Mañana.
Something happens tomorrow.
I bite at my lip again, trying to gather my strength and my smarts to figure a way out of this predicament. If I can’t find a way out, I’m going to die here. I don’t think they’re planning to ransom me or let me go. Tomorrow, someone is coming to make me disappear, which means if I’m going to get out, I have to do it tonight.
I look up at the slats again. I’ve been working on the boards above me for three days. There’s one in the corner that’s slightly rotted. I’ve been prying at it with a surprisingly tough, flat, little rock I found. Whenever the guards aren’t paying attention I loosen the nails, creating just enough gap that I think I could squeeze through. Most of the walls of this pit are too slick to climb up, I’ve tried and gotten nowhere. But just yesterday I made a few cut outs in the wall that seem firm enough to gain purchase.
Tonight, I’m going to try to bust out of here.
I don’t know my exact location and I don’t have shoes or supplies. The jungle will probably kill me if the cartel doesn’t. But “probably dead in the jungle” is better than “definitely dead in this pit.” And for all I know, this is when they’ll finally decide gang rape is a great idea.
I’ve been watching the guard rotation. The lazy day guy leaves at sundown, and the night guy takes about twenty minutes to settle in and start his gambling games. There’s a window there. Small, but real.
My feet are going to be a problem. Even though Ryan thought I needed to exercise more, I was actually in reasonable shape, taking long walks most days in my Georgetown neighborhood.But I’ve lost muscle over the past twelve days, and I’m dehydrated, and I haven’t had a real meal since?—
I exhale, forcing myself to stop that line of thinking.
I can do this. I have to do this.
Three hours later,just before he leaves, the day guard brings my evening meal, if you can call it that. Half a dirty tortilla, some rice, a bottle of questionable water that’s half empty. He doesn’t usually look at me as he passes it through the gap in the boards. But tonight he pauses. “Lo siento,” he says quietly. Almost like he means it.
I’m sorry.
My stomach drops. He knows. They all know that tomorrow is going to be bad.
The guard leaves, and I sit in shock, listening to the shift change, ready for my window. But then something different occurs. The night guy settles in earlier than ever before, the sound of his phone game starts up, tinny and annoying.
Shit. It would’ve been best to escape during those twenty minutes when neither guard was fully paying attention. Now I’m stuck with the alert one. The one who actually checks on me.
I eat my tortilla slowly, conserving every bite, and drink my water in small sips and try to calm my racing heart.
It doesn’t matter. I have to try anyway.
Tomorrow they’re going to kill me. Bad odds tonight are still better than no odds tomorrow. I’ll wait until he’s deep into his gambling, cursing at his phone, distracted by whatever money he’s losing. It’s not the window I wanted, but it’s all I’ve got.
Tonight. It has to be tonight.
I’m about to stand and start working on my climb along the wall when I hear something in the distance. Could it be thunder?
I freeze, listening.
Another sound. Closer now. That’s not thunder.
Gunfire.
Chapter Two
Jonus
Kelt’s voice comes through my headset, calm and steady, reviewing the tactical briefing one more time. I should be entirely focused on the action plan, but part of my mind is already on the ground, inside that compound, searching for Sloane Adams.
“Intel shows six to eight hostiles,” Kelt says. “Two on patrol rotation, the rest scattered through the structures. Guard change happens at 0200. That’s our window.”
I check my rifle for the third time. I’m not the Irontree who does this—the weapons, the tactical insertions, the violence. That’s Kelt and Keric, both of whom are former military. I’m the one who represents our species to the human media. I smooth things over and make the humans comfortable with orcs.
But talking isn’t going to save Sloane.
The helicopter pilot cuts through the Colombian night, running dark, no external lights. Through the cabin, I can see the rest of the team gearing up. Kelt at the front, tablet glowingas he reviews the compound layout. Cole and Martinez checking their weapons with the easy efficiency of men who’ve done this a thousand times. Aldar on his own tablet, monitoring drone feeds and communications.
