The Missionary

thing for through-and-through wounds. We’ll need food too. A backpack to carry everything.”

“I’m going in by myself?” she asked.

Stone nodded. “You’re less…conspicuous than I am. Don’t talk to anyone. Keep your eyes peeled, watch around you, behind you. You feel anything weird, like a bad feeling, or if you see anyone suspicious, get out of there ASAP. Don’t stop, don’t come back for me, just run.”

“But what if—” Wren’s eyes were wide, her voice tremulous.

Stone cut her off. “You can only deal with the here and now, babe. This is all there is. What ifs won’t keep you alive.” He took her hand in his and tried to send courage through his gaze. “You’ll be fine. You’re just getting some supplies. Don’t worry about me. Don’t even think about me. Get in, get out.”

Wren nodded, straightening the folded, wadded, colorful pesos. “You won’t…you won’t leave without me?” She wouldn’t look at him, staring at the ground between her feet.

Stone shifted upright, gathered her against his chest. She felt small and warm against him, fit perfectly underneath his chin. “No, Wren. I’ll never leave you. I’ll be right here. Promise.”

She took a deep breath and stepped away, folded the pesos in half and straightened her body, wincing as the movement stretched her injured ribs. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

“Remember, water, a shirt, tampons, food.”

“Got it.”

“And Wren?” Stone didn’t let her hand go just yet. “I need you to hustle, okay? On the double, babe.”

She nodded, swallowed hard, and backed away, entering the market. Stone moved deeper into the space between buildings. It was a gap, really, not even properly an alley, so narrow he had stay sideways to fit. Now that Wren was out of sight, he let himself slump, let himself hiss and groan as he pressed a hand to the wound. It hurt so bad, so bad. He was worried about infection, but he doubted he’d find any antibiotics. He’d just have to keep it clean and hope. And pray.

He was struggling to stay upright, beyond exhausted. Then he felt the tingling at the back of his neck, the tightening of his gut. Warning signs. Apprehension.

He slid a pistol from his waistband and shifted farther back, deeper into the gap, ignoring the heat and the pain. He felt his senses sharpen, his focus tuning in. He heard a heavy footfall, voices. The sounds stopped near his hiding place, and then he heard two voices conversing.

“Nakita sila nung matandang babae na bumaba malapit dito.” The old woman saw them get off the bus near here.

“Hanapin sila. Ibalik nyo yung babae kay Cervantes. Patayin yung lalaki.” Find them. Cervantes wants the girl. Kill the man.

Stone’s Filipino was sketchy at best, but he caught enough to know they were talking about him and Wren. He tightened his grip on the pistol and held his breath. He heard them move forward, saw them pass by him, one and then a second. He waited a few more seconds, then moved to the street, peering out from his hiding place. They were readily identifiable, two powerfully built men with submachine guns out in plain sight, interrogating people on the street. They cornered a man sitting in the lee of a building, old and wrinkled and tired, hunched over a bottle. The old man pointed with an unsteady hand, seemed to be speaking at length, gesturing. When the two thugs had the information they wanted, they turned away. The old derelict lifted a hand in supplication. Even from a few hundred feet away, he could see the cruelty in the way the two thugs stopped, turned around, tossed a peso to the dirt in front of the old man, and then kicked him when he reached for it. He hunched into a ball as kicks rained down, the thugs laughing as they brutalized him.

Stone’s fury burned hot as he watched the two men stroll away, laughing and shoving each other. They were heading directly toward the market. Wrenching himself into action, Stone followed. Ahead, he could see the entrance to the Savemore, where Wren had gone for supplies. The two men wove through the crowds, scanning, shoving people aside, casually ignoring the glances and curses. Stone had to stop them before they spotted Wren. But he had to do it without attracting attention.

A vendor stood at a cart, chopping vegetables with a large knife. Stone dug another wad of pesos from his pocket, pointed at the knife and held out the money. The vendor looked baffled, but shrugged and handed over the knife. Stone shoved his pistol back into his waistband and returned his attention to the market. The thugs were inside the pharmacy. Stone broke into a run, pressing his palm to his side and stifling the groans of pain. He headed through the door, down an aisle, behind one of the men. They’d split up, providing him with an excellent opportunity to take them out one at a time.

