The Soul That Perishes

by Peg Keeley

Chapter 2

Dan Williams, at Pedro's feet, gave a deep hacking cough.

Pedro squatted down next to him. "You are alive," he told him.

Danny opened his eyes, amazed to be both outside of the craft and alive. "Steve? Where is he?"

Pedro nodded. "He is here, but I don't know any more. I have just been pulling those out I could save." He glanced over towards those scattered about he had pulled from the plane. None of them were moving.

Just as Danny sat up and began to feel the bruises and aches, they heard a man begin screaming in pain a short distance away. Pedro and Danny both jumped up and followed the sound through the brush to where they found a man hunched over on his knees, hands pressed to his eyes.

"¡Mis ojos! ¡Ayúdeme! ¡Ojos queman!" the man pleaded.

"Estamos aquí. Nosotros lo podemos ayudar," Pedro answered, taking hold of the man's arm, wondering if he really could help as he had promised.

The man was covered in oily hydraulic fluid. "He has hydraulic fluid in his eyes," Danny guessed, but a quick glance around did not reveal anything they could use to rinse the man's eyes out. "We need to wash his eyes."

The man kept sobbing and moaning, hands to his face.

"Our only hope is that his tears will wash much of it away," Pedro whispered in distress.

"We need todosomething," Danny replied in frustration.

Pedro's gaze met his.Isn't that way I have felt for the last several minutes? Isn't there something more we can do?

Danny stumbled through the scattered debris that was littering the ground along with horrific parts of bodies and flesh. The plane had been cracked in two, everything in the forward part had been completely incinerated. The rear remained in flames. He found a suitcase that was intact, forced the lock open, but found nothing to wash the eyes out with. For several minutes he continued his frantic search until Pedro came to him.

"It does not matter any more," Pedro said quietly. "He has passed out for now. His eyes are beyond hope."

Danny stood helplessly, a lady's flowered skirt in one hand. "I need to find Steve," he murmured, trying to put aside this failure.

They walked back to the group of those Pedro had rescued and Danny knelt next to Steve. "He's alive," Danny announced in relief. There was a gash over Steve's left ear that had bled freely, yet was now congealed in a blackish-red mass, but his pulse was strong and there were no other obvious injuries. "Steve, can you hear me?"

McGarrett did not move.

Danny tried to check Steve's eyes, but wasn't completely sure what he was looking for. At least the pupils were equal and reactive - he could remember that much for first aid training. He sat back on his heels and glanced around at the jungle. Just what I wanted - to be dumped into a South American jungle.

Steve gave a low groan.

"Hey," Danny shook him gently again. "Steve, wake up."

McGarrett was aware first that he hurt all over, then was able to focus on the pain in his head that threatened to explode with every heartbeat. At least I have a heartbeat. He slowly opened his eyes, to see Danny leaning over him. We are both alive.

"You okay?" Danny asked.

Steve tested each arm and leg, realizing that aside from his throbbing headache, he seemed remarkably in good condition. "I think so."

Pedro moved amongst the other rescued passengers - two were dead, three more including the burned woman would likely die soon. He now approached the two Five-0 officers. "We need to help these people," he said cautiously to Danny.

Danny and Steve both looked at him. "There isn't a whole lot we can do but wait for a rescue team."

Pedro ran a hand through his dark hair. "Rescue team?" He glanced up at the mountains around them. "It will be at least a day - maybe more."

"You are not recommending we try to hike out of here, are you?" Danny stated, his tone clear he did not think it was a good idea.

Pedro looked a bit uncertain in the face of Danny's determined response. "I don't know."

"We need to stay with the plane," Danny replied. "They will be looking for a downed craft. We wander off into the jungle and we will be worse off than we are now. Let's try to see how everyone is and if we have any resources at all."

Pedro gave a nod, and seemed willing to release leadership to Danny.

