Skull of the Zipa PREVIEW CHAPTERS - Chuck Chitwood (good books to read for women .txt) 📗

Hadassah Ruth Green. It’s time to roar! Wait? Do jaguars roar?

 

 

As the fire dies down, Mauricio’s chin falls to his chest and he doesn’t move. I hear my mother’s voice in my head, Make sure before you make your move. You can only make it once. So I will wait and make sure I’m ready before I do anything.

 

Chapter 7 - ESCAPE

 

I stare at Mauricio and count to a thousand, slowly. Then I do it again, until I know he must be sound asleep. With his chin firmly planted on his chest, I know now is the best time to run. No one has stirred in the tents for a couple of hours. And the night is starting to melt into early morning which will give me just enough light to help me. My moves must be quick and deliberate, but most of all - quiet.

 

Then it dawns on me. I’m not wearing shoes. Wonderful. They tore me out of bed in the middle of the night. All I have are the clothes on my back. If I have to go barefoot I will, but I’d really rather not. Scanning the campsite, I look for something to I can put on my feet; a pair of boots would be great. But if I can’t find any shoes, I’d settle for a long sleeve shirt to put on before stepping foot in the jungle.

 

Movies make escapes look easy. Grab a machine gun and bust through the bad guys’ camp. Too bad this isn’t an action movie. I have to escape using my wits; not bullets.

 

I think of the things I need. I need to find some shoes. No, first I need to cut myself free from the rope and hope my landing on the ground doesn’t wake up anybody. Then, I need to figure out where I am so I know what direction to run. I don’t want to die wandering around the jungle. Hopefully, I’ll come across a pair of boots but if I don’t find them, I can still do this. A tidal wave of nerves washes over me and for an instant, I consider maybe I’d be better off staying with my captors.

 

But no. I can’t. My hands start to shake half from fear and half from anticipation. I have to get a hold of myself. The last thing I want to do is drop the knife I lifted off Mauricio. Think. Focus. Taking a deep breath, I carefully get the knife then place it in my mouth and bite down like a vise. I cannot risk dropping that knife.

 

I work my way into a comfortable position and work my left hand free from the nylon rope wrapped around it. My wrists are raw from and they sting. But at least they are free. I take the rope that had bound my wrists and loop it around the rope above me and then around my waist. It should work like a slip knot so when I cut myself free, I can slow down my fall and not make a huge thud sound dropping onto the ground. At least that’s my plan.

 

Getting my feet free won’t be anywhere near as easy as my hands considering I’ll need to use the knife to cut myself free but when I lean towards my feet, I tilt backwards. Somehow, I have to find the strength to do what is probably going to be the world’s most difficult ‘sit up’ to reach my ankles and slice through the taut rope without injuring myself or worse… dropping the knife. I take a deep breath then reach using every muscle in my abdomen to pull my torso up high enough that I can grip the rope around my ankles and hold myself upright as I slice at the rope. It’s harder than I thought it would be because the rope is densely woven. Awesome, of course they’d use mountain climbing rope, Haddie. It resists cutting. But I know if I can work my way through a few of the fibers, the rope will weaken.

 

As I saw away at the rope I take a few glances around the camp. I’m still the only one awake. I start to sweat from all the effort and my arms ache. Can’t stop. Don’t stop. Finally, I slice through a few fibers. Then a few more. The rope starts to unravel and I know that the remaining fibers won’t be able to support my weight. I put the knife to the rope one last time and saw like mad. I know I’m going to fall at any second and prepare myself.

 

Then, even though I’m expecting it, I flinch, drop the knife and grab the rope tightly as I feel the weight of my legs falling downward. The force of the fall and my death grip on the rope as I slip leaves a painful rope burn on the palm of my hands. But at least I’m upright. And it’s only a few feet between me and the ground.

