Beyond the Breaking Point - Lori Sjoberg Page 0,28

trees, an animal shrieked, and Wade couldn’t say for sure whether it came from a primate or a bird.

With the slightly higher elevation came a welcome break from the heat. For the first time in days, the rainforest didn’t feel like a sauna. Unfortunately, after two hours of hiking, there was still no sign of the waterfall, and daylight was starting to wane. At best, they had another hour before it would be too dark to travel.

“We might as well start looking for a place to make camp,” Wade said as they passed a large fallen tree. The undergrowth wasn’t too thick in this area, and with luck they wouldn’t have to search for long before they found a good spot for the tent.

“Does that mean we don’t get stew tonight?”

He slanted his gaze to the right, where Hope walked close to his side, her ponytail swinging with each step. “A deal’s a deal. No waterfall, no stew.”

Truth be told, he was starting to have second thoughts about that. Meal bars, granola, dried fruit, and jerky were starting to get old. An actual meal sounded pretty damn good. Plus, they’d covered a lot of ground today, and a meal of sustenance would do them all good. But his hard-nosed side insisted they hadn’t earned the luxury. Maybe tomorrow, after they achieved their goal, they could enjoy the fruits of their labor.

As they entered a clearing, Wade’s senses pricked. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something wasn’t right; he could feel it in his bones. He froze, extending his left arm in front of Hope to stop her advance. Hector came to a halt a few feet away, the question plain on his face.

“What is it?” Hope asked.

Wade held up one finger to signal he needed a moment while he tried to figure out what was wrong. His instincts hadn’t screamed this loudly since Guadalajara, and he knew better than to ignore them. At last, the answer dawned on him, and he lifted his chin toward the sky. “Listen.”

Hope went perfectly still for four or five seconds, and then shook her head. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly.” He drew his pistol from his holster and flipped off the safety. “The birds stopped singing.”

Normally, the air was alive with the calls of at least a dozen different species of birds. After a while, you got so accustomed to the sound that it became a kind of white noise. But now there was nothing, not so much as a peep, as if somebody had pressed the mute button.

Hope’s mouth fell open as understanding—and a healthy dose of fear—sparked to life in her eyes. “Aw, hell.”

In the jungle, the first warning of an approaching predator was silence. When violence was imminent, animals instinctively knew that keeping quiet and still was their best chance for survival. Question was: what kind of predator were they dealing with? And were they the intended prey?

Not making a sound, Wade scanned the area, his pistol white-knuckled in his grip as he searched for signs of danger. His pulse quickened, senses heightened. He could practically feel the air move around him. Something rustled in the bushes off to his left, and as he signaled Hector to investigate the noise, a gunshot shattered the quiet behind them.

Overhead, the birds in the canopy took flight, their wings filling the sky with color.

Wade turned to find four men behind them, each wearing brown pants, drab green long-sleeve shirts, and wide-brimmed hats with a jungle camouflage pattern. Each was armed with an automatic rifle that was aimed in their direction.

One of the men lowered his weapon and stepped forward, and the punch of recognition made Wade’s blood pressure skyrocket.

He didn’t know the guy’s name. They’d never used them while he and Carmen were being tortured. But he vividly remembered the hours of pain, the degradation, and how much the asshole had enjoyed inflicting it.

The man grinned, flashing a set of tobacco-stained teeth that were badly in need of a dentist. A snake tattoo slithered down the left side of his neck, while a silver loop pierced one eyebrow. When he spoke in Spanish, his voice carried a distinct accent typically heard in the northern part of Mexico. “Drop your weapons and put your hands behind your heads.”

Though reluctant, Wade gave Hope a slight nod as he complied with the command, dropped his shotgun and pistol to the ground. He stretched his arms, loosely twining his fingers, and placed his open