They spent the next hour assessing the survivors and doing a preliminary examination of what they had to use. It was difficult not to be affected by the grizzly bits of bodies that lay on the ground and dangled from trees. And as the sun began to sink towards the mountain tops Danny began to wonder about what new hazards the night would bring.

Steve had done his best to take part in the activity, but his head ached so severely, he had to sit down frequently. On one of his short spurts of activity, he turned over a curved piece of outer skin of the plane and was shocked when there came a responding cry of a baby. Both Danny and Pedro came on the run and the three of them stared down at the wriggling baby that lay screaming and in apparent good health.

"A miracle," Pedro whispered, dropping to his knees in a spontaneous gesture of prayer.

Steve and Danny exchanged glances. "How will we keep a baby alive?" Danny muttered, recognizing the infant of his seatmate. "I think his name is Esteban."

Pedro gently collected the baby into his arms and for a moment, Esteban stopped crying. "He is a gift, a sign that God is going to bring us through."

He is a liability in a situation that is already desperate, Steve thought, but did not express.

In another hour, several of the saved passengers had regained consciousness, some just to lie in pain. The man whose eyes had been injured was amongst them. He was totally blind.

"There are thirteen of us alive," Pedro reported. "Five are in very poor condition. Delores," he motioned to the unconscious woman with third degree burns, "may not live through the night."

Night. Danny glanced skyward. Yes, darkness would soon be upon them and with it cold and the nocturnal predators. I have just six rounds. It isn't much.

"There is no food or water," Steve added. "What is the likelihood of a search party arriving by morning?"

Pedro looked skeptical.

"Ambassador Catava is here," the blind man, Carlos, commented in a deep, but determined voice. "They will look for us."

Catava was actually sitting amongst them, one of the few in reasonably good condition except for broken arm that Pedro and Danny had effectively splinted. The blind man had been one of his bodyguards and Catava had now become dedicated to the care of the man who had before been his protector. "Unfortunately, although my presence may encourage action, it will not help the search parties find us any sooner. We are in a valley between two ridges of tall mountains. We might not be found for days."

"It is getting cold, we need light and warmth," Danny announced and got to his feet. "I'm going to find something to use for fire wood." Finding wood would not be a problem - finding dry burnable wood might be something else.

"I'll come with you," Steve offered.

They moved off from the group. "How's your head?" Danny asked.

"Hurts." Steve picked up a long stick and used it to hunt through the brush. "We need to determine why that plane went down."

Danny blinked in surprise. "Let the aeronautical team do that."

"No, we need to do that," Steve answered gazing at the pathway the plane had taken.

"I don't understand," Danny murmured.

"Why did it go down?" Steve insisted. "Those odd sounds we heard, remember?"

He nodded.

"I think someone was shooting at the plane."

Danny's jaw dropped. "We were shot down? Why?" The answer came over him. "Catava."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, Catava. And my guess is we have just twelve rounds of ammunition between him and his assassins. If someone is trying to kill Catava, he will come to make sure the job was done."

"We can't stay with the plane," Danny whispered.

"No, we have to stay with the plane," Steve countered. "But we need to be ready."

"We won't stand a chance."

"Nor will we stand a chance in that jungle," Steve snapped. "Most of those people will die if we try to move them." He bent down and picked up a book. It would burn. They picked up a few more odds and ends before Steve noticed large portion of plane poking through the greenery a short distance away. It was most of the right wing. It was still smoking near the engine that had supported the now missing propeller. Otherwise it was intact. Steve walked the length of it carefully, examining each inch. "Danno," he motioned to one spot. "What do you think?"

Danny examined the small circular hole, then spotted a second. "Looks like a bullet hole to me. High powered velocity. Two of them." He sighed. "What are we going to tell them?"

Steve lifted an eyebrow. "The truth - that they may have just survived a plane crash to be killed by insurgents."

