Laughing Eyes: Bittersweet Familia (3) (2 page)

Danny

“Remember,” the sarge yelled over the noise of the chopper. The thin layer of hair that barely covered his rapidly balding head, flew about as if caught in a mini tornado, “it is imperative that you remain undetected at all times. There is no immediate back up. Ensure that you communicate at 0800 hours and 1800 every day. If for some reason you miss your check in, we will allow a five hour window. After that, we will interpret that as MIA.”

“Sir, are you sure this isn’t just a way to get rid of us off American soil? Cos if this is really about what happened at your fiftieth with your daughter, I just want you to know that it wasn’t completely my –”

“You weren’t at my fiftieth, Peters.”

“Sir,” Aiden shook his head in disbelief, while hooking himself to the zip line, “why do you let him reel you in?”

The sarge studied me closely, seemingly oblivious to the smile on my face.

“No, but seriously. I get the feeling you are sending us to our deaths.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Well, just you keep in mind, I know where you live and when you feel a dip in your mattress or a random slap across the face, it will be my ghost haunting your ass.”

“Peters if you don’t get the fuck out of my chopper now, I will push you out without the fucking line.”

***

Disconnecting our lines we took a few quick steps back and watched as the chopper headed back in the direction we had come from. We had landed not far from our coordinated drop zone and now began the mission of familiarizing ourselves with the hilly, green land. Once that was complete, our mission would begin.

Our briefing was to locate El Leon, a man who had become notorious throughout the Americas and was most notably feared amongst those in Costa Rica and Panama. From the intelligence we had on him, which admittedly wasn’t a great deal, we knew that he was a man born without a heart. A callous murderer who took it upon himself to rape, pillage and destroy vulnerable villages throughout the rural lands if they refused to participate in his illegal arms productions and dealings. He was described as tan-skinned, handsome and tall, with eyes as cold as the deep, artic sea. A distinguishable scar could be seen running from his ear and across his neck. People knew him as El Diablo, a man so consumed with hate and anger he had become a formidable opponent.

Apparently the name Diablo didn’t sit well with him.

Too common, too representative of every other asshole who played this violent game.

He liked to be known as El Leon meaning, The Lion.

The king of the fucking jungle.

Anna

“Don’t even try it, babe.” I said loud enough for Luiza to hear me. “You close your eyes, you fall off.” There was never a chance in hell that anyone would be able to catch an extra wink of sleep while on route to site. The roads, if you can call them that, were makeshift and nothing more than a semi worn path framed by jungle. If the continuous jostling didn’t throw you off the back of the truck, the fear of being ambushed was enough to keep your eyes wide and on alert.

“Three hours sleep just doesn’t cut it.” She grumbled, attempting to rest her head on my shoulder. It was a futile effort considering we were both swaying and bumping. I didn’t begrudge her feelings. When we did manage some sleep, our dreams soon became nightmares as we relived the day’s gruesome findings in our heads.

Being volunteer aid workers, we were not allowed to carry weapons for self-defence. We were told that just like reporters, aid workers were usually exempt when it came to terrorists choosing their targets. I wanted to believe that to be the case. Unfortunately however, I was a hundred percent certain that the bad guys in this situation would not discriminate.

The eight of us were travelling to yet another remote village that had been ravaged less than a week ago. It had been a sickening scene. Corpses, bloodied and hacked had been strewn about the site as children who had managed to avoid being bludgeoned roamed around crying hysterically, searching for their fallen mothers. Young women were found lifeless in the their huts, legs wide open, blood staining their thighs, eyes capturing the last look of horror. 

When we arrived, those who had managed to escape and watch the scene unfold from the safety of the commune perimeters within the jungle, would nervously make their way back, too shell-shocked to tell us what had happened. Not that we needed much explanation. It was obvious what had happened. But I guess the answer we all wanted, was to know who exactly was responsible for this and why.

Who could be filled with so much hate to cause this much destruction?

Something that even rivalled the age of the Vikings.

Out of around sixty people, only twenty three had survived this latest tragedy. The stench of bodies baking under the heat of the sun still filled the air. We had cleared most of the corpses out of the main grounds, but the blood-soaked earth still remained. It would take us near a week to be able to bury the dead and to treat those who could be saved. There were some who had been spared, but wouldn’t last before the week was out. Our medical supplies were limited and our skills were not sufficient to meet the demand or complexity of some of the injuries.

“Ok ladies,” Eduardo, our leader ran an exhausted hand over his face. We had only just arrived for our days’ work and already he was a mess, not knowing where to even begin with the damage control. “Can you both triage the wounded and see whose dressings need changing, those who require more pain killers and those who well…you know.”

We did know.

Those who were close to death from either the severity of their wounds or from infection were moved to a separate building block where they were left to die. It was an awful concept. It seemed so callous and third world, but we didn’t have any choice. There were no surgeons on our side, no government intervention, no UN, nothing. Just a small group of people who cared enough to offer the extent of their services.

