Page 38 of Duty Devoted
I had to look away from the raw emotion on both their faces. The kid was offering everything she had to help someone escape danger. It stirred something I’d buried deep—a memory of what genuine human kindness looked like.
“Elena,” Lauren said, cradling the girl’s face between her palms. “I need you to promise me something else. Stay in school, study hard. You’re brilliant—do you understand? Brilliant. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”
“I promise, Dr. Lauren.”
“Keep practicing your English. Read everything you can find.”
“You come back someday? When bad men gone?”
Lauren’s composure cracked slightly. “I hope so, mi amor.”
The sky outside was shifting from black to gray. “We need to leave,” I said quietly.
Lauren pulled Elena close one more time, whispering rapid Spanish against her hair. Then the girl was at the door, pausing to look back at us with eyes too knowing for her age.
“Be careful,” she said and vanished into the lightening gloom.
Lauren sat motionless on the cot’s edge, staring at the closed door. A single tear tracked down her cheek before she wiped it away.
“She’s extraordinary,” she said.
“She is.” I shouldered my pack and grabbed the medical bag, its muted brown a far cry from its original sunny yellow. “But the village will be waking up soon. We need to go.”
She rose in one fluid motion, squaring her shoulders. “I’m ready.”
We emerged into air thick with humidity and the promise of rain. The jungle chorus was building—birds calling territorialclaims, insects droning, the distant territorial screams of howler monkeys. I led us away from the village at a steady pace, choosing paths that would keep us hidden while still making progress toward the coast.
Sweat was already beading on my skin. The barometric pressure was dropping—Hurricane Tristan announcing its approach through oppressive, motionless air that made breathing feel like work.
“How are you holding up?” I asked after the first hour.
“Fine.” No hesitation in her response, despite the perspiration darkening her shirt. “How far to Puerto Esperanza?”
“Straight line? Maybe thirty kilometers. But we’re not traveling straight. Terrain gets uglier from here, and we need to avoid the main roads.” I ducked under a low-hanging vine heavy with moisture. “Tomorrow, we’ll hit swampland, then coastal marsh.”
“Define uglier.”
“Mud that’ll suck you down to your thighs. Water that looks ankle-deep until you step in and find it’s over your head. Caimans, fer-de-lance, bugs that’ll eat you alive given half a chance.” I checked our heading against the sun’s position. “Plus, nowhere solid to make camp.”
“Painting quite the picture there.”
“Want you prepared for what’s coming.”
We pushed on through increasingly dense vegetation. Lauren matched my pace without complaint, learning to move more efficiently with each passing hour—ducking under branches without being told, using roots and rocks for leverage, stepping where I stepped to avoid the worst of the undergrowth.
“Stop.” The word came out sharp as I raised my fist.
Lauren froze instantly, not even breathing hard. Progress.
I tilted my head, parsing the sounds that had triggered my awareness. There—engines. Multiple vehicles moving along what had to be the main road, maybe half a click east.
“Patrol?” Lauren’s whisper barely disturbed the air.
“Could be. Or locals heading to market.” The engine noise held steady, not slowing or searching. I waited until it faded completely before relaxing my stance. “We’ll swing west. Put more distance between us and the road.”
She simply nodded, following as I adjusted our route. The detour would add time, but time alive beat efficiency every day of the week.
The sun climbed toward its peak, transforming the jungle into a steam bath. When we finally found shelter—a natural hollow formed by massive tree roots—we were both drenched with sweat and ready for a break.
