being?” she asked as they descended from the jeep.

            “About five clicks from the border.”

            “Three miles,” Felicity said.  “Not that bad.  How about to a real city?”

            “Two hundred and seventy miles from Merida.  Long walk,” he said.  “Especially with...” his voice trailed off.

            “With what?” she asked.  “Excess baggage?”

            “You said it, I didn’t.”

            “I’ll try to keep up,” she said.  “Now, do you suppose we can get something to eat in this place?”

            A sharp look told her she might be pushing too hard.  Grabbing up the canteen and shoving his submachine gun into a sack from the back seat, Morgan headed toward town.  The track they were on slowly swelled to almost twice its width.  It appeared to be the village’s main street.  In fact, Felicity began to suspect it was the only street.  Despite his long, powerful stride, she followed close behind her rescuer.  His grim visage would intimidate anyone they encountered, including her.  She simply could not understand why some people can’t try to make the best of a bad situation.

            As they passed a couple of small shacks Felicity got the feeling she had seen this very village in an old spaghetti western.  Unwashed children played in the unpaved street, which was lined with wooden buildings.  They walked into a small cafe, which also looked like something out of the Old West.  A bar counter spanned one wall, in front of shelves crowded with unrecognizable bottles.  The rest of the space was cluttered with round wooden tables.  Only two of the tables were occupied, in both cases by older couples.  The looked fairly clean, despite the fact that it smelled of hot oil and perspiration.

Morgan moved toward a table in the corner, reaching for the chair with the best view of the door.  Felicity liked sitting with her back to the corner as well, but settled for the side with her back to the wall.  From habit, she stood next to her seat, waiting.  Morgan sat down, evidently oblivious to her.  With a sigh, she seated herself.  She had a good view of both the door, and his face.

            Surely they made an unusual sight in this rural locale, or in fact anywhere, but the aging proprietor hastened over to them.  He seemed to make a point of not noticing anything odd about them, as if he dealt with armed black soldiers and ragged barefoot white women all the time.

            “Buenos dias,” he said pleasantly.

“English?” Morgan asked, not looking up.

The tavern owner nodded and his smile never changed.  “Good morning.  Our menu is small, but I can offer you fresh lemonade on this hot day.”

            “We’ll take a pitcher,” Morgan said.  “Strong and sweet.  And a fat beef enchilada.  Re-fried beans.  Small bowl of chili.  Twice.”

            The old man nodded more deeply and moved away.  When he was gone, Felicity leaned toward Morgan and said in conspiratorial tones, “He speaks English!”

            “Of course he does,” Morgan said.  “Belize is not Mexico, you know.  You’ll hear a lot of Spanish here, and a kind of Cajun dialect, but English is the official language.  This little country was a British Crown Colony for a hundred years.  Only got its independence in ‘81.”

            “Oh.”  Felicity fell silent.  She was sure she must look like a total idiot to him, and did not want to give him any further evidence.  His mind seemed light years away anyway, which suited her just fine.  It gave her time to think.  As always, she had a plan.  It percolated in her mind while she excused herself to visit the ladies room.  It too proved clean, although she didn’t enjoy washing her face and hands in cold water.

            When she returned to the table, she saw that Morgan had also washed while she was gone.  She found him easier to look at with clean hands and face but she wished he would smile more.  Soon after she sat down their food came, on chipped china plates.  Morgan fell on his hungrily.  Felicity poured and emptied two glasses of lemonade before she even approached the food.  She finally lifted a fork full of the beans as if judging their weight, and dropped them back onto her plate.

            “How can you eat this disgusting, overly spiced slop?” she whispered.

            “Hey, when you’re hungry, food is food,” Morgan said between mouthfuls.  He continued in an imitation Massachusetts accent that surprised her.  “I suppose you’ve got the cultivated palate of a gourmet.  Too bad.  I’ve eaten too much mess hall food, in the U.S. and a few other armies.  My taste buds retired long ago.”

            Despite her reservations, only seconds passed before the necessity of hunger drove Felicity to taste parts of her meal.  Two minutes later she was eating steadily, and soon was devouring her food greedily.  She had nearly finished her greasy meal when she suddenly looked up.

            “Do you have any money?”

            “About twenty dollars American,” Morgan said.  “More than enough for the meal.”

            “Wait a minute.  You travel in a foreign country with just twenty dollars in your pocket?”

            Morgan’s face hardened again.  “I didn’t get paid for my last job.”

            “Hm.  You know, the men who stranded me also stole something from me,” Felicity said between bites of enchilada.  “I’d be willing to pay you a fair amount if you’d help me get it back.”

            “What’s your idea of fair?  I’m pretty expensive help.  Besides, right now I don’t even know when we’ll get to civilization.  Hell, I don’t even know where I’m going next.”

            “Look, I’ve got plenty of money,” Felicity said, pushing the last of her rice onto her fork.  “I just don’t have any with me.  I lost my purse in the jungle in the dark.  As for how we’ll get to civilization, don’t be worrying your little head about it.  I spotted an old pickup truck down the road.  Nobody will miss it.  You said Merida was less than three hundred miles away, right?  We can be there tonight.  I can wire for cash from there and we can fly to my Los Angeles home.”

