Chapter Twenty-Two 1 page

Fetch was pushing the hostages to their breaking point, but they had to continue moving on quickly, with few pauses. They would have only a six-to eight-hour head start at most after Barriga discovered their escape, and she couldn’t guarantee he’d single-mindedly pursue the obvious route toward town.

He had at least seventy guerrillas who weren’t showing symptoms the day before, men and women who could navigate through the jungle blindfolded and cover ground much more quickly and efficiently than her own crew. Many more rebels had probably become ill since she’d last checked on them, given the escalation in the number of victims from the night before. But Barriga might still have enough left healthy to dispatch search teams in all directions, especially since they had no valuable hostages left at camp to guard. And he could easily radio the news to other nearby encampments, asking for assistance.

They’d been traveling forward steadily, but slower than she’d have liked. Zoe had kept up with her from the beginning, but the Italians, the daughter in particular, had not been able to match the pace she wanted after the first hour or so, and kept lagging far behind. Adrenaline had sustained the hostages initially, but it was short-lived. They’d pushed on when exhaustion set in, and again when the hunger pangs first started. She knew they desperately needed calories, but she hadn’t dared stop to eat.

Now, an hour after dawn, they were on a steep, uphill climb and even she was struggling. The thin air was making it difficult to breathe even though she was acclimated to it. Her sides had started to hurt again, and her thigh, where Barriga had kicked her, was throbbing. She paused on an even piece of ground and turned to see how the rest were faring.

The Italians were far back, but Zoe, as always, was close behind her. She still wasn’t used to seeing Zoe wear her clothes. The sweatpants fit all right around the waist, but Fetch was three or four inches taller than Zoe so they really bagged around her ankles in an almost comical way. And Zoe’s breasts were bigger than hers, so the black long-sleeved T-shirt she’d given her was stretched tight across her chest.

Still, they fit her better and were in much better shape than the clothes the rebels had given the Italians. They were all wearing torn, faded peasant clothes that FARC enlistees had been glad to trade in for fatigues. Tino looked like a farmer in black cotton trousers and oversized gray shirt; Marcella wore brown men’s trousers, a too-tight beige T-shirt, and a traditional fringed shawl; and Octavia was in faded navy sweatpants and a round-necked pink blouse that once had lace around the edges.

“Tired?”

“Seriously?” Zoe managed to say, between big gulps for air. Her surgical mask dented in and out sharply with each gasp. “You have to ask?” she practically barked back.

Yup, the natives were getting restless. “Hungry?” Fetch dared inquire.

Zoe bent over to clutch her knees. “I could even eat you right now,” she replied as she fought to catch her breath.

Fetch tried to keep a straight face. Surely Zoe hadn’t meant that the way it came out, but it was funny, and a disturbingly exciting image nevertheless.

“And, yes, I realize what I just said.” Zoe wheezed. “But I’m too tired and hungry to rephrase.” She looked up at Fetch. “We must be in China by now. God, can we eat yet?”

Fetch laughed. “Most call me God, but you can call me Gianna.”

Zoe stood. “That’s your name?”

Fetch nodded.

“It sounds very…” Zoe gestured with her hand, while she tried to place it. “Italian.”

“I guess.”

“At least it’s the only other place I’ve heard it.” Zoe looked at her curiously. “But you’re not Italian.”

“Yes and no.”

“I knew you looked different.”

The Italian family neared, and Tino called out, “Medica, we need to eat. My daughter is weak.”

“Take off your gear,” Fetch said, shedding her backpack. She set her rifle against a tree. “Time to eat.”

“Thank God. Or, rather, Gianna.” Zoe exhaled loudly as she slid her rucksack off her shoulders and sat down beside it. “Are we ordering in, and where’s the menu?”

“Don’t get too comfortable.” Fetch fished into her backpack and withdrew a tin of beans, spoon, and can opener. “We have to eat on the way.” She peeled back the lid of her can and handed the opener to Zoe.

Zoe took it and reached into her rucksack for her own can. “Great. By the time we’re done eating, we’ll be starving again.”

“We can’t stop.” Fetch stretched to remove the ache from her shoulders while the can opener was passed to the Italian family. From this height, she could see a good distance back in the direction they’d come. So far, she could find no sign anyone was pursuing them. Yet.

