Just For Today

Just For Today
by
� rhoan41

"Keeeyrist!"
Angela, felt the gun jam again.
She ducked below the window sill in a burned out mansion that at one time had been very elegant with it�s European style. However, with the escalation of the war and the abandonment of its Dutch owners, the window was nothing more then a rotting frame inside of a burned out shell.
Working at a rapid pace Angela Cruses, broke open her gun, an American made M-16 rifle, to get at the round that had lodged between the magazine and chamber. With the skill of a horse surgeon she inserted her knife blade and pried upwards taking great care as not to have it discharge in her face.
She wiped her brow nervously while pushing her damp hair back; pushing the raven colored strands that had gotten loose from her red bandanna, several droplets of sweat slide down the back of her hand in the sultry Central American heat.
The day was just late and time seemed to follow.
Angela, thought how nice an orange soda pop would taste about now; to stem the dryness that had gripped her throat; a dryness that was brought on by the life she led; her hidden fears of being killed.
As she struggled to fix her weapon her large black eyes darted around the room; her emotions on high alert as they attempted to get the better of her and the situation that had developed.
Angela, knew she had to stay in control, stay focused; that this was just like any other day.
With a hacking cough, she cleared her throat spitting a large ball of mucus on the wall in front of her; she readied herself for the next barrage.
Suddenly and unexpectedly the firing stopped as a calm and peaceful presence seemed to emerge and cover the battle zone.
Cautiously Angela, looked over the window sill attempting to see what had transpired.
The afternoon glare caused Angela, to squint against that harshness of the noon bake, that reflected itself like some gigantic mirror someone had left outside; making the scene unreal in the rippling heat.
In the process of decay, the roof of the old mansion had fallen apart revealing its skeletal framework. Rays of light that had once been denied, now filtered through the through holes and descended downwards cascading light on the old dusty floors where Angela now sat motionless, wondering what their next move was going to be; feeling the stillness that was closing in on her.
Angela, could feel the change coming before she saw it.
Straining her ears Angela, could make out the low sounds of a heavy duty engine that needed work as it struggled up the road leading to the mansion. When she peered out, she could make out the black exhaust fumes of a tank that was slowly coming up the road.
A gentle breeze blew through the drafty house, a hot stale warmth much like an oven that had been left open.
Angela, wiped her brow then began rubbing the back of her neck trying to relieve the tensions that had made their presence.
In the stillness of the afternoon Angela, could hear her watch ticking away as it counted down the precious seconds and her abilities to hold her position.
In her guttural Spanish, Angela, tauntingly yelled "I'm a good solider, you can't kill me!"
Suddenly and without warning bursts of gun fire erupted; the rounds going high as they whistled over her head, slamming into the wall behind her.
Angela, crouched down in a tight ball feeling the sweat pouring off her face a still small voice reminding her that she was only human not superwoman.
Like a winter in Vermont, the room began to fill with plaster dust causing Angela to cough and wheeze. She felt her mouth drying out from the chalky taste; her hair turning white from the fall out; again she looked at her watch.
Just five more minutes she thought and I can leave.
She wondered if Rafael and the others had made it to the jungle yet.
The troops, which had taken cover behind their vehicles began to move up at the tanks approach. Fueled by the new fire power, some had found the courage to become soldiers once again.
From a bullet hole in the wall Angela, watched them scurry about in their new uniforms while trying to stay low behind the their jeeps and trucks. She sensed how green and inexperienced they were; too young to be seasoned veterans not old enough to have any combat experience.
There's no end to this Angela thought. We kill them, they kill us then a whole new government takes the place of the old regime.
She cut loose with another barrage that made the troops duck.
"Shit, what good is this?" she asked the empty room. "What must we do to get any kind of hope?"
She slapped another clip in the gun and fired into the panic stricken masses, sending a wave panic through the whole column as she readied herself to go.
From a satchel Angela, removed a block of C-4 and activated the timer. She left it sitting against the wall then scuttled away; across the floor in a crab walk where she slipped through a hole in the floor; crawling quickly away like some lizard that she had once seen.
In the gloomy recesses of the crawl space, the damp earth hugged Angela cooling off her tired body.
Crawling on her stomach Angela, headed for the opposite side of the house towards a light where she had entered through a hole in the wall.
In her haste to escape, Angela crawled into a huge spiders web; feeling the tent like structure wrap around her face.
Angela, could taste its sticky contents as bits and pieces of the spiders web went into her mouth; the resident of the huge web falling on the back of her neck. In her panic Angela, grabbed at it with her hand and threw it from her.
As she exited the confines of the villa, Angela ran towards the safety of the jungle like an animal being pursued; staying to the road until she saw a familiar trail.
Angela, left the road and sprinted into the thick green foliage feeling the ferns and palm leaves caress her face. Huge parrots, blue in color flew overhead; there simple minds looking at the women who moved unmolested beneath them.
The jungle breathed life and solitude that Angela, found comforting. Only when she had run some distance from the fire zone did she decide to slow her pace allowing the canopy of forest and vegetation to swallow her up; hiding her from the anger that consumed the land and its people.
For a few minutes Angela, stood motionless in the steamy growth listening for anything that might resemble her attackers; she squatted down in a patch of tall grasses absorbing the sounds of the jungle while looking for anything that could be a threat.
Overhead, the monkeys chattered out of sync; their beastly forms jumping from limb to limb.
Angela, watched the monkeys, amazed at their antics; the height of the trees they climbed that seemed to be suspended by some invisible force.
If only the jungle could talk she thought; what secrets might the trees yield.
A rumbling sound caused Angela, to look in the direction of the villa as the charge she had set, detonated sending a large ominous cloud of black smoke into the air.
Angela, smiled to herself wondering how many of the Government pigs she had gotten; how many bodies lie broken, bleeding, their faces and arms smashed like so much chopped wood.
With a hitch in her stride Angela, started out for Pescadero.
Several miles away, Angela arrived at the small town of Pescadero.
Stopping atop a small hill, Angela noted how everything looked peaceful, so serene. However, as she learned things always didn't always appear to be what they seemed.
From her pants pocket, Angela removed a map and studied the location of the church where she was supposed to meet the others. When she was satisfied with her directions, she checked her gun then moved down the slope staying close to thickets that would conceal her green khaki uniform.
When she was within distance of the city limits, Angela sprinted into the back streets trying to stay concealed amongst the doorways.
The people Of Pescadero, were poor and without; the majority of them squeezing out a living from their farms and cattle. At Angel�s approach many closed their doors; some looking the other way as if she didn't exist.
After twenty minutes of searching, Angela found the church and hurried to its back entrance pulling on a gnarled rope that rang a bell deep inside the Monastery.