            “Hold on!”  Morgan said.  “You’re moving a little fast here.”

            “I thought you were an adventurer.  Besides, do you have anywhere else to go?”

            “Well, I guess not,” Morgan said after a few seconds. 

            “Well then, I say let’s be off.”

                                                           

            They were approaching the end of the road when Morgan finally accepted that this woman was serious.  They stopped next to an ancient blue Chevy pickup truck.  Dust covered, with just passable tires, it stood like a lonely swayback mare awaiting its rider. 

            “You intend to buy this old hulk somehow?”  Morgan asked, grinning.  “Or maybe talk the owner out of it?”

            “Don’t be silly.  We’ll just take it.”

            “Real nice,” Morgan said, trying the door.  “Just like that.  It’s locked, you know.”

            Felicity shrugged.  “So?”

From her matted hair she drew a small sliver of spring steel, almost like a shiny bobby pin.  She slid this into the driver’s side door lock in businesslike manner and opened it.  Under the dash, she pulled wires and twisted them carefully.  The starter reluctantly turned and the engine leaped to life.  Just under seven seconds passed between her sprightly “So?” and her terse “Get in!”        They heard loud voices behind them, shouting in Creole and English, but Morgan figured that by the time the locals got another vehicle on their trail, that trail would be cold.  The local police force was probably pretty disorganized, so getting into Mexico with this rust machine should prove no problem.  All in all, he was impressed.

            “You know, Red, you’re all right,” he said, shaking her head by a handful of hair.

            “Thanks,” Felicity said, “but don’t call me Red, okay?  Nobody calls me Red.  Hey, this thing’s got a tough clutch.  You want to drive?”

            “Sure thing, Red,” he said with a deep laugh.  “Pull her over.”

            “No need.  Don’t want to give anybody a chance to catch us.”  Felicity gripped the wheel tightly and raised herself from the seat.  After a couple of seconds she said, “Well, come on.  Step on the gas and slide on over here.”  Shaking his head, Morgan pushed her foot off the accelerator with his own and pulled himself under her body, so that she was steering from his lap.  Once he was in place she nimbly hopped off him to land on the seat to his right.  She was giggling a bit, as if they had just performed some schoolyard prank, and Morgan had to admit her relaxed smile was infectious.  As the truck, bucking like a rodeo bronco, rolled over the endless treadmill of a road, he thought it was a good chance to take some time to think.

            After a couple of minutes, Morgan asked, “Are you sure this `business acquaintance’ of yours stole something from you?  Not that it matters, but it occurs to me that maybe you stole something from him.”

            “Not from him,” Felicity answered.  “For him.”  After a much longer hesitation she added, “It was a contract job.  I’ve a feeling you know about such things.  Only, like yourself, I didn’t get paid.”

            “Oh, so you’re for hire, eh?” he asked, grinning.

            “Not usually.  I’m self-employed, normally.  But this deal looked so good...”

            Felicity stopped as Morgan pulled the pickup around a curve in the narrow dirt road, and then pulled them over to the side. 

            “We’re approaching the border,” he said.  “I got no problems in Mexico, but the Belize boys might be watching.  This is a pretty obscure crossing point, but I want to go up and take a look before we drive on up there.”

                                               

            As Felicity watched from the truck, Morgan walked down the road ahead.  He looked like a huge man when she was standing beside him, but now he was dwarfed by the tall jungle trees lining the road.  The foliage presented a solid wall of green, because tree bark was obscured by vines and moss.  The tall, massive trees appeared to be woven together, as if some giant seamstress had pulled her needle in and out between them, a needle threaded with thick, leafy vines.

            Morgan’s uniform matched the jungle perfectly, but she followed his movement at the edge of the road.  About twenty meters ahead, he suddenly stepped to the side and vanished into the brush.

            “What a thief this man would make,” she said aloud.   

            Felicity sat alone for what felt like an hour, although she knew it was barely ten minutes.  As time passed, weariness overwhelmed tension and she began to relax.  Just as her eyes were about to slide closed, Morgan silently stepped through the green barrier onto the road.  He didn’t look happy, but he wore an expression more of annoyance than actual concern.  He didn’t speak until he was right beside the truck again.

            “These bozos have got a pair of kids in uniform up there watching the border.”

            “Okay,” she said.  “So can’t you go up there and bop them on the head or something?  I don’t feel like driving along the border all day looking for a clear spot.”

            “Sure, Red.  You just tell them to put those little rifles down and I’ll do that.”

            “Don’t want to shoot them, huh?”  She hoped not.

            “Shoot them?” Morgan said.  “Look, I’m a fighter, but I fight soldiers.  These are just kids.”

            Felicity smiled and blew a stray stand of hair out of her face.  “Well then, I guess I’ll just have to get them to put their guns down.”