Once everyone had their cans open, she reshouldered her backpack and looped the sling of her rifle over her shoulder. She was about to get them moving again when Tino crouched and pulled the mask off his daughter. The family had stopped several feet away from her and Zoe.

“You have to eat,” he said in Italian.

Octavia was sitting on a large rock half-buried in the slope, her face pointed downward as though she was staring at the ground. When Tino put his hand beneath her chin to raise her head, Octavia coughed weakly.

Fetch froze when blood trickled down one side of the girl’s mouth. Looking closer, she could see that Octavia was soaked in sweat, with black circles under her eyes. She looked listlessly at her father, as though having trouble focusing.

“I never thought I’d enjoy eating this crap,” Zoe said from behind her.

When Fetch didn’t respond Zoe asked, “What are you…bollocks, is she sick?”

“Damn,” Fetch said under her breath. She stood in silence while Tino and Marcella quietly fussed over their daughter, speaking Italian. Marcella said they had to move on, not let the others find out. “For at least a day or two, from the looks of it,” she told Zoe quietly.

Zoe had risen and was standing beside her. “Why didn’t they say something?”

“Denial at first.”

“Then they were afraid they’d get left behind.”

“I knew some of you might be…” Fetch took a deep breath. “How didn’t I see this?” she said to herself, rubbing her face.

“Because it was dark when we left, and they’ve been keeping her far behind us the whole time.”

“God damn it.”

“They’re just trying to survive.”

Fetch turned to look at her. “By putting us all in danger.”

“Can you blame them?” Zoe still held her half-eaten can of beans. She set it down and picked up her mask to put it back on.

“No, I can’t,” Fetch finally replied. The two of them stood watching the family in silence for another minute. Now and then, Marcella glanced their way, but quickly returned her attention to Octavia.

“I would probably have done the same,” Zoe said quietly.

Fetch studied her for a long while, looking for any hint she was infected. Zoe seemed healthy, aside from a few scratches she’d gotten on her face and neck from the dense jungle undergrowth.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Zoe said. “I’m fine.”

But Fetch continued to scrutinize her, panic slowly rising to the surface.

“I swear, I’m fine.” Zoe glared daggers at her. “Never better, picture of health, etcetera, etcetera.”

Fetch looked back to the Italians. The daughter was weakly trying to refuse the beans her mother was forcing through her lips with a spoon. Some ended up in her mouth, some on the ground, and some on the front of her shirt.

“What do we do now?” Zoe asked.

“If the girl’s this progressed, it’s only a matter of time before the parents start showing symptoms, and before they infect us.” Fetch faced away from them all to clear her head. “It takes about a week to begin showing symptoms. Which means she was infected before we knew about this and began to take precautions.”

She felt Zoe’s hand on her shoulder. “What are our chances of having it, too?”

The chances were high, but Fetch couldn’t let herself believe that, much less take away Zoe’s hope. “Can’t say for sure. These three have been bunking together, and they’ve been here a lot longer and have weaker immune systems. Malnutrition and untended infections make them a lot more vulnerable. You haven’t been here long, and we’re both in a much better physical state.”

“I hope you’re right,” Zoe said.

That makes two of us, Fetch thought.

Zoe looked back at the Italians. “Even if they’re going to…die, we can’t leave them behind.”

“Every minute we waste, the guerrillas gain,” Fetch replied. Zoe was right. She couldn’t walk away, but she also couldn’t do anything to change their destiny. Octavia wouldn’t be able to travel much farther. And her parents would likely be in the same state soon.

Fetch turned back toward the Italian family. Tino looked up and saw her staring. “She’s just tired,” he said, wiping at his forehead with his sleeve.

They’d all been hiking with heavy rucksacks, but it was still early and cool, with a light breeze. Neither she nor Zoe was visibly sweating, especially after a few minutes’ rest, but Tino sure was.

“We will be ready in a minute. A few minutes,” he begged, looking from Fetch to Zoe.

“We’re not going anywhere without you,” Zoe assured him and turned to Fetch.

“Zoe, we can’t wait for a miracle,” she said quietly.

“Please don’t do this. They’ve made it this far.”

“It’ll be another three days at least before we reach the safe house,” Fetch told her. “None of them will survive it.”

