The last words had come slowly, far apart, in a slurred voice. I heard the colonel swear and knew that he was certain the poisoned metal would cheat him out of his brutal interrogation and final disposition of my body. He wanted me for his own, wanted the pleasure of seeing me tortured, the pleasure of pulling the trigger to blast the last remnants of life from my body.
I sagged further and reached out my hand, as though seeking relief from my building agonies.
"Son of a bitch," he grumbled, as he moved forward to take my outstretched hand. "You can't die here. You…"
Hugo flashed in the air and caught the colonel in the throat. His automatic rifle plummeted to the ground and he let out a cry that could have been heard all the way to Miami. When I had wrapped my right hand, I had kept the stiletto clutched in my fingers. But my aim hadn't been as accurate as it should. I withdrew the weapon and plunged it in again, this time in his chest, hoping to pierce his heart.
He fell, slowly, just as the squad of Marines down the trail broke into a run. They had seen me attack the colonel. Two of them had veered off to one side and were on their knees, taking aim to kill the colonel's attacker.
I had no choice, I leaped over the side of the trail and slid on my belly down into the jungle thicket, knowing that it was full of poison-coated metal.
Chapter Six
Bullets swept the hillside like a wave of water before a high wind. I leaped to my wrapped feet and made a twisting, turning dash down the mountain. Although I was out of sight from the Marine squad above, their weapons were sweeping the underbrush that was no protection from steel-jacketed bullets.
Small trees, limbs and bushes all around me were cracking and flashing from the rain of bullets. Clusters of leaves literally exploded in my face. I could see the bits of metal that obviously had been dropped on the mountainside by an aircraft, and knew that I was stepping on those bits as I ran helter-skelter down through the thickening jungle. I could only hope that the wrappings would hold out, would absorb the penetrating shards.
Ironically, it was the existence of the poisoned metal bits that enabled me to get away from the squad of Marines on the trail above. They didn't have their lives at stake, weren't as desperate as I was, so they had no intentions of following me into that sea of death and danger. I zigzagged across the downward slope, found an old Indian trail and made a beeline straight to the valley floor.
When I was out of the area that had been seeded with the poisoned metal, I found a stream and sat down to rest. The wound in my side had come open during the flight and the pain of it was growing unbearable. There was also something in the wrapping on my right foot, a pebble perhaps that was pressing against the sole of my foot.
I washed the jungle dirt from my face and took off the filthy bindings. I checked the bandage over my side wound, found it soaked in blood, but didn't dare remove it. Pico's healing herbs and mosses were still there, doing their magic.
When I had finished washing, I lay on the bank to rest and let my side stop bleeding. I hadn't found a pebble in the wrapping on my right foot, but I soon forgot about that. After resting, I got up and continued on down the Indian path until it faded into jungle. I picked lines of least resistance and, following the sun which I could see at uneven intervals, made my way ever westward toward Ninca lands. With luck, I would be there by dusk. Perhaps now I'd be able to convince Chief Botussin that he'd better lend help with his full complement of warriors. We could at least get to the capital, warn of the coming revolution, and stir up enough action among rebels and government forces there to put a crimp in Don Carlos Italla's plans. If we did our work well, his signal from the cloud-wreathed summit of Alto Arete might not have its full sting; the revolution might fail.
It was a slim hope, but my only one right then. I had thought of going back up to where I had stashed my radio and remaining supplies, where I could hopefully impress on David Hawk, or others at AXE that, unless they came through with support, two more third world nations would slip out of our grasp to the tune of a great deal of bloodshed. Recalling my last effort, I gave up on the idea. It would take too many precious hours and, I was convinced, would prove fruitless.
I hadn't gone a mile through the jungle, though, when I began to feel a throbbing in my right foot. I ignored it for a time, but stopped when I came to the stream where Elicia had taken her bath and had sung her sweet song. I sat on the bank and twisted my foot around to look at the bottom. It was filthy from black jungle dirt, so I dipped it into the stream to wash it off.
The sting of the water was like a hot poker on my foot. I pulled my foot up again and saw the tiny pinprick in the soft part of my arch. The redness and the swelling told me the worst. There had been no pebble in that wrapping.
There had been a piece of the tainted steel, and it had punctured my skin.
I nearly panicked then, knowing from what I'd been told that I probably had little time to live. First, I would grow woozy and weak, then I would become faint, finally going into delerium, then coma, then death.
With all the strength I had, I pulled the foot to my mouth and began to suck blood from the pinprick wound. Not much came out, but I spat it into the stream. An idea hit and I used Hugo to cut an X-mark through the wound. Blood flowed copiously and I sucked and spat until I began to feel nausea. It wasn't enough. The poison had already started working its way up my leg.
The second idea hit and, even though I didn't hold out much hope for it, it was certainly worth a try. I removed the bandage from my side and scooped out a portion of the now putrid poultice Pico had applied to my bullet wound.
Working patiently and diligently in spite of growing panic, I worked the grisly concoction of moss and herbs deep into the wound on my foot. I wrapped it with my handkerchief, rested for another fifteen minutes, then tested it out. The foot hurt like hell when I stood on it, but I no longer felt wooziness. I knew that, for the poultice to work — if it had any power left — I would have to rest there several hours and let its healing powers seep into my blood along with the poison, but there was no time for that. I had to find Botussin and convince him of the need for hasty action, for a small-scale war, if possible.
The more I walked, the greater the foot hurt. By the time I was within sight of Ninca lands, I was more than exhausted. My side wound was bleeding profusely and the poison had worked its way to my hips. I felt a kind of paralysis setting in there. But I plugged along, stumbling, falling; passing out for short stretches. At times, my mind drifted and I could see myself plunging headlong down another ravine. This time, I knew, Pico wouldn't be there to rescue me. I was miles from his hermitage up on the side of the mountain.
It was late afternoon when I found the final trail leading to Botussin's camp. In just over twenty four hours, at dusk tomorrow, Don Carlos Italla would walk to the edge of his lair in the clouds and send the signal to start the revolution. There was no doubt in my mind that he'd gain the full support of Intenday and his followers from Apalca.
I literally crawled into the Ninca encampment and, just before passing out, saw Purano and two of his warriors coming toward me. The two warriors had spears in their hands and I thought then that something had gone wrong and they were now ready to turn me over to the spear chuckers.
At that point, I really didn't give a damn. In fact, I would welcome the sweet rest that would come from death by any means.
It was dark when I awoke in the now familiar hut. I opened my eyes and saw one lighted torch on the opposite wall. I swiveled my eyes to my right and there was Elicia, sitting cross-legged beside me, a damp cloth in her hands. She had been applying the cloth to my fevered brow. Near her stood Antonio and Purano, watching anxiously to see if I would speak or merely give out a death rattle.