The door to his right suddenly burst open. At the same moment the dark doorway in his barrel sights filled with a beaming Hispanic male. He squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession, slamming the man back in a silent scream.

The yelling rushed closer now.

Casius spun to his right and saw the woman standing there wide-eyed and gaping. Which meant the father had probably been shot.

“Wait there!”

He bounded across the lawn and into the living quarters. A figure ran out of the back room—Father Petrus, white-faced and haggard, but somehow alive.

“What . . . ?” the father began.

“Not now! Run!” Casius snapped.

The priest ran past him and Casius followed.

The woman hadn’t moved. A glance told him that she’d been coherent enough to pull on work boots. She wore the same white T-shirt and shorts she’d worn earlier.

Casius crossed the lawn in four long strides and snatched the woman’s hand. “Follow me if you want to live! Quickly,” he said and tugged at her arm.

She refused to budge for a moment, her eyes scanning the dead bodies. A small guttural sound came from her throat. A moan. Her cold hand trembled badly in his own.

“Move!” Casius snapped.

“Sherry!” Petrus had spun back.

She sprang over the bodies, staggered once, nearly planting herself face-down, and then regained her balance.

They ran like that, Casius leading, pulling Sherry by an outstretched arm toward the looming jungle ahead and Father Petrus to their side. Voices began shouting behind, but at each other. Casius remembered the woman’s white shirt. It would be an easy target. He ran faster, now literally dragging her behind. But honestly, he wasn’t thinking of her. He wasn’t thinking of himself either. He was thinking of that dark jungle just ahead. Once he reached that dark mass of brush he could resume his mission.

They plunged past the first trees, pell-mell. No shots rang out behind and he glanced back. No pursuit. Casius slowed to a quick walk.

A soft sob filtered into his ears. He blinked. For the first time a strange notion took shape in his mind. He had a woman in tow, didn’t he? A woman and a priest. A small buzz droned between his ears.

He realized he still held the woman’s hand. He dropped it and instinctively wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts.

He couldn’t take them with him. The sob came again, just behind, through clenched teeth, as if she fought a losing battle to keep her emotions in check. A haunting from America, trailing him into the jungle like his own personal ghost, he thought.

Casius swallowed hard, refusing to look back. He could set them in the direction of a nearby village and send them packing with a slap on the back. But he might as well be sending them to their deaths.

And there’s a problem with that?