Several minutes passed before Father Enrique Alvaraze, opened the door that protested on its squeaky hinges. He looked at Angela with a smile; a genuine greeting that seemed so matter of fact, it showed the lines of his face revealing his true age.
With a nod of his head and a gesture of his hand he let Angela in.
The Monastery, had sat for hundreds of years in Pescadero.
Though the structure was old, it had been made from adobe bricks and put together with Indian slave labor all in the name of Christianity. However, the ravages of time and war had finally caught up with it; taking an issue with its outer structure and the dwellings within.
With donations from the poverty stricken country and the faith of many, the church resigned in all it glory; a focal point for the sleepy town; a place of worship for the destitute.
Angela, was led into the stables where many fine animals had once been kept. Now, the place was used as a storage building, the wagons and carriages all pushed into the corners where they collected spiders and other crawly things that needed homes.
Once they reached the tack room Father Alvaraze, pushed aside a wall revealing a secret entrance to a chamber beyond. He led Angela down a rickety set of stairs that seemed to shake and move as if they had a life all their own.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Angela saw them sitting on crates and barrels passing around a jug of wine and eating cheeses provided by the Parish.
With his face beaming, Rafael stood up and walked towards Angela; he put his arms around her and squeezed hard.
"So you live another day."
"How was it... much killing yes?"
Angela, nodded as she took the wine jug from Rafael's hand.
Taking a deep drink she attempted to wash away the fear from the fire fight she had encountered.
"Listen Rafael." she said. "I like my work here, I wouldn't be doing it if I didn't believe in the cause we all fight for. But, don't you ever leave me with another piece of shit like this!"
Angela, then threw the M-16 at Rafael, whereas he began to laugh slapping his leg in unison.
"Poor...poor Angela!" he bellowed. "Maybe you should take it back to Washington, to your El Presidente, for an exchange...yes?" "While your there see if you can get us another radio�.ummm maybe some better uniforms."
Rafael, then smiled at Angela with a horse like grin revealing his white teeth. "Maybe tomorrow at the rendezvous in Las Palmas, we can pick you up another.� He said.
An invisible tension seemed to hang over the group, as the others looked at Angela then back to Rafael.
It was the creaking of the stairs, that broke the rift between the two, causing them all to look as one of the priests had returned with bowls of soup and hot toasted bread.
For the next hour, the group ate in silence, with some of them sopping up their soup with the huge pieces of bread given to them.
Later, many of the men sat around trying to relax some smoking, others looking at pictures of their families that they wished to be with; knowing full well it was impossible to do this.
As the day drifted into night and the towns slipped into darkness, the priests of the Monastery, came down to light the oil lamps casting a serene glow that filled the room.
Angela, exhausted by the days events, lay down near several casks of wine.
Her thoughts turned to New York City, where everything seemed so real not like the government of this country that had been bought and paid for with the blood of others.
She shook her head confusingly trying to understand why things happened they way they did; how mixed up the politics were. It was like everything that happened here was all right, the atrocities, dead people that were found on the sides of the road and the innocent people taken away at night and murdered systematically; simply because they didn't agree.
What the hell had happened to humanity?
Unable to sleep, Angela sat up leaning against the wall thinking how she had gotten in too deep; letting her emotions get the better of her professional judgment.
She drew her legs up, sitting cross legged on the floor.
Looking at the sleeping forms, Angela realized many at one time had been young boys who had volunteered.   For some of them, the years of hiding out had taken its toll, making them look quite older then they seemed to be.
Angela, realized that many were fed up from all the fighting; not knowing who to trust while putting their faith in each other and the used equipment they had to beg or kill for.
So senseless, so tragic.
Angela, stared down at the floor with this thought when it was suddenly interrupted by a large brown rat that ran across the rafters. She watched as it stopped directly over her, looking at her with its beady eyes as it tried to acknowledge her thoughts.
The night continued on, the people unsure.
In the early morning hours, a three legged dog hobbled down the middle of the road through the sleeping town of Las Palmas.
The dog yellowish in color, was a mix of several attempts by its mother suitors.
From a litter of nine, the dog had some how survived, maturing into a scruffy animal that needed a home and love that was non existent in its hostile environment.
On this warm day, the dog paused in the coolness of the dawn listening to the rooster crow. With its ears up it scanned the area for any activity; movements that would send it fleeing for it life.
Like everything else in the region, the dog found it easy to trust no one or for that matter anything.
Satisfied no threat existed, the dog continued on it way, sniffing the air for scents while trying to seek out food; rotting tidbits that might have been discarded from the previous night; a ritualistic progression that its mind replayed every morning as it attempted to survive.
With cautious movements it approached the back entrance of the town's gas station; the light from the pole illuminating its scruffy form.
Standing on it hind legs, the dog reached the top of the garbage can rusted from the elements; that leaned precariously. With its nose extended into the messy heap the dog began to feed on the hope hidden with the barrels recesses..
After some searching it found and gulped down a sandwich then an apple that had mummified due to the sultry heat.
A humid breeze, blew in from the coast some one hundred miles away. It rifled through the dusty streets and jungle that surrounded Las Palmas, carrying a safe dampness, compost smells; hidden lives of night animals that would scurry in the approaching dawn.
By now, the dog had its head buried in the garbage when the man emerged suddenly.
With a growl, it lurched away from its bounty and ran down the street into a darkened alley causing the rats to scurry in their haste. It ran by the doorways of the poor, where the trash buckets lie filled to capacity; to await the little man who pulled the trash cart through the street.
The residents knew him as the flea; a vagabond who collected the refuse that they found revolting to deal with.
Dressed only in rags the flea, would come from the makeshift dump just outside of town where he kept himself until the early morning hours. When all was quiet he would go from house to house emptying the treasures to be had.
He lived the solitude life of a hermit; picking through the despair and fear that was left in the cans from the night before. No one would talk to him or pass the time of day fearing contamination or some type of pestilence.
It was said he had no family, was never married with children; a drifter who blew in one day like the ever changing seasons.
During the warmer days the children, would see him as they passed by the dump on their way to school.
Sitting by his ramshackle house, he rocked in a busted chair, a humble smile on his face as if he knew a secret a terrible secret that had yet to be discovered.
The dog, who had stopped running let its senses take over; its keen nose sniffing the air.
From a partially open garbage bag, it found and plucked out the remnants of a chicken dinner.
Paying no mind to the smell, the dog sunk its teeth into the greasy matter causing a panic in the maggots that had gotten their first. It chewed the soft bones fast and quick while looking around. It swallowed quickly, fearing another of it own kind would show up to steal the slippery prize.
