At this point, it was defend yourself or be killed.
Just like Kiev.
She wished the world weren’t like this, but it was. Nervous tic time again. As she leaned on one elbow, one hand strayed from the pistol and went to her neck. Instead of finding the little gold cross that she had felt there for twenty years, she found the pendant Paulina had made for her. She messaged it. It felt cool and reassuring in her hand. Somehow it made her feel better.
She could still hear her own heart pounding. She tried to pace her breathing to let things settle. The underbrush that concealed her was settling around her. Her bare legs stung where they had picked up some scrapes and small cuts. She would soon have to clean the cuts and apply a strong disinfectant, but how?
Blood poisoning in this part of the world could be instant and horrific. It could paralyze a man or woman with a systemic infection within two or three days. It could kill a person in four. She would need water soon, too. Her mouth was parched. She knew where the streams sliced through the jungle, but it would have to be safe before she could move. No point taking a bullet in the back, even though water meant survival.
She reckoned that she was positioned about five hundred yards from the village. She had carefully noted the position of the sun as she had moved to one point of concealment after another, and she also had her compass.
She hatched out a plan. She would move at dusk, she reasoned, and try to find water. Then she would hide again overnight and try to creep back toward the village near dawn. She guessed that the raid on the village was a hit and run. But she was guessing.
Something in the tall grass shifted, underbrush she guessed, near the lower part of her body. Whatever it was, it pressed against her leg.
Look out for tarantulas, she reminded herself. She moved her legs slightly. Well, too big for a giant spider. It wasn’t small and crawly whatever was pressing against her. It felt like a branch or a vine.
Her heart settled slightly. She heard no voices pursuing, though she knew her pursuers would be quiet. Her heart settled more.
Time passed interminably. The tedium alone, combined with the building thirst, was enough to kill a woman.
Then she felt the pressure on her leg. The “vine” was moving, sliding. Then she felt it slide itself across her legs. At the same time she heard a distinctive rattle. The snake was already upon her bare skin, exploring.
Every instinct within her told her to jerk her leg away. But simultaneously, she knew she was dead if she moved. The snake had already entwined her. If she budged, it would strike. If it struck, she was dead.
The sweat rolled off her with a new fury. She heard the rattle again and felt the body of the rattlesnake coiled itself in a tightening grip around her leg. She had a knife but couldn’t reach for it.
She moved her head slowly. The serpent was firmly around her calf now and working its way up her leg. Then it was past the knee. Then it was on her thigh a few inches above her right knee.
If she fired a shot, she would draw the attention of her attackers. But at least she would be alive to fight. She would have to kill the snake within the next minute before it sank its fangs into the flesh of her bare thigh.
She couldn’t even see it yet. The tall grass hid it. She moved her gun slowly, positioning its nose in the direction of the snake. She would have one shot to try to save her life, but if the bullet from her own gun blew her foot off, that would be akin to a death sentence out here, too.
A prayer kept repeating itself in her mind.
Oh, my Lord. Oh, my Lord. Protect me now if you ever have before! She was in tall grass so thick that she couldn’t see past her waist. A little breeze rustled the grass. The snake was still climbing her, staking her out, claiming her.
Alex guessed it might be four feet long because it was coiled around her from her ankle till past her knee, and she couldn’t feel the head or neck of it.
Then the grass moved slightly, and like a small dark ghost emerging from a pale green cloud, the head of the snake poked through, skin glimmering with scales, its small black eyes alive with menace, small black bifurcated tongue flickering in and out.
The rattler was a creature of horror and beauty at the same time. The head was silvery gray, and a row of diamond shaped markings with brown centers outlined in yellow spanned downward from the head to the body. Beyond it, as the grass moved and the snake advanced toward her upper body, its head lifted, Alex could see the tail, lightly striped with brown and yellow.
She gazed at its eyes, elliptical pupils centered by black irises. For a moment it opened its mouth slightly, showing the venomous fangs that could kill her as easily as a jungle fighter’s bullet.
The head was now about eighteen inches away from the nose of her pistol. It seemed to be looking her right in the eye, almost freezing her. The head continued forward. In the back of her mind, she suspected that it was instinctively going for her throat.
Closer.
It was now about a foot from the nose of her gun.
She figured she had one shot. Maybe two if the first one wasn’t a clean hit.
She steadied her wrists as best she could. There would be a kickback to the pistol, enough so that a second shot would be questionable.
The snake moved forward another inch or two, exploring. Then it stopped.
The tongue continued to flick.
She knew. It was ready to strike at her flesh, either her arm or her neck.
Now or never.
The heat pounded her, and the sweat rolled off her so furiously that she felt as if a fat person were lying on top of her.
A final prayer and…
Now! She pulled the trigger.
The weapon erupted with a powerful bang.
The impact upon the snake’s head was instantaneous. The bullet took the snake’s head off with precision, smashing it into oblivion, leaving a writhing decapitated creature spasming and unraveling on her, spilling its reddish yellow guts onto her clothing. The rest of the snake’s upper body, the part that wasn’t coiled around her, flew backward toward the grass, the neck oozing with blood and intestines.
Alex felt the snake’s body go limp around her leg.
She felt a deep sickness in her stomach and wanted to vomit. But she fought back. She reached through the grass and grabbed the remains of the carcass where it was wrapped around her leg. She pulled it off her and flung it away.
She slid forward.
Cautiously, she got to her feet. Both her legs were red and cross hatched from scrapes. She gasped for her breath, breathing hard, the gun still in her hand at her side. She looked in every direction and saw no enemy. Maybe they had departed already. Many people had fled into the jungle, perhaps the attackers had given up and departed. She prayed that was the case.
She guessed the direction of one of the streams. She went five minutes through some heavy foliage, then heard the water. She reasoned that she was about three hundred yards downstream from where the women of Barranco Latoya were used to bathing.
The water there would be safe, she reasoned. And it might be a terrain she knew better than the attackers.
She found the stream. She holstered her gun. She picked a secluded place and removed her shoes and socks. She waded in and drank. Never had water felt so good, satisfied so deeply. She washed the cuts and scrapes on her legs. The abrasions stung but the water soothed. She caught her breath. Then she washed her arms and her face.
She kept up her vigil. She saw no one else. No raiders, no survivors from the village. She wondered if she should creep closer to the village but reasoned that if any gunmen had been left behind, that’s what they would be looking for her to do. So she didn’t. She would maintain her plan to return at the next dawn.
She found some wild roots and berries that she knew to be edible. She had enough nourishment to sustain her. She was still in shock over what had happened, what she had seen, at having been under fire. But she was alive, rallying her spirit and still ready to fight back.