“What do we do?”
“Move.”
Spencer’s hand enveloped hers, the AKM in the other, and he led her forward. Branches tore at their clothes as they fought their way through the dense vegetation. They had barely made it a dozen yards when she tripped over a vine and went down with a thud, biting back the yelp of pain her twisted ankle caused.
Spencer was helping her up when a flashlight blinked on from the other side of the clearing and a voice called out in Laotian, which bore some similarities to Thai. Neither of them understood what the speaker was demanding, but the sound of metal on metal from rifles being readied was sufficient translation. Spencer slowly knelt and laid the AKM on the ground and then stood with his hands over his head. Allie struggled to her feet and did the same, slightly off balance as she favored her hurt leg.
Three men approached in the flashlight’s glare. Allie flinched as one of them searched her, his hands roving over every curve. Another man did the same with Spencer before calling out to whoever was holding the light. A response came instantly, and the third member of the trio scooped up Spencer’s AKM while the other two trained weapons on them.
A push against their backs with gun barrels drove Allie and Spencer toward the flashlight, which blinked off as they neared. Their eyes adjusted to the gloom, and they could just make out two more men, also heavily armed, regarding Allie like they’d never seen a female before.
The one with the flashlight barked an order, and the gunmen behind Allie and Spencer prodded them with their weapons again. The flashlight bearer, clearly the leader, turned and led them into the night, the trees swallowing them up as they left the clearing and moved through the jungle.
Allie desperately wanted to speak, but held her tongue. She didn’t dare provoke their captors, and didn’t want to risk a gun butt slam to the head. She limped along, her ankle sending spikes of pain up her shin, but ignored the discomfort as her mind frantically searched for some way out of their predicament.
Eventually the heavy brush gave way to terraced fields, and the going got easier as they trod along a hard-packed dirt path. The cloud cover melted away and starlight shone through the remaining haze. It was obvious they were now in an agricultural area, the plots bordered by jungle, but large expanses of the land cultivated.
They drew near a collection of thatched huts grouped at the base of a mountain, and she saw firelight flickering in the near distance, where a gathering of men and women sat in an open area between the structures. Torches flamed around the perimeter, lending an otherworldly quality to the scene.
Several of the gathering rose when the group drew near, and Allie spotted at least a dozen armed gunmen in the shadows, guarding the village. A tall figure stepped forward, and Allie gasped in astonishment — it was a Caucasian man in his sixties, wearing an olive tank top and camouflage pants. She could see in the orange light that despite his age he was trim and athletic, with tribal tattoos snaking down deeply tanned bare arms. He moved closer and she could see intelligent eyes beneath a thicket of unruly dark hair, a goatee lending him the appearance of a devil in the firelight. After a brief glance at Spencer, his eyes fixed on her.
The man said something in the native dialect and then in Thai. Spencer shook his head, and the man tried again in English.
“Well, well, what have we got here? Backpackers lost their way?” He sounded American, but Allie remained silent, preferring to let Spencer do the talking. One of the members of the armed patrol held up Spencer’s AKM, and the man’s tone changed. “Not with that, you aren’t. What’s the story? Trying to make a connection in the Triangle?”
“Our helicopter went down a few miles from here,” Spencer said.
“That was you? Scared the hell out of my people here with that racket overhead.”
“That wasn’t the intention.”
“What happened to the helo?”
“Mechanical. We’re lucky to be alive. The pilot didn’t make it. Only reason we’re walking is because we hit a river instead of the ground.”
“Well, you’re right about being lucky.” The man looked Allie over and then turned to Spencer. “What were you doing in a helicopter out here? You’re risking somebody blowing you out of the air in this area.”
“The pilot said most around here knew the markings and wouldn’t.”
The man shook his head. “The pilot was stretching the truth. There are at least three groups battling it out for the Laos side of the Mekong at present, and on the Myanmar side you’ve got the Shans, a splinter group that hates them and is at war for their own slice of turf, several warlords with hundreds of men and nasty attitudes, and forays by the Myanmar military, which is as crooked as a silly straw.”
“We have permits,” Allie said, and the man’s eyebrows rose.
He laughed harshly. “Look around here, missy. You think anyone I just described gives two shits about some permits? Did the head of the Shan army sign it? You see any drug lords mentioned as giving their blessing?”
Allie looked down, embarrassed for her naïveté. The man continued, his tone only slightly softer.
“Out here, the only permits anyone understands are bullets. It’s the Wild West, little lady. The only rule is there are no rules.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Allie fired back, bristling at his condescension.
“Saving your ass, for starters. If my men hadn’t brought you in, you’d have likely been passed around like a joint by whoever captured you, and then tied over an anthill or fed to the crocodiles for sport.”
The truth of the stranger’s words stung. When she looked back up, a tiny tear was working its way down her cheek. “Who are you?” she asked softly.
“Name’s Joe. Who are you?”
She sniffed. “Allie, and this is Spencer.”
“And what brings you to my jungle?”
“Your jungle?” Allie repeated.
“This patch sure is. Now answer the question,” Joe snapped. “You mentioned you got permits. Permits for what?”
Spencer cut in. “We’re archeologists. We’re looking for ruins.”
Joe looked him straight in the eye. “You’re about as much of an archeologist as my boot is.”
“She’s the real thing. I’m the hired help,” Spencer explained, his tone neutral.
“And you’re flying around one of the world’s most infamous drug-producing areas, looking for ruins? You must be out of your minds.”
“Yeah, that occurred to me about a minute after the chopper hit the water.”
Joe grinned. “Sounds gnarly,” he said, suddenly sounding more like a surfer than a renegade in the Laotian hills. “Oh, well, I suppose if I’m not going to sell you into slavery or cut you up and eat you, I might as well offer you some grub. How long you been wandering around out here?”
“All day,” Allie said. She looked nervously back at the gunmen. “Do they have to point those at us? What if one of them sneezes?”
Joe nodded and said something in Laotian. The men grumbled but lowered their weapons. He shifted his attention back to Spencer. “If you don’t mind, we’re keeping your popgun, sport. Just in case you feel frisky later.”
“You’re the top dog here?” Spencer said, more a statement than a question.
“You could say that. Part sheriff, part rainmaker, part spirit guide, part entrepreneur.” Joe called out in Laotian, and two of the women near the fire stood and moved to one of the huts. “Take a load off while they’re fixing up some vittles. You look beat.” He strode back to the fire.
Spencer and Allie accompanied him and sat on a log where Joe indicated.
“Do you have any water?” Allie asked. “I’m parched.”