“I can’t leave them behind,” Zoe said resolutely. “I have to—”

“To what, Zoe? Let them slow us down until Barriga’s men catch us? Octavia has maybe only hours left.”

“Then we’ll go at their pace until she does.”

“And do the same with the parents until they die, too?”

“Yes, if we have to.”

“You’re playing with your life.”

“Maybe, but I can’t live with myself knowing that I walked away from three dying people,” Zoe said. “Look, I don’t have the right to ask you to do this for me, for them, especially since you’d be risking your own life. But both of us know we don’t stand a chance without you, so I’m begging you, Gianna.”

Fetch paced, her mind racing. She couldn’t leave Zoe behind; that was out of the question. But Zoe was also in danger if they stayed with the Italians. And so was she. If she got sick, then Zoe would be on her own anyway.

“They’re not bloody roadkill,” Zoe said. “These are human beings who’ve managed to escape one nightmare only to find themselves in another.”

“Don’t you think I know that? They’re the reason I’m here in the first place,” Fetch said. She’d risked her life to enter the FARC and had put up with their cruelty and injustices only so she could save lives.

She lived to save; she existed to serve. She knew victory only when she saw elation in the hostages and soldiers she had freed, and felt happiness only when she delivered them to their families. Maybe most of her best moments were borrowed, and even vicarious, but that’s all she’d known, except for a brief moment in her life.

Leaving a wounded soldier behind was never an option. And when it was clear they’d never survive, you stayed to whisper false reassurances, listen to their last gasp, and shut their eyes when they were gone. She never walked away until the last man standing was she. But a soldier also calculated the risks to their own self-preservation. Because even when the face of death became as familiar as that of an old friend, it never made the prospect of dying any easier. On the contrary, it only made the hunger for life stronger. Why had Sam disregarded her own safety and desire to live, and why did Zoe have to be just as stubborn?

“What does that mean…that they’re the reason you’re here in the first place?” Zoe asked.

“It means we’ll keep them with us and push on as long as Octavia is able to travel. And reevaluate the situation then. But I want you and me to keep a distance from them always.”

She allowed the Italians another few minutes’ rest, watching Octavia closely. The girl’s mother made her drink some water, while Tino took almost everything from her rucksack and stuffed it into his and Marcella’s. Together, they got her to her feet, with one on each side, supporting her weight.

“We’re ready now, Medica,” Tino said. “She’s just very tired, but we’ll help her.”

And so they pushed on, but at a much slower pace, with Fetch constantly looking over her shoulder.

Zoe exhaled her relief when they began moving together again, with the doc keeping a pace the Italians could manage. She was putting herself and the medic in danger, but how could she desert the only people who’d been kind to her? She hoped Gianna’s decision to take a less obvious, more obscure escape route would help delay the rebels’ pursuit.

For a while they went on as before, but pausing more frequently to rest, about once every hour or two. At the first stop, she noticed blood on Octavia’s mask, but no one, not even the doctor, said a word about it. Not long after, Tino started coughing behind her, though he tried to suppress it. At a later stop, he coughed more, and both he and his wife were visibly sweating. Octavia was talking to herself, clearly hallucinating, but still no one dared speak of what was happening.

Zoe was alarmed at the speed with which all three were deteriorating. Soon, she could hear both Octavia and Tino coughing frequently. But she was also impressed by the parents’ determination to keep going at whatever cost. In the early afternoon, she glanced back to check on them and realized the Italians had shed two of their rucksacks in order to be able to stay upright. Tino and Marcella were nearly dragging Octavia now, struggling to support her weight and keep her going.

Dusk was fast approaching when Tino yelled that they needed to stop, and she looked back to find Octavia on her knees by the side of the trail, vomiting, her mother beside her, holding her.

Zoe approached the family, aware that Octavia was not wearing her mask. When the girl stopped vomiting, Marcella laid her down and cradled her daughter’s head in her lap. Octavia’s eyes closed.

Gianna had followed Zoe and stood a few feet behind her.

“She’ll be better soon,” Tino said to both of them.

“No, she won’t, Tino.” The doctor sounded tired as she rubbed her eyes. “She has the virus.”

Though it had been painfully obvious all day, the mother wasn’t ready to hear her worst fears confirmed. She started to sob, and Zoe went to her.

“I’m sorry, Marcella.” She put her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“She cannot go on. What will we do now?” Marcella asked.

