The rain had dissipated somewhat by this time, although there were muddy piles everywhere. Their distribution was somewhat patchy; although Baxter found that by the time he was down the hill his shoes were damn soggy and grime-covered. He reasoned that he would have to get some new ones after this was all over. The wind was a bit chilly in the absence of rain, and it sent goose bumps down his arms. The tent was within sight, just as he remembered it.
He rubbed his hands as he tried to shake off the cold. Shaun Baxter wished he were inside right now, anywhere but out here. The trees swayed in the breeze, leaves still dripping with the product of the rains. It was a goddamn nightmare hiding somewhere in there he thought to himself. Shaking his head, he tried to put it out of his mind, but wasn't very successful. His hands were shaking, even as he rubbed them. It would be all right; it would be all right.
Leave it to the professionals; they knew what they were doing. The problem would take care of itself, and they could all leave. As long as they knew and followed the rules of the show, everybody could go their own way. He felt a grin creep over his face, as he took a short breath. His compensation was in the bag for now; he'd see what he could work out with James for the rest of them. It was really too bad about Marty, but in a way, Baxter was silently envious of him. The amount paid to keep him silent would surely be a substantial amount… the man would probably never have to work a day in his life.
There it was…the jeep. It was one of the more dated models though it should still work. The paint was chipped along the side, and he could tell that at one time it had been yellow. Faded now, with dirt flecking all around the sides. It was a rental, and peeking inside he could see that there was easily over fifty thousand miles on that odometer. Some damn fool hadn't adjusted the top covering correctly and so there was a large partition to the side where it had formerly been lopsided. The wind had blown that part even further up, and the entirety of the front and passenger seats were absolutely drenched. The windshield was slightly cracked across the center, and he could see where it had fogged up in the night.
He tried the door, relaxing a bit when he realized it was unlocked. If he had looked down he would've seen the barman's footprints still fresh, almost where he'd been standing. As it was the delayed progress of the other man didn't even register on his thought processes to the slightest degree. He immediately looked where the lady doctor had said. Under the seat. So he looked first under the driver's seat, nothing. Wait. There was a tray of sorts, with a removable lid. He gently took the tray, and in the light he could see the lid was open. Shaking it upside down into his palm he was surprised to not hear the familiar jingle and rattle of keys. In fact, when he ripped the lid of entirely he saw there were none in here at all.
Well that sucked to the ninth degree, he thought bitterly as he threw the empty package onto the seat. Turning around again, Baxter looked under the remaining seats, starting with the front passenger seat. Hell he even looked in the glove compartment. No dice. He was starting to think that the barman had taken it if anything. Where would he have gone of course was the main question. He admitted that it was not immediately in his power to answer that. For a graduate student, getting no answers immediately was one of the most frustrating things possible.
There was no smell of alcohol in the vehicle, meaning the man hadn't gone to the bar first. So maybe he'd taken the keys then to the bar after? It didn't really make sense he thought to himself. The mud seemed somehow slipperier as he backed away and shut the door. Mainly because he was retracing the steps he'd already walked, and erasing those of the barman. But when he looked to his right, he saw the bar. The door was open, though no lights were on in the building. He couldn't see anything and that should've bothered him though it didn't really. The man probably knew the inside of that by memory by now. Well maybe he needed some help in there.
It had been ten minutes by his reckoning that the barman had been gone. Maybe he'd better go check just to be sure. There was always the possibility of hotwiring the car, but right now that wasn't such a good idea. With the roof the way it was… another rain would cause it to short out in no time. No…he needed the keys to get anywhere and without it the entire jeep was a five-ton waste of space. Reluctantly Baxter turned away from the jeep, noticing the trail of footprints leading to the bar. None leading out, meaning the bastard was probably still in there. Couldn't entirely blame him though, a sight like today would drive even the most abstinent man to drink.
