Chapter 7: Honduras

Julio crashed through yet another veil of dense hanging vines before tripping over a moss camouflaged log. He tumbled exhausted to the ground. His natural adrenalin had managed to turn off some of his pain receptors, and the bullet wound in his knee was now only a dull throb. One lucky shot, he thought to himself, or I’d be miles away by now.

He had been surprised when he heard the trucks roll up outside his remote lab, and the small delay as he retrieved the critical sample from the refrigerator had been enough to let one of his pursuers spot him going over the back fence. Still, it was a lucky shot from 80 meters that left a small caliber bullet lodged in his left knee. At least he couldn’t hear them coming yet.

He used this moment to catch his breath and glance at his surroundings. He had headed northwest, amazingly a direction he had never explored before. He had the usual three options always available to prey: run as far and as fast as possible; hunker down and camouflage himself till they left; or double back where they least expected him. He suspected these guys would not keep up the chase for long, so option one seemed the best. His throbbing leg, however, was arguing strongly for the second option. His decision making process concluded quickly with the sudden bellow of a howler monkey followed by the distant sound of men moving through the forest. He rose to his feet and continued off to the northwest. In only moments a bullet whistled by his head. “Damn,” he swore under his breath. “They must have some scouts ahead of the main group.” An additional dose of natural adrenalin kicked in as he bolted through the underbrush at breakneck speed.

It was no surprise that he didn’t see the ravine. Even for a casual hiker the dense foliage obscured it until bare rocks revealed the cliff’s edge. A fleeing animal was simply doomed to go flying off the edge, like buffaloes stampeded by Indians. Still, he realized while still in flight what had happened and murmured a quick prayer to Jesus and Mary. He jumped.

Seconds later he found himself in a hammock of some type of clinging vines with no additional injuries. He carefully pulled the Velcro cover off one of the many pockets of his utilitarian jungle fatigues. The small bottle was still there … and it was intact.