(A/N: The past couple of weeks have been hard as Hell. I gotta say, you don't realize what a monotonous, thankless job it is to deliver newspapers until you start actually doing it for a living. And if that wasn't enough, I only just managed to finally get rid of a virus that's been screwing with my computer for almost a week. Not to mention that my dad and sister are fighting like cats and dogs and it's driving me crazy. Please Read & Review.)
Jane hurriedly searched through the mud looking for the first aid kit.
"Jane, hurry up!" shouted Delgado, hoisting Holmes into a nearby tree.
"I have to get the first aid kit!" she yelled. Finally, she found it; it was covered in slime and muck, but it appeared to be undamaged.
Suddenly, a huge croc reared itself up behind her, intending to strike. Jane screamed as the side of the beast's head exploded, spraying her with gore.
"Watson, this way!" called Holmes, releasing the carbine he'd used to shoot down the crocodile. Jane snapped out of the shock and hurried to the tree where the others sat.
"How many rounds left in that carbine?" Jane asked.
"None," said Holmes.
"I got another clip," said Delgado, "and two more in the automatic. Even batting a thousand, that leaves us with too many crocs left over."
"So we wait," said Holmes, slumping against the tree.
Jane opened the first aid kit and took out a vial of water mixed with quinine powder.
"Lean back and drink this," she said to Holmes, elevating his head to help him drink. Holmes swallowed it, then leaned back and closed his eyes.
"He gonna be okay?" asked Delgado.
"It's too soon to say," said Jane, "after it's had a while to ease his fever and pain, I'll give him a shot of cocaine to get him on his feet."
"You needed to alert the crew that we were going to take the yacht, mi hermano," said Carmela as the Villamos' limo pulled up to their private marina, "the bar is not stocked. The food in the galley will not be fresh!"
"Be quiet!" said Ernesto emphatically, "We do not need luxuries. The guerrillas have cut off every other avenue of escape. We must leave now before they close the port. I will pilot The Esperanza to Miami myself."
But as he spoke, a speedboat skimmed across the waves, and the sound of machine gun fire filled the air as a pack of revolutionaries made their way to the port.
"What now, big brother?" snapped Carmelita as Ernesto and his thugs fired at the oncoming boat.
"They will not cut off our escape again!" shouted Ernesto, "I will die before I back down!"
Villamos emptied his revolver at the boat, and finally struck the captain. However, the sudden lack of a pilot caused the boat to spin out of control, heading toward the yacht.
"Every way I turn, I am thwarted," said Ernesto, "We must get off Puerto Dulce or face the mercy of the guerrillas!"
"Where do we turn now, Brother?" said Carmelita, "Our plane is destroyed, the yacht is denied us, and the revolutionaries control every highway!"
"Let me think!" Ernesto's next words were lost as the speedboat struck the yacht, and the explosion knocked them all off of their feet.
"My beautiful yacht," said Villamos with horror, "They will pay."
Hours later, when night had finally fallen and the crocs drifted into slumber, the detectives carefully made their way out of the tree and back into the swamp. Holmes was now walking and moving normally, the seven percent solution of cocaine having take effect quickly.
"We could wander around this swamp forever and not find a path to the coast," grumbled Delgado, "This whole hiking trip has been one screw-up after another. I'm hungry and thirsty and DAMN tired of wearing wet underwear."
Delgado's foot hit a root, and he fell face first into the murky water.
"Holmes and I are both as sick of this as you are," said Jane, helping him up, "but we could all do without your bellyaching."
Holmes held up a hand for silence as he peered through some reeds. "I believe I have found out salvation." Jane and Delgado looked and saw a pig, trotting through the water at a leisurely pace.
"Whoa," said Jane, "ham dinner."
"This little piggy went 'bang,'" said Delgado, aiming his rifle at the pig.
"No!" hissed Holmes, slapping the barrel down, "Have you taken leave of your senses?"
"What the Hell are you talking about?" asked Delgado.
"Stop thinking with your stomach," said Holmes, "That pig lives in this swamp every day. Perhaps he belongs to a farmer. We can follow it and thus find our way out of this marsh."
Delgado muttered something about food, but had to recognize that Holmes was right. The pig did know its way around, and followed the raised areas that barely got wet. If they weren't getting out of the swamp, at least they were dry.
Meanwhile, at a small gas station outside the capital, the Villamos' were trying to barter passage to an airfield outside of revolutionary control.
"Very expensive to get out of Puerto Dulce these days, Amigo," said the truck driver running the station, "Expensive and dangerous."
