Kerry grabbed his arm. “Por favor, no.”
“Is he your man?”
She stared into his obsidian eyes, knowing that what he had wanted most to do was frighten and humiliate them. “Yes,” she declared defiantly. “Yes, yes, he is. Please don’t kill him.” Again and again she repeated the imploring words. Finally the guerrilla lowered the pistol to his side. He issued orders sharply and quickly.
Kerry rushed to Linc’s side and assisted him to stand upright. “Hurry. He said we could go.”
Wincing, holding one arm across his middle, Linc glared at the leader. He wanted to pound that arrogant face to a pulp, and if it weren’t for Kerry and the children, he’d risk his life to do it. But she was tugging on his sleeve and pleading with him to get into the truck. Knowing that he was doing the wise thing, if not the thing he wanted to do, Linc turned away from the open challenge in the guerrilla’s eyes.
He gathered his cameras and film rapidly as Kerry herded the children into the back of the pickup. Bravely, she pushed aside the soldier who was holding the gun on Joe and helped the boy to his feet. The glower he gave the leader was as malevolent as Linc’s.
“Please, Joe, get inside the truck,” Kerry said. “I’m fine and we’re all alive. Let’s go.”
She stepped into the back of the pickup and gathered the smaller children against her. Linc came to the end of the truck. “I need my pistol and machete.” She asked the leader if he would return them.
“Tell your man to get in the truck and close the door.”
Kerry relayed the order to Linc. He grudgingly carried it out. The guerrilla swaggered over to the truck and laid the machete at Kerry’s feet. “I am no fool. I will not return the gun.”
Kerry passed along the message to Linc. He seemed inclined to argue, but changed his mind. He engaged the gears and drove the truck out of the clearing. Following the winding track through the jungle, they soon reached the road.
Before pulling onto it, he braked and stepped out of the cab. “I know it will be hotter than hell, but pull that tarp over you. We’re not going to take any more chances.”
He helped spread the canvas covering over the group of huddled children and gave Kerry a piercing look.
“Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” she said gruffly, lowering her gaze from that incisive, golden one.
He pulled the tarp over her. Moments later she heard the door closing. The truck wheezed into motion.
“What do you think?” Kerry asked in a low voice.
“It looks deserted.”
At the edge of the jungle, they had been watching the sugar plantation house for several minutes. There had been no sign of movement.
“It would be wonderful to spend the night under a roof.”
Linc glanced down at Kerry. When he had finally stopped the truck—having accidentally spotted the roof of the vacated plantation house—and peeled back the tarp, she and the children had looked like a wilted bouquet. Some of the children had fallen asleep against Kerry, burdening her even more. But not a single complaint had been forthcoming. Her endurance seemed unflagging. But now he saw the traces of weariness around her eyes and mouth.
“You stay here. I’ll take Joe and scout around.”
They were back in ten minutes. “It doesn’t look like there’s been anyone here in a long time. I think it will be all right. Do you want to ride or walk?” he asked her, getting behind the steering wheel of the truck.
“I think we’ve all had enough of the truck for today. The children and I will walk.”
She escorted the children across the sprawling yard of what must have been a lovely estate. It, however, like everything in the Central American country, had suffered the ravages of war. The white stucco walls were scarred and pockmarked with bullet holes. Vines had flourished to a fault. They had choked to death the other plants growing beneath the wide veranda, which now sagged in disrepair. Most of the windows had been broken out. The front door was missing.
But the large rooms had been shaded from the merciless sun and offered a welcome coolness that felt wonderful to Kerry and the children after having spent silent, sweltering hours beneath the tarpaulin in the back of the truck.
There was no electricity or gas in the kitchen, and Linc vetoed the idea of building a fire, so their supper consisted of cold beans straight from the can and sliced Spam. Luckily, even though the pipes were rusty, the water that came out of them was cool. Kerry bathed the children’s faces and hands and put them on pallets in one of the well-ventilated rooms.
From his lookout post at one of the wide front windows, Linc watched her as she moved among the children. She patiently listened to their lengthy prayers and told them of all the glorious things that awaited them in the United States.
The moon had come up over the tops of the trees and shone onto her hair through the windows. Earlier she had unraveled her braid and combed through it with her fingers. Now her hair shimmered like a skein of black silk over her shoulders and back, catching the silver moonlight on every strand, as she moved from one pallet to another. She lifted Lisa onto her lap, kissed the top of her dark, glossy head, and rocked her gently as she softly hummed a lullaby.
Linc wished to heaven he had a cigarette, anything in fact, to distract him. Even when he wasn’t looking at Kerry, he was aware of her every movement. And, curse him, he felt twinges of jealousy that it wasn’t his head cushioned on her breasts.