As he walked towards the bar, he couldn't help but notice a slight hum in the air. Was there thunder rolling somewhere? Or was it that monster, still rampaging somewhere in the jungle. It sounded far away though, so he soon turned his attention elsewhere. As long as it wasn't close he didn't need to pay that much attention to it. Baxter craned his neck into the open door, feeling a pale breeze. That was strange, or so he thought for a couple of minutes before he noticed the back door was open. Maybe someone had forgotten to close it? Perhaps. Well it wasn't like someone was going to come in and steal all of the liquor anytime soon were they? There was no sign of the barman, though there was a still and eerie silence around the whole interior of the bar. Kind of creepy actually, even more so since the light from the doors seemed to fade out and die less then five steps in.
He knew that in a place like this the light switch would probably be on the underside of that wooden bar at the far end. "Anybody in here?" he called out, giving the man a chance to come out and save him the trouble of dragging his ass from a bottle. He wanted to be quick about this, after all Dr. Guitierrez could be an asshole sometimes, but it wasn't like he wanted him to die either. No answer, nor any sign of movement. The back door seemed to move slightly, though there was no breeze. He realized that he couldn't see the bottom half of the back door, maybe the man was leaning against it and drinking.
That fool…he thought to himself as he took a step in, still holding the doorknob. He heard what sounded like a bird chirping, a very small bird. Strange he thought, even as the humming sound was louder, like it was coming closer. He looked to his right, realizing he could see the service road that served as the entrance to the village. He realized that sound was very familiar almost like… an engine. He suddenly perked up immediately, realizing that if someone were coming then they wouldn't need the jeep at all.
As he looked back, he realized that the back door had now shut. That was strange; he hadn't felt a breeze at all. The chirps were closer now, some kind of jungle bird? Baxter had no idea; he'd come here to study lizards not freaking birds. "Get your drunken ass out of there, I think someone's coming!" He was met again with utter and abject silence. It was like it was mocking him. Well if he had to drag that asshole out from there he would. He let go of the door, grabbing a chair closest to him to prop it up. He didn't feel much like letting it slam behind him, and leaving him all alone in the darkness.
He wished he had the flashlight now, or at least a cigarette lighter. He could hear the engine puttering somewhere closer; it was probably entering the village by now. All well and good, but without some alcohol, he knew that the injured man's wound might get infected. He could see the glint of bottles reflecting against the light. Any would do, as long as it wasn't the hard stuff he figured. He walked slowly, trying not to trip over any tables or chairs in the darkness. He vaguely remembered that the bar had only barely just opened when the helicopter had come in that morning. That meant some patrons might have had a chance to stop by.
Sure enough he turned and saw a glint next to him. Grabbing the bottle, he shook it once. Yes there was that telltale slosh indicating that there was liquid inside. He thought he was quite ready to leave now, meet whoever had arrived. He turned around, but as he did he frowned. He should've been able to see the barman he realized, now that he was halfway in the bar. Baxter didn't like it, and a thought formed in his head. Maybe the man wasn't here at all? There was always the possibility that he'd just gone out the back door to go home, to get what he didn't know. Or care for that matter.
He started to walk out, but froze. He could hear it behind him, the chirping sound. Was it anything really to get worked up about? He doubted that very much, just shrugged and shook his head. He was imagining things, probably a result of getting all worked up over the recent events. He swished the bottle around, trying to see the label in the dim light. Maybe a sip or two just to clear his head, Florence Nightingale back there didn't need all of it now did she? A clear look at the label indicated it was Single Malt Whiskey, strong stuff, almost a tonic in some countries. Cleared your head right up, probably felt like acid on an open wound.
As he lifted the bottle, he felt something rub against his leg. That was odd, the chirping sound was closer now, like it was right next to him. Chickens didn't chirp, at least to the best of his knowledge. Very odd indeed, and he couldn't recall ever having seen a single chicken in this place. Maybe he should drink this outside; yes that was probably the best idea after all. He took a step then stopped, he'd been so certain he heard something behind him. He was no longer sure that it was his imagination after all, not sure at all.