Pausing to lick its muzzle, the dog suddenly became tense as its hearing detected sounds; voices of humans trying to be secretive. It looked into the darkened void of the alley, its eyes trying to distinguish the shapes and sights; attempting to see around the corner.
With its nose sniffing the air, the dog picked up the men coming from the opposite end of the alley. It stood ready in the graying dawn, its body shivering as the sounds of foot steps got closer causing the dogs body to become rigid; its hair to bristle in the somewhat chilly air.
Angela, observed the big dog slinking off watching curiously as it ran away on its three leg; a sort of shuffle that made her smile. Reaching into her pocket she extracted some chewing gum to rid the bitter coffee she had drank that morning.
The morning was still.
Angela, looked at her watch, then rubbed her eyes sleepily trying to stay focused, stay alert to the ever preset danger that was all around them.
Though Las Palmas was a nice quaint town, it was a dangerous one particularly if you were a guerrilla fighter opposing a government that you deemed hostile and violent; a government you believed had no sympathy for the people; believing only in fear and punishment as deterrents as opposed to a democracy.
With so many eyes watching and poverty in abundance, Angela knew it was possible for some to make a few hundred pesos turning in rebels and supporters like herself; to the higher powers of authority where they could be dwelt with on a more personal level.
The column suddenly slowed as the group approached main street. Rafael who was in the lead stopped the group; he looked in both directions.
"Sister, sister" he hissed.
Angela, moved to the front of the line whereas Rafael handed her his gun, an AK-47.
"You watch our asses, we may need a little help." Rafael, then winked at her signaling for the rest to follow.
Silently and with caution the group filed across the road and into the light of the gas station.
Angela, watched them go.
She looked around nervously, as she expected to see government troops appear at any minute.
Though, she knew they had to make contact with some of the alliance, it bothered her they had to come into towns and cites. She would have preferred to stay in the jungle where it was safe; a manageable place where they could hide if need be.
Her finger twitched nervously on the trigger as she watched Rafael approach the back door knocking twice; the sounds echoing in the still morning.
"Come on where are you." Rafael said.
He gave the door another rap only bringing more attention to themselves.
From a filmed over window, a face stared out at the group; a round face that looked distorted, pasty in the graying light.
Juan Carrillo, a heavy man whose jowls shook each time he would laugh opened the door hurrying the mercenaries in. Only forty years in age he looked much older due too his weight.
He quickly closed the door behind them and begin tossing each man a bundle; small boxes of ammunition that had been smuggled in the country. He grinned watching as each men opened his box that had been wrapped in candy paper; to disguise the fact it contained much more then sweets.
With the fat constricting his vocal cords. Juan began to speak; his voice nasally making Rafael think the man had a horn stuck in his throat.
"So you made it?" Juan�s eyes bulging like a toads.
"You people owe me plenty for that ammo. I went to a lot of trouble to keep the police from nosing around; you owe me three hundred."
Juan, then looked at Rafael then at the group as if he was issuing a challenge.
Rafael, shook his head in haling the smells of engine oil and diesel fumes that floated all around them.
He's lying he thought; feeding us bullshit trying to stall us.
With all of them in the room, the space had reached its limits; the smells from each man making the air less breathable.
"Now you listen." Rafael said.
"You were paid up front for all this, way in advance. �Maybe, you get a little greedy ...yes?"
"You think by hiding guns and feeding us information make you one of us!" Rafael's voice raising.
"I've heard things about you, how you can't be trusted."
Juan, suddenly cut him off with a wave of his hand.
"You and your people are full of shit!" his nostrils flaring.
"Now pay me my money or get out...or maybe I might just will call the police on you."
The big mans face held a deadly sneer that Rafael didn't like. He watched as the fat man grabbed up a Pepsi, drinking nervously; his throat constricting like a snakes.
Angela, could feel her nerves beginning to fray.
They had been here to long she thought; listening to the men argue in the gas station didn't make the situation any better.
She looked down the road then behind her; her nerves on edge.
A television from a house blared, a dog began to bark as the dawn of another day began to rise.
Suddenly and unexpectedly a bright light shinned on the front of the gas station as a troop truck drove up. The men numbering fifteen and armed, spilled out the back as they surrounded the building.
"Great�just goddam great!" Angela said.
Instinctively, Angela stepped back into the alley to avoid being seen. Clicking the safety she then reached into her satchel and produced a hand grenade.
Rafael, smiled at the commotion outside. He then focused his attention on Juan who then attempted to escape out the front.
It was Sergio, who blocked his way as he smashed his rifle butt into Juan's fleshy face bringing the big man down to his knees who then let out a squeal of terror then a wail of anguish as the blood began to seep out of his broken nose.
With his hot dog shaped fingers, Juan attempted to wipe away the blood that was running down his face; his fattened hands probing.
Rafael, looked at Juan curiously, then applied his boot to the fat mans head feeling it give slightly on his thick neck. Over and over he kicked the large man until the floor became saturated with his brains; the juices running into the cracks of the dusty floor.
Like a desert giant he lay in a pile; a monument to his own death.
Angela, watched the troop movement around the gas station. She breathed in a huge sigh readying herself for what had to be done.
"OK�OK � I'm lucky, lucky, lucky, really easy�.piece of cake." she whispered.
As the soldiers prepared to rush the building, Angela pulled the pin off the hand grenade as she readied herself in the sultry day; a red situation.
With her aim precise and well measured the grenade landed squarely under one of the trucks where it exploded sending some fifteen hundred pieces of steel fragments into the air; some puncturing the gas tank of the truck.
A roaring sound filled the air as the truck up ended from the blast.
Many of the soldiers caught by surprise turned their heads and watched in horror as a huge fireball rolled into the morning sky; the concussion vibrating outward knocking many off their feet.
As the pandemonium raged, Angela began to fire into the masses; at the panic stricken men who milled around like ants in a summer storm.
She could sense their fears as they looked around trying to see where the bullets were coming from. In their struggle to live many stepped on one another; the wounded or dying who lay at their own feet.
With no leadership, a panic erupted amongst the remaining men causing them to break rank and run in an attempt to save themselves while leaving their comrades behind.
And only then, did Angela emerge from her hiding place and step into plain view feeling her hatred speak through Rafael�s gun.
Seeing the men run gave her confidence, no fear.
She felt the gun kick as it sent its high velocity projectiles into her enemies.
This is like a turkey shoot she thought nobodies shooting back; there all scared.
As Angela watched the last of them disappear she felt a rage build within her. "Cowards, come back and fight me!" she yelled.
She stood in the sun feeling its rays touch her like a neon flash.
