Full Throttle(32)
But now was not the time to worry about fashion. Not when a group of militants were scattered through the wet brush behind them, bent on retaking her hostage and killing Carlos…or maybe killing her, too. Shadow Man didn’t seem the sort to forgive her for the trouble she was causing him. Quite the contrary, he seemed the sort to take out his frustrations by way of a beheading broadcast worldwide on Al Jazeera.
She shivered despite the heat of the jungle air and the sweat slicking her skin.
Craning her head around the tree trunk, she struggled to see their pursuers. But a field of green was the only thing to meet her searching eyes. Their raised voices told her they were close, and the sudden rat-a-tat-tat of automatic weapons fire solidified her belief that they weren’t too concerned with recapturing her alive. But, fortunately, it seemed the terrorists didn’t quite have a bead on their location.
She sent a prayer of thanks heavenward. Small miracles and whatnot…Amen!
“You okay, neña?” Carlos whispered, dipping his chin to peer into her eyes.
She gifted him with a classic Kermit the Frog flattened face expression. “You’re kidding, right?”
That seemed a good enough answer, because he nodded brusquely before yanking her back into a run. Without the long skirt hampering her movements, she was free as a bird. She veritably sailed over the huge, log-like roots of a tree, landing lightly and never breaking stride. Fear and adrenaline coursed through her system, fueling her to run faster and faster and faster.
They blew through the undergrowth, crashing past bushes and vines, skirting the occasional rock or fallen tree. But when she glanced to her right, she could tell Carlos was tempering his pace to match hers. Sure, his big arms were pumping, his muscled thighs churning, but the controlled twitch of his jaw, not to mention the studied, almost robotic way he analyzed their surroundings, assured her he could be doing all this at a much faster clip.
“This way,” he whispered, grabbing her wrist and tugging her to the left. They stumbled onto a tiny trail cut into the forest, and he pushed her in front of him, putting himself between her and the threat at their backs. “Faster!” he encouraged.
Any faster and her poor legs would start pinwheeling Road Runner style. But, by God, she’d give it her best shot. Channeling a little Lauryn Williams, she turned on the afterburners. Leaves slapped at her knees and ankles, beating out a rhythm that matched her racing heart. Her soft-soled shoes pounded into the spongy earth, providing little protection from the occasional seedpod or rock in the path. Yet there was no pain. Later, once the adrenaline subsided, she was sure she’d feel plenty. That is, if she lived that long…
“The bridge!” Carlos hissed at her back.
Their path sent them flying directly beneath a band of big-nosed proboscis monkeys. The gang let loose with a string of hacking calls as they scattered higher into the trees. Son of a mothertrucker! And that was basically a neon sign pointing the militants in their direction. Any minute now the terrorists were going to be on their asses like stink on a Burning Man porta-potty. She renewed her efforts at speed.
“The bridge!” Carlos growled again from behind her. “Do you see it?”
Huh? What bridge?
And then she did see it. The jungle to her right opened around a wide, fast-flowing river, the water rumbling and roaring as it tumbled over massive piles of rocks. Spanning that river, about twenty yards downstream, was a feat of human engineering that looked like it’d come straight out of the helicopter rescue scene in the movie The Deer Hunter. A series of ropes supported a few rickety boards. To call the structure a “bridge” was pretty charitable. The whole thing looked like it’d blow away in a stiff breeze.
Her lungs hitched when she realized he intended for them to cross it. But, then again, who was she to question him? He probably spent most of his days doing exactly this while she spent most of her days quietly planting seedlings or laying down mulch.
The bridge it is!
Following the path to the water’s edge, slipping and sliding on the loose soil of the embankment, she gritted her teeth as she stepped onto the rudimentary structure’s first board. It groaned beneath her weight but, to her utter amazement, held. The rope supports were rough and scratched her palms as she raced and skipped from one set of rotting wooden slats to the next. The river, some twenty feet below, snarled and thrashed and sent up sprays of tea-colored water that turned the boards beneath her feet slick. It smelled like fish and sediment and the promise of a watery death.
“Don’t stop,” Carlos commanded when, some seconds later, they miraculously made it to the middle of the thing. The whole contraption was swaying violently from side to side, bouncing up and down with each of their footfalls. Abby gripped the rope handrails until her knuckles turned white. One more step and she feared she’d go plunging into the swirling river below.