automatically reached for her watch, her fingers itching to twist the bezel, but her wrist was bare. She forced herself to stay still even as her heart pounded like a bass drum in her chest. She was so close to what she currently thought of as home. So close to learning about two people who meant the world to her.
Finally, Dan reappeared and waved her forward to join him. “We need to go around.” He pointed.
Fifty yards ahead, a man in a red polo and tan cargo shorts stood in profile, smoking a cigarette with one hand, stroking the ugly machine gun strapped to his chest with the other.
To avoid the guard, they backtracked into the trees and walked further along the boundary, looking for another way in. She swatted at the bugs that swarmed her sweaty face, and tucked her hair behind her ears. What would she do if they couldn’t find a way into the village?
Alexa squeezed her hands into fists. Goddamn Frederick and his goddamned army. She understood their frustration at the lack of jobs and the slow pace of rebuilding, but she couldn’t abide their tactics. Much of St. Isidore’s infrastructure had been damaged in the recent hurricane. Unemployment was high, tourism was nonexistent, crops had been destroyed. The storm had decimated the island just as the people were beginning to recover from the earthquake that had struck three years ago.
But there had to be a better way to effect change.
At Dan’s direction, Alexa crouched and studied the village through a field of banana plants and low palm trees.
According to her nose, they were near the cesspool that collected Terre Verte’s waste. Apparently, none of the guards were eager to spend their day inhaling the pungent odors. She avoided deep breaths, unable to blame them.
After several minutes of waiting to ensure they hadn’t missed any sentries, the two of them crawled through the undergrowth. She ignored the roots, rocks, and slithering bugs beneath her fingers. If she could stand up to Frederick himself, surely she could handle a few insects. Still, she shuddered.
Alert, heads down, they crossed the plantation at a sloth’s pace, stopping every ten yards to check for threats. On shaky limbs, she finally made it to the clearing that backed up to a row of two-room houses crammed together like books on a shelf.
Her partner in crime looked back at her. “At my signal, run into the alley.”
She nodded her agreement and waited as the seconds ticked by. Birds squawked overhead and a fishing boat droned from the nearby bay, but the laughter of children and the slapping sounds of women washing laundry were noticeably absent.
Dan jerked his head and launched to his feet, sprinting flat-out toward a break in the small homes. Alexa followed, adrenaline spiking her blood as she bolted toward him into the narrow passageway between a red house and a weathered gray one.
He pressed his back to one wall, and she mirrored him, ears straining for shouts or pounding feet over the beating of her heart. Nothing. After several minutes of waiting, they checked each other over for spiders and millipedes, then moved onto the deserted road.
“To the right,” Alexa said in a low voice.
Her companion nodded and turned right toward the town center. The normally bustling streets looked like an abandoned movie set. Within minutes, they arrived at a shanty with peeling green paint that had been converted to a children’s home.
Most of the kids had families who needed a place for their children to stay until they could afford to care for them again, but Flore was an orphan. Her father had been killed when his fishing boat capsized in a storm several years ago. Losing her mother to rebels back in April had been a vicious blow.
“The red one is the clinic.” Alexa made a move toward the adjacent building, but Dan held her back.
“Let me go first.” He scanned the oddly quiet streets and then mounted the wooden stairs.
At his knock, the door creaked open and they stepped
Finally, Dan reappeared and waved her forward to join him. “We need to go around.” He pointed.
Fifty yards ahead, a man in a red polo and tan cargo shorts stood in profile, smoking a cigarette with one hand, stroking the ugly machine gun strapped to his chest with the other.
To avoid the guard, they backtracked into the trees and walked further along the boundary, looking for another way in. She swatted at the bugs that swarmed her sweaty face, and tucked her hair behind her ears. What would she do if they couldn’t find a way into the village?
Alexa squeezed her hands into fists. Goddamn Frederick and his goddamned army. She understood their frustration at the lack of jobs and the slow pace of rebuilding, but she couldn’t abide their tactics. Much of St. Isidore’s infrastructure had been damaged in the recent hurricane. Unemployment was high, tourism was nonexistent, crops had been destroyed. The storm had decimated the island just as the people were beginning to recover from the earthquake that had struck three years ago.
But there had to be a better way to effect change.
At Dan’s direction, Alexa crouched and studied the village through a field of banana plants and low palm trees.
According to her nose, they were near the cesspool that collected Terre Verte’s waste. Apparently, none of the guards were eager to spend their day inhaling the pungent odors. She avoided deep breaths, unable to blame them.
After several minutes of waiting to ensure they hadn’t missed any sentries, the two of them crawled through the undergrowth. She ignored the roots, rocks, and slithering bugs beneath her fingers. If she could stand up to Frederick himself, surely she could handle a few insects. Still, she shuddered.
Alert, heads down, they crossed the plantation at a sloth’s pace, stopping every ten yards to check for threats. On shaky limbs, she finally made it to the clearing that backed up to a row of two-room houses crammed together like books on a shelf.
Her partner in crime looked back at her. “At my signal, run into the alley.”
She nodded her agreement and waited as the seconds ticked by. Birds squawked overhead and a fishing boat droned from the nearby bay, but the laughter of children and the slapping sounds of women washing laundry were noticeably absent.
Dan jerked his head and launched to his feet, sprinting flat-out toward a break in the small homes. Alexa followed, adrenaline spiking her blood as she bolted toward him into the narrow passageway between a red house and a weathered gray one.
He pressed his back to one wall, and she mirrored him, ears straining for shouts or pounding feet over the beating of her heart. Nothing. After several minutes of waiting, they checked each other over for spiders and millipedes, then moved onto the deserted road.
“To the right,” Alexa said in a low voice.
Her companion nodded and turned right toward the town center. The normally bustling streets looked like an abandoned movie set. Within minutes, they arrived at a shanty with peeling green paint that had been converted to a children’s home.
Most of the kids had families who needed a place for their children to stay until they could afford to care for them again, but Flore was an orphan. Her father had been killed when his fishing boat capsized in a storm several years ago. Losing her mother to rebels back in April had been a vicious blow.
“The red one is the clinic.” Alexa made a move toward the adjacent building, but Dan held her back.
“Let me go first.” He scanned the oddly quiet streets and then mounted the wooden stairs.
At his knock, the door creaked open and they stepped
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