“We’re not leaving without you,” Zoe said again. She dug in her rucksack for her toilet roll and water. After she soaked a large wad of the tissue, she sat by the sick girl and placed it on her forehead.

“Please let me,” Marcella said. “No need for you to be close to us.”

“I have my mask on,” Zoe replied.

Marcella grabbed the wet paper. “No. It’s not safe with us.” Octavia was shaking, and she was mumbling something in Italian, apparently delirious.

Zoe moved away to let Marcella treat her.

“You cannot stay here. They will find you,” Tino said.

Zoe looked at the doctor, pleading with her eyes.

The doc gave her an almost imperceptible nod. “Probably, but we’re staying together.”

Tino picked up his daughter’s hand and whispered some endearment. Tears were in his eyes when he looked back to the doctor. “So we can die together?”

“We’ll hide,” Zoe replied.

“You cannot hide from these people,” he told Zoe. “They follow your smell like dogs.” He gave the doc an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Medica, but it’s true. You are not like them, but your people…they are evil.”

“I know,” Gianna replied.

Marcella stroked her daughter’s hair, and Octavia went quiet and lay unmoving in her lap. “How long does she have?”

“I’m not sure,” the doctor replied. “Hours. Maybe until tomorrow morning.”

Tino’s tears turned into sobs. “And then it’s our turn.”

“Don’t say that,” Zoe said. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do, Zoe. Look at us. Marcella and I, we already have it.” He took off his mask and Zoe saw dried blood around his mouth and on his beard. “I’m sorry we lied. But we did not want to believe that we would die in that prison. We want so much to go home.”

“You don’t have to apologize. What you did was human. You wanted to save your family,” Gianna said.

“Yes, and now look,” Tino said. “We are all dying anyway, and we put you in danger, too.”

“We’ll be fine.” Zoe stooped and took the man’s hands to console him. “We’re fine.”

“But for how long?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Zoe replied.

“Maybe we already gave it to you,” Tino said, his voice breaking. “You have been close to us many times since they brought you here. Ate with us, drank from our water.”

Zoe couldn’t meet Gianna’s eyes. She knew she’d find compassion and affirmation of what Tino had said, and she wasn’t prepared for that struggle yet. If death was coming for her, she’d face it when the time came and not a second before. She couldn’t let fear consume her.

“Maybe,” the doctor replied. “But we’ll deal with that later.” It was like Gianna had read her mind.

Shocked at her response, Zoe looked up at Gianna. Not because of what she had said, but how she delivered it—stone cold, almost indifferent.

“How long do we have?” Tino asked the doctor.

“It’s hard to say. I can’t be—”

“How long?” he repeated.

“Maybe a day.”

Tino got up and paced, scratching his beard. After a while, he faced the doctor. “Can I talk to you alone?”

The two of them walked several feet away and began talking in low voices. Zoe felt left out, but she understood the sentiment of a private conversation with a doctor.

“I can’t do that,” Gianna said, loud enough for her to hear.

“You have to. Do it for her,” Tino replied.

Gianna looked in Zoe’s direction. For an instant, Zoe saw concern in her eyes, immediately replaced by a cold, empty stare. Almost like she was seeing through her. What was going on? Was Tino asking her to leave them behind?

“Then tell her yourself,” Gianna said.

Tino came to stand over her. “Zoe,” he said hesitantly, “I have asked the doctor to take you and leave.”

“No!”

“Please. You cannot stay here. We will stay with our daughter until she is gone and then…” Marcella met his eyes.

“Wait here until you die?” Zoe asked.

“We will die anyway, the geography does not matter. But you are still well and we want you to go home to your father.” He wiped a stray tear from his eye. “I know how much you miss him. Do not give up on home, Zoe. If you stay, we will make you sick, and if we don’t, the guerrillas will find you. Either way you die because of us.” He shook his head and looked lovingly at his wife and daughter. “I am not a murderer. I want to die knowing that at least one of us beat these devils and got out of this hell alive.”

Zoe turned to the doctor. Gianna gazed at her, and this time, her stare was not distant. Caring and concerned, it also contained something stronger and more intimate. Gianna finally nodded.