The air was cold which was a little surprising in a tropical jungle until one recalled they were above 6,000 feet. They were all shivering and huddled close around the small fire that had been built beneath the shadow of the carcass of the shattered plane. Pedro moved amongst the wounded frequently. There were no bandages, no water, no food and no pain relievers. Delores had succumbed shortly after sunset.

Pedro hunched before the small fire now, running his hands through his dark hair. "There is nothing I can do for them," he murmured. "I just watch them die. I rescued them from death in the plane to watch them suffer a slower tormented death now."

"You are offering them all the comfort you can," Catava said gently.

"But they still die," Pedro replied shaking his head. "Such a waste."

"And if our American policemen are right, this was intentional," Carlos interrupted.

"We are pretty certain about the bullet holes," Steve replied.

"So we must try to enable a rescue party to find us while hiding from assassins," Carlos commented. "And I am of no use to you, Catava! I cannot protect you."

Catava patted Carlos' arm. "Things are as they are, Carlos. It is a waste of time to concern yourself with the things we cannot change."

"We must have a plan," Carlos persisted, staring blindly into the warmth of the fire. "I had a weapon. Is it with us?"

"Unfortunately, no," Steve answered. "It must have been lost in the front half of the plane."

"We have two revolvers, six rounds each against militants with high-powered automatic rifles?" Carlos said shaking his head. "Father Pedro, we will need your prayers."

"And you will have them," Pedro replied.

Danny rose and walked towards the burned out cavity of the back half of the plane. The fires were now out, but the darkness contained thirty or so smoldering corpses and no one had expressed interest in hiding within the plane itself. Yet that remained the most likely plan of action - other than taking to the jungle.

Steve walked over to him. "Any ideas? You are, after all, the survivalist of the group."

He slowly shook his head. "We could forge some weapons, spears and such but if the opposition has AK-47s they don't have to get within two hundred yards of us. We might try to find our way out of here or someone should go for help."

Steve sighed. "It may come to that, but not just yet. Maybe a search team will get here first. None of us knows the terrain."

Danny walked away to a stand of trees and broke off a few thin branches. Using his small penknife, he began to whittle sharp tips onto the sticks. This isn't really going to help us, but it gives me something to do besides walking amongst the dying. He glanced at Pedro who was kneeling before another of the victims and praying with him. Maybe that priest is made of stronger stuff than I am.

The baby began to cry again. Juan, a man with two broken legs accepted the child from Pedro and placed his smallest finger into the corner of the baby's mouth. Esteban began to suck on it. Pedro gave an approving nod and moved back to the other passenger who was asking for last rites.

"We need to try to get some sleep," Steve remarked. "It's about all we can do to help ourselves right now. Can you take the first watch?"

Danny squatted down and began poking his penknife around the base of a tree.

"Did you find something?" Steve asked, crouching down in mild curiosity.

Danny glanced at him. "First rule of survival - have food, water, shelter and fire."

Steve gave a thin smile. "We've got the fire."

Danny jabbed the knife into a root and drew it back, a two inch grub impaled on the tip of the blade. "We've got them all." He extended the larva still thrashing on the knife towards Steve. "Bon appetite."

McGarrett made no motion. If I act disgusted he wins. But I'm not hungry enough to eat an insect - yet.

Danny shrugged and popped the grub into his mouth. The exoskeleton crunched faintly and he chewed then swallowed.

"Nice demonstration," Steve remarked, "but I don't think it will answer our problems. So how did you make it out of the jungle last time?"

Danny shook his head. "Last time was in Mexico and I had a bigger knife. I was also dressed for the occasion and had an armed partner. There is not much in common with the last time. But the jungle has food, there are ways to find water, we can build shelter if we must - but we haven't got the tools. One machete could make the difference in our survival. I don't think we can get those people out. Most of them cannot walk. And we have the baby. He would be noisy."

Steve gave a nod. "I'm going to recommend Pedro hide in the plane with the survivors once it cools down. You and I and Catava will hike out. At least if there are people after him, they'll be following us away from the survivors."

