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Hours pass as the small plane heads south. Sunrise comes and goes. The sun climbs high overhead, but when the plane finally begins its descent, the sun slips beneath the clouds, casting a golden glow over their puffy white landscape.
This is it.
This is where they’ll torture Alec—where they’ll force him to spill his secrets—and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
The plane touches down on a small airstrip carved out of an overgrown field slowly succumbing to the encroaching rainforest. Although our location remains unknown, it isn’t difficult to connect the dots.
This has to be Nicaragua.
Carmen and Rosalie’s home.
And if these people abducted Alec, it has to be because of the missions the Guardians did here.
The landing is rough, causing the plane to bounce in the air multiple times before jarringly coming to an abrupt halt, propelling me forward against the bulkhead. When the door opens, a blast of suffocating humidity and oppressive heat engulfs me. Several men stand by the trucks, rushing toward us now that we have stopped. Six of them approach the plane.
The men seize me, hauling me out. Alec follows close behind, his face contorted in agony, as the men yank him from the aircraft, assaulting him with repeated blows to the stomach, their expressions feral and malevolent.
I want to say something, to comfort him in some way, but my throat is too tight with fear. I walk, while Alec is dragged unconscious, across the fallow field.
As I clamber into the back of one of the trucks, the overwhelming sights, sounds, and sensations of the jungle assault me. Thick, knotted vines dangle twisted tendrils from towering trees, their verdant leaves rustling in the humid breeze. The rich scent of fertile earth, the musty odor of wild animals, and the sickly sweet aroma of flowering plants, create an unusual fragrance that overpowers my senses.
Once loaded, the truck lurches forward and the cacophony of the jungle fills my ears. Monkeys chatter and howl off in the distance, their voices carrying through the dense canopy. Exotic birds screech as they take flight, their colorful wings blurring against the deep-green backdrop of the jungle and the bright-blue sky.
Sweat drenches my body from head to toe. The air is thick and oppressive, making every breath a struggle. My skin pricks with the sensation of insects crawling over me, and I shudder as I brush away the flying bugs. The vibrant colors and chaotic sounds merge into sensory overload that leaves me dizzy and disoriented.
We bounce and jostle along deeply rutted jungle tracks. I strain to take in every detail of this exotic world, while also keeping an eye on Alec. Despite what brings me here, there’s a striking beauty to the wild, untamed jungle.
Eventually, we come to a clearing and the caravan stops. The acrid stench of smoke and charred wood fills my nostrils. The flickering light of a small campfire casts eerie shadows across the faces of a small group of armed men who wait for us.
Leaves and small twigs crunch under our feet as I’m shoved toward them. Their laughter at the sight of Alec being dragged along sends cruel and menacing shivers racing down my spine. The iron grip of my captors tightens, leaving bruises as they propel me forward into the circle of armed men.
“Welcome.” One of them stands and hikes up his pants. His tone is menacingly jovial. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
I glance at Alec, but his face remains stoic, his eyes focused straight ahead. His muscles tense, coiling like a predator ready to strike, but there’s little he can do tied up the way he is.
The man who greets us steps forward, his heavy boots thudding on the ground. Suddenly, he strikes. His fist slams into Alec’s stomach with a sickening thud that echoes in my ears.
Alec drops to his knees.
The man grabs Alec’s hair and yanks his head up painfully. Battered and in severe pain, Alec’s breaths come in sharp gasps, etching hard lines on his face.
“You’re going to tell us everything. Who you work for, what you know, and what your mission is…” Spittle flies from the man’s mouth as his lips curl into a grotesque grin.
Alec remains silent, but the anger building in his eyes speaks volumes. He won’t break easily.
The man revels in his power over Alec. He strikes again, his knuckles connecting with a sickening thud. Bile rises in the back of my throat, and I almost lose the contents of my stomach watching the brutality.
Alec groans in pain and my blood boils with rage at his suffering. As the beating continues, my thoughts race, searching for a way to save us from this madness, but just as I’m about to intervene, a dry, raspy voice interrupts my thoughts.
I turn to see an elderly woman standing a few feet away, her arms fold across her chest and her craggy face is deeply etched with disapproval. She exudes an ancient presence, her weathered skin bearing the marks of years under the unforgiving sun. Her deep-set, hardened eyes reveal no mercy.
“You know better than this.” She chides the men, gesturing toward Alec. “We don’t hurt our guests.”
We’re not guests. We’re prisoners and she’s batshit crazy.
The man scowls at the old woman and spits on the ground, but eventually, he releases Alec. “Fine.” He lifts his hands and backs away slowly. “But Artemus said…”
“My son knows nothing about these things.” The old woman shuffles over to us, her body hunched with age. She peers down at Alec on the ground with a disapproving gaze. “I speak for my son.” With a snap of her fingers, she utters a command the men leap to obey. “Help him up.”
