Chapter 9
9
T hat night, Miriam lay on her cot, sleep eluding her as the day’s horrors played over and over in her mind.
Dr. Villogas had come to her first thing in the morning, informing her that she needed to accompany him to a nearby village where one of the weakened buildings had collapsed during the night, injuring a number of workers.
Looking around at the infirmary needs, she asked, “Can’t Sharon go with you?”
She was surprised at his reaction, noting for the first time the lines of fatigue around his eyes. His face contorted in a grimace and then it was quickly replaced by his typical expression of superiority.
“No,” he replied sharply. “I want you with me.”
Sighing deeply, she nodded. “Fine. Let me inform Sister Genovia that she’ll be short-handed today,” she said testily.
Fifteen minutes later the two were in the back of a jeep bouncing over the rough roads leading toward a village. Neither speaking, Miriam held on to the side of the rollbar, attempting to keep her teeth from clattering as the bone-jarring potholes continued. Tall trees lined the cart path they were on, with nothing but vegetation as far as she could see.
The trees finally fell away, and farmland was on either side of the road. A few houses came into sight and, as they rounded another bend, came to the village. She could see the men working to haul off the rubble from the collapsed building. On the ground nearby was a large tarp with several bodies lying on top, the wails of families heard above the workers’ equipment.
A man waved the jeep over and they were taken to a makeshift infirmary, similar to what she had seen before. Inside were about seven men with various injuries. She quickly went to work, auto-pilot kicking in. Assess the injuries. Prioritize. Stabilize.
She and Dr. Villogas worked side by side for several hours until the last of the injuries had been seen. Several women from the village came at noon and brought a meal for them. Accepting the food gratefully, Miriam sat in a corner for a few minutes eating the simple fare. One of the women motioned for her to follow and as she did, she was grateful when the woman showed her to a latrine. Smiling her thanks, she was able to quickly take care of her business, glad that the woman anticipated her needs .
A few more hours of work in the early afternoon and then they were back in the jeep, bouncing along. Fatigue was showing and she noticed Dr. Villogas kept glancing her way.
“Are you all right?” he eventually asked.
All right? A rude snort escaped as she turned to look at him. “I don’t even know how to answer that.”
He had the good grace to look askance before the jeep slowed down to navigate a nasty turn in the rutted road. She noticed that they had taken a different road out of the village than they had going in, but the explanation was only that there may be trouble on the other road. Not understanding the reason, she turned from Ernesto and gazed to her side of the road.
Miriam’s eyes latched onto the sight up ahead in the grass. The stench of death rose from the ground…littered with body parts. Hacked off legs, arms, torso…and heads.
A scream erupted from her lips as she clasped a hand over her mouth. Dr. Villogas’ eyes darted to see what the cause was when his eyes landed on the carnage.
“Goddamnit,” he cursed, then yelled for the driver to get them out of there and then stop. When they had moved away from the site of terror, the jeep came to a jolting halt. Dr. Villogas jumped out and ran to the other side, reaching in and pulling Miriam out of the vehicle.
Dragging her body to the side of the road, he knelt down beside her, holding her head as she retched into the grass. Weakened, she leaned heavily onto him, shaking uncontrollably, unable to sit on her own. After several long minutes, she raised her head looking into his face, which at that moment appeared to be as ravaged as her own.
“Wh…wha…” she stammered, unable to articulate.
Sucking in a ragged breath, he said, “War.”
Her brow knitted in confusion at his one-word explanation.
“Cartel wars,” he added.
The extra word hardly gave her any indication as to what she had witnessed, and she continued to stare at him dumbly.
Drawing in another ragged breath, he looked at her face. “Wars are fought all over the world, Miriam. I realize it hasn’t touched you, but in many parts of the world wars are a way of life.”
She said nothing…just continued to stare.
“I’ve lived my whole life here in Sinaloa except for attending the University of Guadalajara for college and medical school.” He paused before continuing, spearing her with a stare. “My. Whole. Life.”
She gave a short nod, feeling that some response was expected but still had no idea what he was saying.
“My father was a farmer. Like his father and his father before him. Mangoes until the cartels moved in and marijuana became the crop that was forced on the farmers. My parents tried to resist, but we had to eat. Now that marijuana is legalized, that cash crop has dried up and poppy is now planted on many of the farms that used to supply food to our nation.”
“You…you were in college. Why did you come back?” she asked. “You could have gotten out. ”
“Your white-bread American upbringing,” he scoffed. “I was smart. Went to school, got a scholarship, became a doctor. All because that was what the cartel wanted. And the plan was for me to come back and work here.”
“But why did you come back when you could have been free?”
“My family was here,” he growled. “Here. Under their thumb.”
The realization that he had been held hostage at one time, although differently, struck her. “You felt like you couldn’t leave.”
Shaking his head, he said, “Not as long as my family was here.” He saw her expression and bit out, “Don’t pity me. I got off the farm. I live in a big house with my trophy wife and sons. I have money, prestige, and don’t have to get my hands in the dirt.”
Pressing her fingers to her lips once again, she fought back the tears that threatened to come. “Back there?” she asked, nodding toward the road.
“I told you. Cartel wars. The money to be made here is insane. And there is always someone who wants to control the flow of fortune. The…retribution…for that, is what you saw. It serves as not only a way to get rid of insurgents but to publicly display the results as a deterrent.”
“You took an oath as a doctor. How can you condone that when you took an oath?” she asked, her voice shaking with fear and anger.
“I don’t do that,” he growled. “That massacre was not me. You’ve seen me. I patch them up, not tear them apart.” Taking her by the shoulders, he gave her a shake. “Don’t you get it? I’m trapped here, just like you are. I work to do what I can to make their lives…the lives of those like my father…better.”