Danny kept working on his stick. "You think Catava's bodyguard will let us leave him behind?"

"I'm not offering him a choice," Steve snapped. He rubbed a hand over his aching brow.

"I'm not so sure you should be running through the jungle either," Danny added.

"I can take care of myself," Steve snapped a little harshly. How dare he suggest I am weak. He reminded himself that Williams was trying to be practical. "Let's get back to the others." He steadied himself against a tree trunk as he rose.

Danny did not miss the action. "You okay?" He realized almost instantly that McGarrett probably had not appreciated the comment. "Why don't you check on the others, I'll be back in a few minutes."

"What will you be doing?" Steve almost demanded.

He raised the pointed stick he'd created earlier. "Find something better than grubs for you to eat."

Steve walked back around the still smoldering aircraft to where Pedro was ministering to the wounded. "Father, how are they," he asked formally.

"Call me Pedro, please," the young man answered. He wrapped a bandage he'd made from a shirt around a man who was burned. "I took what I could find from the luggage that was thrown from the plane. We have some bandages to help."

Steve nodded and slowly sat down next to the small fire. "How are they?" he repeated his question.

"Dolores, rest her soul is gone," Pedro told him quietly. "Phillippi has bleeding internally I think. He has bad stomach pains. His abdomen is very hard." He motioned to the thirty year old man who lay clutching his abdomen attempting not to moan. "Carlos," he motioned to the man next to him, "cannot see. He is otherwise able. Don seems to be in a coma. He cannot be aroused. There is bleeding from his ears, so I think that's very bad. Mantalvo has a broken leg and I think his back is injured. He cannot stand. Tomas is burned almost as badly as Dolores was. Raphael has a broken arm, his neck hurts but he can be of help. Juan broke both his legs," he motioned towards the man still trying to comfort the baby. "Catava is all right except for a broken arm. You have a bad cut on your head. Danny and I seem to be without injury. And there is, of course, Esteban."

"Esteban," Steve murmured glancing at the baby. What a mess of complications this small group is. "If we assume there are terrorists who shot down the plane," he said quietly, " they'll come back and they will be after Catava. Most of these people cannot move let alone travel through the jungle. Tomorrow Danny, Catava and I will go for help. You stay here with the wounded."

Pedro's eyes widened a little. "You're not serious. It would be very easy to be lost in the jungle and never be found. There are all kinds of dangers that you know nothing about."

"You have a better idea? Shall we all just stay here and await the insurgents who will shoot us all? We have only twelve shots, Pedro. Twelve. If Catava is not here when they come, they may leave you alone. You can let them think he died in the plane. No one could determine an identity of those bodies. And how many of these people can wait for help for several days?" Steve looked away from him. Why am I trying to reason with him? He's a priest; he doesn't have a clue about the real world.

Pedro looked down at the ground. There was nothing he could say to argue with the tall urban policeman, but he wished there was. He felt helpless just sitting by and waiting for these poor souls to die. "I received The Call when I was a boy," he murmured. "God told me I would save people from the fires of hell." He gave a soft smile and glanced at McGarrett. "I never saved any one - till today. Snatched them from the flames of this earthly hell - only to have them die now."

McGarrett's gaze met the dark eyes of young priest. He did not have much use for religion, but tried to hold respect for those of the cloth, although he suspected most of them fleeced their flocks regularly. Is he going to give me the preaching line now? Is he going to suggest that God will swoop out of heaven and miraculously rescue us? A plan to absolve us from responsibility for ourselves? Maybe young Pedro here is still idealistic and hasn't learned that there is no charity on earth, good is done plotting something in return be it donations, reverence or misplaced trust. Always an angle. How does someone as sincere as Pedro turn into… Steve's thoughts were blessedly interrupted by a movement in the brush. Instantly his gun was out, his body tense and alert.

Danny parted the leaves and stepped into the clearing, unconcerned that Steve's gun was pointed at him. "I made a trip to the local grocery," he remarked. On the end of the sharp stick were three small rodents, each about a pound in weight.