Zoe got to her feet and turned to Tino, tears streaming down her face. “All right. We’ll go.” She wanted to hug him good-bye and hold Marcella, the woman who had helped her from their very first meeting, but she couldn’t. They wouldn’t let her close, afraid they might infect her. She wept as she walked away and Gianna approached the family for a few final words.

The doctor joined her not long after, and they headed away from the family in silence. When Zoe couldn’t fight the need any longer, she turned for a last look at them. Tino and Marcella held their daughter between them as they cried.

Chapter Twenty-Three

More than four hours of nonstop walking had passed since they’d left the Italians, Fetch noted, glancing at her watch, and Zoe still hadn’t said a word. She never complained about exhaustion or hunger, and took a few sips of water only after Fetch insisted. Zoe never even slowed; she just quietly complied by pulling out her water bottle, drinking as she walked.

Fetch wasn’t sure what drove Zoe on since they’d left the family, but she functioned as if on autopilot. Devoid of any emotion, she marched on. Her gaze focused in the far distance, but the expression in her eyes seemed blind to anything beyond the thoughts in her head. People had different mechanisms to deal with sorrow, and silence was evidently Zoe’s medicine of choice. Fetch understood and gave her the space, but she was leery of the volcano that might erupt.

They strode on for another ninety minutes, until Fetch spotted a level clearing at the bottom of the slope they were descending. It was nearly midnight, and her head was ready to explode; another headache had been building all evening. She halted at the grassy spot and took off her backpack and rifle. Zoe had been keeping pace with her, but staying sixty to eighty feet behind. When she caught up, Fetch said, “We need to stop for a while and rest.”

“Not on my account,” Zoe replied coldly.

“We’ve been walking for almost twenty-four hours. We’re far enough now to take advantage of the dark and get a couple hours’ sleep.”

Zoe shook her head. “I’m not tired.”

“It’s the adrenaline. After you sit down, you’ll realize how tired you are.”

“Jesus, I am talking out loud, aren’t I?” Zoe snapped. “I said I’m fine.”

Fetch tried to keep an even temper. She, too, was exhausted, hungry, and sore. Although Zoe had every reason to be angry and upset, Fetch was too tired for discussions. And her headache made it difficult to think. “It’s not a request, Zoe. I’m calling a time-out.” She sat down and stretched her legs out in front of her.

Zoe remained standing, her arms folded across her chest defiantly. “Of course,” she said, her voice dripping sarcasm. “Don’t let what I want sway you from your decision.”

Fetch leaned against her backpack and sighed, wishing the pain behind her eyes would subside. “Fine. Do it for me. Do it because I’m too exhausted to move, and my head and every other body part Barriga kicked is killing me.”

“Let’s get one thing straight.” Zoe flung off her rucksack and sat down opposite her. “Just because you developed a conscience, or decided on a bloody career change,” Zoe pointed at her, “I don’t owe you any favors.”

“I never said you did.” The volcano had started to rumble and Fetch didn’t have enough energy to quiet it. “But unless you’re prepared to carry me, I need to rest.”

“Whatever,” Zoe said, with a dismissive gesture.

Fetch casually pulled off her mask and tossed it beside her. At Zoe’s sharp intake of breath, she explained, “Since there’s only two of us now, I guess we can take turns. I’ll ditch mine when we rest. You can take yours off when we hike, since you’re less acclimated to the altitude. It’ll help you breathe.”

“Whatever you say. You call the shots.”

“That’s right.”

“I can see how democracy is a foreign concept for you people.”

Fetch ignored her and when Zoe didn’t talk again she finally closed her eyes. She didn’t know how much time had passed when Zoe broke the blissful silence.

“I don’t know how you can live with yourself. You walked away from those people like they didn’t matter. Like they were an inconvenience.”

“Not true,” Fetch said, without opening her eyes. “I was willing to wait. And walking away was just as difficult for me.”

“Really?” Zoe said. “Because I had to convince you to stay, and you jumped at the first opportunity to get out of there.”

Fetch looked at her. “Only because you agreed to.”

“Don’t you dare put this on me.”

“We’d still be there if you hadn’t—”

Zoe cut her off, spewing rage, her voice louder with every word. “You are cold, selfish, and cowardly for trying to blame me.”

“I’m not blaming you. You made the right—”

Zoe laughed inanely. “I mean, seriously, I must be an idiot for putting my life in your hands. Trusting one of the barbarians that got me here. A self-serving, kidnapping murderer.”

