I Met a Drifter Who Walked out of the Darien Gap - [Part 3]

Part 1

Part 2

Sometimes getting places early is a good thing.

I hadn’t planned on arriving at my port of call until tomorrow. I certainly hadn’t planned on dragging a woman a good 20cm taller than me into a Jeep and driving as fast as I could to get there.

I pulled the jeep up to a parking lot, leaving a voice message with the hospital staff about where their jeep was.

I hoped they wouldn’t be terribly upset as I slipped the keys under the Jeep’s carpet, as I said in my instructions.

“You’re a very polite car thief,” Cassara remarked as I opened her door.

“I didn’t steal it,” I argued as I helped her to her feet. Her hand covered her injured thigh as she moved.

“Fuck…” Cassara cursed, “Tanya, you bitch.  Seems like you have some practice in.” 

“You’ve got a shitload to explain, by the way,” I informed, “That’s the price of the boat ride.”

Cassara growled, “Then, give me my twenty bucks back.”

“Maybe,” I offered as I looked over the docks at the port, trying to find where Junior is.

Sure enough, I spotted his boat. A mid-sized cargo boat that was offloading supplies from Jamaica then off to Haiti with medical supplies.  

Cassara looked at the boat as we approached, “Well, I’m not going to say I expected a cruise liner but uh…” Cassara’s eyes were drawn to the hull of the older ship.

The whole thing was some shade of green and white. The white upper decks were stained with rust here and there, with paint peeling along rusted rivets near the railing. The hull appeared sturdy, but the red paint at the water line was peeling with rust stains as the waves slapped against its sides gently at the dock.  

The boat was parallel to the dock, with forklifts rolling up a large ramp to push large pallets into rows at the center. There the crew worked to tie down each pallet and secure tarps over them.  

The boat was too small for typical containers, so it lacked its own crane but it made it just the right size for small deliveries.  

“This boat is going to make it there, right?” Cassara asked.

“Well, charities have to take what they can get,” I explained, heaving onto the gangway, which was a single plank with a few worn patches of grip tape applied to the bottom.  

As we got onboard, I heard a man with a thick Haitian accent shout, “Bonjour mesye!”

I smiled as I saw the boat’s captain. His eyes were yellowed and he had far more sense than teeth. His hair was short, his face wrinkled from his time at sea. That said, his shirt was well pressed, bleached and he wore a rather stereotypical ‘Captain’s Hat’, which was white with the insignia of Haiti on the front. He was an older Haitian man who I only knew as ‘Junior’.

“Junior!” I shouted, smiling and grabbing his hand, hugging him shortly after the handshake, “How’s the water?”

“Dah water’s always der, so far she ‘asn’t taken me yet!” Junior laughed, looking at Cassara, “Oh, who dis?”

“Oh, Cassara, this is Junior, our ticket to Haiti,” I said as I introduced Cassara to Junior.

Cassara looked at Junior oddly, “Junior?”

Junior smiled, shaking Cassara’s hand heartily, “Yes! I assure yah… My fatha? He’s much olda! Dat’s why dey call ‘im, Señor!” He said with a broad laugh.

Cassara cleared her throat, trying to force her smile away.

“So where did Davy find such a woman, eh?” Junior asked, looking Cassara up and down, and then turning to me, “Yah know der ain’t no way yah can satisfy dis one, yah? She kill yah!”

Cassara recoiled, “No, we aren’t. No.”

“Well don’t act so insulted,” I laughed, “I’m not that bad, am I?”

Junior grinned, leaning on a railing of the ship, his hands draped over the side, “Ah, muh pale friend… Sometimes da ladies, dey want more den looks, eh? Need a man who can go da distance, yah!?” He laughed, turning to Cassara and looking her up and down, “And sometimes… Dey don’t need us at all, no?”

Cassara gave Junior a nod, “Yeah. That a problem?”

Junior laughed, “It’s none o’ me business what yah do wit yahself! Just don’t rock muh boat, eh?” Junior let out a deep laugh as he walked over to me, checking a clock hanging near the wheel house, “Yah far too early der, Davy. What’s dah rush, huh?”