"What are those?" Pedro asked.

"Paca," Danny replied. He stooped near the fire, pulling the animals from the stick and started the skinning process with the rapidly dulling penknife.

"Look like rats," Steve commented.

Danny grinned. "They are. Got a knife? Good, help me do this."

There were no complaints from those able to eat regarding the fare of the few bites of meal. There was not much meat on the small animals, but anything was welcome. Pedro tried to pulverize a small amount and feed it to Esteban, but had little success. The infant had no teeth and knew nothing except sucking. "This baby needs milk," Pedro stated. "Maybe you should take him with you when you go in the morning."

Steve did not reply. "We need a watch tonight. Who is able to stand a two hour shift?"

"I will," Carlos declared. "I cannot see, but my ears are like those of a bat."

"How about you and the padre here?" Steve suggested. "First watch. Danny, you and Catava take the second. Raphael and I will do that last." He placed his gun into Carlos' hands. Danny held his out to Pedro who gasped and refused the weapon.

"Take it, Pedro," Steve snapped. "The rest of us need to try to get a little rest."

"Some rest," Danny muttered. "That baby will cry all night."

Juan seemed to have taken it on himself to care for Esteban as much as the pain from his broken bones would permit. He spoke no English but Pedro informed Steve and Danny that Juan and his wife had a young set of twins at home. He was accustomed to infant care. They did what they could to swaddle Esteban in clothing recovered from the crash in hopes that it would settle him and keep him warm. Those able to move about used what they could find to provide comfort and warmth to those who were immobile. The ground was hard, the air cold and the baby cried periodically. No one could sleep well.

By the time Steve estimated it was time for his shift, he had slept only in small naps. He found Pedro kneeling by Tomas, holding his hand and whispering prayers with him. Even unable to speak Spanish, Steve could identify prayer even in Spanish. "Dios te salve María, llena eres de gracia, el Señor es contigo, bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres, y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús. Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amén," Pedro's gentle tenor voice carried through the group, the carnage amongst them and the jungle.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen, Steve's mind ran through the liturgy from childhood that no longer meant comfort to him. He hunched close to the small fire, trying to gather warmth and listening to the natural sounds of the night. The jungle was never silent and he could only recognize a little of the night music around them. He wondered about jaguars and snakes.

Pedro came over and sat down beside him. "Tomas is dead," he declared quietly.

Steve nodded. "I'm sorry, Fa - Pedro."

Pedro held his hands out for the warmth of the flame. "I feel so useless."

"You are probably accomplishing more than anyone else here. Your presence and comfort means a lot to them," Steve replied. "Why don't you get some rest?"

He shook his head. "I can't. There is no time for sleep." He sighed and glanced at the darkness around them. "Time for sleep enough when this is done."

Steve nodded. How often have I had that thought during a difficult case. He placed another small stick on the fire. There was silence for some time.

Finally Pedro muttered. "Funny, my mother did not want me to be a priest."

Steve did not answer.

"She wanted me to be a cop."

He gave a thin smile. Am I going to hear his life story? Ah well, there is nothing else to do. "My mother wished me to be a priest," he answered.

Pedro chuckled. "The problem with being a priest is that people always know who you are by your dress, even if they do not know you by name. They watch you. You cannot make mistakes, you are supposed to be God to them. You are held to a higher standard that is very difficult to meet."

Steve was silent, contemplating the difficult life of law enforcement where an officer was known by his uniform. A mistake could result in allegations that burned through the media and crucified a police officer before the truth was ever heard. A higher standard, to uphold the law - to play God.

"You have a family?" Pedro asked, rubbing his hands.

"A sister," he replied, trying to maintain his detachment. What is Maryann going through right now?