The first thug was alone in the aisle near the corner, surrounded by deodorant and shampoo and soap and toothbrushes. Stone gathered his nerves, tightened his grip on the knife, and lunged. The thug heard or sensed something at the last second, whirling, and the blade missed his throat—Stone’s original target. The tip glanced off his cheekbone, and Stone sent his fist into the thug’s face, buying a split-second. With a quick slash, he dragged the blade across the man’s exposed throat, unleashing a sluice of blood. It was messy, but effective. Stone danced away from the hot spray, moving past the falling body, around the corner before it hit the tile. He had to search three more aisles before he found the second thug, who had taken a bottle of soda, opened it and was chugging it, earning the irate scolding of an apron-clad worker. As he approached from behind, Stone heard the thug laughing, telling the terrified but determined young man to get lost. When the thug hefted his gun, the worker scurried away. Guzzling the soda, the thug didn’t hear Stone come up behind him, nor did he notice the blade as it flashed upward, under his diaphragm and into his lung, collapsing it. Stone lurched toward the exit once more. Shouts and screams erupted as the bodies were discovered, and Stone used the sudden chaos as an excuse to slip away, hopefully unnoticed. As he stumbled back toward his previous hiding place, he saw Wren spinning in circles. She had a child’s pink Hello Kitty backpack on her back, and a terrified expression on her face.

Stone whistled, and she whirled around, relief flooding her features as she saw him approaching. Horror replaced relief when she saw the knife in his fist, the blood coating his hand and forearm. He cleaned the knife on his shirt, and then slid it between his belt and shorts.

“You—you weren’t here,” Wren said. “Where—what happened?”

“We had company.” He turned Wren around and unzipped the backpack, scooped up the shirt and one of four liter-bottles of water.

The shirt was several sizes too big, but it would cover him. He uncapped the water and took several gulps, then dumped it over his crimson-coated forearm, scrubbing away the worst of the blood.

Wren took the bottle when he handed it to her. She drank, closing her eyes in obvious bliss. Recapping it, she eyed him. “So we had company? And you…you killed them?”

“Couldn’t let them find us, or get word back to Cervantes.”

“Are you…did they hurt you?”

Stone shook his head. “No, babe. They never even saw me.” He stuffed the nearly empty water bottle back into the backpack, rummaged again and pulled two energy bars out, unwrapping one and handing the other to Wren. “Good job, Wren. You got some good stuff. Eat this. We gotta hole up, get off the street.”

He led her back to the intersection, where he stopped and scanned, spotting a hotel across the road. He pointed, and Wren nodded, understanding. It turned out to be a fancy place, nicer than Stone would have chosen as a hideaway. He didn’t have enough Philippines Pesos, so he had to pay for a room with some of his American dollars. The clerk behind the counter eyed them carefully, suspicion filling his features as he took in their ragged appearances.

Stone peeled a hundred dollar bill and slid it across the counter to the clean, groomed, neat-looking Filipino man. “My girlfriend and I had a bit too much fun, know what I mean?” He let the number on the bill show, but didn’t give it to the clerk yet. “We lost our luggage, but we’re too exhausted to go buy new stuff.”

The clerk reached for the money. “I will get new, no problems, no problems.”

Stone jerked it back. “See, the other issue is, we’re kind of eloping. So we need it to be kept quiet.”

The clerk narrowed his eyes. “Eloping? What dis?”

Stone leaned close, whispering conspiratorially, dragging Wren against his side. “Getting married, but her parents don’t know. It’s a secret.”

Smiling wide, the clerk nodded. “Ah, yes, yes. Run away, get married.”

Stone let him take the money. “So, if any of her brothers comes looking, you haven’t seen us, huh?”

“You need doctor, yeah?” The clerk’s eyes focused on Stone’s blood-soaked shirt.