Hector quickly repacked his bag and scattered the ashes of his fire. Re-slinging his few belongings, he silently lay covered by a large fir tree near the protruding boulder. He heard and saw nothing but the wind in the trees and the treacherously peaceful landscape.

Tension hung in the air like one of those Chinese paper lamps- it just floated there, without showing any sign of leaving soon.

Suddenly the noise came again- but this time much closer, definitely on Hector’s side of the ravine. Whatever, or whoever, was making the sounds had crossed the ravine.

Five seconds later, Hector heard the crashing noise come from a different direction. And then yet another sound came. They were all far too near for comfort.

Hector glanced around frantically. The ground rose uphill and the trees thinned. Downhill, the noises continued. Three hunters. There was no way that he could get very far before they saw him, and there was even less of a chance that he could escape three armed men running up a mountain.

One of the men had apparently moved in front of him, though Hector couldn’t see him yet. A sound of careful stepping through the underbrush reached Hector’s ears to the right. Wildly, Hector sought a hiding place- but there was nothing. If I run, they’ll be on me in a second. I’m trapped.

Panicking, Hector glanced upwards. Then an idea struck him. With as much silence as he could contrive, he carefully climbed the low-hanging branches of the fir tree. Twenty feet up, Hector was practically invisible from the ground- yet he could see far in all directions around the tree.

Then movement caught his eye. A mere fifty feet away stood Miguel Torres, the short arms-dealer and Flores’ lackey. He peered into the forest from side to side. When he saw the trampled ashes of Hector’s recent campfire, he gave a cry and rushed under the rock outcrop. To the right, Hector recognized the “twins”- two more men, hugely tall and broad, with black sunglasses. All three were toting some sort of weapon. Hector held perfectly still and prayed that none of the three would think to search the trees.

“He was here not too long ago,” said Torres.

One of the twins poked at the ashes of the fire. “Ya right. This morning, ya. Prolly not more than two oah three hours ago, at dah most.” His voice was heavily accented, deep, and throaty. Hector couldn’t place it, but it sounded… well, not Mexican, that was for sure. The other twin spoke in a similar tone.

“C’mon. We bettah get outta here befoah sundown.” He glanced farther up the mountain. “Let’s look foah a way to find dis guy’s trail again.”

After fifteen painful minutes of searching within 30 yards of the tree, the hunters finally went off up the slope. Hector waited for what seemed like an hour longer- just in case- before descending the tree. Quickly recuperated, he set off at a quick jog parallel to the incline.

The sun dimmed and sank to the horizon as Hector ran on, never stopping. Far into the night he hiked, crossing miles of mountainous terrain. Speed was more important than stealth, and Hector only occasionally stopped his exodus for a short rest. He needed to get as far away from Flores’ men as possible in as quick of a time as possible. After hours upon hours of fast movement across rough terrain, Hector was exhausted. He camped under the stars and woke bright and early in the morning without incident.

Days and days he walked, resting as little as possible and living off of both the supplies in his backpack and the flora and fauna of the mountains. He saw nothing of the hunters for a long while.

After six long, uneventful days, Hector had progressed much farther into the Sierra Madre range. As he lay under the open host of stars one night, he pondered the wild events that had rushed upon him as a semi truck might rush upon a lame armadillo.

I’ve lost them. Finally, after all this time… He rested his tired head against a pillow of moss.

I’m safe.