 

All I need to do no is untie the rope around my waist and fall to the ground and not to twist my ankle when I land. One… I grab the rope. Two… I hold my breath. Three… I let go and fall to the ground, safely. I grab the knife and cut loose a long strand of the rope to keep with me in case I need it.

 

Map. I need a map. But after a few steps, I change my priorities. Shoes. I need shoes. Tiptoeing to the closest tent, I kneel down, take a deep breath, and lift the flap. Two men are in a deep sleep are inside but I see what I need. Jackpot! I spot some boots and a heavy army style camo-shirt within an arm’s length. I lift the shoes off the ground as silent as a mouse and grab the shirt.

 

Now that I’ve got something to cover my feet and to cover my arms, I’ll have a better chance. I run behind an old truck off to the side of the encampment and shove my feet into the smell boots. Being tall pays off because even thought the shoes were large they were wearable. The shirt has the smell of sweat, but it’s heavy and has lots of pockets. I rummage through them and take inventory of the contents: one pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a small flashlight, a few wadded up pesos, and an energy bar.

 

I turn on the flashlight and look inside the truck. No keys. I didn’t think they would be that stupid but it didn’t hurt to check. I shine the light through the window of the cab and see a toolbox, some papers on the dash, and—Bingo!—a map and a SAT phone.

 

I lift up on the handle to open the door and a terrible creaking noise stabs the quiet air. Metal scraping metal. Crap! Just open the door and get the stuff, Haddie.

 

With the door opened wide enough for me to reach in, I am able to grab the map. The SAT phone, however, requires a little more stretching and twisting of my body which wasn’t easy because I ache from head to toe but I keep stretching. Eventually, my fingertips are able to touch the phone. I slither inside the cab a few inches more so I can grab the thing which is as heavy as a brick. YES!

Then I hear something; twigs snapping. I duck down as low as I can and my heart sinks. I wait a few seconds, afraid to even breathe because in my head, the sound of my breathing was louder than a howler monkey. Is it Mauricio?

 

Lifting my head slowly, I peer over the dashboard. Mauricio is still sacked out. The fire is dead, and there’s no movement in the camp at all.

 

I take a moment to asses things. Aside from the fact that I’m in pain, I’m hungry, I don’t know where I am or where I’m going, and that once I get somewhere I might not be able to go any farther because my money and my passport are, I think… I hope back at the trading post Dr. Waters is worried about me. Only he’s probably still asleep. But once he realizes I’m missing, I’m sure someone will come looking for me. I just need to get as far from here and as close to there as I can.

 

Of course once Santiago and his men realize I’m gone, they’re going to come looking for me, too. And this truck can go faster over the terrain than I can. So, I reach inside the cab once again and turn on the interior light. Hopefully the battery will die out in an hour or two like when my mom left the hatchback open.

 

Now all I need to do is put as much distance between me and these guys as possible. I look down the one lane dirt road that led to the camp and prepare to run the most important race of my life. But before I take off, I hear something. The sound of water suddenly catches my attention. Is that rain? No. I hold out my hand. There’s no rain falling. Am I near a stream? No, it doesn’t sound like a stream. It’s more like someone taking their time to turn off a faucet

 

In an instant I realize what the sound is. Someone has gotten up and gone into the woods to take a leak! Gross. As soon as I make the mental connection, I see a pudgy little man walking right towards me. Pablo!

 

He doesn’t look shocked at all to see me standing there free from my ropes. My heart starts to pound but I stand there; motionless as a statute. In that instant I know deep in my bones this must be what it feels like to be one of those gazelles in a nature show that’s been spotted by the lion. He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t even reach for a gun. Instead, he scratches his hairy belly and takes a step towards me. Pablo.

 

A smile spreads across his unshaven face. He lifts his bandaged hand in front of me which obviously still hurts based on the grimace of pain that crosses his face. Glancing around to make sure we were alone, he turns his attention back to me. “Hola, chica. This is the moment I have been waiting for.”

 

Chapter 8 - PROM

 

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