the moment when Phillip faked his asthma attack, but after that all I could see was a blur of images. Us running, them chasing us. Shots being fired, bullets ricocheting, shouts and curses, screams. Either we'd be killed or we wouldn't be.
Since I couldn't imagine us dead, I was sure we'd get out of the cave safely. Then, somehow, everything would take care of itself, and we'd be back in Segovia with Mom and Don.
***
After a while, Amy started crying again. Lying beside her, listening to her sob, I wished I hadn't gotten us into this situation, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her I was sorry. Not while she was being so mean and blaming everything on me. If I apologized, I knew what she'd do. She'd gloat, I was sure she would, and then she'd make me promise to be good. "Be nice, Felix," she'd say. "Do whatever they tell you. Eat goat meat and thank them for it. Don't make them mad."
"Well, I won't be nice," I thought. "Not to any of them."
Across the cave, Grace was sipping a cup of coffee by the fire. "And I'll make you sorry," I silently promised her. "By the time we get out of here, you'll wish you'd never seen us."
Then Grace's eyes met mine. We stared at each other for a moment, and I felt my heart soften. Maybe she was as sorry as I was for the way things were turning out. Maybe she was even sorry enough to help us. Crossing my fingers for luck, I pulled my blanket up around my ears and closed my eyes.
12
I must have dozed off because the next time I looked at Grace she was sitting near the cave's entrance. In the gray light seeping in from outside, her face looked older, not as beautiful as before.
Glancing at Amy and Phillip, I saw they were both sleeping. Getting up quietly, I tiptoed to Grace's side. She jumped when I touched her shoulder.
"Go back and lie down with the others," she said sharply.
"I have to tell you something important." I was close enough to smell the stale cigarette smoke that clung to her hair and clothing. "Phillip has asthma. If he gets an attack, he might die."
Grace stared at me, her pale eyes level with mine. "What do you mean?"
"I mean this cave is bad for him." I paused dramatically and pointed at Phillip who was sitting up now. "Can't you see how sick he looks?" I asked her.
Actually he was no paler or skinnier than usual, but how was Grace to know that?
Grace tapped her fingernail against her front teeth. She looked worried, but before I could tell her anything else, we heard the Volkswagen laboring uphill toward us.
"Quick, go back with the others." Grace gave me a push to speed me up. "Orlando must not see you here with me."
By the time Orlando and Charles entered the cave, Phillip, Amy, and I were huddled together in our corner.
"Is everything under control?" Charles asked. "Did the little blighters give you any trouble?"
"No, they have been very quiet, very good," Grace said. "Even Felix."
Orlando held out his hand for the gun, and Grace gave it to him a lot quicker than she had taken it. As Orlando strode away, Charles patted Grace's shoulder and started talking to her in Spanish.
I turned to Phillip. "What's he telling her?"
He listened for a while. When Charles paused to open a bottle of wine, Phillip whispered, "I think they left the Citroen somewhere with our stuff in it, and they mailed the ransom letter."
Then Orlando took over the conversation, but no matter how hard Phillip tried, he could catch only an occasional word, not enough to understand what the man was saying.
While Phillip struggled to make sense of Orlando's Spanish, I watched Grace. From the expression on her face, I was sure she was arguing with Orlando, but Charles seemed indifferent to both of them. He sat between them,
smoking a long, dark cigarette, his narrow face blank. Occasionally he glanced at us the way a person might look at a pigeon or a cow. Not with any real interest, just idle curiosity.
Señora Perez wasn't part of the discussion. She sat near the fire cutting up
Since I couldn't imagine us dead, I was sure we'd get out of the cave safely. Then, somehow, everything would take care of itself, and we'd be back in Segovia with Mom and Don.
***
After a while, Amy started crying again. Lying beside her, listening to her sob, I wished I hadn't gotten us into this situation, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her I was sorry. Not while she was being so mean and blaming everything on me. If I apologized, I knew what she'd do. She'd gloat, I was sure she would, and then she'd make me promise to be good. "Be nice, Felix," she'd say. "Do whatever they tell you. Eat goat meat and thank them for it. Don't make them mad."
"Well, I won't be nice," I thought. "Not to any of them."
Across the cave, Grace was sipping a cup of coffee by the fire. "And I'll make you sorry," I silently promised her. "By the time we get out of here, you'll wish you'd never seen us."
Then Grace's eyes met mine. We stared at each other for a moment, and I felt my heart soften. Maybe she was as sorry as I was for the way things were turning out. Maybe she was even sorry enough to help us. Crossing my fingers for luck, I pulled my blanket up around my ears and closed my eyes.
12
I must have dozed off because the next time I looked at Grace she was sitting near the cave's entrance. In the gray light seeping in from outside, her face looked older, not as beautiful as before.
Glancing at Amy and Phillip, I saw they were both sleeping. Getting up quietly, I tiptoed to Grace's side. She jumped when I touched her shoulder.
"Go back and lie down with the others," she said sharply.
"I have to tell you something important." I was close enough to smell the stale cigarette smoke that clung to her hair and clothing. "Phillip has asthma. If he gets an attack, he might die."
Grace stared at me, her pale eyes level with mine. "What do you mean?"
"I mean this cave is bad for him." I paused dramatically and pointed at Phillip who was sitting up now. "Can't you see how sick he looks?" I asked her.
Actually he was no paler or skinnier than usual, but how was Grace to know that?
Grace tapped her fingernail against her front teeth. She looked worried, but before I could tell her anything else, we heard the Volkswagen laboring uphill toward us.
"Quick, go back with the others." Grace gave me a push to speed me up. "Orlando must not see you here with me."
By the time Orlando and Charles entered the cave, Phillip, Amy, and I were huddled together in our corner.
"Is everything under control?" Charles asked. "Did the little blighters give you any trouble?"
"No, they have been very quiet, very good," Grace said. "Even Felix."
Orlando held out his hand for the gun, and Grace gave it to him a lot quicker than she had taken it. As Orlando strode away, Charles patted Grace's shoulder and started talking to her in Spanish.
I turned to Phillip. "What's he telling her?"
He listened for a while. When Charles paused to open a bottle of wine, Phillip whispered, "I think they left the Citroen somewhere with our stuff in it, and they mailed the ransom letter."
Then Orlando took over the conversation, but no matter how hard Phillip tried, he could catch only an occasional word, not enough to understand what the man was saying.
While Phillip struggled to make sense of Orlando's Spanish, I watched Grace. From the expression on her face, I was sure she was arguing with Orlando, but Charles seemed indifferent to both of them. He sat between them,
smoking a long, dark cigarette, his narrow face blank. Occasionally he glanced at us the way a person might look at a pigeon or a cow. Not with any real interest, just idle curiosity.
Señora Perez wasn't part of the discussion. She sat near the fire cutting up
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