I cleared my throat, “We had to… Leave early.”

“Oh, we?” Junior asked with a smile, “So now it’s we gonna need a ride, eh? Da deal was I take yer scrawny pale ass ‘cross the gulf to Haiti… Not her brawny ass,” He turned to Cassara, “No offense, bébé.”

Cassara narrowed her eyes on Junior's, “No offense, as long as you don’t call me ‘bébé’ again.”

"Apologies, Mon amour,” Junior said as he bowed, “How yah like me ta call yah den?”

“Cass is fine, Captain,” Cassara corrected.

“Ha Ha!” Junior shouted out in a deep laugh, “Oh I like dis one! She call me Captain!” Junior shouted, placing both hands over his heart dramatically before he turned to me, “Treatin’ me wit respect! Like she know me!” He laughed, turning to her, “Lucky you, yah don’t!” He laughed again, his tone dropping as he did.

“I’m sure she’ll get to know you on the trip,” I said with a smile.

“I ‘ope not! I want ‘er tah like me, yah?” Junior laughed, “I be fuelin’ up for da next hour, so till den find her quarters down below. Cass can take da one next to yah. Could use another pair o’ hands on dis old boat, yah know? Just ah… Don’t tink about pay, no?” Junior said with a toothless grin.

I looked at Cassara, “I think she’s just happy for the free ride.”

“Aye!” Junior shouted, his tone shifting immediately to a more serious and dire one, “Ain’t nothin’ in dis life free. Everyting cost someting,” He turned to Cass, “Jus’ depends whatcha willin’ tah part wit, no?”

Cassara narrowed her eyes on Junior as I motioned for her to follow me below deck.

“Gotta make sure dey payment is right, yah Cass?” Junior asked rhetorically, as we headed below deck.

Once we were moving down the steps and through the tight crew quarters, I turned to Cassara, “Sorry about him he’s… Uhh…”

“He speaks his mind and is honest, it’s fine,” Cassara shrugged, “Free ride and he wants me to work, I guess? I’m fine with it. Besides, I got to do something on this boat. I doubt it’s got Satellite TV.”

“Be happy it’s got a radio,” I laughed.

Cassara sighed as we got to our ‘quarters’. 

It was not much, basically a closet with a bunk bolted onto the side of the hull, with some sheets and what I hoped was a clean enough bed.  Cassara glanced into the one next door, sighing, “Lovely accommodations.”

“You could just walk further north,” I reminded.

Cassara glanced at her injured leg and growled, “It’s fine,” She relented as she limped to her bed and had a seat, “Guess I’ll knock out for a bit. Wake me when Captain Junior needs us.”

“Aye Aye,” I laughed as I checked my bed for any stowaways like mice or insects.  

…

True enough to his word, Junior put us to work.

Cassara worked as best she could without opening up her knife wound and I redressed her thigh daily. Each day, she was getting better.

I should be happy the knife that Tanya stabbed Cassara with was sharp and luckily didn’t hit the bone.  

Still, Cassara wasn’t the fastest on board, and I spent half my time keeping an eye on her, making sure she was off the leg as much as possible.

Luckily, outside of checking gauges, adjusting some minor rigging that came loose and helping to prep dinner, there was not much physically intensive work to do yet. It was going to be a long trip from Panama to Haiti. 

It was a dull and tedious four day journey to our first port Kingston, Jamaica.  

From there it was a quick refueling, reshuffling of supplies and heading out to Port-Au-Prince, Haiti.  

Junior was quick once we had moored up to the docks, “Lets git dem skids unwrapped and ready fer unloadin’!!  Fasta we done ‘ere da fasta we can get tah da next port, ah?” He shouted.

Cassara and I weren’t the only crew and we were soon undoing cargo netting and working to find the pallet jack.  

Something no crew member could figure out.

I growled, “Come on guys, it’s around here somewhere!”

“Dah man wit dah forklift loaded us in Panama!” One crew member, Kayode, shouted. He was Jamaican and had the accent to match, “Dunno where dey stowed da damn jack!” 

Cassara rolled her eyes, moving to one pallet, “This shit has to go?”

