left.
They told him to keep running.
As he hit the packed dirt roads of the village, it took tremendous effort to will his arms and legs to stop moving. His skid into town left a trail of dust in his wake like the perpetual cloud that followed Speedy Gonzales.
There had been two gunshots, but there were no bodies and blood that Umberto could see. He looked around in the first morning light. There was no one at all: living or dead.
“Pronto,” Umberto asked into the emptiness of the village. What had happened here, and where was the moolie? The wooden stake was empty, the remnants of Jacque’s tape restraints still stuck to the sides.
There was a groan and Umberto whirled around, muscles painfully tensing as he readied himself for attack.
There was nothing behind him, no one that he could see.
“Aiuto!” The voice was calling from right in front of him, but Umberto still saw nothing.
“Signore Bronze,” Umberto asked the empty clearing. The director’s voice was recognizable, but weak. There were no more cries for help, only quick labored breaths.
Then Umberto’s eyes fell on the hole in the ground, the small pistol lying right in front of it, and all at once he pieced together what must have happened.
A jail break? Really?
How could the “legendary” Tito Bronze be so stupid?
The sunrise was almost complete now, but the morning haze resulted in heavy shadows. Umberto had to cup his eye as he peered over the edge of the well.
“What happened to you?” Umberto asked. He was only able to make out the tip of Tito’s silver beard staring up at him from the blackness of the well.
Below, the old man gave a wet cough and moaned as he cleared some phlegm, and possibly blood. His body didn’t seem far enough down to be at the bottom of the well. The fat old bastard was probably stuck halfway, wedged between the coarse sheets of limestone as they angled closer together.
“Throw me the bucket. Pull me up,” Tito wheezed. It was apparent that he was expending great energy just to say a few words.
“How badly are you hurt?” Umberto asked, ignoring the director’s demands for the time being.
“I’m fine. Throw me the rope and pull me up!” The scream came at great cost. Umberto could hear the crumbling of rock as Tito’s body wedged itself deeper into the hole.
“No,” Umberto said. “It won’t hold you.”
“Yes, it will.”
“I’m not strong enough to pull you up,” Umberto said.
His mind was now made up. The old woman with the shell necklace spoke to him, reminded him of how badly Tito Bronze had harmed his career. Tito had put him in schlock, picture after picture. For Tito Bronze, Umberto was a joke.
This man was no friend of his.
“Mr. big action star, not strong enough? No!” Tito tried to sound chummy, but there was too much desperation in his voice to sound anything but terrified and anguished.
Umberto’s response was moving away from the edge.
“That’s my boy,” Tito said, from down in the hole.
Umberto picked up the Korovin and put it in the waistband of his loincloth. With his foot, he edged the water basket further away from the mouth of the pit.
“I’m going to wake Denny and have him get the camera,” Umberto said.
“What for? Where’s the rope?” Tito was beginning to sound desperate. Umberto ignored him and went looking for the camera.
He was going to finish this movie by himself.
Chapter 23
Cynthia
She’d been close enough to know that Tito’s first shot was a miss. As the bullet whizzed by, Jacque let go of her hand.
That was her signal to run off into the jungle. and she did, not able to look back for the second shot, and the pained scream that immediately followed it.
The foliage bordering the village was thicker in this area, her feet were being torn up with every step, but still she ran.
If Jacque had been shot to buy her an extra few moments to escape, Cynthia was not going to let his sacrifice be in vain.
After running until the trees
They told him to keep running.
As he hit the packed dirt roads of the village, it took tremendous effort to will his arms and legs to stop moving. His skid into town left a trail of dust in his wake like the perpetual cloud that followed Speedy Gonzales.
There had been two gunshots, but there were no bodies and blood that Umberto could see. He looked around in the first morning light. There was no one at all: living or dead.
“Pronto,” Umberto asked into the emptiness of the village. What had happened here, and where was the moolie? The wooden stake was empty, the remnants of Jacque’s tape restraints still stuck to the sides.
There was a groan and Umberto whirled around, muscles painfully tensing as he readied himself for attack.
There was nothing behind him, no one that he could see.
“Aiuto!” The voice was calling from right in front of him, but Umberto still saw nothing.
“Signore Bronze,” Umberto asked the empty clearing. The director’s voice was recognizable, but weak. There were no more cries for help, only quick labored breaths.
Then Umberto’s eyes fell on the hole in the ground, the small pistol lying right in front of it, and all at once he pieced together what must have happened.
A jail break? Really?
How could the “legendary” Tito Bronze be so stupid?
The sunrise was almost complete now, but the morning haze resulted in heavy shadows. Umberto had to cup his eye as he peered over the edge of the well.
“What happened to you?” Umberto asked. He was only able to make out the tip of Tito’s silver beard staring up at him from the blackness of the well.
Below, the old man gave a wet cough and moaned as he cleared some phlegm, and possibly blood. His body didn’t seem far enough down to be at the bottom of the well. The fat old bastard was probably stuck halfway, wedged between the coarse sheets of limestone as they angled closer together.
“Throw me the bucket. Pull me up,” Tito wheezed. It was apparent that he was expending great energy just to say a few words.
“How badly are you hurt?” Umberto asked, ignoring the director’s demands for the time being.
“I’m fine. Throw me the rope and pull me up!” The scream came at great cost. Umberto could hear the crumbling of rock as Tito’s body wedged itself deeper into the hole.
“No,” Umberto said. “It won’t hold you.”
“Yes, it will.”
“I’m not strong enough to pull you up,” Umberto said.
His mind was now made up. The old woman with the shell necklace spoke to him, reminded him of how badly Tito Bronze had harmed his career. Tito had put him in schlock, picture after picture. For Tito Bronze, Umberto was a joke.
This man was no friend of his.
“Mr. big action star, not strong enough? No!” Tito tried to sound chummy, but there was too much desperation in his voice to sound anything but terrified and anguished.
Umberto’s response was moving away from the edge.
“That’s my boy,” Tito said, from down in the hole.
Umberto picked up the Korovin and put it in the waistband of his loincloth. With his foot, he edged the water basket further away from the mouth of the pit.
“I’m going to wake Denny and have him get the camera,” Umberto said.
“What for? Where’s the rope?” Tito was beginning to sound desperate. Umberto ignored him and went looking for the camera.
He was going to finish this movie by himself.
Chapter 23
Cynthia
She’d been close enough to know that Tito’s first shot was a miss. As the bullet whizzed by, Jacque let go of her hand.
That was her signal to run off into the jungle. and she did, not able to look back for the second shot, and the pained scream that immediately followed it.
The foliage bordering the village was thicker in this area, her feet were being torn up with every step, but still she ran.
If Jacque had been shot to buy her an extra few moments to escape, Cynthia was not going to let his sacrifice be in vain.
After running until the trees
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