There were no others at the moment.
Merc dragged the bodies of the ghouls deeper into the underbrush. Pablo didn’t need the nightmares he’d have for the rest of his life if he saw them.
Merc retrieved wide leaves from nearby plants and laid them over the two dead bodies, then knelt next to them, considering what he should do next. If he left them, their corpses would be used to terrorize the workers held captive here. And their families would likely never know what had happened to them. They, like so many others, would simply disappear.
If he took them back to Valle de Lágrimas, the family would have their resolution, but knowing how their loved ones died would kill them.
Either way was hell on the family and the town. But perhaps, in the wider scheme of things, their bodies would be a warning that no villagers should support the work offered in this compound. And that no one was safe anywhere near it. He also had to persuade Pablo to never come back.
The other bit of fallout Merc had to prepare for was that because he’d destroyed the ghouls, the Omnis—or Brett Flynn—would know a Legionnaire was in the area. Things were going to go from bad to worse fast.
Merc went to fetch Pablo. The boy would know where to get sheets and a handcart to transport the two bodies back to town. “Pablo, it’s done. You’re safe—for now. I need you to get some things from camp. Two sheets and a cart or wheelbarrow or something we can use to get your friends back to town. Be quick about it. There might be another round of ghouls headed our way.”
“Not ghouls. Las Tundas.”
“Just go. We’ll discuss it later.”
The boy came back a few minutes later with the requested items. Merc sent him to stand guard with his back to the bodies. Levitating the father, he quickly wrapped him in a sheet and set him on the handcart. He did the same with the daughter, setting her on top. Her body was so much smaller than her father’s. Neither had stood a chance against the ghouls.
Yet again, he had been close, but not close enough, to saving these two, as he hadn’t been fast enough to save Pablo’s mother. Just like he hadn’t gotten home in time to save his own family.
What good was it to have such advanced abilities if he couldn’t save those who needed him?
He lifted the cart’s handles and walked over to Pablo. The boy looked over the bloodied sheets, then took over the cart. “I will push them.”
Merc let him, helping only when the boy tired. He wrestled with what he should tell the village—what would keep them safe and away from the Omni compound? If he said it was a wild animal, the men would go out to hunt it down. If he said it had been a machete attack from guards attempting to keep the father away and the daughter in their control, the villagers would call the government in. If he let Pablo tell them it was la Tunda, they would ridicule him.
There was no way to win this, so he decided not to interfere with the boy’s memory. Hopefully, Pablo, at least, would not go back to the camp.
It was dawn before they returned to the village. The town had no national police presence. Nor did it have an official mayor. Town leaders had a long history of falling victim to gang violence, so they had stopped holding elections. There was, however, an unofficial representative. Pablo pushed the cart to his house.
A sleepy, disheveled, elderly man opened the door. He recognized Pablo right away and hugged him, then looked at Merc warily. Merc couldn’t blame him. He looked like the white guards working the Omni mine, none of whom had been friendly, either at the compound or here in town, apparently.
In rapid Spanish, Pablo told the man what had happened to the father and daughter. The de facto mayor lifted the sheets and looked at the faces—or what remained of them. A big sigh seemed to deflate him.
“Leave them with me. I will take them to Father Eduardo.” He put a hand on Pablo’s shoulder. “Go and get some rest. I am sure we’ll have many questions for you.” He looked at Merc. “Who is your friend?”
“This is—“ The boy frowned. “I don’t know his name. He is the one who saved my mother and me when we were running home the night Belén was born.”
Merc nodded at the old man and introduced himself, using his Legion name.
“Merc saved me again last night—from la Tunda. I saw her. She’s real. She did this to them.”
Merc compelled the mayor to consider all alternatives.
“Maybe it was that,” the elderly man said. “But more likely it was a rogue cougar. Or maybe it was monsters, but human ones with their machetes. We must investigate to get our answers. Go. Get some rest. We will come for you when we have questions.”
Merc and Pablo didn’t speak as they crossed the town to the boy’s grandmother’s home. Pablo walked in, but Merc hung back. He heard the woman’s shriek of joy turn into a howl of despair. She was crying when she came to the door to wave him in.
Merc let Pablo and his grandmother talk. The boy told her everything, speaking with his hands as much as with his mouth. The whole while, his grandmother shook her head.
Not a natural polyglot, Merc—and most of the Legion—had been taught several languages early in their transformation stages. Were it not for the mental enhancements he’d endured, he would not now be able to follow along with what the boy was saying.
After a moment, the grandmother went to the back room to change out of her robe and into her housedress. When she came back, she looked shaken and pale. Standing as tall as her less than five feet allowed, she looked up at him.
“You have been a godsend to me, señor, tonight and before. But I still don’t know your name. I am Maritsa. Tell me, what is your name?”
Merc hesitated. He didn’t like giving his name out, but he’d already introduced himself to the de facto mayor. It really was best that he give his Legion name. After what happened in the jungle, the Omnis would be looking for him. If he tried to hide behind a human identity, they would tear the town apart looking for him.
It was just better this way.
“I’m Merc.”
“Merc.” She gestured to a small kitchen table that was pressed against the wall. “Please, have a seat. I will feed you, and then we will talk.”
She set about fixing breakfast, looking at neither him nor Pablo. When she’d served him a cup of coffee and a plate of eggs, rice and beans, and an arepa, she sat in front of him at the table and said, “Now you tell me what happened to my Pablo.”
Damn, but the woman had a spirit a mile wide. Pablo was lucky to have her fighting on his behalf.
“We saw something in the woods,” Merc said.
“It was la Tunda,” Pablo interjected. “She’s real, abuelita.”
Maritsa looked at Merc for verification, but he didn’t take the bait. “As I understand it, Daniela’s father had come to take her away from the compound where Pablo worked. They were attacked by something.”
“I told you. It was la Tunda,” Pablo insisted.
“Hush, boy. None of your crazy talk. La Tunda is not real. And besides, she devours her victims.”
“She did devour them,” Pablo said, his voice quieter now.
Again Maritsa looked at Merc. He didn’t offer an opinion one way or the other. He just said, “I don’t think Pablo should go back there.”