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to move and do it all again & and more of the rain forest would die. It was slash-
and-burn agriculture at its worst, but it was the only way they knew to survive.
A.J. and Michael had been arguing ever since they'd spotted the huts and he'd
dragged her off the trail and up this hill.
So far, she was losing.
"Yeah?" he said. "How do you plan to stop me?"
"They have so little anything we take could make the difference between
survival and starvation."
"And you see our situation as being different in what way?" He shifted
impatiently. "I'll leave them some money, more than the few things I take will be
worth. I just want a couple of blankets, a little food, a cookpot."
"Taking things without permission is stealing."
"Give your overactive conscience a rest, Rev. Money is rare for these people.
They'll be glad to get it."
She bit her lip. "If you're caught "
"I won't be."
Maybe not. If everyone was in the fields, he might manage to slip in and out
without being seen. But if he did, he wouldn't get any help for his leg which was
one reason she wanted to deal with the villagers, not steal from them. Not that
she'd used that argument. He wouldn't admit his leg was worse. "You're being
paranoid."
"That's one way of looking at it. From my point of view, you're dangerously
naive."
She turned her head to study him. There were lines of strain along his mouth,
and he was leaning against the smooth trunk of one tree. He'd been limping
heavily for the last hour. "Your leg "
"Don't worry about my leg," he said curtly. "It might slow me, but I can still
move quietly."
Maybe so, but he needed to stay off of it. Since he couldn't, he needed
something, some kind of help, and some of the folk remedies she'd run across
while living in La Paloma were surprisingly effective. Of course, there might not
be anyone down there who could help, even with folk medicine. It wasn't much of
a village.
A.J. tried one last time. "These people don't care about politics, and they aren't
going to spare an able-bodied man to carry word of our existence to El Jefe on the
off chance he might care."
"They won't have to, if any of El Jefe's troops are in the area. And trust me El
Jefe would definitely care about getting his hands on a U.S. officer who carried out
an assault on his headquarters."
Cold touched the base of her spine. "We haven't seen any of his troops."
He shrugged. "We haven't seen anyone at all until we came to this village.
Doesn't mean no one's around. Look, I'm going. You can sound the alarm on me, I
guess that would stop me. But since they usually chop off the hands of thieves, I
hope you'll decide to wait up here."
She was angry, scared, hating what he was going to do and unable to stop
him. Or help him. "You'll be careful?"
He nodded, checking the strap that held his gun at his waist.
"You won't need that."
He shot her a hard look. "Don't worry. I'm not going to shoot anyone over a
blanket. Over a steak, maybe, but only if it came with a side of fried potatoes and
onions."
She shook her head, impatient with them both. "I know that. Michael& " She
took his arm. His sleeves were rolled up, so her fingers closed around bare skin.
"You're burning up!"
"Your hands are just cold." He shook her off.
Her hands were cold, cold with fear for him. And yet & maybe it was because
she'd slept with him the night before, however chastely. Maybe it was because he
was the only other person in her world right now, and so much depended on him.
Whatever the reason, she'd been acutely conscious of him all morning, as if some
subtle thread connected them. She'd found herself noticing the way his hair
curled up at his nape, and the dark hairs on his forearms. The shape of his hands,
and the signs of strain around his eyes. All morning, she'd been aware of the
sheer physical presence of the man, strong and sure and warm.
But not this warm. She was sure of it. "You've got a fever."
"I'm fine." He picked up his walking stick. "Stay here and stay quiet. If I'm not
back in an hour, you should& " He stopped, frowning, looking down at the village.
She looked, too.
Something was going on. People were running the women and children, she
realized. They were fleeing into the jungle. The men stayed in the fields, but they
weren't working. They were watching the trail.
She didn't realize she'd clutched Michael's arm again until he moved away. His
face was closed, his attention wholly on what was happening below them. Her
hand fell to her side. "You can't still intend to go down there now. They're alerted.
They'll see you."
"Something spooked them. I need to know what. Information can be more
important than food." His smile was probably meant to be reassuring. "I shouldn't
be long. Twenty minutes, maybe. Don't worry, okay?"
Don't worry?
He was right. Wound or no wound, he could still move silently. She watched
him melt into the trees, moving slowly but surely. And she didn't hear him at all.
Going down the hill had hurt. Coming back up was a bitch.
Michael paused halfway up, breathing hard. Entirely too hard for such minor
exertion.
Yeah, he had a fever. He wasn't sure why he'd denied it, except that he couldn't
stand the thought of being fussed over. And he hadn't realized he was feverish at
first. He'd been hot all morning, but they were in the tropics, weren't they? His
wound had seemed explanation enough for his growing weakness. Finally,
though, he'd had to accept that his temperature was climbing faster than the trail.
He'd wanted to curse the air blue, but he'd kept moving. Not much else he could
do. The aspirin in his kit had been contaminated by the river.
On a scale of one to dead, his fever rated around seven. What he'd just learned
was worse. It wasn't on the same scale.
He glanced up the hill. She'd be worrying. He'd stayed away longer than he'd
told her he would first so he could get into position. Then to make a decision.
Not about grabbing blankets and food. That possibility had gone out the
window as soon as he'd verified that the arrivals in the village were El Jefe's men.
He'd overheard enough to know that the self-styled leader had suffered some
major reversals. Professionally, that pleased Michael. San Christobal's current
government wasn't great. There was corruption, inefficiency, plenty of problems.
But it was democratically elected, and it was making an effort to observe basic
human rights. El Jefe would be a hundred times worse.
Personally, though, the news stunk. Adding what he'd heard to the
implications, he came up with an unpleasant sum. El Jefe was getting desperate.
To survive, he would have to gather more support quickly. He thought he'd found
a way to do that.
Alyssa had some more worrying to do, he thought grimly as he started uphill
again. Oh, he'd offer her a choice. That was only right. But he was pretty sure
which way she'd jump.
Alyssa Jean Kelleher. The Reverend Kelleher. She wasn't what he'd expected,
that was for sure. In her own way, she was as tough as they came. Tenderhearted,
though. And she didn't know squat about how to move through hostile
territory hell, she barely realized she was in hostile territory. She didn't know
how to get by with a knife, a map, a length of string and a few other odds and ends
when she had mountains to cross.
Which was why he'd made the decision he had before starting back up this
blasted hill. He just hoped like hell he'd chosen right.
"Of course I'm staying with you."
Michael shook his head. Hadn't he known she'd say that? Still, he had to make
sure she knew what she was risking. "You do understand? El Jefe's soldiers are
after me, not you. He wants to embarrass the U.S. and drum up support from his
neighbors. Without it, he doesn't stand a chance, and he knows that. He plans to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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