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Once again, she’d cut and run. It wasn’t the first time Juneau had chosen the highway, just the occasion she felt guiltiest about. She always wanted to help . . . at first. Until she hit that personal wall and realized she couldn’t take it anymore.
She could’ve stayed. Kept working for the Red Cross. But the worse things got in Puerto López, the more she wanted to get away. Sure, she knew terrible things happened in the world, but she didn’t want to see them. She preferred her pocket universe, where she controlled the flow of information. Head in the sand, an old boyfriend had called her. Well, yeah. And she recognized the futility of it, but she’d never seen the point of moping over what she couldn’t change. Just keep moving; keep looking for the next shiny thing. Maybe it wouldn’t save the world, but she’d live a relatively happy life, at least.
Salango might’ve been a quaint fishing village, smaller than Puerto López—before the quake. Her hope that they would find normalcy here died as they came into town. Though the damage was somewhat less, away from the epicenter, she saw no signs they could find transportation or a functioning infrastructure. The bottled water wouldn’t last much longer either, and she wanted a shower. Desperately.
The building materials were such that it hadn’t taken much stress to topple the houses and business, and people were picking through the wreckage. And worse? Here, people had set up barricades, protecting their territory and the salvage that lay within it. Armed men stood ready to defend them. It seemed surreal that they would fight over piles of wood and cement, just for a chance at what might be buried there, but then she saw the dirty, big-eyed children peering around the roadblocks. That, she thought. That’s why.
“It’s no better here,” she said softly.
Right now one of those chicken buses she’d bitched about earlier in the year sounded pretty damn good. Unfortunately, they had to keep walking south. What town came next? Puerto Rico. But she didn’t know how far it was; she hoped Silas did.
“But we can’t leave without finding supplies,” he answered. “Let’s cut around this street and see what the rest is like.”
There was no official aid here—not yet—and nobody to manage hostilities. The military would be sending troops, but earthquakes could rock the world in up to a one-hundred-kilometer radius. It would take time to determine the areas most in need of pacification and deploy soldiers appropriately. Meanwhile, the folks in Salango were on their own. The gunmen stared after them, eyes cold and watchful, but they made no moves. Juneau felt that regard until they turned the corner.
In the distance, the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire echoed, chilling her blood. “Somebody challenged them?”
“Maybe. Could be warning shots.” But from his somber expression, he didn’t think so.
That brought it home to her then. This wasn’t an adventure. It wasn’t a joke. She was stuck in ravaged Ecuador with no food, no money, and a stranger who had dug her out of a death pit. Christ almighty. Her breath went in a whoosh.
“I . . . need to sit down for a minute.” Blindly, she put out her hands and found her way to the broken curb. The earth itself had buckled a short distance away. Across the street, two stray dogs were fighting—one black and one dun—over a hunk of meat. In this situation, it might even be human, and the thought was more than she could bear.
He knelt beside her and took her chin in his fingers, tilting her face up. “It’s not the heat. Not dehydration?”
“No. It’s
just sinking in. How screwed we are.” She laughed at her own stupidity. “I’m the original proponent for performing without a net, but this . . . shit. Even I’m scared now.”
More gunfire. Screaming. Real. It was real. And the people she’d run away from? Also real. The children she’d taught and her coworkers in the coalition, all gone. Shaking set in. If she hadn’t gone shopping, if he hadn’t found her—
He hesitated and then spun to sit beside her. His arm went around her shoulders; for a giant, his touch felt delicate. But his body felt solid. Immovable. If she’d had to wind up in this mess, she could’ve done worse for a companion.
“Just breathe. Don’t think about it. Sometimes the only way you stay sane is living in the now. No past. No future. Get through this minute. Then tackle the next.”
Juneau relaxed by millimeters, despite her desperation. She remembered how he’d spoken to her while he worked to get her out. God, she’d been so scared. No air. His tone was the same now—soft and soothing, echoed by the slow stroke of his big hand up and down her biceps. And it felt good.
“I’m okay,” she said eventually.
To her relief, he didn’t ask questions. He just pulled her to her feet, and they continued on. Near the outskirts of town, they found the ruins of a small store. But before they could check it out, two men, both armed, came around the side of the building.
The shorter one glared and lofted his pistol. “Vete a la chingada.”
“He said—”
“I know what he said.” Silas planted his feet, drawing up to his full height. “Tell him we need food and water and we can’t leave without those provisions.”
This so wasn’t a good idea. But she translated nonetheless. Now the taller one scowled, bringing his gun up, but it wasn’t bravado. He removed the safety and aimed it at her heart. They were willing to kill over these odds and ends.
“We should leave,” she whispered to Silas.
“This place is ours,” the taller man said in Spanish. “Leave now, or I shoot your woman.”
Silas slid in front of her. Despite the danger, he seemed fearless, as if he thought himself bulletproof. “Not happening.”
He extended a hand, made a quick twist in the air, and the bigger one screamed, clutching his wrist. His weapon clattered to the pavement. Silas sucked in a pained breath and turned his gaze to the other, who gaped at his moaning friend. Then his expression hardened, and his finger tightened on the trigger. Silas repeated the gesture, and the second man howled in anguish. This time, she heard an audible snap, as if from a broken bone. They cowered before Silas, eyes filled with terror.
What the hell—
