Chapter 8
Landy
Over Arkansas, I do the math. If we stay clear of thunderstorms, we have enough fuel to make it to Reynosa. My passenger points at my notepad, grabs it from me, and reviews my numbers. I hope his grunt means he understands our situation. Otherwise, we could crash, or he might shoot me for making a pit stop.
Rubbing my eyes, I fly low, and avoid cities. Near the Rio Grande, the gas gauge slips to E, and the right engine sputters. Even though the airport is closer, the gunman insists we stay on course to a GPS point in the middle of nowhere.
“There better be a landing field or we’re going down in the jungle, Boris.” My fingers grip the yoke and as I prepare to crash-land, I hope the treetops will slow us down.
The out-of-fuel alarm screams, and a brown runway suddenly appears within the thick green carpet below.
“You have got to be kidding me. No way that strip is long enough.”Jesus. Yes, a skilled pilot can land in tight spots, but this is freakin’ ri-goddam-diculous.
The engines are about to die, so I’ve no choice but to use the designated spot. Turning the craft to face the wind, I stabilize, choose my aiming point, and check my airspeed. Flaps down, we slow to sixty knots, then I adjust my pitch and wait for the stall indicator.
We start to touch down then bounce up.Dammit, no joy. I’ll need to go around once more, so I pull up. Breath held, I narrowly miss the tallest palms, center the craft, and as I cut the power, the ground comes up fast.
Holy crap! Screw it. The wheels touch down, I turn the plane, and shutting my eyes, duck my head in my arms. When we come to a stop, I open my lids, and stare at a massive tree trunk, inches in front of the craft’s nose.
“Idti.” My passenger waves his pistol at the door.
“Fine.” In truth, I couldn’t be happier to step on land until a white station wagon stops in the clearing, sporting an official-looking seal.
The driver exits, smiles broadly, and shakes hands with my passenger. All friendliness disappears when the uniformed man shouts at me in Spanish. Based on the little I understand, they’re about to arrest me. If not for two pounds of underwear gel, I’d run. Even so, I inch back, sweat rolling down my sides.
“No te muevas.” The Mexican points his pistol at my center of mass, and as he wraps his finger around the trigger, two more armed men exit his vehicle.
One keeps his eyes glued to the trees. The other climbs in the back of the twin-engine, lifts out the crates, and puts them in their trunk. Next, they tie green plastic netting to their station wagon’s trailer hitch and drag it across the dirt.
From the air, you’d never know this landing strip existed.
Damn. I am so fucked.How is Dash ever going to find me?
Soon, I’m transported through the rural countryside. Not yet noon, the temperature’s unbearable and I roll down the window. An hour later, we turn onto a dirt road posting signs for Reynosa. It’s hard to believe we’re only a short hop from McAllen, Texas. From the air, the two cities appear as one, divided only by the Rio Grande. Right now, from my perspective, they’re worlds apart.
In a small cement block building, I’m fingerprinted and escorted to a holding cell with ten other women. After much complaining from my fellow inmates, I’m allowed use of a restroom where I dispose of the smelly diaper.
Lids heavy, wrists bound, I sit on the grimy floor and shut my eyes. Sometime later, I wake in a sweat, and my heart pounds.
Where am I?Unable to see a thing, I struggle to put my hands in front of my face, but they remain behind my back, secured by plastic ties that cut my skin. Eventually, my eyes acclimate, revealing a thin line of illumination under a door. I count to ten, my breath calms and I’m able to catch the gist of the hushed male voices.
The insects stop chittering, a painfully bright light turns on, and an officer leads me to a nearby room. When I see the bed and the laughing Russian unzipping his fly, I’m transported back in time.
Oh, hell, no.I promised myself, if I ever got trapped again, I’d go down fighting. This creep may be tall, but I’m faster, better trained, and a shit ton more motivated. My hands are fastened which is a bit of a disadvantage, but they were stupid and left my feet unbound.
The guard slaps me across the face so hard, I stagger to the floor, taste blood, and pretend to snivel in the corner. As I plan my next move, the snickering Mexican departs and leaves the other alone to remove his clothes. While the Russian slides his pants to his ankles, I spring off the wall and stomp his nuts so hard, one flattens, crushed under my heel.
Howling, the would-be rapist grabs his crotch, and as he looks down, I knee his nose and rejoice at the crack of cartilage. Before he can fight back, I raise my arms and hammer double fists to his neck, forcing him to bend forward. On the floor, I bash my elbow to his spine and… he’s out cold.
The pistol tucked in his waistband would end him, but the noise will bring the others. Instead, I slam the gun’s handle to his temple, comb his body, and use his hidden switchblade to saw through my wrist’s bindings. Hands free, I turn the door handle, push the wood open, and stare at the desk cubes. The uniform who hit me and another cop stay glued to their computer screens. The bastards probably thought the noise was foreplay.
Across the room lies freedom. While confident I can escape, I need to do it, but not be detected. The three-foot fabric walls will get me halfway but following their zigzag pattern will bring me closer to the guards.
Sulfur-like fumes speak of a failing ballast in the fluorescent light fixtures. Despite the awful smell, I’m grateful because the buzzing and flickering help mask my movements. Sucking in a deep breath, I crouch, run to the first cube, and drop to my knees.
Behind me, the open bedroom door is a clear tell somebody escaped, and I pray the morons don’t notice. On all fours, with them out of view, I crawl past chairs, pens, and other office debris.
At the last cube, I glance over my shoulder. The two previously working men stop and joke around. As one stands and stretches, I race to the door and down the hall.
