Chapter 15-

Michael woke in the darkness, shivering from the fever that encompassed him. He was near delirium as his body fought an ongoing internal war. Beneath him, cool earth that smelled of minerals and fungi, mixed with the protein smell of blood that had congealed on his face and neck. He fought to roll his body over from the prone position and did so after much trying. He was well aware that he was physically in trouble, if not mentally.

He could feel hands reach for him, touching his upper arms and then his face, but he could not see anything. After all he had been through in the last day or two, he pushed them away as best he could.

"It is OK. I am a friend. I am glad you are alive. You didn't look like you would make it last night." A voice whispered in perfect English.

Michael's mind fought to comprehend the voice and the words that emanated toward him.

"Are you sure I'm alive? I dreamed that death would feel something like this."

"Good, a sense of humor! Stay here."

Michael could feel the man move away from him, but in the darkness he couldn't see, only hear it. He returned in just a few moments.

"You have to drink." He said as Michael could feel a few drips of water on his neck and chest from the leaky cup that hovered just above him. "Come on, I will help you sit up."

A hand went behind his back and pushed him up slightly as the metal cup was pressed against his lips.

"Drink!" The voice nearly commanded. "Before the guards return."

Michael did so, slowly at first, then at almost at a ravenous pace until the cup was dry, but it was too fast and the coughing started immediately.

" Sshh . . . Be quiet. They will hear you."

Michael stifled the cough from the back of his throat and pressed his hand against the opening of his mouth, stemming the natural desire to cough.

"Good, I will get more water." And he was gone.

Half way through the second cup, Michael slowed his pace and even stopped. The burning in his throat had been soothed and the thirst partially quenched.

"Thank you." He choked out and held out his hand. "Michael."

The man took the hand and shook, whispering back. "Nice to meet you Michael, I'm Juan."

"Thanks again Juan. So where am I? Things are a little fuzzy."

" I am not surprised. You are a guest of the cartel."

""Great!" Michael said closing his eyes and lowering himself back to the earth. "I suppose talking to them will get me nowhere."

Juan laughed a subdued chuckle. "You must really be out of it, you tried that last night and I am still not sure how you survived. That group of men tossed you around like a rag doll. You were their nightly game."

Michael searched his memory. His last one was an hour or more after getting off the truck. They had been made to stand in the courtyard, to learn and watch. The heat was stifling. Michael was sure it was nearly 100 with a humidity to match. His friend, Javier had tried, but after so much time, he collapsed falling to his knees. A guard picked up on the weakness and pushed at him. His son stepped forward, but was halted by his fathers raised hand and defiant look. His son reluctantly obeyed.

Michael watched as the guard pushed the old man down in the dirt each time he started to rise. On the third try, as the guard laughed and joked he called another to watch. After several more attempts, the joking began to escalate, with taunting and bruising. Weak and injured, Mike could take no more. The next time the guard pushed the old man, Mike raised his foot and back kicked him in the kidneys sending the man flying across the yard. The prisoners held their breaths, but the guards laughed at their comrade.

"Shut up." He yelled back at them as he picked himself from the dirt and stormed at Michael. Michael sideswiped the man's approach as he again fell face first into the dirt with a burst of laughter from his friends.

Angry, and humiliated the man approached again. This time more cautiously. Yelling at Mike in Spanish; none of which he could understand. Mike could hear some sort of chant from the other guards begin, encouraging him on. The guard swung again and Mike blocked the blow, holding back a response from his own fist. Knowing that such an movement might mean death.

A second swing and a third swing were blocked as Mike pushed the man over and past him into the dirt again. This insect of a man was losing his patience. Mike looked around, but he knew he was alone. His adversary grabbed a knife from one of the other guards as they helped him up and a large chant again came from the onlookers.

Watching the knife, Michael swung wide and back as he slashed at him. A near miss, but it was enough. As the man was off balance and turning from his maneuver, Mike stepped in, his back to the man, his right hand grabbing the thumb and wrist of the knife wielder and pushing it out and away. His fingers working to separate the thumb's grip from the knife and swiftly succeeded. It fell to the dirt as Mike swung his left elbow up and back hitting the man squarely in the nose, breaking it instantly. The gush of blood spurting out and around as the man fell backwards gripping his face in his hands, and screaming.

At first, the other guards stood in stunned silence, but it wasn't for long. What had been sport only moments before had grown personal and Michael was their new target, only this time they would not be laughing. He fought gallantly, but their numbers were overpowering and in minutes, Michael was on the ground, blows coming from all directions. He couldn't remember more.

"Juan, I need to get out of here. I'm sick and bruised, the longer I stay the weaker I will get. Can you help me?"

Juan was silent. "I don't know if there is a way out. I have only been here a few days. It feels like months. They work you until you cannot stand anymore, then when you fall, they beat you until you get up. When you can't get up, that is when they shoot you. To them, we are just labor and nothing more. I don't know anyone, other than guards that have been here for more than a few weeks. They just don't care if we die, they just go and get more."

Michael lay listening to Juan and the malice he had witnessed during his short stay. They were miles from anything other than the road they came in on. The compound well hidden in the overgrowth of the surrounding foliage. Difficult to see from above and well watched from inside. Michael's illness may be his downfall. Sick and weak, he would be no match for the surrounding area. He knew he needed a good plan.