Shouldering her rifle, Angela pulled out her pistol and began a walk through the killing zone, exterminating those that were still alive.
Struggling against the moans and cries of pain, Angela grabbed each wounded man by the hair. She looked into their eyes knowing this was would be the last days of their life.
Some of the men closed their eyes art her approach, other cried for mercy hoping the maddened women might show them compassion in allowing to them another day.
But hate and love have their places and the men who lay at Angela�s feet were evil tools of the government; sent to control the innocent and destroy people like herself who wanted to help.
Angela, put the barrel against each mans head she found alive and pulled the trigger.
When it was all over she stood looking around at the dead men, her hands covered in their own gore.
Without time to waste, Angela began to rob the dead men taking their money that could be of later use. As she bent down to remove a rifle from one of them she heard a noise from behind.
Rafael, who had been watching, now walked over to Angela with his foolish grin. He approached her,
clapping his hands.
"Bravo amigo, bravo� now lets get the hell out of here."
Rafael then signaled for the rest to gather what weapons and guns they could find and then they all
headed out; back the way they came running full blast knowing there would be others.
Angela, attempted to stay up with the escondido�s who could move much faster then her.
Through the crooked streets they ran, their muddy jungle boots pounding along the tired streets. Angela
looked fearfully over her shoulder, knowing if they got caught they would be killed or imprisoned for their
crimes.
Rafael, listened to the others as they ran behind him. He smiled to himself thinking how brave these people were; who would sacrifice anything to oppose the hostility that surrounded them. When this is all over he thought I going to try to have a normal life.
Rounding a corner of the twisted streets Rafael was hit full force by the blast; his legs ripped from his body.
The shock wave from the RPG rippled through the whole group taking all by surprise.
When Angela, recovered from the blast she realized that they all were dead and some how she had survived. Through her paralyzed mind she could hear the excited voices of the soldiers that had ambushed them, could hear the bullets flying all around her; the searing lead of their spent round pierce her flesh like so many hot branding irons.
With a will to live, Angela got up and fled down a side street, her legs like rubber bands as she tried to keep an even pace. Snarling dogs barked at her, frightened people ran away from her.
In a alley littered with weeds and old tires, Angela broke through a fence; falling down in the red dusty soils. As she attempted to rise, a wave of pain surged through her body, exploding into her brain like a hot poker; she saw an old man in a large white hat who's backyard she had invaded.
Carlo's, looked at the fallen women who had come through the fence unannounced. He slowly rose from the table leaving his morning coffee and approached Angela's fallen body, his face taking on a worried look as he realized what Angela represented.
Thinking fast, Carlo's went out to the alley to be sure no one was following then he turned Angela over on her back and dragged her towards the house by the shirt.
"We must get you inside, where you will be safe." he said.
Angela watched the blue sky going past, feeling the pain in her shoulder and chest stab at her like one thousand maniacs. She watched as the old man busied himself with her limp form; his movements stiff and ridged. She could see he was concerned and at the same time scared that he had some how got involved with revolutionaries.
As they approached the back door, Angela could hear him speaking rapid Spanish to an old woman who met them. With her help, they pulled Angela inside leaving a blood trail; the crimson hues streaking the worn floors of the old wooden house.
They lifted a rug in the center of the room where it revealed a trap door.
With the old women's help Angela was dragged into the depths of the house; their muffled voices in the darkened room was all Angela could hear.
A light was clicked on spilling a yellow tint over wooden chairs and trunks that had been haphazardly piled; smells of mildew and old fruit softened the cold environment.
The old women retrieved a box of rags and began to tear them into bandages. She pulled open Angela�s shirt; looking at the wounds that bled profusely.
"Carlo's, we can not keep her here, its much to dangerous. If they catch us we will wind up like the rest!"
An urgency in the old women's voice sent a chilling fear through Angela and Carlo's who looked toward the upper floor of the house.
Carlo's, ran his fingers through his oiled hair trying to decide what to do next. After much contemplating he looked at the old women then at Angela.
"I'll tell you what she needs a doctor." He said.
Carlo's then looked panicked at the statement he had just made.
"I don't know why I wanted to help mama, maybe out of compassion; the fact she's one of them trying to help our people."
Carlo's then started up the stairs, pausing when he reached the top.
"See what you can do to stop the bleeding. If she hangs on until nightfall I will get a doctor; right now I'd better clean things up."
Carlo's then left through the door letting it slam shut.
The skirmish with the troops put the whole town of Las Palmas on alert. A house by house search had began as the local authority began to look for the one that got away.
Angela, awoke with a start and to the old woman's touch who by now had finished dressing her wounds.
Angela, could tell she was a compassionate person that wanted to help.
She watched the old woman move about the dimly lit room in a stained tattered dress that had been patched many times, her blouse old and faded; the belt around her waist gigantic.
Though Zora, had managed to stop the bleeding, she looked at Angela with a mask of concern.
Angela, tried to prop herself up on her arm.
"How, how long have I been here?" Angela said.
The rapid movement flooded Angela�s body with pain making her lie back down.
"You must rest, remain absolutely still, your wounds are quite serious." Zora said.
She took a wash cloth from a pan and placed it on Angela's forehead.
"My son Carlo's, is going to see about getting you to a doctor. He told me he will try to get one tonight."
The wash rag felt cool along Angela's skin sending relief to her tired body; her mind that was in a panic. It was a sound from above that made both women look up.
Angela, grabbed the old woman's hand for reassurance as the trapdoor flew open.
Carlo's, appeared quite haggard; he sat down on the lower step looking at both women.
"Well the news isn�t good." he said.
"There looking all over town for you. I just came from the market, there's been ten thousand pesos offered for your capture."
Carlo's, then wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"Were going to try for a doctor." he said. "Hopefully if everything goes right you will get the treatment you require."
Angela nodded feeling the searing pain spread throughout her body. With trembling hands she dug into her shirt pocket and produced the money she had taken from the dead soldiers; handing it to Zora.
�You will need this, it might help. Take the ring, its gold that could be worth something; that�s all I have."
Angela, then closed her eyes attempting to sleep away some of the pain.
As the afternoon sun began to set a new horizon lay ahead for the chosen few.
The church was a quiet place, a serene building that supported the poor who relied on the faith it dispensed each Sunday and Wednesday's.
Zora, sat alone her shawl draped over her shoulders.
After discussing the situation with Carlos, they had decided that she should go for the doctor. It would draw less attention; just another old women going to church and if all went well they would make contact with the doctor for he was a regular at the church; his faith strong in his religion as he needed to believe in something more then his own skills.
Zora, took a seat in the back of the church feeling herself slide along the polished wood, She prayed trying to free her mind, clutching the money and ring the young women had given her; trying to avoid any eye contact for fear that someone might read her mind.