I nodded, “Yeah, it’s gotta go but I guess we’re stuck until the forklift guys can free the next row out,” I complained looking over the first row of pallets we had unbuckled from the cargo hold and spotting the others behind them.

“Can you guys climb over the pallets that we unloaded and get the next ones ready?” I shouted, finding it too difficult to heave myself over. The two guys I was yelling at were skinnier than me.

“We gotta wait, man. Chill,” The other fellow, Kendis, said. I think he was from Belize, if I recall. 

Cassara growled, “Fuck this shit, I want to get going!” Cassara adjusted her gloves and grabbed at the bottom of one of the pallets where the forklifts would normally lift from.

“Uhm, Cass what are you doing?” I asked.

“Working,” Cassara said as she bent her knees, grunted and lifted the pallet up on its edge a few centimeters.  

From there, Cassara dragged the pallet backwards, towards the loading dock and right up to the ramp. As she dragged it, wooden splinters and bits of the pallet snapped and popped off, but the entire thing remained mostly in one piece.

Cassara gently set the pallet down and then moved to the next one, “Come on you lazy fucks, start on the next row, I got this shit!” Cassara said as she dusted off her hands and moved to the next one.

“Uh, Cass your leg-” I tried to protest.

“It’s fine!” Cassara growled as she grabbed the next pallet by its edge, “As long as these cheap-ass pallets don’t fall apart…” Cassara grunted as she tilted the next pallet up, and began to drag it out.

The two other crew members just shrugged and began to unbind the next set of pallets.  

After Cassara handled the first two rows of the four we had to pull off, we found the pallet jack shoved into one of the pallets in the third row.  

I shook my head, “Figures.”

Cassara cracked her back, then her knuckles, grabbing the pallet jack, “Fucking finally,” She shouted as she dropped the forks and rolled the rusty and well used hand-jack over to the two rows she had moved to the ramp, “Now lets get this shit onto the docks.”

After two hours of us unloading, the dock-workers finally showed up in their fork-lifts to cart off the cargo we had unlocked and uncovered.

Cassara and I waited on the docks, as she leaned against a pylon, I sat on the locked hand-cart.

“Well,” I patted the hand cart, “This made things easier.”

Cassara nodded, “I figured it had to be buried in there somewhere.”

“Worked in a warehouse before?” I asked.

“Everyone needs a starting job,” Cassara stated as we watched the forklifts begin loading new pallets of medical supplies into the cargo hold, having finally taken the pallets we had unloaded away.  

“Pretty impressive,” I chuckled, “Doing that by hand.”

“Meh,” Cassara said with a shrug, “If my leg wasn’t hurt I’d have dragged them down the ramp the whole way. Those little ridges on the ramp would have torn the shit out of the pallets,” Cassara chuckled, “Pissed off my old forewoman when I pulled that shit back home. Got on my case about not breaking the skids.”

Cassara had been pretty tight-lipped the whole journey about her origins, so I took this opportunity to pry, “So… Mind telling me about where you’re from?”

Cassara’s eyes were on the boat, I could see Junior surveying the loading dock area, unsure if his eyes were lingering on us or not, “Nah,” Cassara said as she pushed herself off the dock pylon, moving to the pallet jack and motioning for me to get off of it, “Maybe later.”

Cassara wheeled the hand-jack up the loading ramp and onto the boat, where she pushed it into the first row of pallets and locked it in place, helping the crew to secure the new payload.

As I headed back on board, Junior called out to me, “Davy, meet me on da bridge! We leavin’ fore’ de sunset!”

I nodded to Junior as I climbed up the loading ramp and pulled it back onto the boat, locking it in place with Kendis and Kayode.  

Once they locked it up, they worked on ensuring the cargo was covered in netting and tarps before we unmoored and set sail once more.

I headed away from the cargo area of the boat towards the bridge, climbing up the steps until I reached the top where Captain Junior sat in a chair near the controls.

I looked over the radio, steering wheel and navigation systems, all handled by Junior and the rest of the crew.   

“Yah gurl a powa lifta?” Junior asked.