“But you take their generosity. You live high, you live well.”
The quiet of the moment was broken only by the birds squawking in the tall trees that lined the road. The driver, not understanding English, still sat in the jeep eyeing the two. Letting go of her shoulders, Ernesto leaned back on his heels staring at the beauty in front of him. It had been a long time since he had witnessed that kind of passion. But her naivety could get her killed.
“All it would take is one nod from you, and I can give you that as well. Better food, a better place to lay your head at night. Clothes, jewels. Most importantly…protection.”
Her brow once again knitted in question. He watched in fascination as understanding dawned on her. And anger was quick to follow.
“You? You’re offering me a chance out of this hell if I become your mistress? What kind of man does that?”
“You think that’s a bad thing?” he asked incredulously. Leaning in closely, he said, “You’re a good nurse, Miriam, and a good woman. You need to get this though. I am your only way out of here.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper as she asked, “You can get me home?”
Guilt flashed across his face before being replaced with irritation. “No. You’re never going home again. They can’t take that risk. But I can offer you protection and a standard of living that you’ve never experienced before.”
The quiet settled around them once again. Exhaustion was overtaking her as she accused, “That’s what you’re offering Sharon, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he admitted readily. “She’s not stupid. She knows what I can offer and is smart enough to take me up on that.”
Placing her hand on the ground, she pushed herself up. Standing on shaky legs, she accepted his hand as he stood with her. Looking into his eyes, she pulled her lips in. “You have to know that’s not me.”
His eyes jerked to the side, his face granite hard. His gaze found hers once more and he said, “I know. That’s why I want to help you. Sharon? She’s just a fuck. Not really even a mistress that I’ll keep but just a fuck I can protect. But you? You’re different.”
“We need to get back.” Turning, she moved toward the jeep and hauled herself into the seat.
Ernesto joined her, shouting to the driver to proceed. She caught him glancing at her during the uneventful rest of the journey. What does he expect from me? How can he think I would want to stay? Reaching the compound, she allowed him to assist her from the jeep, not sure if her legs would hold her.
“I can help you,” he whispered smoothly. “You’re determined to be independent, but this place will eventually break you. And when you crack, I’ll be here to pick up the pieces.”
She lifted her tired gaze to his, knowing her attempt at a glare was underwhelming. Steeling herself, she pulled her hand from his and walked toward her building. You’re wrong, Dr. Villogas. I won’t break.
Now, it was evening and Miriam lay in her cot listening to the sounds of Lorainne’s ragged breathing. Sister Genovia had spent the day working over the injured and ill and the evening hours nursing Lorainne. Sharon was nowhere to be seen after the shift in the infirmary. In fact, I did not see her after Dr. Villogas left.
Lorainne was fading quickly, as though once her will to survive disappeared, her body was soon following. Miriam tended her for most of the evening and now Sister Genovia was bending over the ill woman, patting her brow with a damp cloth.
The wind outside was beginning to howl and the window shutters clacked against the force.
Miriam’s eyes met the nun’s as she walked nearby to wet the cloth again. The older woman opened her mouth and closed it quickly several times.
“Are you alright?” Miriam asked.
“I should be asking you that,” Sister Genovia said, referring to the tale that Miriam told her when she returned to the infirmary that afternoon.
No words came and the older woman seemed to understand that. Walking over to Miriam, she bent down closely to her face. “I have seen you with the large man.”
Miriam gasped, and her eyes widened in fright.
“No, no, it is all right. You have been completely discrete,” the nun assured her. “I’m more in tuned to others than most.”
Not willing to admit anything, wanting to trust Sister Genovia but the events of the day still too fresh to face betrayal, she just stared into the warm eyes holding her gaze.
“If God gives you an opportunity to leave this place, you must take your chance at freedom.”
Miriam’s gaze darted over to Lorainne’s cot.
“You cannot hold out hope for anyone else, my child. Lorainne will soon be joining God, and my duty is to keep her comfortable until that happens. Sharon has made her bed and will lie there until she realizes it is not all that it seems. But you? You must take whatever opportunity you can to find freedom.”
Miriam opened her mouth to speak but found no words came, so she sucked her lips inward. A short nod of her head was all that she would give. Sister Genovia patted her arm and then stood, walking back over to Lorainne’s cot. Now she knew sleep would not come easily. That was the last thought she had before exhaustion took over and she fell into a fitful slumber.
Marc placed the video conference call to the Saints. Luke immediately patched him through, and he could see Jack’s face on the monitor.
“What d’you got for us?” Jack asked.
“Cam is going to try to get her out tonight. A huge storm is coming in and, while the weather will hinder their travel, it will also make tracking them difficult.”
“Who’s he bringing in?”
“Just Miriam. The others are no longer able to travel,” Marc reported. The video camera panned back, and he could now see Bart and Blaise at the table as well. “How’s your case?” he asked, referring to the serial killer case they had been working on when he and Cam were reassigned.
“Got him. Details will wait until you’re home.”
Nodding, Marc agreed. “I’ve got several landing places that I can try to get to once they’re out but, until the storm lets up, I’m going to be grounded.”
Bart commented, “So, the thing that gives Cam a chance to get out will also put you on the ground? Jesus, that’s fucked.”
“In case my plane can’t work, I’ve got my contact here who says I can have use of a helicopter.”
Jack nodded, “Good. Use whatever you can from him. With you and Luke having been in the CIA, he’s using contacts to make sure you can get what you need and feeding into your man there.”
Finishing their conference call, Marc checked his phone one more time. Nothing from Cam, but maybe that was a good thing—it meant he was on the move.