She’s freakin’ phenomenal.
The knee-high waters of the river deepen, flowing faster and faster as we follow the water through the jungle. Our little stream is growing up, becoming a major force in the wild.
Before embarking on this mission, I memorized the layout of the villa and the surrounding land. Exfil was supposed to be a quick hundred-foot dash through the forest to a dirt road.
There was no way to avoid crossing the rutted road. That’s the kicker, though. You had to be on the ground to come across the road. We were busy in the trees.
Down that road, an appropriated Chicken Bus waited to ferry our rescues to the safety of the airport. From there, we were supposed to be headed home on a jumbo jet.
With the unconventional route Rosalie and I took through the canopy, we completely missed that road in the darkness; if we ever went near it.
My directional sense is messed up as a result of walking through the trees. With only what little light filters through the dense foliage, it’s impossible to tell what direction we’re headed.
All my memorizing prep was great, except I neglected to include the rivers and streams. Not that the tiny stream we use as our guide is big enough to be on a topographical map, it leaves me in an uncomfortable position.
For the first time in my life, I’m completely and absolutely fucking lost.
When I say lost, it’s a big deal.
During SERE training with the Navy, they dumped us in the wilderness with no idea where we were. Our goal was to survive and evade captors sent to take us down. I’m one of the few, the proud—not a Marine—but one of the very few who evaded capture.
I do nothing half-assed. If I’m going to do it, I’m all in.
Despite my city roots, I devoured everything and anything having to do with survival. I don’t enjoy depending on anyone. Which means I know how to survive.
Not knowing what direction we’re headed in, however, messes with my head big time. I don’t like uncertainty or doubting myself.
As for that stream, the speed and turbulence of the water increases as our little river punches through a rocky gorge and tumbles down the rocks. Our placid stream is now a torrent of raging water.
With the sides of the banks transitioning from soil to rock, and getting steeper by the minute, we’re forced away from the water’s edge.
We climb up steep walls, grabbing hold of rock, root, and vine, slipping and sliding with our ascent. The path leads above the river as it cuts through the narrow canyon walls, growing more chaotic than I’d like. A fall into those waters is life threatening.
Which is why I give the drop-off to the swirling waters a wary eye. To be safe, I change our lineup, moving ahead of Rosalie, rather than following her from behind. That way, I can help her up the steep bank; although the view from behind isn’t so bad.
“Here.” Offering my hand, she grabs hold while I hoist her up and over a challenging part of the narrow game trail.
The rock beneath our feet turns to slippery mud, and she struggles to get her footing.
“Thanks.” She grasps my hand, trusting me without hesitation, and hauls herself over the snarl of roots and rock.
We stand together, holding hands, and stare at the force of the water below. Thunderous as it races through the narrow gorge, I don’t realize we’re still holding hands until she pulls free of my grasp.
“How much farther do you think before we’re out of the forest?” I’m not ashamed to admit her direction sense in the jungle is far superior to mine. The woman’s got the home turf advantage.
It is odd for a man like me. Used to being in the lead and taking charge, I find it an interesting change of pace.
I’m not used to the women I’m sent to rescue being as accomplished as Rosalie. She’s practically rescuing herself and dragging me along with her.
It’s kind of funny, insanely cool, and fucking hot. Yet again, I find myself impressed with the woman standing beside me.
“Not much further.” She wipes sweat from her brow. “A day or two, at most.”
“That’s good.”
That’s too many days. The longer we’re out here, the greater the chance Maximus Angelo’s men have of tracking us down.
“Why is that good? I wish we were already there.” Her cheeks puff out with her sigh.
Exhaustion pulls at her, which means I need to be more vigilant. Fatigue leads to mistakes, and we can’t afford any.
“Because it’ll be dusk in a few hours. Less chance of others seeing us.” If we survive the jungle.
I should qualify my words. Traveling through the dense vegetation is slower than I’d like. As for finding our way free of the trees, I’d prefer nighttime to daytime. Although, I appreciate the light as we navigate along the narrow path overlooking the raging rapids far below.
The villagers head to the shelter of their homes at night. That reduces our risk substantially.
As for what to do when we find other people, that’s going to be difficult.
Contacting Guardian HRS is my priority, but asking for that help exposes us to those looking for Rosalie.
It’s a catch-22.
I can’t afford for the news of our sudden emergence to reach the ears of Maximus Angelo, but I must contact my team.
Below us, the water turns to froth as it races through the narrows and roars through the canyon. I take the lead and head down the narrow game path. The thick mud makes footing precarious, but I pick the safest path, keeping as far from the edge as possible. Behind me, Rosalie keeps pace. I slow down, not wanting her to push it and misstep.
“It should lead us to civilization soon.” Rosalie points down toward the water. There’s uncertainty in her voice, which gives me pause.
I’d be worried, except all water flows downhill. Eventually, the river will run to Lake Managua or the sea.
If we’re lucky, the river will dump into Lake Managua. The city of Managua is located on the lake's southern shore. From there, we can lose ourselves in the city and contact my team.
Our best bet is to continue until the river enters the sea. On the coast, we can camouflage ourselves as tourists on vacation.
Both outcomes carry significant risk. I’d prefer the capital city as there’s an airport. Guardian HRS can send a plane to take us home.
Well—my home. I’m not sure if Rosalie understands how much her world has changed. My foot kicks a rock loose. The fist-sized rock tumbles down the muddy slope, crashing through the foliage, until it launches into the air and disappears beneath the churning waters. I glance back at Rosalie, urging her to be careful. A sharp nod of her head tells me she understands.
She won't be going back to her home. Not that she’d ever go back to work for Maximus Angelo, but she can’t return to her family. It’s the first place they’ll go looking.
As for where we should go, and which direction, the problem with the capital city, Managua, is we’re virtually certain to run into either Maximus Angelo’s men or the police. Certainly, Nicaragua’s Minister of the Interior has directed the police to bring us in.
Continuing on through the jungle, and heading toward the coast, decreases our risk of capture, but exposes us to the dangers of the rainforest and delays medical care for the wound on Rosalie’s throat.
Leaving it untended could be deadly. After putting on that paste, she doesn’t appear worried, but I am. I’ve seen what a festering wound can do. It’s not pretty.