Fetch forced herself to remain calm in the face of her own rising anger. “I know you’re upset and need someone to take it out on. So if this…” she gestured from herself to Zoe, “makes you feel better, then by all means. But can you resume in an hour?” Fetch laid her head back against her pack. She needed a few more moments of silence as much as Zoe needed someone to blame for the decision to leave the others behind.

But Zoe continued to rant. “Nothing I can say will make me feel better because you don’t give a shit about what I think anyway. I know I can’t hurt you because you don’t have a conscience. They ask you to steal, hurt, and kill, and you do it. Only a sociopath can do that without emotion.” Zoe shifted closer to Fetch until they were a foot away from each other. “Tell me, soldier, what’s it like to kill? I know what you did to that guard last night with your knife. How did that make you feel?”

“Enough, Zoe.” Fetch’s hands were shaking. She’d relied on pills too long to know how to deal with emotions without them, and right now she was fighting the urge to scream against the sting of Zoe’s accusations, even if some were true. She rubbed her temples, trying to will away the pain, and strove to keep her voice steady. “I think it’s time you stopped talking.”

Zoe got up on her knees and leaned over Fetch until her mouth was next to Fetch’s ear. “Don’t think. You’re not a thinker, soldier,” she hissed with enough venom to kill an elephant. “You’re a machine that jumps to orders and kills on command.” She pulled away to glare at Fetch. “You disgust me, soldier.”

Truths clashed with lies, and right now, Fetch didn’t know what was real. Without thinking, she grabbed Zoe by the waist and threw her down. Fetch pinned her to the ground with her body and roughly restrained Zoe’s hands above her head.

“You’re hurting me,” Zoe cried, struggling to free herself.

Over her, blind with fury, Fetch kept her voice low and menacing. “Don’t ever assume to know what I’ve done.” Zoe stilled and stopped struggling. “Or what I’ve seen or endured. Don’t ever assume to know who I am. Do you understand?”

When Zoe didn’t answer, Fetch pressed even closer, until her face was nearly touching Zoe’s mask. “Do you?” she demanded between gritted teeth.

“Yes,” Zoe replied with a quivering voice.

“Because of people like me, people like you get to see another day.” Fetch pushed herself up and away from Zoe. “I intend to get twenty minutes’ rest and I don’t want to hear another word.” She reached into her backpack for the bottle of ibuprofen and downed four pills with a bit of water, ignoring Zoe as she settled back again against the pack. She shut her eyes to ease the pain in her head, as Zoe’s words, “You disgust me, soldier,” created an ache in another part of her body.

Munich, Germany

October 22

It took two full days for Domino and Allegro to catch up with and interview all Gunther Zimmerman’s neighbors, friends, coworkers, and students. Those who were still walking around without symptoms, anyway. Several people who’d encountered the botany professor were either dead or dying in the university medical center.

The neighbor who had found his body, a widow who often brought him meals and had a key to his apartment, was among the deceased. But on their second visit to the complex, they had found her daughter packing up her mother’s things. She told them her mom was already feeling ill when she discovered the body and passed away less than forty-eight hours later.

A thorough search of Zimmerman’s apartment yielded no clues about how he’d been infected or evidence he knew anything about the virus or was in a plot to spread it. They took his address book with them and called every friend and business contact listed, with no success.

And they struck out as well at the university. None of the professor’s surviving students, or the faculty who had offices near his, remembered anything helpful. They were dependent on the security-camera video for any leads.

They sent the photos of everyone who interacted with Zimmerman to Reno to match with university records and drivers’ license photos. After striking out with all the tapes from October first, they went back a day to September thirtieth and did the same, drawing another blank. They’d spent most of today combing through video from the following day, October second. They traced all the professor’s interactions that day during business hours first; Reno was currently identifying those individuals.

Allegro sat at the desk in her hotel suite, staring at the laptop screen, while Domino ate the pizza she’d ordered from room service in the room next door. Since they’d discovered the rip in Domino’s mask, each had always worn her mask when they were together, and Domino took her meals in the other room so she could remove hers to eat. Allegro had tried to talk to her about it several times, but Domino always told her to get her mind back on the job.

Date: 2015-01-11; view: 682