“Are you ok?” I could see Luiza turning a sickening shade of green. When we had first arrived at the site, she had been absent for the first hours, vomiting behind one of the smaller structures. For someone who had chosen nursing as a career she certainly didn’t handle blood all that well. These were however, extenuating circumstances. We would all carry with us the gruesome images and terrifying sounds of anguish for the rest of our lives.

“I’m um… I think I’m going to need a night out or something. Just to try and attempt to forget about everything.”

Unlikely we would forget, but I didn’t have the guts to tell her. It seemed like alcohol would have to play its part in temporary relief.

“We can ask to borrow Eduardo’s truck to head south.” My friend squeezed my hand in way of thanks before her eyes lit up and drowned in sorrow at the same time. I followed her gaze and saw one of the youngest surviving children waddling our way. He wore only a pair of filthy shorts, his chubby belly on full display. With a finger in his mouth and curious eyes watching the two of us, we couldn’t help but smile at his cute innocence.

“Bambino, come here,” I said gently, bending down with my arms out wide. He paused for a moment, his wariness getting the better of him before he picked up his pace and fell into my embrace. I hugged the small child who had witnessed the death of his whole family and his friends, as he clung tightly to me.

It was then that I smelled the stench from the makeshift hospital wafting in the gentle breeze. We were too far from the burial site, the smell notably stronger than what the blood-stained earth offered.

Still holding onto the little boy, I stole a glance at Luiza, whose eyes were locked on to the incriminating building.

“Take him,” I said, placing the child in her arms, “I’ll go. Keep him here.” She nodded gratefully and clung to the boy as if he was a shield.

I needed to take a deep breath to calm my nerves, but I didn’t want to inhale the putrid smell.

I knew what I would find.

I knew it would shatter the already broken pieces of my heart.

Standing in the semi darkness of the first room, I used my shirt to cover my nose, a swarm of flies buzzing around confirming my dreaded thoughts. Fabia, the woman who had taken care of the little boy since the massacre occurred, was lying motionless on the makeshift bed, the bandage on her shoulder saturated with blood, her eyes wide and unblinking. There was a real chance she had died from loss of blood if her stiches had reopened during the night or from an infection resulting from such a massive wound. Whatever it was, the child had been with her the whole time.

Movement to my left caused me to jump with fright. A young teenage boy and a middle-aged man began to stir, seemingly unperturbed with the stench. They were used to it. The whole village smelled of death.

“How long has she been dead?” I asked.

“She was awake when we fell asleep,” the young boy replied, wincing as he propped himself up on his elbow.

“How are you feeling today?” I sat on the edge of his bed and began unwrapping the bandage from his torso.

“Not good, Anjo,” his eyes softened as he looked to me. Anjo stood for angel. Many of the surviving villages referred to the aid workers as angels. When all others had long deserted them and the government refused to help, we were all they had. They were outcasts, many of them descendants from the last war, a group of people no longer welcomed in mainstream society due to their heritage. They tried to make it on their own. Becoming self-sufficient was a major achievement for them. They lived in peace, the elders educating the young. There were many communities like this spread cross the Costa Rican, Panamanian border.

“Tomas, I know it is difficult for you, but if you could tell me what you know, it may help stop it from happening to the next village,” I asked him gently.

He looked doubtful, almost scared. “Anjo, I have never seen something so evil,” he began, in a mix of English and Spanish, “They came in late afternoon. The light was almost dark.”

“How many?”

“Eighteen, maybe twenty. Some big men, some my age.”

I considered his words for a minute until a horrible thought struck. “Did you recognise any of the young boys?”

“No, but they looked just as scared, like they didn’t know what they were doing. They followed the older men into the camp and were told to shoot any of us who ran or fight back.”

“Anna!” Eduardo’s voice bellowed from outside. Scooting back out the door, I watched as my boss ran across the clearing to me.

“What is it?” Something about the strained look on his face confirmed my worst fears. “Where?” I asked, hating the answer before it was even sounded.

“Five miles west of here.” He ran a strained hand over his face. We all looked like shit. Tired and running on empty for almost three months was taking its toll.

“Jesus, why is this happening?” Tears of frustration and sadness for the victims were springing to life.

“From what I hear only few are left, mostly babies and small children.”

“We can’t all just leave. Some will have to stay here and ensure –“

“It’s too dangerous to break apart.” Eduardo dismissed.

“They have machine guns and we have nothing, not even a sharp enough scalpel. If they wanted to kill us, they would, whether or not we are all together or separated. When is the next truck coming in to pick up the survivors?”

“Not for another two days.”

“We can’t wait that long, Eduardo. We need to split up the group!”

Sighing heavily, he contemplated my words and the gravity of the situation. You and Luiza go with Alec, Nathaniel and Andrew. The rest of us will wait until the truck gets here to take the survivors. We still have all the dead to bury before we catch up. And Anna?”

“Yes?”

He expression was deathly serious, his eyes loaded with concern. “Just remember that evil has many faces.”