“She used to work in a warehouse, I think,” I shrugged.

“Where ya find ‘er?” Junior asked.

“Why do you ask?” I pressed.

“Cause she’s on me boat,” Junior said, now serious as he leaned forward, “And iffin’ I takin’ ‘er any furtha, yah tellin’ me about her, yah?”

I sighed, pulling up a seat near him, “What’s to tell? I found her in Panama. She was running from someone. They caught up to us, got into a scuffle and we got out of there.”

Junior nodded, “So, she ain’t from Panama?”

I shook my head.

“Where she come from?” Junior asked again, “An’ don’t fuck wit me. Tell me dah truth, yah?”

“I don’t know, she showed up out of the Darien Gap, okay?” I confessed.

Junior paused, his brow furrowing as he got up and shut the door to the bridge before walking back and returning to his seat, “From da’ Gap?” Junior questioned.

I nodded.

“Not through it, but from it?” Junior asked again.

“I’d assume through, she can’t be from the Darien Gap, there’s nothing there,” I paused, my stomach dropping slightly, “Right?”

Junior pulled out a pack of cigarettes and bit the end of one of the cigarettes out of the pack with his teeth before he offered me one.  

I declined as he shrugged and lit his cigarette, “I've seen tings…” 

“Like?” I asked.

“Der’s a difference between someone goin’ through da Gap and someone from da Gap,” Junior’s eyes locked on mine, “Dis person who chased yah… She a woman, o’ course, yah?”

I nodded.

“Military?” Junior asked.

My stomach sank, “Y-Yes.”

Junior grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, pulling me close to him, his yellowed eyes glaring into mine, “Yah fuckin’ tèt zozo! Yah done cursed me wit dis fuckin’ stowaway! Now yah got me carryin’ a Penthesilean fugitive?! Fuckin’ liar!!” Junior shouted at me, “I oughtta toss da lot of yah’ overboard!” 

“W-Wait!” I stammered, “I didn’t lie to you!”

“Oh-ho, didn’ lie, no?” Junior dropped me back into my chair as he got to his feet, walking around my seat, “Yah hid the truth from me. Dat’s enough to count as a lie in me book, yah? Coulda told me dis woman wasn’t no friend of yours… Where she come from… Instead yah bring dis curse on me vessel?”

“What curse?!” I shouted, “Listen, I was just helping her, okay? This crazy woman was after her! Said they wanted her back, or… Whatever. They killed a cop, okay? So we ran.”

Junior moved behind me and I heard the distinct sound of a blade being drawn. Soon enough, Junior had a machete tapping against my shoulder, “Ain’t no reason fer me tah consider not dicing both of yah up and tossin’ ya overboard… Cept dat folks already seen yah wit me…” Junior said as he sat down in his chair. Cigarette in one hand, machete in the other.

“Who are these ‘Penthesilean’ people you keep talking about?” I asked, trying to change the topic, “I promise you, I don’t know shit about any of this, okay? I wasn’t trying to bring you any trouble, Junior.”

“Naive fuckin’ blan…” Junior shook his head and sighed

“Hey!” I shouted, glaring at him, “I’m Honduran, man!”

“If it looks like a blan… an it talks like a blan…” Junior said as he pointed his machete to my chest, “It’s blan…”

My stomach sank at Junior’s assertion.

“Yah wanna know about Penthesil…? Fine. I tell yah,” he took a long drag from his cigarette, dropping his machete. “Yah don’t wanna know shit bout Penthesil!” Junior shouted.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Cause da less yah know, da betta,” Junior said as he twisted and turned the machete in his lap, the light from the windows flashing off the blade and into my eyes occasionally, “It’s da’ Gap’s best kept secret… Anyone who find da city…? Dey neva come back. Dey say the jungle claim ‘em, but those who know…? We know da truth…” Junior shook his head, “Yah don’t fuck around wit dese women, mon. Everyone of dem is a warrior.”

“Like… a Tribal warrior?” I asked , thinking of Native Americans and such.

"No, like Military," Junior clarified.

"So, soldiers?" I reasoned.

