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NIGHTMARE IN HAWAII
"The Punji Pit"
*Missing scene*
This takes place between the time that J.R. fell into the punji pit until Toni arrives with the groceries.
J.R. knew he had made a careless mistake the instant he felt the ground give way beneath his feet. Unable to stop the downward plunge of his body, he grimaced in preparation of whatever unpleasant surprise was lurking beneath the concealing mat of foliage that had covered the pit.
As a Vietnam veteran, he knew the outcome of falling into a punji pit was never good. Many a young soldier had fallen victim to this common Viet Kong booby trap which was frequently used in jungles to demoralize American troops. As his foot reached the bottom of the pit, he felt the confirming stab of pain that shot up his leg, a brutal reminder that he should have used more caution while investigating the area.
His exclamation of pain and surprise was heard by no one except the birds in the trees as one of the sharpened bamboo spikes that were positioned inside the pit found its way into the fleshy part of the side of his right calf, pushing its way through the denim fabric of his jeans and imbedding itself deep in his leg at an upward trajectory. Using his hands for leverage, he wasted no time in pushing himself out of the pit and onto the solid ground.
Here, he was faced with a decision, one that needed to be made quickly. Recalling that these spikes were frequently dipped in poison or other noxious ingredients to cause infection and suffering, his first instinct was to remove it quickly. However, he also knew that removing it would release the flow of blood that it was blocking, and if an artery was involved, he could bleed to death before Toni returned. Either decision was risky, but as his hand closed around the bamboo, he was unable to resist the need to pull it from his body.
The pain was excruciating as he felt the spike slide from the muscle, and a few seconds later he felt the warm blood flowing down his calf. Dropping the spike, his hands closed around the wound in an effort to staunch the flow, and he writhed in agony.
The bleeding did not abate, but as the initial shock to his senses began to diminish, he understood that the flow of blood was not arterial and that it was helping to cleanse the wound of any debris that might have been driven in by the spike. Still, he could easily bleed to death if it was not stopped in some way, and that meant he would have to rig a tourniquet. Rolling onto his side, he looked at the shack. There might be something inside that he could use.
Using his hands and his good leg, he struggled to his feet. Instantly, he was beset by an almost overwhelming feeling of dizziness and nausea, and his hand groped for something to steady himself. Unfortunately, there was nothing within easy reach, and he stumbled several steps to the nearest tree and propped himself against it until the dizziness eased. It was the shock of the injury to his body, he knew, but he experienced several moments of unease, wondering if they had laced the spike with something poisonous.
As his head began to clear, he looked cautiously around. The marijuana patch had been pretty thoroughly harvested, leaving only a few wilted leaves and twigs here and there as evidence of the crop, like the one that was tucked into his shirt pocket, and fortunately it also meant that the men who had harvested it would not likely return any time soon. Most likely, they were taking the harvest some place for storage until it could be safely transported to the mainland, where it would end up on the streets.
His leg throbbed painfully, and he could feel the blood running down his calf. Okay, he could do this. Focusing on what needed to be done, he released his grip on the tree and took a step toward the shack. And nearly fell again.
Muscles he hadn’t even been aware of, muscles that were now injured, flexed as he put weight on his foot, nearly sending him to the ground again. He managed to catch himself on his good leg, hopped several steps, and found his balance again.
“Ouch!” Damn, that hurt!
This was not going to be easy. This time, he took several hopping steps on his good leg, paused to catch his breath, and then a few more hopping steps. Okay, this was working. The shack was eight yards closer than it had been before. Only a million or so yards to go.
Glancing behind him to gauge the distance he had traveled, his eyes fell upon the ground behind him, noticing several dark red droplets on the grass. If those men returned, all they would have to do was follow the blood trail to the shack, and then. . . . Don’t even think about it. Just keep going.
A few more hops, pause to rest, more hops, more rest. Slowly, the shack was getting closer. Each tree he passed, he paused to rest against it, until finally he was at the door of the shack, where he paused once again to rest.
He could feel his heart pounding in his chest from the painful exertion, and his breathing came in deep gulps. The leg continued to throb, made worse from the jarring hops he had been using, and he felt exhausted. He had to lie down before he fell down. Pushing the door open, he stumbled inside. As his eyes adjusted to the lower light, they darted from one point to another, taking everything in. There wasn’t much to see. It was very small and contained almost no furniture, only a small bed or cot, and a few pieces of shelving that might have been used to store provisions. With a little luck there would be reasonably clean sheets from which he could fashion a bandage.