Baxter took another step, and this time it was unmistakable, something not just rubbing against his leg, but also nipping at his heels. He swiftly turned around and kicked out sharply and blindly in the dark. There was a sharp squeal, and he felt a chair clatter to the floor in the darkness, like something crashed against it. That wasn't right was it? He backed away, realizing he was almost at the door. Thankfully he had the doorknob firmly in his hand once again, he could see the light. There was a scuffling sound somewhere in the gloom.
It was getting to its feet, whatever it was. He had a feeling that maybe he should be thinking about closing the door, except that his feet were frozen to the floor. He had an insane desire to see what it was, tell himself it was just some chicken that had wandered in the back. He couldn't quite explain that momentary paralysis, but felt his fist clench tighter on the neck of the bottle. His head was clear now, he realized, the whiskey was having its intended effect. There was no danger here, just his fevered imagination acting on itself. He would prove it; there was nothing, nothing, and nothing at all. He raised his arm, like he was pitching a baseball, but he wasn't expecting it to be caught by anything.
"Eat shit and die!", he yelled without really thinking.
The bottle said from his hand, seconds before he heard the chirp again, clear as day. His back to the free air, he heard the crash, the sound of glass breaking somewhere inside. The squeal, and the muted but very audible thud that followed. The sound of something jumping out of the way, turning and making a dash for the door. This time there was no hesitation on Baxter's part at all. He stepped backwards, pulling the door along with him. It slammed shut, seemingly shaking the whole bar with it as well. No shit Sherlock, that was close whatever it was. For second there it had seemed…
Just to be sure he tried the knob. Keyhole on the outside, thank god it locked from the outside. Turning away he figured to himself that there were other houses in this village. Probably at least one of them had brought a bottle home at some point; it was a pretty good chance he figured. As long as he didn't have to go back in there, although he couldn't quite explain his reluctance. Everything in him was telling him it was supremely irrational to react in this way, but all the same. Ed James could've offered him the money over again just to open that door but he didn't really know if he would take it. Turning away, he found himself taking long and deliberate breaths, he'd a bad scare, that was all and the only person who could open the door for him was missing. That was too bad, nothing he could do about that now, nothing whatsoever.
But he heard the humming noise again, looking to his right to see a car slowing down as it approached the bar. Intrigued, Baxter stepped out from the shadow of the bar and called out. The car slowed down some more, finally parking about five or six feet from where he was standing. Pretty fancy actually, leaving Dr. Carter's jeep looking like a hunk of rusted junk next to it. Who the hell took a new model Hummer out into this jungle up in the mountains? Relatively clean too, barely even any dirt on the windshield. He scratched the back of his neck as the driver's side opened, and a man got out.
Baxter frowned; it was the last thing he'd been expecting at all. No fatigues or camo for this man, not at all. He wore a beige vest, a tie framing the dress shirt underneath. He was wearing jeans, which seemed so incongruous in comparison to the rest of his garb. The whole of his garb bespoke a man who'd gotten ready in quite a hurry. His hair was disheveled and unkempt, and his eyes were bloodshot. The man stepped out of the hummer; no staggered was more the word to be perfectly honest. Staggered out of that hummer and slammed the door.
Baxter was not sure what to make of this apparition, and for a second he forgot the thing in the bar. "Long drive?" he said, surprised that was the first thing to come out of his mouth. He just didn't know what to say at all, well here was at least one of his problems solved right now… He looked up again as the man slowly walked towards him, around the car and staring him in the eye. There was a sense upon looking into those eyes, which there was not that much he hadn't seen.
The man spoke, his voice breaking the silence like a gunshot. "My name's Richard Levine, do you know if there is a Dr. Guitierrez in this village?"
Somewhere in the distance, he heard the rain begin to resume.