She seemed to think she had been sitting a long time and was now wondering if the doctor was ever going to show.
Outside she heard a car drive by its horn blaring loudly, a voice of a little girl as she opened the church doors for her parents. It was so quiet she could hear the murmur of the women as they recited their own prayers.
With the hour getting late, Zora became drowsy from the heat trapped in the building; feeling her eyes close she fought to stay awake.
As the services concluded, Zora got up and left deciding to contact the doctor at his house. She knew it would be dangerous for the risks would be great; the soldiers would be on the lookout for this kind of activity.
Zora, left with a group of women then walked down a side street.
The moon was starting to rise into a cloud filled sky making the night sultry and sticky.
Zora, walked fast.
This doctor, is a fair man Zora thought, he will come and help.
As she passed a caf� she could make out several soldiers sitting inside drinking cold beer. Loud laughter and music spilled from the open windows.
A hot dry wind stirred up the dust in the streets a dog howled in the distance.
When Zora was just a block from the doctor's house she heard an approaching jeep. A fear suddenly took over as her body causing it to tremble; the realization that she might have been found out.
On this night, Zora stood alone in the middle of the road clutching a worn out hand bag; feeling exposed by the lights of the jeep she pushed her hair back from her face waiting , ever waiting.
Alan Jacabson, usually sensed the morning before the alarm clock next to the bed went off. He seemed to think this was an uncanny ability that he possessed unlike the majority that relied on such modernization to direct ones life.
He arose quite refreshed, stretching his arms up over his head feeling the kinks leave his body.
Without much effort he got up and made his way to the closet, getting into his jogging shorts and sweatshirt; he prepared himself for a three mile run that would take him out to the point; a place he so admired.
His ears picked up the coffee pot turning on; could hear the hissing sounds of the water as it began to heat up.
Though the sun had not yet risen, Alan had no problem focusing in the darkness. He liked the idea of being able to function within the scope of his age without any sort of dependency.
Slipping out the patio doors, Alan could make out the outline of the sand dunes in the graying light.
He stretched out for several minutes feeling the kinks leave his body then started out down the back road slowly; while inhaling the brisk sea air.
Once Alan hit the beach he was met by a small head wind; could feel his senses responding to the coolness of the Atlantic breezes that surrounded his Long Island home.
He made good time covering the three miles very easily.
Seabirds escorted Alan all the way, flying low along the surf line they emitted lonely cries in search of companionship; a place to be amongst strangers of their own kind.
When he got to the point, Alan stopped and looked back in the direction of his house noting that his footprints were rapidly disappearing in the oncoming tide; the waters consuming everything in there icy grasp.
Alan, had decide long ago that he was going to take control of his own life making it work for him; enjoy it to its fullest.
Though the advertising business was hectic at times, Alan used what free time he had to his advantage.
An avid outdoors fanatic, Alan hiked and camped his way across Canada in the summers while squeezing in an occasional fishing or hunting trip in the early fall.
With a select group of friends they planned killer excursions; trips beyond the scope of the novice to fill the short weekends as they searched for the ultimate high.
It was the crashing of the waters that brought Alan back from his day dream world as he realized it was getting late.
With a hitch in his stride he headed back to the house to get ready for work and the long drive into the city, New York City where business never stopped just hurried on.
After meeting his client that morning, Alan had decided to take him to the Hash House for lunch.
Baxter Sinclair, a man in his fifties who owned a chain of organic vegetable stores came from the outskirts of the city to see Alan's firm about an ad campaign.
He shook Alan's hand that morning appearing to be nervous and unsure of himself, his eyes scanning the wallpaper in the lobby; eyeing Nancy the receptionist who was directing calls.
Alan, escorted Baxter to the last conference room where he had his demonstration ready to go.
In the process of pulling the blinds Baxter seemed to under go some kind of metamorphous as the nervous, shy kind of guy image vanished to be replaced by a take charge kind of person who seemed to like to hear himself talk.
Between coffee and bagels the little man seemed adamant on promoting his stores with his own ideas that followed the 1950's cartoon characters; that would speak in the place of people.
Alan, sat across from Baxter appearing to be interested, listening intently, deciding when he should start promoting his own ideas.
The meeting seemed to drag and after an eternity the lunch hour had finally come.
Like a nest of ants the people swarmed from their concrete structures to take a lunch hour each was entitled to.
Alan and Baxter entered into the masses walking at a brisk pace. Alan, could sense that Baxter was enjoying all the attention; wallowing in the attention that had surrounded him.
Baxter, pointed out to Alan that he never saw so many nice looking women with smooth shaven legs and tight asses.
Alan seemed somewhat disturbed by this for it seemed this was all Baxter could comment on; obsessed in some small way.
At 72nd Street, Alan could see the diner coming up; could smell the food already cooking; the lunch crowd that was already swelling beyond the front door.
Though the restaurant was small in size it catered to everyone in the business district. It was by far one of Alan's favorite restaurants and a place where you didn't have to dress up or need an interpreter to read the menu only here could blue and white collar's sit shoulder to shoulder as neutrals; away from their busy domains and management stressed offices.
Nearing the eatery, Alan had the oddest feeling of being watched.
He looked around until his gaze fell upon an old women standing on the other side of the busy street.
From what Alan could tell she appeared to be homeless; on the bum for food and drink. Nevertheless, Alan could feel the piercing stare of her eyes as they seemed to follow him into the restaurant; dissecting him like a classroom project.
Karen, his favorite waitress greeted Alan at the door with a smile and a wave.
Always happy, Karen was a walking information center and could tell Alan anything he wanted to know about the city, the latest gossip and the blue plate special of the day.
She moved them through the crowded eatery clearing a path to his favorite table he kept reserved for such occasions; a place near the front window.
Through their lunch, Alan watched as the little man ate at a somewhat nervous pace while almost dipping his tie in the tomato soup they had ordered.
Over the noise of the diner, Alan watched as Baxter scooped up a spoonful of soup slurping it noisily; it disappeared into his gaping maw causing him to smack his lips much like a clam would close its shell. He then dabbed at his mouth with a napkin that he had wadded up in a nice wrinkled mess; thirstily drinking the water that had been delivered.
When their turkey clubs arrived, Baxter dived right in but not before opening it up to look at the contents.
Satisfied with his results, Baxter took several bites with the majority of sprouts dropping on his lap; his eyes moved about suspiciously, scrutinizing each person that walked by.
Alan, couldn't help but think how Baxter resembled a mouse nibbling away on a piece of cheese in some darkened building hoping the yellow eye of the cat would miss him.