After a cautious glance over his shoulder at the empty marijuana patch and the surrounding area, he pushed the door closed and made his way painfully to the bed. The top sheet was rather dusty and tattered, so he pushed it off the bed onto the floor. Beneath it was the bottom sheet; not the fitted sheets he used at home, but another plain top sheet that had been tucked under the mattress. Grasping it firmly, he tugged it free and collapsed onto the mattress.
Locating the top of the sheet, where it was folded and stitched, he used the pocket knife to carve a nick, then tucked the knife back into his pocket and ripped a long strip from the thin fabric. Then, pushing himself into a seated position again, he wrapped the strip of cloth around the injured leg, just above and covering the wound, tying it securely.
Then, satisfied that he would not bleed to death before Toni returned, he lay down on his left side, facing away from the door. The rest of the sheet was wadded beneath him, but he was too weary to try to remove it.
He could only wonder at the shack’s original purpose in this remote location. Perhaps this had once been a working cattle ranch, and the shack used by a cowboy to keep an eye on the livestock. More recently, judging from the bed and other items inside, it might have sheltered guards, stationed there to discourage theft by rival growers. Just the thought left J.R. with an uneasy feeling.
His body craved sleep, but the relentless pain in his leg and the information he had learned refused to allow him to relax enough. Over and over in his mind, he replayed the events that had occurred since his arrival in Hawaii.
Where was this “shed” that he had heard the harvesters mention? And how many people were in on this illegal crop? He had heard the name “Michael” spoken by the two harvesters, and only one Michael came to mind – Toni’s brother.
He burrowed his face against the bend of his arm and closed his eyes, dreading the necessity of revealing to Toni that her older brother, whom she clearly loved dearly, may have had something to do with Andy’s murder. For it was becoming more and more obvious that this was the reason Andy had invited him to Hawaii. This was the source of the advice he had been seeking. Michael must have gotten involved in a dangerous drug cartel.
Andy’s involvement was less clear. He could not bring himself to believe that his friend was a willing participant in the drug operation, but he would have never believed that Andy would deny the fact that he had asked him to come in the first place. He had spoken to him briefly only twice, once at the police station, when Andy had clearly been unwilling to talk, and again at the school, just before the assassins had showed up. Andy, it seemed, had been prepared to tell him everything at that point, but had been murdered before that could happen, leaving J.R. once again with unanswered questions.
“Two for the price of one”, one of the murderers had said before unleashing his barrage of bullets into the classroom. Who had they been sent there to murder, him or Andy? He had gone on the general assumption that Lars had been planted in the jail to kill him in retaliation for the belief that he had killed Kamani, but now it seemed the situation was much deeper than that.
It was starting to appear that Andy had somehow found out about the drug dealers, and most likely, he had been silenced by the people Michael was working with. There had clearly been a hit out on Andy even before he had arrived. Was Michael getting cold feet, and the cartel felt they had to deliver a stern warning? Andy must have realized that his life was in danger, and that was why he had failed to meet him when he first arrived. Joe Kamani had been the hit man, but Andy had somehow managed to escape after turning Kamani’s knife on its owner.
The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place with deadly precision, but there were still so many unanswered questions. He had to get to that shed.
Toni would insist on taking him to a doctor when she returned, but he knew he could not do that. His face had likely been sent out over all the television stations and news sources, and he would be immediately returned to jail, where his life would be terminated before he could find the proof he needed to clear himself of the charges against him. But she might be able to help him solve the rest of the puzzle. If she knew of a shed nearby, she might know its location.
Outside, he heard a vehicle engine approaching slowly through the foliage. His body tensed. Most likely, it was Toni returning, but he could not quell the flutter in his stomach that it could be someone much more deadly.
The vehicle drew alongside the building, and came to a stop. The engine was turned off, and he heard the sound of a door slamming.
“J.R., can you give me a hand with these groceries?” Toni’s voice called.
There’s more than one bag? he thought. Is she planning to cook a four-course meal?
A moment later, he heard the door open, and knew that she had seen him lying there. Perhaps now, with her help, he could get the final pieces of this terrible puzzle that would clear his name.
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