The Hoarse Whisper

(Part six of “The Lore Machaco Villa Rica,” saga)


I

The Lore Machaco gang, escaped down into the valley of Villa Rica, crawling at night to distance themselves from the Peruvian soldiers, sent out to capture them for terrorizing buses that went from Lima, to Huancayo, in addition, Juan Diego Martinez had gotten into the drug business, and had graduated from ten-guerillas, to twenty, now with rifles and pistols (it was the late 1960s).
They were now crawling slowly down in the mud, in the coffee orchard fields, around the mountains of Villa Rica. They had made their way to Divine Mountain, and crossed the roughly made moving bridge, and disconnected it from the other side that is when the soldiers equally all agreed to leave the gang alone for the time being. The area was hot, full of mosquitoes, and they had to find fresh water to supply themselves constantly, and there was only a platoon of them, forty-four men in total, and two had been wounded, and were being carried by four other men, feeding them, with refills of water from their helmets, wiping the sweat from their foreheads with rages, everything being done with a clumsy mildness. That also was slowing the other soldiers down.

●

On the other side of the wobbly bridge, was the cartel, the Loro Machaco gang, the Boss, Juan Diego, feeling the earth move, and a sound of a wind galloping and winding up around him, and his Army of terrorists—dumbfounded of what was happening, stood stone-still, capturing the moment. He held himself tight against a tree as the earth shook for the second time; Fernando, Carlos and Angel were by his side. They were underneath, a peak, that was onto of the hill, a slope formation, overlooking them, they stood down by the hills tunnel, they were about to enter. A third quake came, it must had shook the floor of the whole valley, so Diego conjured in his mind, wherein truth it just shook the mountain area of Divine Mountain, and the area around it, and the forth quake was faint but more destructive than the previous three, it opened up a dark hole into the earth, a fissure of sorts, nearby where all twenty of the gang had been standing, and down plunged Diego whom was leaning against a tree, and his three comrades into the fissure; the other sixteen were covered up with a landslide that broke off the slope, overhead, part of the mountain had fallen upon them.
Diego felt himself tumbling hitting against the walls of the crevice he was dropping down, foot by foot, into the dark bowls of the earth, he heard Fernando’s cry,
“I’m down here, alive…not dead!”
Coming down as fast as Diego, was a ton of earth above him, when he landed—uninjured, Fernando franticly dug him out of the earth that covered him, Angel and Carlos were just getting back up off their backs onto their feet.
There was light above them, but it was two-hundred feet, and the earth soft and jagged, it would never hold their weight, but there was also a cave entrance to their back: perhaps it led to the other cave entrance, the one they were standing by, ready to enter, thought Diego. It was worth a chance, better than climbing the cliff like crevice they were in, slipping and sliding down and using up their energy.
“I wonder how many of the gang is left?” asked Angel to Diego.
“I don’t know, or care right now they’ll simply have to dig their own selves out of that earth slide!”
“Let’s get on with our journey,” said Fernando looking at the Boss.



II

There was only one direction to go in, and it had a profound darkness attached to it, so much so, no one could see their feet several feet, inside the cave.
“Be quiet,” the Boss said in a hoarse whisper, “I don’t want to upset the earth anymore, and have a cave-in, I’m sure there’ll be an entrance further up someplace…!”
The fissure was deep and Diego knew it might close up at any moment, tighter, thus causing the walls inside the cave to cave-in, as a result, hurling a tone of dirt over their heads at any second, so time was of the essence, and air was becoming thin, and everyone’s breathing was becoming faint, and voices hoarse.
As they walked between walls no more than a foot or two wide, one could feel the cool air seeping into the cave, and the four men starting to laugh as if victory was at hand. And the farther they walked the more light came into the cave, and the seepage of water was coming out of the mud walls, the men were snarling with trying to talk, but their lungs and noses were filled with dust and debris, mud and water covered their whole body, so all this appeared to have a consequence on their speech. The last one-hundred feet, the men struggled to get to the entrance, and made it, and there they were, back where they had started; several of the men were digging the others out of the tonnage of dirt that had fallen upon them.
The Boss walked up to see who was left; he looked up at what was no longer a peak in the mountain, above him, the slope, where the landslide had been created.
“Give me a count of the dead, Fernando,” commanded Diego, as if he was a general, not turning around to look at the dead bodies lying by the mudslide.
“Up to now, it looks like three broken necks, or five dead, and still counting.”


Note: Part one to “The Hoarse Whisper,” written in the morning of 12-8-2008