Though Baxter seemed nice enough, Alan had decided he had a rudeness about him that he kept hidden like a cheesy suit, only to be unleashed like a defensive trip wire should someone cross him.
Alan, wished he could tell his clients what he really thought particularly when they had the mannerisms of a goat like Baxter seemed to posses.
However, since this man was his bread and butter, Alan had to bite his tongue and remind himself that this man could net the company several thousand dollars over a six month period with possible ties to other organizations in the vegetable market chain.
Between mouthfuls of food, Baxter started in on the city and how run down it was getting and that crime was on the upswing; the Mayor who knew nothing about the common folks.
Alan, listened intently appearing to be interested; shaking his head at intervals a technique he found quite effective.
"So Alan, what's the possibility on the project ideas that I discussed with you this morning?" Baxter queried.
Alan, who had been watching the homeless women across the street was caught off guard.
"Well...I like the idea about the name but frankly the dancing vegetables have to go."
Baxter, looked somewhat dismayed with Alan's request as he stuffed a fist full of french fries into his mouth trying to search for another solution.
Alan�s, gaze returned to the women, who had now retreated to the doorway of a building attempting to hide in the shadows of its concrete structure.
Alan, could only think how the homeless vagabonds usually didn't get this far uptown; that they stayed in the darker regions of the city feeding off the down fall of others.
Though Alan tried to think he was not a paranoid person, the women across the street was making him feel uneasy. It seemed every time Alan looked up she seemed to be looking in his direction.
The afternoon sun, slipped between the buildings casting shadows on a sea of people moving in an endless progression; which took them by the old women whom they tried to ignored.
Those that made eye contact felt insulted by her presence; that a person of this stature was in their midst.
Despite Baxter�s rude manners and witticisms, Alan managed to suggest a few changes that Baxter seemed to like.
With the clock on the wall nearing 1:30, Baxter wiped his mouth with the last bite of his apple pie using the same napkin he had started out with.
Patting his stomach, Baxter shook Alan's hand while offering to come in and sign the account Monday morning.
Alan, paid the check deciding to walk back to the office instead of sharing Baxter's cab. It was only four blocks and besides, the fresh air would do him some good.
He stood in front of the restaurant watching Baxter leave in the cab, feeling the haunting stare of the lonely one.
Alan, started up the street, brushing against the throng who were going about their daily grind their faces but pasteboard masks as they ignored one another; concentrating on themselves and priorities that made up their lives.
When he reached the corner e stopped and stood next to the newspaper stand.
Hesitantly, he looked in the direction of the restaurant then felt the over whelming desire to help.
With a quickening step, Alan returned to the restaurant and placed an order for several sandwiches and a large coffee to go.
By now the traffic noise had picked up to a frenzy amplifying between the rows of high rise buildings that formed manmade canyons; their windows reflecting light to the pagan streets below.
With bag in hand Alan made it across the busy street while just being missed by a fleet of taxi's. With cautious gesture he approached the women.
Alan, guessed the woman had to be in her fifties; the stained, tattered dress and blouse she wore made her frame seem smaller; the belt around her waist gigantic.
Alan, could see she was of some Hispanic descent as her skin was the color of dried beans, her face pocked marked in various places; black hair that was unwashed and greasy.
As Alan handed her the food, he could see the suspicion in her eyes causing an uneasiness in her stance.
Alan, could see she was spooked by his size, as he seemed to dwarf her in the doorway of the building. As he tried to approach her, she drew back with a fearful look on her face; she cowered before Alan like a dog that needed scolding.
Without fanfare, Alan offered up the sandwiches and to his amazement the old women pushed the sustenance away with some of the hot coffee dripping on her old leather shoes.
Alan, quickly apologized hoping he didn't offend her, hoping she could understand that he meant no harm.
With her shaking hands, the old women reached into her tattered dress, into a greasy pocket and produced a ring that had tarnished; making the gold band look more brass colored in nature.
She, handed the ring to Alan who tried to decline by shaking his head; trying to indicate there was no charge for his intentions.
Several passerby's stared at the transactions in the doorway with some becoming repulsed at the idea that Alan was helping one of those people; he could feel their loathing stares.
With her gnarled old hands, the old women reached out and clasped Alan's free hand and placed the ring in his palm closing his fingers around it.
Alan, instantly felt a coldness emit from her touch, a coldness that seemed to come from the grave sending a shiver up his spine.
The old woman then looked into Alan's eyes and without saying not a word she brushed passed him entering into the mainstream; dissolving into the masses that were headed back to their offices and desk jobs.
Alan, watched her shuffle off her eyes never leaving him as she went. It was only after she disappeared around the corner did Alan look at the ring she had given him his eyes widening in disbelief.
"Hey wait, come back here!" Alan yelled.
People in business suits turned and stared at Alan with a look of curiosity and surprise; a women sipping an ice tea smiled at him.
Alan, hurried down the side walk hoping to stop the women .
For the rest of the day Alan sat in his office thinking about the women, wondering how she had found him. Though he tried to find her it seemed she just vanished; disappeared altogether.
"Hey nice job on the Sinclair Account." Alan looked up to see Ron, the head of New Accounts leaning into his office.
Alan smiled his wise ass grin thinking that this was a guy who cared nothing outside of the all mighty dollar. From what he heard Ron, would sell own family down the river.
As Alan drove home that afternoon, he was glad to be away from the city and it confines. He pushed his car against the traffics limits giving it a little more gas then he normally did.
The ride along the expressway was open and uneventful the ring in Alan�s pocket confining.
Walking through the door Alan was greeted by Georgie, his green parrot that perched in his study.
It began to squawk loudly at Alan's approach, flapping it wings while attempting to get Alan, to feed it a handful of peanuts or seeds.
The bird looked at Alan inquisitively rolling its head back and for the like it was detached from the rest of its body.
"Polly want a cracker?"
Alan laughed at his remark while prodding the squawking tempest with his finger.
Going over to his desk Alan, switched on a light which spilled across a wall containing bits and pieces of his life, caught forever in the cameras eye; depicting Alan and his outdoor exploits that had been arranged in a sort of collage.
A photo, old and yellow taken of Alan and eight of his college buddies; as they stood dressed in their climbing gear.
Alan studied the photo, noting the confident faces of the young people who had at that very moment had the world by the balls. His eyes fell on the women who was standing next to him; a women whom he had had a passionate lesion with.
With the exception of two people the majority of them had graduated from college; Alan majoring in Advertising and Finance and Angela in Journalism.
While their careers were still fresh and squeaky clean, Alan landed a job with one of the top Advertising firms in New York City; Angela getting a position with the syndicated paper The Sentinel.