"You should be willing to help my sister and I out of loyalty and friendship to the Villamos clan, Viejo," said Ernesto, shaking with fear and rage.
The truck driver stood up from his seat, stared Villamos directly in the eye, and said, "You and your family looked down on me as a peon, someone who had to get his hands dirty to earn his bread. And now you crawl to me and speak of loyalty?"
Ernesto was so taken aback that fell backward into the chair behind him.
"Now, you must buy my loyalty. A hundred thousand in cash. And the keys to your limousine."
"But – " Ernesto tried to object, but the driver cut him off.
"Is that so much to ask in exchange for your lives?" He leered at Carmelita. "When I could ask for so much more?"
"Pig!" snapped Carmelita, crossing her arms.
"And how," said the driver, lighting a cigar, "do you think you will fare when the guerrillas are in power? Not so good, eh?"
Well, thought Jane, so much for that plan.
The trio had been following the pig all day and into the night. It had meandered, backtracked, and stopped to eat fruit that had fallen from the trees. Everything, it seemed, but lead them out.
"Do you guys smell that?" said Delgado.
Jane and Holmes both sniffed the air. There was a new smell mixed in with the stink of swamp-water: Woodsmoke. Then, they saw the source; a fire, surrounded by men speaking softly in Spanish. Members of the Guarda Nacional, having a midnight picnic.
"What do we do?" asked Jane quietly.
"They've got water, hot food, guns, and a truck," said Delgado, "Should I draw you a picture?"
"Wait," said Holmes, "We must think this through. Villamos is, in all likelihood, sitting by a pool in Cancun by now. Our chance to bring him to justice has passed. Thus, there is no further need for us to remain on the island. Perhaps if we simply speak to these gentlemen, we can find a way to do that."
Delgado nodded and, raising his gun, stepped into the clearing and said in Spanish, "Nobody moves, nobody dies." All the soldiers raised their hands.
"Anyone here speak English?" asked Jane, aiming her revolver.
"I speak pretty good," said one of the soldiers.
"Where are you going?" asked Holmes.
"A fire road through the lumber plantations," said the soldier, "The rebels don't know to cut it off. It leads North to where a gringo has a private airfield. He is flying people out for ten thousand dollars a head."
"You don't look like you carry that kind of dinero," said Delgado.
"We have our guns," said another soldier. He raised a knife and aimed to throw it at Holmes, but Delgado emptied a burst into his chest. The other soldiers quickly gave up their keys and supplies.
"Let's haul," said Delgado, ushering the others in the truck, "We can make some miles before dawn."
"What is your name, Viejo? And what do you carry?"
"Manuel Lopez," replied the driver, "I carry food looted from the government warehouses. I am taking it to the poor villagers crushed by oppression all these decades."
"He does not lie," said a rebel to the superior, "there is food here."
"Get him out of the truck," said the officer, "We will distribute the food to the masses."
Manuel jumped out of the truck and angrily said to the officer, "I act under the orders of El Commandante Uno, the leader of the glorious revolt! If you wish to countermand these orders, then that is your right. But don't blame me if you are called before the People's Justice Committee!"
The officer signaled the rebel soldiers to back down and said, "Very well. You may pass."
Manuel wiped the sweat from his brow and drove his truck further down the road.
"You actually earned your obscene payment with that performance," said Villamos, coming out from under a crate in the back.
"How much longer will this be, Hermano?" whined Carmelita.
"All night," said Manuel, "and most of tomorrow before we reach Rancho Florida."
On the other side of Puerto Dulce, at the Rancho Florida airfield, another business deal was being made.
"So, where is the plane, Señor Carson?" Jorge Gacho and his family were eager to leave, while Carson, the owner and pilot, seemed bound and determined to make them wait.
"Well," said Carson, puffing on a cigar, "There's been a change in plans, Mr. Gacho."
"A change in plans?" said Gacho, "I have paid you a fortune to fly me and my family to Honduras. I will not stand for a change in plans!"
"See, there IS no plane, Gacho," said Carson, "You wanna fly to the mainland, you're gonna have to grow wings. I might be able to help you there."
Carson drew his pistol and shot Gacho in the chest, following with a bullet to each member of his family.
"Ask the Big Man upstairs for a pair when you see him."
"What do you want done with the bodies, Señor Carson?" asked one of his thugs.
"Put the Gachos in 'first class' with the others," said Carson, "and make it quick. With the rebels taking the capital I figure we got other paying customers coming."
(A/N: I swear, it will not take me this long to update again. If you're still reading, God bless you. Please Review.)
TO BE CONTINUED.