Page 63 of Wild Temple
Caspian didn’t like that either. He stepped close and got in my face. So close that his coffee and cigarette breath soured my nose. “You think you’re so much better than me. But you’re a killer, just the same.”
For once, I bit my tongue. “You seem like a smart guy. It would be in your best interest to keep us around. At least until we reach Pura Jiva and acquire the Mata Vaya.”
“Is that what you think?” he mocked.
I shrugged.
Caspian looked around at the soldiers. He only had two of his regular crew with him. Big, musclebound bruisers. They towered over the local soldiers, except for one. He was unusually tall at 6’1”.
Caspian considered it, then his eyes returned to me. “Okay, smart guy. I’ll let you live for now. But give me any trouble, and I’ll put a bullet in you myself.”
“I knew you were a reasonable man,” I said, buttering him up.
He glared at me, then commanded his men to move out.
“What about Rex?” I asked.
“Rex is going to die a slow and painful death,” Caspian said with glee.
Rex was still alive, clutching at the wound, blood seeping through his fingers. Pain tightened his face and tensed his jaw. I felt terrible about leaving him in the dirt, but I had no alternative.
I shouted as the goons marched us away, "I'm coming back for you, Rex."
"I'll be long gone by then, friend,” he said in a weak, scratchy voice.
That hit like a punch to the gut.
"Hang in there!”
Depending on the wound, shots to the abdomen were survivable. He'd have hours, maybe even days. But dehydration could kill him faster than blood loss, especially with the midday heat.
Rex had first aid supplies and antibiotics. In a jungle environment like this, infection would be a killer. The clock was ticking. We needed to find a way to escape these goons and get him treatment ASAP. But with an AK-47 at my back, that wasn't in the cards at the moment. I'd have to bide my time and pick my moment. I just hoped that moment would come soon.
A soldier took point, hacking through the jungle, leading us northwest. The sun had crested the horizon, and the first light of day filtered through the dense canopy. The terrain was brutal, and I hadn't had time to put on a shirt or shoes. That was a recipe for pain and misery in a place like this. Every step was fraught with disaster. Sharp rocks, jagged roots, ants and bugs, not to mention possible parasites that could burrow into the bottom of your feet. Any nicks and scrapes would risk infection. At midday, the sun would cook the dirt and rocks and the soles of my feet by extension—not to mention my back and neck. If I wasn't careful, I was going to visit hell for a second time.
I placed every step with caution, trying to find soft pads of dirt to step on. But the pushy asshole at my back with an AK-47 gave me an unfriendly nudge every time I slowed down.
We marched through the jungle, craggy branches and sharp leaves clawing and slicing my skin. Near the rear of the procession, the trail had been somewhat cleared by the time I trudged through it. Still, nicks and scrapes were unavoidable. Sweat misted my skin and stung the cuts.
I moved quickly and didn’t let my feet linger too long in any one area. Finding a pile of ants would be no good, and those bastards seemed to have a radar for flesh.
The terrain was pretty level for a good mile or so, then we hit a hill and climbed the slope. More dirt, roots, and rocks. An easy place to lose footing or turn an ankle. It didn’t take long to work up a sweat, the blistering sun growing ever hotter.
I kept thinking of ways to improvise shoes with banana leaves and palm fronds. Anything would be better than nothing.
We hiked up to the top of the ridge, then down the other side. The terrain undulated. For a while, we were either climbing up a hill or moving down. Each step through the thick, wet air was like pushing through an invisible wall.
By midday, my feet had taken a beating. Cuts and bruises made every step worse than the one before. It wouldn’t take long for these cuts to get infected. By tomorrow, the red, angry skin would go on strike.
I was ready to kill for a pair of shoes.
39
The platoon stopped for a smoke break. I didn’t mind. It gave me an opportunity to get off my feet for a minute. This happened with increasing frequency as the day wore on and grew hotter.
Cigarette smoke drifted through the trees, and insects buzzed. Dappled rays of sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves.
I noticed as the day dragged on, the soldiers grew more and more lax about keeping an eye on us. The deeper we got into the jungle, the less concerned they seemed to be about our escape. They didn’t really have a dog in this fight—hired contractors whose attention spans were waning.
