"Venga, sal,..."

The voice called out in a sing-song. There was nothing friendly about who the voice belonged to though, Leo knew.

The man, roughly in his mid fifties, with a long greasy mane of black hair peppered with gray, canvased the area. Machete in one hand, gun in the other, he pushed heavy brush out of the way to aid his search. He moved skillfully, seeming to know just where to step to avoid the snap of twigs. His expert eyes swept the jungle floor once more, and then curiously began to climb upward.

High above the jungle floor, Leonardo squeezed his eyes closed, his pulse throbbing at his temples. He didn't dare move. A single twitch could seal his fate.

"Fro-ggy...¿Dónde están? Monstruo bastardo..."

In the distance, Leo heard other voices call out. He clung to consciousness, aware of a coldness filling his limbs. He prayed to not be spotted, to blend in; tried to will the tree to open up and swallow him whole.

A second more the man regarded the tree tops with a scrutinizing eye, before turning toward the voices of his comrades.

Leo held tight to the bark, pulling in staggering breathes and trying earnestly to push them back out as calm. His breathing couldn't have been as loud as he thought, he reasoned, but the fear still lingered. He waited before clumsily dropping into the thickness of brush. He had such little strength left, grace was completely out of the question.

A groan clawed its way up his throat where it died, for fear of attracting anyone or anything else. He tried to sit up and bit his tongue, nearly blacking out completely. It took several tries for him to stagger to his feet with the use of his good arm, and several more seconds before he could trust that his own feet to support him.

Warm blood trickled down his arm, tickling his elbow, and he studied the makeshift tourniquet made from his mask. It would have to do until he got to safety-where ever that was.

It could have been hours he trekked, or mere minutes, he didn't know. He drifted in and out just enough to keep his feet moving and to continue breathing, everything else was put on hold. When he could walk no more, he fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, his head dropping like a bowling ball. When had the pounding in his head stopped? He couldn't remember. Glazed eyes stared blankly at the canopy of emerging stars as Leonardo made peace with his impending death.


Light filled his face, bright and orange and hot. Birds twittered overhead.

Leo exhaled sharply, lungs burning with desire as he took in deep gulps of air, coughing and choking. He struggled to sit up, yelping in pain. He grasped at his arm desperately. The urge to vomit was immense, but instantly forgotten as he felt the chill of a gun barrel pressed against his temple.

"¿qué eres tú? Un demonio?" a voice demanded. Female, he noted. There had been only men chasing him before. That didn't mean a thing, though, he realized.

Careful to remain perfectly still, Leo moved only his eyes. "Don't," he pleaded. "Please. I mean you no harm, I swear."

"¿Puedes hablar?" the girl replied, baffled. Her eyes went wide. "¿Hablas Inglés?"

"Yes!" Leo cried. "Si, English. ¿habla Inglés?"

"No English." Leo felt his spirits fall.

"Wait, please..."

Minutes passed in tense silence. Though she eventually lowered the gun, her gaze remained harsh and untrusting.

"Thank you," he said softly. "Gracias."

"Hm," the girl sniffed in response. Although the gun was no longer pressed against his skull, she kept it ready, willing to put him down without a moment of hesitation if he attempted to lunge at her or attack her.

Leo guessed she was young, probably fourteen or fifteen, judging by her height. She was barefoot, wearing a blue spaghetti strap tank top and a long, colorful skirt. She had dark shoulder length hair, pulled back in a braid. For how young she appeared, she definitely knew how to handle a firearm.

"Mi nombre es Leonardo," he explained weakly. Despite however long he was unconscious, he could feel himself weakening by the minute. He nodded to his arm, which the girl hadn't seemed to notice yet. "I'm injured. Herir. I need help."

Dark eyes zeroed in on his wound, crusted over with dried blood, and he saw her expression soften. The gun, she tucked into the waistband of her skirt, crouching to eye level. "Leonardo," she repeated. She offered her hand.

Leo gently took her hand, and then, puzzled, glanced down. In his palm were several small green leafs.

"Masticar," she urged, bringing her fingers to her thin lips. "Chew."

He didn't know why, but he haltingly followed her instructions, placing the leaf into his mouth, his eyes on hers.

"Coca." She flashed a knowing smile. "Leonardo?" her head cocked slightly. "I am Valentina."