As a field reporter Angela told Alan it gave her the opportunity and freedom to move about even travel when the opportunity presented itself.
For awhile, Alan dated Angela off and on.
Though Alan didn't want to get involved with anybody, he found their friendship beginning to blossom with Alan starting to fall in love with her.
On a rainy day in April, Angela showed up at Alan's house full of excitement. He hardly closed the door when she said "Alan you won't believe it." her eyes widening with excitement. "I got my first major cover story I'm going to Central America to cover an exclusive on human rights violations."
Alan, listed intently as she related her job assignment was somewhat shocked but at the same time happy for her big break.
It would be weeks later, Alan would find himself in the airport saying good-by to his long time friend but not before giving her a friendship ring he had bought for her.
He presented Angela the gift that day as she headed for the boarding gate telling her to open it on the way. As he watched the plane lift off that day Alan felt a void in his soul, a deepening emptiness as she drifted out of his life.
Alan, reached out and touched the photo and it was only then did he realize it had been ten years since she had left.
"Angie, where are you?" he whispered.
With a sadness in his heart, the old memories came back like an old dog who came in from the rain.
Alan, removed the ring from his pocket; looking at its inscription which read "To Angela with all my love."
The grocery cart, Alan pushed was annoying and loud. It made intrusive sounds on its squeaky wheels that seemed intent on raising the dead.
Dressed only in his workout clothes, Alan went down each aisle collecting packages and cans. He didn't care what he got for everything seemed to be all the same, the packaging, the paper labels all made by the same company.
Endlessly, Alan walked down each aisle that seemed to get longer and more distorted; he attempted to reach its end. When he was about to give up, the vegetable display suddenly loomed before him.
Alan stopped in front of it noting that insects and worms crawled lazily across the rotting skins. He looked
behind him only to see the darkened aisle that he had just come up.
"Hey how about some lights?" he said.
Not a sound could be heard in the store; no one around that would answer his request.
As Alan approached the vegetables, he could see they had all been placed perfectly, everything stacked neatly. His foot brushed a green pear that lie at his feet its tough skin split open allowing the sticky juices to leak out and pool.
From the corner of his eye, Alan could see a snail scooting along the wall; the slimy trail of its soul being deposited on the waxed floor.
Soft, translucent music played overhead.
Alan, found himself humming along, finding it easy to stay in tune. As he turned to look at a bag of potatoes he saw a butcher working busily behind a window.
The man who resembled a surgeon, was dressed in a white coat, sawing away on a leg that still had the rest of the carcass attached.
Curiously, Alan wheeled his cart over to see what was happening; the squeaky sounds of the cart becoming deafening.
Alan, tried to cover one ear to avoid the piercing sounds.
When Alan, was within several feet of the meat counter something bad assaulted his sense of smell; the singe of rot filling the air as if something had been left out; forgotten to be put up.
Alan's eyes began to widen at the expectations that lay in front of him.
A human hand stiff with rigor, raised out of the freezer like a morbid sigh post; the flesh black with decay attracting large blow flies that buzzed contentedly.
As Alan got closer, he saw the meat display in front of him filled with dead people ghastly positioned in their final moments.
Alan, stepped back holding his breath his mouth frozen in fear; he attempted to scream but nothing would come out.
Slowly he put his hand out to block the view of horror trying to avoid the eyes of the butcher who had stopped working and began to smile at Alan.
"You, stay away, bastard, get out of here!" he yelled.
In his haste to escape, Alan pushed over a display of tadpoles in sealed jars then fell into a rack of potato chips, scattering the bags with some of them ripping open.
In Alan�s haste to leave the scene of horrors of this nightmarish hell, his hands touched a pair of shoes their soles feeling old and worn; his hands traveled the length of the body as he attempted to find out who it was.
Only when he managed to sit the body up did he recognize Angela, staring into space her eyes rolled back in her head white like a chickens egg.
Pushing the body aside, Alan got up and ran from the store screaming; his sanity shook.
All comprehension of normalcy had vanished as he raced through the darkened aisle to the front of the store and out the entrance only to stop as a huge canopy of jungle rain forest greeted him; lush and tropical it had the signs of some secret buried in its past.
Alan sat up in bed looking at the clock; the digital numbers like glowing eyes on a Halloween night.
He crawled from the bed listening to his heart race, feeling the sweat run down his face, his breath constricting as he sought to untangle the meaning behind the bazaar scenario he had envisioned.
The clock on his dresser changed to 2:00 AM.
Alan, got up heading for the kitchen to get some water. He could hear the tide pounding the shore; the fog outside the kitchen window thick and silent.
Suddenly, the phone rang, cutting into his nerves like a razor.
With some hesitation, Alan   went over and picked the phone struggling to talk as the shock nightmare slowly dissipated.
"Hello �who's this?"
An emptiness greeted him except for a faint buzzing sound Alan could hear nothing else.
"Christ I need a drink."
He hung up the phone and went over to the cabinet where he kept a bottle for special occasions.
Pouring himself a good dose Alan, went into the kitchen and sat down in the darkened area drinking the distilled nerve tonic when a scratching sound from the back door caught his attention; he whirled around slowly standing up.
Alan, grabbed a butcher knife from the drawer and approached the back door his fears beginning to rise as the adrenaline in his system beginning to pump. He edged closer the scratching beginning to get louder, more defined as if some one was dragging their fingernails over the wood.
Alan, raised the knife and quietly unlocked the door, sliding the deadbolt back; he flung open the door making it crash against the counter.
To his surprise no mad man stood or bogeyman with dripping fangs ready to strike, instead he found a gull that seemed to have gotten lost in the fog and slammed into the door where it flopped about; confused from the impact.
Alan, reached down attempting to pick it up the bird; it opened its bill and tried to bite him then tried to peck him. With some luck Alan, managed to grab the bird around its mid section its soft white feathers caressing his hands. Only then could he make out a shape; a figure of a woman who seemed to be intent on staying in the shadows.
Startled by her appearance Alan called out "who's there?"
The figure of the women just seemed to stand, a silent icon to the darkness not moving or doing anything. As if on command the figure raised its arm extending an outstretched hand. Alan, took a step backwards startled by what he saw; he bumped into the door feeling the cold dampness of the wood   brush his arm.
Slowly Alan, backed into the kitchen slamming the door behind him; he stood by the door shivering from the cold that the sea air had produced. After five minutes Alan slowly opened the door only to be greeted by the sounds of the waves crashing along the beach; the fog outside his door had vaporized along with the women.
The next morning, Alan suited up for his morning run. He slogged down the beach, his mind clouded by the nights events; searching within himself.
