Keeping her head down, Lucia walked past the guards. The honk of a horn startled her. A heavy military truck roared up and screeched to a stop in front of the hospital. Heavily armed legionnaires jumped out and ran inside.
With a shudder, Lucia took off running in the opposite direction. She realized she had nowhere to go. She was a fugitive.
44
“What the hell is this?” growled the sergeant, too stunned to move. “Some kind of sick joke!”
“This is no joke, asshole,” Marcelo replied slowly, almost chewing his words. “It’s simple. We’re leaving, you’re staying.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Broto shouted. “The Undead’ll be here any minute! We gotta get the hell out of here!”
“Oh, we’re going, just not to Tenerife. We’re headed to Gran Canaria.” Pauli kept her eyes glued on us. “Those drugs are the property of the
Tank had been too shocked to talk, but he couldn’t stay silent anymore. Fuming, he walked up to the soldiers perched on the vehicle, ignoring the weapons pointed at him.
“Fucking Froilists! You royalist scum! You miserable traitors! Where’s your honor and dignity?” he spat out.
“You’re the traitors!” Pauli shouted. “You people think you can blow off the laws! You betrayed the legitimate democratic government and installed that phony Republic!”
“You call that damn Froilist government
“That child is the King of Spain!
“Nobody went behind the peoples’ back, you fool! The republic is democratic!”
“Democratic? Like hell it is! When were elections held? Or a referendum?”
“What about you? Has your damned monarchy held an election?
Marcelo suddenly fired his machine gun over our heads. Terrified, Prit, Broto, and I threw ourselves to the ground; lead flew just inches over our heads like buzzing flies. Only Tank and the sergeant remained standing, unflinching. When I dared to look up, the Argentine was glaring down at us, his eyes bright with anger.
“Sorry, folks, we don’t have time to air our dirty laundry. The Undead are headed this way and we’re getting the hell outta here!” His face red with rage, Marcelo waved Pauli into the tank. As she climbed aboard, she looked away for a split second.
That was enough for Tank.
The German pulled a small pistol out of his boot and shot the lame soldier as he struggled up the side of the tank. The soldier flew backward and crashed to the ground. A red stain spread across on his chest. With the measured precision of a professional gunman, Tank didn’t miss a beat. He turned to Marcelo and fired twice. The first bullet hit the Argentine’s arm and he let out a scream of pain; the second bullet just barely missed his head. He took cover behind the metal plate that shielded the turret. Tank advanced steadily, still firing, trying to climb into the vehicle, his bullets crashing against the metal shield.
Just then, Pauli popped out of the hatch like a jack-in-the-box, her face contorted with hate, and fired four bullets into the German commander’s chest.
For a second, Tank gasped like a fish out of water. He locked eyes with Pauli, just inches from her face. He fell to the ground, with a look of disbelief that he, Kurt Tank, the great survivor, had been gunned down—by one of his own soldiers.
Other shots rang out on our left. Marcelo, his right arm bleeding, opened fire on the sergeant, who was clawing up the hatch of the tank. The Argentine’s bullets shook the sergeant like a rag doll and he collapsed in the dust next to the German.
For a split second, the silence was so thick I thought I’d drown. I watched with horror as Marcelo aimed his MG3 at us. Death danced in his eyes.
“Hold your fire!” Pauli screamed. “Don’t shoot, Marcelo! Wait a fucking minute!”
The Argentine’s expression didn’t change. We didn’t dare move a muscle, as we lay there, unarmed and defenseless. At that distance, his MG3 would cut us in two before we made the slightest movement. Marcelo finally exhaled and relaxed his trigger finger. I nearly died of relief.
“Listen carefully! You civilians shouldn’t be caught in the middle of all this!” Pauli said, standing very erect in the hatch. “But these are difficult times in the struggle for freedom and the future of the human race. They require sacrifices from everyone. Including you.”
“It’s time to take a stand! Illegitimate republic or legitimate government? Are you with us or against us? The Airbus at Cuatro Vientos Airport should be in the hands of loyalists by now. If you support the true prime minister of Spain and King Froilan, there’s a place for you on that plane. Otherwise, you’re on your own!”
I couldn’t believe it. I’d heard about the political tensions on the islands, but I never dreamed I’d get caught in the middle of a civil war. I wasn’t even clear which side was right and which was wrong—or if there was a right or a wrong side.
Pauli was waiting for an answer, so I stood up and said, “My wife’s in Tenerife and so’s my friend, Sister Cecilia, who’s seriously ill. Those medicines could mean the difference between life and death for her. I can’t abandon them. I’ve gotta get back to them. I’m not going to Gran Canaria.”
“What about you,
“It’s
“Besides,” Prit said, throwing his arm over my shoulder, his terrifying, blue eyes boring into Pauli. “I never leave a friend behind. If he stays, I stay. We’re a team. Comrades, him and me. That’s how it’s been and how it’ll always be.
Pauli studied us for a moment with both contempt and amazement. She shook off her thoughts, then turned to Broto, standing next to us, his hair caked with dirt and dust.
“What about you, Broto? Are you coming or staying?”
David turned and studied us for a few seconds. Then he swallowed, coughed loudly, and bent down to pick up Tank’s pistol, which was lying on the ground at his feet.
“Don’t get me wrong, you’ve been fucking great to me. You really helped me out. But all that’s waiting for me in Tenerife is a jail cell. On Gran Canaria, I got nothing to lose and everything to gain. I’m going with them.
