Page 23 of The Perfect Stranger

“Come on then.”

Skirting around the main buildings, we remained unnoticed. Gathering speed in places, and hiding out until it was safe, in others.

“There’s Jase.” I nodded to the lone figure behind the concrete wall of the watchtower. Spying around the corner, we waited until the coast was clear and sprinted across the opening.

“All good on your side?” I asked once we reached him.

“Couldn’t have gone smoother,” he replied, hooking his rifle over his shoulder before pausing. “What’s that sound?”

“Tejo.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What the fuck is Tejo?”

“Colombian national sport.”

“Right… I thought this was a war zone.”

I smiled. “Let’s go blindside them.”

It was clear, all the action was taking place in the center of town. There was little interference as we made our way further in, partly because the housing along the perimeter had been turned to ash in the initial assault. It was uninhabitable, a disaster zone. It certainly was not how I remembered La Balsa.

The space around us took on a faint glow as we got closer. A small building to the left, I recalled as being a produce stall for many years owned by one of the oldest couples in the area, provided us with shelter and an excellent vantage point.

“What in God’s name is that smell?” Jase moaned as we entered. He wasn’t wrong. It was so bad my eyes began watering.

“Rotten fruit,” I answered, gesturing to the upturned carts in the far corner that had decaying, soggy fruit that festered in the heat.

A gunshot had us hitting the dirty floor. All suffering over the foul stench, well and truly forgotten.

Whoever had fired was close, too close for comfort.

Somewhere beyond the shelter, screams erupted followed by the desperate pleas of a man begging for his life. We moved to our knees, the three of us spying out of the small broken window. Ahead, a man in his thirties was pulled by the hair, a gun barrel pressed to his temple. He stumbled and struggled against his aggressors until he was dumped in the middle of the road. There was a group of soldiers, all watching like it was their nightly entertainment. Only a few yards away a woman fended off the advances of a man who wasn’t going to be thwarted.

“We gonna let this happen?” Jase asked, and I could hear the guilt lacing his tone.

“You know the answer.”

The mission was clear and I wasn’t about to blow it on one man. There was a whole town to think of.

“Just checking,” he added, failing to hide the bite.

Jase was never okay with the loss of life. That’s not to say I was. But more so than often, I saw the bigger picture.

The man’s pleas for his life were met with a crack over the head with a rifle butt. He fell in a heap on the road but was quickly hoisted back to his knees by two soldiers.

“What should we do, eh?” he taunted in Spanish. “I know what I want to do. Bring her…” He jerked his head to the girl.

She was dragged over the dirt road to the soldier.

He drank her in. Her vulnerable, bound state only encouraging him further. Tenderly, but maliciously, he gripped her face, assessing the damage. She had a bloodied nose, yet her prettiness was still easy to see. The soldier, uncaring, ripped her dress. She sobbed, her breasts exposed. This sent the male hostage into a rage. He roared his hate, spitting and cursing at the soldiers. They laughed at his reaction. The man was giving them exactly what they wanted. To add salt to the wound, the soldier groped, making a show out of the assault. He turned her face to her partner.

A silent apology passed between them, both knowing what was coming. With her standing and him still on his knees, a Glock was placed in her hands. The soldier folded his fingers encased hers before the gun was raised.

She shook violently, despite the soldier holding her in place.

“This is fucking bullshit,” Jase swore under his breath, and I couldn’t disagree. Here we were three grown men in the midst of the jungle, cowering in the darkness in a rat-infested shed, watching as a woman was coerced into shooting her lover. The soldier whispered in her ear, placing another Glock to her temple.

She cried, begging for mercy she knew she wouldn’t get.

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