“Hold still.” I unbuttoned my fatigue shirt and jerked it off. At least it wasn’t as sweaty as my undershirt. I wrapped it as best I could over the wound, tying it under her breasts.
It was still bleeding. She was trembling. Her blood streaked over my hands. “Can you hang on for a while?”
She gave me a smile that made me want to cry and said, “I’m DEA. Of course I can hang on.”
I smiled at her as I rebuttoned her shirt, picked up both AK-47s, and hoisted her over my shoulder.
“Mac, no, I can walk.”
“It’s time for the DEA agent to keep her mouth shut,” I said, and to Savich, who’d turned back, “Laura’s been shot. It’s clean, through the upper shoulder. But we’ve got to take care of it, we’ve-”
An Apache was coming in fast and hovered right over us. It sounded muffled through all the greenery overhead, but it was close, too close. If it fired downward, it could hit us.
I laid Laura on the floor of the forest, cupped her cheek with my palm, and said, “Don’t move, I’ll be right back. I’m going to get you a first-aid kit and then I’m going to play doctor.”
She looked at me like the drug had captured my brain again. I just smiled at her, grabbed one of the AK-47s, and ran for a small, light-filled clearing just inside the forest belt. I looked up. An Apache was hovering not twenty yards overhead, its rotor blades fanning the thick upper canopy of the rain forest. I heard birds screeching, heard their wings flapping madly to escape. It was just that the growth was so thick off to my left that I couldn’t see them. I could make out a man staring downward with binoculars.
“Hey, you bastards!” I fired upward. When I cleared the magazine, I pulled it out and shoved another in, and waited. I needed them closer, and lower. The Apache weaved, plunging side to side. Yes, I thought, you’ve seen me. Now, come and get me. I could hear a man yelling. They were right over me now. I fired off another twelve rounds, directly into the gut of the helicopter.
I could see the pilot fighting the controls, trying to regain control. I heard the other man yell. Then, like it was released from a slingshot, the Apache rose straight up and then dipped sharply to the left. I fired another half-dozen rounds. It trembled, the rotor grinding, those amazing General Electric turboshafts sputtering, dying now from all the damage my bullets had caused. The Apache lurched and went straight up again, its nose aimed at the sky. It stopped, trembled some more, turned nose toward the ground, and came down fast. I heard the two men screaming.
The helicopter plunged into the rain forest, slashing through leaves and trees. I heard a loud ripping sound- its rotor being torn off. Then silence. I heard the other helicopter, but it wasn’t close. Wouldn’t it come over us like this one had? Because they saw it go down?
I waited a moment, then ran as fast as I could to where the helicopter lay, nose buried some two feet into the ground, its rotor broken off halfway down, gleaming sharp blade edges embedded in the foliage. Monkeys shrieked overhead. I saw several of them leaping from tree to tree some six feet above my head. I knew the helicopter could explode, but I had to get my hands on a first-aid kit. I couldn’t face the thought of Laura wounded in this living hellhole without any medical supplies.
The gunner and the pilot were both dead. They were wearing fatigues, like the rest of Molinas’s men. They were in an American helicopter but they surely weren’t Americans. They were probably Del Cabrizo’s men, sent to take us out, just as Molinas had said.
To my relief, I found the first-aid kit shoved beneath the pilot’s seat. On the back of the pilot’s chair, to my amazement, were half a dozen containers of bottled water in a net fastened to a strap. There were several blankets strewn over the backseat. I grabbed them up, smelling the fresh, thick scent of sex. Now I knew what these guys had been doing before they’d taken off.