Looking at Carlos, his wife, his kids, Jack isn’t judging. For once in his life, he sees and understands what poverty is. What real labor means. What it’s like to be on the other side, to know you may not be around to see tomorrow. It isn’t an easy feeling to accept. And all the money he has in his bank account is useless here, now.

Jack tells Matías to ask Carlos how long he has lived here, in this way.

Carlos tells them, since his birth forty years ago. His father left the land, the farm, to him.

Jack asks, “Where are they?”

Carlos chuckles, says they’re in the Vrae Valley, working on his coca farm.

Overhead, a helicopter thumps by. Jack points. “Who’s that?”

Carlos tells Matías that it’s the government and their military. They try to police the area. But it’s too vast. They’ve got protection from the Shining Path guerrillas.

Jack read about this area in the world news reports. It is a lawless and unforgiving land.

When it becomes too dark to see, Carlos tells them that tomorrow they will load the leaves to start making paste.

There was no comfort that night as Jack lay in bed, bathed in his own sweat and stench. Staring at the ceiling, he waited for the mosquitoes whining around his head to light, so he could swat them. Stomach growling. Carlos had left them a bucket of water and another bucket covered with a cloth. Bread and mangoes were inside. Lying on a hard bed with a thin mattress, Jack was too sore to move. Reaching for a mango, biting into flesh so sweet it overloaded his taste buds, he chewed, savoring it. Swallowing the exquisite-tasting fruit, he was sickened by the situation. How this farmer and his family lived. Their struggle. Mouths to feed, and no help from the government.

Closing his eyes, he felt a warmth course through him. He hoped Sarah would visit him. Trying to find a smile, something positive, he would tell her his ambitions, his desire to help Carlos and his family. He just didn’t know how.

ANNE

ANNE

Hunkered down, everyone is on edge, insides clenched tight. Behind them, feet clomp and crunch, snapping twigs and rustling branches. Nerves taut, Anne starts to ease the pistol from her backpack.

The shadow limps into view, gasping for breath. It’s Dredd. Everyone’s heartbeat begins to subside, and they relax out of their crouched positions. Coming out of hiding, Cinnamon grabs Dredd by the arm, pulls him down to their level. Hissing, “You gone crazy? Get your ass down and shut up.”

Wheezing, he tells Cinnamon, “Fucking insane. Damn pigs were beating and arresting everyone they could. Tore the entire encampment to pieces. Everything we built. Lost!”

“Well, we’re safe now, long as no one followed you.”