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head to the left and snap his spinal cord.
I grab his gun and spin on my foot to shoot a hole in the French doors. The bullet cracks between
the frame, and I waste no time throwing a chair through the fracturing glass. I dive through the jagged
opening, uncaring that sharp edges gouge my arms and back. Inside are three more guards. My side is
singed by a passing bullet, but I manage to roll out of the way behind a large wooden cabinet before
my body takes any more damage.
The three guards fire on the cabinet, and wood slivers blow by my face. The cabinet, however,
must be made of inch-thick wood, because I can t move the damn thing but the bullets aren t hitting
me, either. My cover won t hold long.
I lean around the side, shooting twice for cover, to take stock of my situation. There is a dining
room table, six chairs, and this giant wooden monolith. Beyond the dining room is the living area with
a sofa and two side chairs flanking a television. Two of the men must be hunkered down behind the
sofa. The third has crept into the dining room. His bad luck, because I pick him off.
A crunch on the glass outside has me spinning around but it s just Norse. I hold up two fingers and
jerk my head toward the sofa.
He motions that he ll cover me and I surge forward. The two men rise when they hear me but
either I or Norse pick them both off.
The outer rooms are completely empty.
None of the bodies are Fouquet or Duval.
I turn toward Norse and gesture my gun toward the closed bedroom door. There s no sound in
there at all. The silence is ominous. Norse positions himself on the left side as I kick the door open.
Duval is shoving things into a bag set on the side of the bed. He raises his gun toward us but
Norse has a bullet in his shoulder before Duval can even pull the trigger. Duval gets two shots off. I
dive for the floor, sliding across the slick surface. I rise on a knee and shoot twice more in the gut.
The gun falls from Duval s hand and he slides down the wall, leaving a slick trail of blood behind.
His dead eyes stare at me.
At the foot of the bed lies a thin blond-haired woman slumped over another body Ava!
Fuck.
There is so much blood. It s a river, staining the bamboo flooring and flowing away from the two
bodies.
I scramble forward and lift Rose off and place her on the bed. Norse comes over.
Dead, he says but I barely hear him. Ava s eyes are closed but fluttering and there s a slight rise
and fall to her chest. She s alive. Relief makes me dizzy and I clutch her tighter to me. She whimpers
in an obvious sound of pain.
Ava. What has he done to you? The urge to kill Duval again nearly has me on my feet, but Ava
needs me now. The blood is soaked into her uniform, turning the blue dress nearly black. I don t know
what is from her and what is from Rose. When I roll her to her back, she cries out in pain and I see
that she is clutching her shoulder.
Is that the only place she s shot? Norse asks, on his knees beside me. I shake my head. He has a
pillow from the bed and presses it against the wound. Ava screams at the pressure. With shaking
hands, I run them over her body but see no other entry or exit wounds.
I think that s it, I say, nudging the big blond aside. See if there s a first aid kit in the bathroom.
Stop hurting me, Ava cries.
I m sorry, baby. We have to stop the bleeding. You ve lost a lot of blood. Footsteps behind me
have me whirling around, but it s just Norse. He drops the first aid kit in my hands. Not much there
for her.
He s right. There are a few bandages, tape, and a bottle of topical antibacterial ointment, but
Ava s going to need more care, particularly if she wants to use her arm in the future.
Has the jet been chartered?
Yeah, there s one at the airport.
Then let s get the hell out of here. Round every one up. Find us some cars and let s go.
Norse rushes off. With the kit, I have just enough to clean off the wound and bandage it. I babble
nonsensical words as she twitches, moans, and weeps under my ministrations. I need a fucking
morphine shot for her.
I m sorry, baby. This is going to stop hurting. I promise. We re going to get you somewhere safe
and take good care of you.
Her breath becomes increasingly shallow and her skin begins to take on an ugly blue cast. Too
much blood loss, my panicked mind tells me. This is the result of the curse. I kill those that I love. No
matter how many people I try to save, I m still the bringer of death, the killer of lives. Dread drives
me into my mother s native tongue. I plead with her to stay with me. I castigate her for trying to leave
me. You are my life, I tell her, my one true love. If you die then I die. Do not die.
Yeah don t die, Bennito snarks behind me. We really need the old man around.
I don t even glare at him for his audacity because I am too busy holding her from the embrace of
death.
She moans again, agitated and in pain.
Do you have a morphine shot? I ask, trying not to be impatient. Ava s in pain and they need to
fucking hurry it up, though.
Bennito shuffles toward me. Yeah, we ve got five needles in Garcia s Boy Scout pack.
Hearing his name is like a dart to my heart. I ve lost him but I can t lose Ava.
I bite off the plastic protective cap and jab it into the inside of her arm. She screams at the sudden
pain. Bennito winces and I bite my tongue to keep my own cries inside.
From past experience, the morphine shot will give her a couple of hours of relief at the most.
Are there more supplies on the plane?
I think so. Garcia arranged for it.
Of course he did. How I will function with him gone, I don t know. I gather Ava in my arms.
Let s go. We can be in Miami in under eight hours. What s the status of the other buyers?
Before Bennito can answer, Norse reappears with Rodrigo behind him. They both have packs on
their backs. We need to evac ASAP, Norse informs me. The gunfire has attracted attention. If they
think Duval is dead, they ll take the information by force.
I table my anguish and worry over Ava s condition. Neither will help her now. I lay her on the
dining table and slice off her housekeeping uniform. Norse hands me a sundress. With Bennito s help,
we get Ava dressed.
If we carry her through the lobby, it will garner too much attention. On the other side of the
cemetery is a main road. I ll carry Ava through the cemetery. We ll meet you at the end. The airport is
only a few blocks from there.
What will you say if people ask questions? Bennito says.
Sunstroke. Go put this gun in Duval s hand. If the resort wants to cover it up, they can call it a
murder-suicide.
Ava whimpers as I lift her in my arms. The sound tears in my gut. Steeling myself, I nod to let the
men know I m ready.
Did you get everything, Bennito?
Yeah, the real receiver was under the window, and I put a dummy receiver back into the lamp.
That might stall the buyers.
Good.
I set off on a light jog trying to hold her against my chest as steadily as I can, but each step brings
her pain. Her moans and tears that track down her face are worse than any knife wound or bullet that
I ve ever endured. I whisper encouragement to her. After this you will be able to survive anything
earthquakes, tornadoes, you name it. You ve been thrown in the fire and you ve been polished into the
sharpest, strongest steel.
She doesn t respond coherently and halfway there she finally passes out. With a prayer upward, I
give thanks because I couldn t withstand another step of her painful sounds.
I ve lost people that I care about, and Garcia s death would leave an opening in my heart that
would never heal. But Ava is different. Her loss would be the end of me.
There was one older couple that came to the Tears of God favela years ago. He was old and his
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