"No," Junior laughed, “dere's a big difference between a soldier and a warrior. A soldier, dey go tah war, and dey come back… Dey wanna live a normal life. Do dey normal tings, get a job, ‘ave a family…” Junior took another deep drag, “A warrior…? Dey wanna go back to war… Dey wanna make dey children warriors, dey wanna die in battle, in what dey call ‘Glory’,” Junior whispered, “Dat girl yah brought…? I could see it in ‘er eyes. She’s a warrior. A killa. She’s perfectly at ‘ome in blood and death. ‘Evryting else? It’s a distraction,” Junior explained.

“She’s running from that,” I informed, “I might not know much but… The girl I heard her fighting with said something about an Empress, a new one? Cassara said she didn’t want any part of the war. That's why she left.”  

Junior paused, concern growing on his face, wrinkles forming in his brow as he looked at me, “War…? What war? Dey Queen is an isolationist… Only sometimes do dese insane warriors go fightin’ in other nations battles. Like mercenaries for hire.”

“Mercenaries? Who pays for warrior women to fight for them?” I asked.

Junior laughed, “Who’s fightin’ a group o’ people who tink women ought to be wearn’ ‘ead scarves an’ marrying men?”

I frowned as I considered what Junior was implying.

“But what do yah mean dere’s a new queen… and a war?” Junior asked.

“I don’t know man, this Major Tanya said the new Queen wanted to be called ‘Empress’ or some shit, that there would be war,” I sighed, “I thought she was crazy.”

Junior reached over to a radio, picking it up and calling out, “Kendis… Bring me Cass,” he hung up the radio without waiting for a reply.

“Why do you want her?” I asked, my eyes drawn to the large machete in Junior’s lap.

“Cause yah weren’t lyin’,” Junior said as he got to his feet, “Yah don’t know shit.”

I sighed in relief.

“But let's see what Cass is willin’ to tell us,” Junior said, as he slid the dull end of the machete under my chin, forcing me to look up at him, “Yah?”

I swallowed hard as Junior moved his machete back and forth under my chin, and I was thankful it was the backside.

Still it wouldn’t take much to flip it over and slice me.

Cassara and Kendis walked in and Cassara spotted Junior with the blade at my throat, “What the fuck?!”

“Kendis, leave us be,” Junior said.

Kendis left without a word.

“H-Hey Cassara!” I called out.

Junior turned to Cassara, pointing the machete at her, “Why yah running from Penthesil…? Tell me why I outta continue ferrin’ yah two across da Gulf?”

Cassara heaved a sigh, “Did he tell you anything?”

“Da blan don’t know shit,” Junior snapped, “But he know enough tah get ‘im and me killed. Now, tell me why you runnin’!” 

Cassara shook her head.

“Yah tell me or Davy gets a ‘ead shorter…” Junior said, tapping the machete blade on the top of my head.

I damn near shit myself. I knew Junior for some time and I knew not to antagonize him or ask him what was in his cargo.  But I never imagined he would get violent if I angered him.

Cassara was silent for a moment or two before she leaned against the doorway, “You got any more cigarettes? Maybe a beer?”

Junior tossed a pack of cigarettes at Cassara before he walked around the bridge to a small fridge, pulling out a trio of small silver and red cans.

Cassara took hers and popped the can open, taking a swig before Junior offered her his already lit cigarette. She lit hers from his still hot cherry, and passed his cigarette back to him.

Junior had a seat in his chair, motioning to Cassara, “Spill it, Cass.”

Cassara heaved a heavy sigh, “Things were the usual, okay? Then this bitch showed up…” Cassara shivered, “She cut through our defenses like nothing, had a pair of women with her that… They had abilities that…” Cassara shook her head, “Mages. They were Mages.”

Junior sat there, shockingly unfazed as Cassara explained everything.

“Bitch burst into the throne room like nothing,” Cassara said, “I threw a punch at her and it was like hitting a brick wall. Then the Queen surrendered the whole city to her.”

“Dis woman-” Junior began but was cut-off.

“She wasn’t a woman,” Cassara explained, “The new empress of Penthesil? She’s a Black winged Angel and she goes by the name ‘Ragna’.”