Page 63 of Cutter’s Lady

Chapter 12

Leslie stood frozen, staring at the hazy area where Cutter had disappeared. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move, could hardly breathe. Eons passed. She watched the shells explode in the street, gouging up huge chunks of earth and spraying dirt and metal. She saw women and children scurrying for cover and huts going up like torches. Her ears rang, deafened by the bombs and the rapid bursts of bullets.

She waited, trembling and numbed, praying that Cutter wasn’t wounded or dead in the ruins across the way. Then Cutter darted out of the smoke again, alive and whole, and Leslie sagged with relief. He ran across the dirt street, guns in his hands and a bundle of some kind tied over his shoulder. He jumped through the doorway just as a shell landed behind him, blowing in most of the front wall of the house and tossing Cutter and Leslie to the ground.

“Leslie! You okay?” Cutter shoved logs and roof fronds off her legs, pulling her out.

“Yeah. I think so.” Leslie stood up, brushing off her clothes. “How about you?”

“Fine.”

“Where’d you go?”

Cutter knelt to retrieve the bundle and weapons from the heap of crumpled wall. “I saw where Velasquez put our weapons and supplies, and I figured we better get them and get out of here. The government’s about to overrun the village, and they’ll either kill or capture us. If we’re lucky enough and that doesn’t happen, afterward the Moristas might start thinking it wasn’t a coincidence that we turned up the day before the attack. I don’t want to be around if that happens.”

He strapped on his revolver and machete and slung an ammunition belt over one shoulder. He re-tied the canvas-covered bundle into a sort of sling and stuck his head and the other shoulder through it, so that it hung crosswise across his body. He shifted the bundle to his back so it wouldn’t hinder his reaching either the knife or the gun. He picked up the rifle and held out his other hand for Leslie.

“Okay. Let’s go now. We’ll have to run.”

“All right.” Leslie was amazed at how calm her voice sounded as she put her hand in his.

They sidestepped the rubble and advanced cautiously into the street. Cutter glanced up at the sky and slipped around the hut to the back. Staying close to the walls, he trotted along behind the row of huts, Leslie right behind him. They skirted two huts that were in flames. Behind them, a shell hit one of the huts they had just passed.

There was a new kind of shell winging in now, Leslie thought. It fell in an arc and had a different whine. Before each explosion there was a loud boom off to the left. The new shells must be coming from land-based artillery. It seemed an enormous attack to be mounted against a collection of mud and wooden huts.

Cutter paused at the last hut, gazing across the small clearing to the thick trees beyond. He looked up at the planes. There were three of them, and they flew over the village one right after the other, banking and flying back around to start another run.

Cutter tensed, and his hand tightened around Leslie’s. The third plane flew over them, and Cutter jerked her hand. “Now!”

He started across the clearing, and Leslie ran with him, straining to go at top speed and not slow him down. Behind them the next bombing run began. Leslie’s legs pumped, and her breath whistled in her throat. It seemed incredibly slow, the trees as far away as when they started. The first plane whipped past overhead, but there was no spurt of gunfire. The gunner must not have spotted them. Now the second one roared over, but it didn’t break formation, either. Cutter and Leslie burst into the vegetation, breaking through small bushes and vines and into the larger trees.

A few feet into the trees, Cutter stopped, and Leslie slumped against a tree to catch her breath. Cutter didn’t give her long before he struck out again, walking so rapidly that Leslie sometimes had to trot to catch up. “Where are we going?” Leslie asked, and Cutter shrugged.

“Away from the camp and hopefully not into the middle of the army.”

He moved quietly, and Leslie tried to imitate him. They slipped through the heavy undergrowth, and when it grew too thick to pass, Cutter handed Leslie the rifle and took out his machete to hack through it. The tremendous noise of the bombardment grew less and less, replaced by the hysterical chattering of parrots. They went south for a long time, and the ground began to slope downward. They turned east. Cutter suddenly stopped, then moved quickly backward, propelling Leslie with him. They slipped behind a tree covered with thick, looping vines and waited. Cutter peered through the spaces between the leaves. Leslie’s heart pounded, and her hands were icy.

Something moved a few feet from them, and through the heavy vegetation Leslie glimpsed the glint of metal. Soldiers. The bushes moved and cracked as they passed through. She could see them better now. They were dressed in camouflage and carried rifles at the ready. They moved cautiously, their eyes trained before them. Leslie could see at least six of them, and she suspected there were others besides this group. They had almost stumbled into an army unit moving toward the guerrilla camp.

Leslie’s knees went weak with relief, and she sank to the ground. Cutter squatted down beside her, his eyes still scanning the area around them alertly. After several long minutes had passed, they left their shelter and moved back west and then south to skirt the army.

After a time they came to a narrow gorge with a tumbling, clear stream at the bottom. Cutter studied the drop. It was not nearly as deep as the gorge over which they’d driven on the rickety bridge, but it was as sheer a drop-off, falling straight down to the narrow banks of the stream. Cutter knelt and reached over the edge, tugging at the mat of vines flowing over the ground and down the side of the gorge. They were tangled and thick, many of the stems old and as big around as Leslie’s wrist. Cutter yanked hard, but they stayed firmly in the ground. He pulled again and again, but still they remained fast.

“What are you doing?” Leslie crouched down beside him.

“Seeing how strong these vines are. I think we can climb down them to the streambed.”

“What?” Leslie’s voice rose. “Are you crazy? That must be three stories high!”

A grin touched Cutter’s mouth. “So says the city girl.”

“I’m serious! What if we fall?”

“That’s why I tested them. I’m going to try first.”

“Cutter, no! Please.”

He pulled her to him for a quick hug and planted a kiss on her hair. “Don’t worry. I won’t get myself killed. I’m too fond of myself for that, remember?” He winked and released her, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. Hands free, he turned around with his back toward the edge of the cliff and lay down on his stomach. Carefully he backed over the edge. Leslie closed her eyes, suddenly dizzy and terrified, as if she herself were the one hanging on to the vines so high up. Of course, if Cutter did manage not to die she would be hanging there herself in a minute.