In the new rising sun, Alan stopped to think about the events and the meaning behind the ring that the old women gave him; wondering if Angela was alive.
It was this thought that caused Alan, to stop and look at the ring.
As he fingered the gold band, the rays of dawn glistened off the tarnished keepsake reflecting into his eye; a warm smile that shined.
A cold wind peeled off the surf, creating a small disturbance in the sand. A soft voice with the murmur of the tides began to caress his ears; a sirens song of the past that rode the blue laded waters.
Alan, could feel the presence before he saw her form.
Slowly he looked up and turned towards the oncoming waters, watching as her twisted form washed in with the oncoming tides. His eyes met hers not knowing if it was but a dream or an imagination that he had some how spawned from his own mind.
The onrush of water lapped at Alan�s feet as a watery void of unknown secrets lay ahead of him and to horizons beyond.
The bus, bounced along on its worn tires, with its ancient frame squeaking in protest at every pothole and twist of the road.
Alan, looked at his watch and then at the people in the bus who sat motionless, staring straight ahead as if something interesting was going to happen.
Alan, could see the poverty in many of the faces, in their clothes. He knew what few coins and dollars that many of then carried went to the hellish bus driver who crammed them in on the already over load bus.
Since arriving in country a year ago, Alan could not believe how things ran the way they did. The poverty like an endless cycle was everywhere complete with despair and death.
Alan saw that people did what they had to do to survive; many young girls prostituting   themselves for food and what money that could be had while young boys would steal from the already poor that lived in the squalor they considered towns.
For the first several weeks, Alan approached the American Embassy and attempted to extract any information that might be had. His inquires took him into hours of endless waiting; talking to officials that seemed unconcerned with his requests.
In the end he was warned by the Embassy to avoid making such inquires for it could be prove to be bad for his health and put the United States, in a bad position should he get himself killed.
Dejected and about to give up hope, Alan was sitting at the local caf� one hot afternoon when he was approached by a young boy who had information about the women journalist.
Dressed in raggedy pants the boy instructed Alan, to try Las Palmas, warning him to be extremely careful as the towns in that area were under a strict curfew due to the war that still raged there.
Alan, thanked the boy hoping the lead wasn't a dead end or just a trick to get himself murdered.
Like his pet monkey, the little man behind the ticket cage moved around as he gathered the necessary documents for land travel.
The day was hot and sticky as Alan stood next to a wooden sign, waiting for the bus that was guaranteed to stop. He wiped his face, taking a drink from a coke he had purchased from a vender.
Several others soon joined Alan as they waited in the oven heat for the local transportation that would take them all points north.
Alan, watched a women play with her daughter; with a piece of string attached to a spool. He watched half smiling as the babies hands attempted to catch and hold the wooden toy that was making it laugh and squeal contentedly.
A grinding of gears caught Alan's attention as an off colored bus rounded the corner and lumbered towards them in a cloud of oily diesel fumes. As it pulled up, Alan could see that the seating would be somewhat limited for the bus looked like it was full to capacity.
Alan, squeezed next to a man who smiled every time he looked his way. He could see that the man had a paper bag of fried meats in a paper sack; the smell of the unknown wafting into the crowded atmosphere.
As the bus got under way, the man offered Alan a bite to eat but he declined only because he didn't know what he could be getting.
The hot breeze coming through the windows did little for the stuffy environment. Alan could the smell the fumes of the diesel   coming through the flooring.
Alan, did his best to decline any more offers of food.
Instead, he offered some back in the form of candy bars that had softened in the jungle heat. Many of the vagabonds took up his offering while smiling large grins of approval.
Alan turned to watch a man with a bushy mustache drink a warm beer; closing his eyes as the warm liquid ran down his throat.
The hours chugged by, with Alan watching the landscape.
Dried out from the heat, the tired farm animals bunched up in what shade could be found and watched as the bus rolled by.
Alan, sat lost in his own thoughts hoping the lead would pan out, that he could finally put an end to the madness that had seized him; hoping in small way Angela could be alive.
Suddenly, the bus veered right and pulled into the shoulder of the road sending a panic throughout the
crowd.
A gray plume of smoke and a look in the rearview mirror reassured that all was well; everything was alright for the time being. With a he pulled the bar on the door; to admit a women who flagged the bus down.
The peasant women smiled as she boarded; looking for a seat that was impossible to find. Under her arm she carried a chicken that clucked in odd increments.
With a lurch, the bus started on its way carrying man and beast alike; to their final destinies.
Alan, watched the women move down the aisle trying to steady herself. A man with an oily hat who sat across the aisle-way gave up his seat; smiling with tobacco stained teeth that had browned in the summer sun.
In a half hour, the bus approached Vera Cruz, with many of the riders getting ready to deploy. Alan, watched as the old women who had gotten on earlier rise and grab the bar overhead.
As the bus stopped abruptly, the old women fell into Alan, sending a panic into the already squawking bird and for but a brief second, Alan stared into the birds cornea ; a secret portal to its soul.
With dusk falling across the land Alan, and several old men continued the journey north; the day long journey was beginning to take its toll.
Around seven o'clock that evening, the bus pulled into Las Palmas.
Alan, was surprised to see so many soldiers around. He exited the bus with suitcase in hand feeling the soldiers staring at him with a sort of curiosity.
In this shrinking heat Alan, began to wonder what to do when a young boy approached him and took his suitcase.
Alan, let the boy lead him towards a hotel where he checked in.
The room was by the far the most lavish Alan had ever been in and for a few peso�s he felt like a millionaire.
Alan, washed the road grime from his system; cooking food smells began to ascend from below.
The streets of Las Palmas had all but closed up; a few that struggled home from the fields before the curfew was to take effect.
In the hotels caf�, Alan sat relaxed drinking a cold beer; feeling the tensions of the day diminish. He ordered a plate of tacos from a burly waiter who soon returned accompanied with another that brought a bowl of beans, rice, cut tomatoes and chili sauces.
In his hunger, Alan failed to see the dog that suddenly came from the shadows.
When Alan, looked up he saw a big dog watching him with hunger in its eye; its tail wagging.
Softly, Alan called to the dog.
Alan, held out a corn tortilla and was quite surprised to see the dog hobble forward on its three legs. Of all things he thought, to be born with only three legs; such an oddity.
Alan, gave the dog the tortilla then watched as it licked the morsels from its muzzle. Cautiously, he leaned forward from his chair and attempted to pet the scruffy form.
At his touch, the dog suddenly backed away then realizing the man meant no harm came forward allowing Alan to pet the gnarled coat.
Alan, smiled to himself and talked to the dog much like he would an old friend wondering all along if Angela might have done the same thing. **