"I have two sisters, a mother. Two brothers both dead. One died when I was very young. My other brother, Manuel was killed when he attempted to stop a man from beating his wife. He was seventeen at the time." He stopped. "Mama wanted vengeance and wished for me to become a lawman. But vengeance belongs to the Lord. When I was still in Florida I would go to the prison to serve communion to my brother's killer."

The crackling of the fire was the only sound for some time as Steve considered the irony of the young priest. He recalled the living small living room in Virginia, the framed photo of his father in uniform, the folded American flag and the day he told his mother he was going to serve in law enforcement and take the vengeance denied him in his father's murder by ensuring the law would be served as long as he carried a badge. It had been an ideal - the law could never be perfectly served and judgments were rarely infallible. And vengeance had never really quite been satisfied.

"Good evening, is your father at home?" Governor Jameson asked at the doorway of Chin Ho Kelley's modest home.

Alia, Chin's oldest daughter, flushed with shock.The governor is standing at my house! Oh my goodness! Trying desperately to look nonchalant, she stepped back from the door. "I'll get him," she announced and literally ran to the back yard where Chin was cutting the grass.

Chin hurried to the door, wiping the sweat on a rag. What has happened that was too important to call about? Does Jameson just drop in on Steve like this? "Good evening, Governor," he said, also trying to hide his surprise at the governor's presence. "I'm sorry for my appearance I was cutting the-"

Jameson waved his concerns aside. "Chin, we need to talk."

Chin graciously showed Jameson to the couch, aware that several young pairs of eyes were watching from around the corner. "I would have come to your office," Chin commented in mild embarrassment as his wife appeared in the door and offered a cold drink.

"No thank you," Jameson responded to her, the slow revelation coming over him that he had never done something like this before. The sobriety of his mission settled on his features.

Chin sat down opposite Jameson expecting to hear of some unusual event that had happened in Honolulu that would require the skills of Five-O. He had prayed that things would stay routine while Steve and Danny were gone. He wondered if the peace of the last four days was about to end. At least Steve is due back tomorrow.

Jameson rubbed his hands together. "Chin…this is very difficult to tell you…"

Chin blinked. This sounds more like visits officers make to tell families a loved one has died. Fear suddenly gripped his heart.

"The plane from Bogota - it's missing - disappeared from radar over the Northern Andes."

Chin sat frozen, openmouthed. What was being said was beyond believing. "Missing?" he managed to murmur. "Steve and Danny?"

Jameson, his own pain etched across his face, gave a slow shake of his head. "I don't know. It disappeared round noon their time. There are teams looking, but the Colombian search and rescue isn't certain about where they were."

Chin had done the quick math of time zones in his head. "Twelve hours ago," he murmured. "It has already been twelve hours." He uselessly contemplated that twelve hours ago he had been taking his morning shower. Could two of the closest people to me have died while I was taking a shower? He glanced over at his wife, standing in the doorway, a hand pressed to her lips. "What of Steve's sister and Clara Williams?"

"I have sent messages to them," Jameson offered. "Right now all we can do is wait."

Chin stared down at his hands. Is that really all I can do? Must I stay here and attempt to run this department? The memory of his first meeting with Steve flashed before him. Steve was still active in the Navy and wore his officer's uniform, but there had been a trustworthiness about him that was unusual. He looked you in the eye. He had been devoted to the welfare of Hawaiians, not just the rich landowners. He is godfather to my youngest. And Danny … that little boy Clara used to dote on until he ran away from home three times before he was ten. He always came here. Not to Andy and not to the Morgans. He always came here. He is like one of my own children." I need to go to Colombia," he said quietly.

"Chin, there really isn't anything-" Jameson started.

Chin looked up, a fire in his eyes. "I have to do this. MaryAnn and Clara won't be willing to sit at home and wait - neither am I. Unless you feel the department must stay manned-"

"No, I - I'm sure that Kono can handle it. I can request HPD send Ben Kokua and Duke Lukela to help him. But-" Jameson stopped. I wish I was going myself."-I'll see you are on the next flight to Bogota."