“I know that man in the suit,” I said.
Renato struggled to keep a cough from coming out..
“Yes... Officer Paulo Pinto. Seems like he is personally taking care of Gloria Santa.” He straightened his head and looked at me, his head swaying from side to side. “He already knows you’re here... We must find another way, Emily. We must find another shelter... I just hope they don´t pay my grandma a visit...” He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, weary.
I slid against the wall to sit on my heels, trying to let my situation sink in. There had to be an option, one that didn’t include dying, being captured, or seeing innocent people harmed.
Looking down from the cement staircase, I saw movement among the slum houses and alleyways. The rotors of the helicopter sounded like a thunder storm. Gloria Santa had become a battle zone. Fights were taking place in the crevices and ghettos of the slum. Not in plain sight.
Maybe we could try to hide inside some of those crooked houses anchored on the hillside. There were so many of them in the slum. Would the police, the local drug faction, or even Flávio Beirario’s be able to rummage through every one of them? Certainly not. But, would someone give us away?
Our best chances were staying low key and avoiding contact with anyone else till that helicopter took off and we entered the trail into the woods--the pathway that would take us out of the favela.
But we were in an open space, at the top of a staircase that slithered up amid buildings since the foot of the hill. Our taking cover from the police was just a matter of luck and positioning. Had they walked on the opposite side, they would have stumbled upon our desperate asses, as we mumbled and babbled and staggered down the steps like prey.
Our time was running out. The police would eventually patrol the perimeter of the plateau. We’d be discovered, soaked in sweat and fear. Hiding away with Renato was out of question. His wounds required proper medical care to avoid the spread of infection. His life was at risk.
Our only option would be sneaking down the steps of Gloria Santa, back to the gas station. From there, I could take Renato to a hospital. After the torture he received on his shoulder and the additional gashes opened, any bullet trace would’ve been erased, so doctors wouldn’t be obligated to warn the police.
“Let’s go back,” I said. “We need to leave Gloria Santa by the entrance.”
He shook his head. “People will see us, they’ll track us down.”
“Whatever. You’re going to die sooner or later without medical treatment. And my face is already on TV. I mean, we should use that in our favor.”
Renato tapped his shoulder with his usable hand, his face contorting in pain. He looked down the steps then stretched his neck to try and snatch another glimpse of the police, and breathed in heavily.
“Ok, let’s go.”
I got up and helped him. We started heading down the steps, keeping our bodies tight against the walls that ran alongside the staircase.
The stairs winded down, steps bending in many places to fit the awkward construction of walls and ceilings perched on top of one another. All the paths divided into two branches to be joined up by tributaries coming from other parts of the maze.
We had gone down a few steps when I saw a man coming up. He scurried past the alleyway, avoided us and leaned his head from behind buildings.
I recognized the face I had already met. Not long before, he had taken his pants off and scratched his muddy fingers over my skin. And now he was coming for us.
Chapter 21
Renato tugged at my shoulder and pulled me into a corridor so narrow we were unable to walk side by side. I tripped as I crammed into the path, and when I looked at him his face grimaced in pain.
“This way, Emily,” he sighed, “We must change course.”
He also had seen the rapist coming our way. Did that man want to finish off what he had started with me back at the clinic? Or did he want to capture us and arrange a ransom from Paulo Pinto on top of the slum?
Renato led the way between the buildings, water pipes exposed outside the walls leaking constantly, turning the dirt into a muddy swamp. We slithered past a corner, Renato’s shoulders scratching against the walls, his eyes tearing.
We came to a dead end.
The din of gunfire mingled with screams continued, but the helicopter whirr had silenced.
“We have nowhere to go,” I said. And for the first time, I thought of gripping the handgun to protect us from the man coming in from the stairs.
But there was an entrance close by. A rotten wooden window fell from the frame after a small push. We slid it open. Splinters of wood fell from it and insects scurried into the wall and other crevices. Then, we clambered over the windowsill to reach the inside.
A stifling smell of mold and mute darkness dwelled in there. We stepped across the room, barely seeing the shaft of light seeping in through the gap at the bottom of a door. The dense atmosphere inside the house amplified all noises, and I could almost feel the vibrations of Renato’s pounding heart, of his feverish veins, as we walked along.
His health was worsening again. Renato needed a bed, not the struggle of running and hiding and hopping over obstacles on the sloped face
