Skull of the Zipa PREVIEW CHAPTERS by Chuck Chitwood (best book club books for discussion .txt) 📕

“Pablo!” He yells. “Aléjese! Brayan, obtener mi pistola.”

A young soldier, Brayan, jumps to attention and runs to Santiago’s tent. He returns in an instant carrying a black pistol and hands the weapon to Santiago who slides the bolt back, lodging a bullet in the chamber.

The others stare at Santiago. Even though I’m in a cockeyed position, I can see he inspires great fear among them. I hear Santiago’s teeth grinding beneath his dense mustache. A cold chill courses through my veins as I think, Pablo was gross, but this guy looks like evil incarnate. Maybe I should have just stayed quiet.

Santiago stares at me and points his gun at my head. I cringe when I hear the hammer click, locking the bullet in place. I feel the cold steel tip pressing into my temple sending another chill through my body. The pressure of the metal against the side of my head is what I think it would feel like to have a drill ready to drive into my brain. Leaning close to my ear, he whispers, “Why have you interrupted my sleep, chica?”

Santiago is a whole different sort of scary than Pablo and I can tell from the look on his face that he is totally displeased with me. My mind races trying to figure out what to do to take the target off of me. In a flash, I come up with a plan that kills me to even consider because it means I’ll have to pretend to be like . . . Courtney. I abhor girls who act all ‘girlie’ by doing things like crying at movies or when they don’t get their way with their boyfriends or their parents. However, I will admit that sometimes relying on my feminine wiles can be quite effective especially when it comes to things like getting out of speeding tickets or turning in late homework. And hopefully, it’ll work on scary gun-toting kidnappers, too.

I grit my teeth, inhale deeply, forcing my eyes to water, and through sheer will and determination force myself to cry even though it goes against my better nature and makes me white hot with anger. I feel my crocodile tears falling sideways across my face, landing along the edge of my hairline. “He tried to kiss me. I was scared he was going to hurt me. Make him stop. Please.” I blink furiously allowing more tears to roll across my face. My nose even starts to run causing little snot bubbles rise and fall as I sniffle. All in all, I know I must look like an absolute wreck.

Santiago’s face is so close to mine, I get a heavy whiff of the cigarettes he smokes. But at least it’s better than Pablo’s disgusting breath. I see his jaw clinch and his forehead wrinkle and yet I can’t tell if he’s annoyed with Pablo or me as I don’t see anything that looks like a shred of sympathy. I stare at him through my water-filled eyes and see that beneath his harshly quiet surface there was a seething rage that I sensed might explode at any second. Oh great. This might not have been a good idea. Not good at all.

Then I notice Santiago glance just slightly towards Pablo and hear him give an almost imperceptible annoyed sigh. Wait. Did I actually pull this off?

Santiago points his pistol at Mauricio and says, “Tú la ves hasta la mañana. Lo mataré si ella es perjudicado.” Leaning into my face, Santiago speaks soft and low with a rumble I can feel in my bones. “Mauricio will watch you now. Now, shut up so I can go to sleep.”

Mauricio’s eyes widen in terror as he glances at me. Then we both watch as Santiago, clutching his pistol, motions for the other men to return to their tents. Santiago slips his gun into a holster slung low on his thigh like a cowboy. As he walks away, I watch him grab Pablo’s collar. He backhands the foul breathed man across his face and then shoves him.

They’re too far away for me to hear what Santiago is saying. But based on the way Pablo is cowering around Santiago, I get the distinct impression he’s tired of Pablo causing problems. So, I might not like the whole damsel in distress thing but there are times when it works.

Mauricio clutches the gun and walks around the edge of the clearing, peering into the dark jungle as if commandos might burst through the foliage and attempt a rescue. But I doubt anybody would be able to find this camp out here in the middle of the Colombian jungle, especially since I don’t think anyone realizes I’m gone. Even if Dr. Waters were to come looking for me, I know he wouldn’t take on armed guards. No, Dr. Julian Waters does not strike me as the ‘go for broke’ in a desperate situation sort of guy.

Now I understand why my dad said he isn’t too impressed with his boss. He described Waters as stiff and impersonal. He said he was one of those professors who was better off working in an office behind a desk instead of interacting with real students. This is nuts! I wish I’d insisted on telling the police about my dad. These guys are not playing. They have guns. Even if I can escape, what am I supposed to do? Stop, Haddie. Stop it, right now. You’re exhausted. I need to focus on one thing at a time like getting some sleep.

But sleeping out here is next to impossible. The jungle is alive with activity. And aside from the fact that my legs are numb, my head is pounding, and there are mosquitos feasting on me, I have to listen to the wailing of howler monkeys and screeching of what must be giant crickets. The only way to block out the noise is to think about something that requires my complete attention. Maybe if I can figure out why they felt like kidnapping me was smart this will all start making sense.

What would dad do, Haddie? How would he get to the bottom of things? He’d tell me to start at the top. He’d tell me think back to before things got so confusing and start from there. Yes, that’s what he’d do. So I let my mind drift back to the week before prom.

***

Most girls had gotten their prom dresses months ago. Some had waited until a few weeks ago. But when Chance asked me, it was about as last minute as it could get because there was only two weeks before prom. Most people who know me would say I’m pretty calm, cool, and collected but the stress of what to do to about getting a dress stressed me out worse than I felt when I took my AP Calculus exam last year. Luckily, my dad kept me from totally freaking out by going with me to downtown New Providence to look for a dress on Saturday. Our downtown is one of those picture perfect postcard villages where tourists come to gaze at the colors of fall and in the spring to view the flower festivals. It reminds me of Bedford Falls in It’s a Wonderful Life.

Dad was a real trooper. Although as we went from shop to shop, I knew from the look on his face he felt out of his element. And I felt a pang of sadness because this was one of those times I really wished I had my mom. But I wasn’t about to say anything. After searching through every dress rack at the trendy stores and having my dad reject every dress for lack of armor plating to keep Chance ‘at bay’ I thought I would wind up wearing a dress right out of the 80’s because those were the only ones my dad showed any interest in. To be honest, I think my dad was too busy studying to go to his high school prom because his ideas of a fancy high school dance seemed to be based off of movies like Footloose or Pretty in Pink. But at least he was trying and I loved him for that. He might not have had a designer’s eye but he did spring for Frappuccinos as we strolled down Main Street and chatted.

“So next week is the big day, huh kid?”

“Only if I can find a dress. Then I need to get my hair cut.”

The idea of me cutting my hair stopped him in his tracks. “Oh, please don’t do that. Your hair is so beautiful.”

“Dad, it’s so long and wiry. I can’t do anything with it and…” It was about that time that I saw Courtney and two of her cheerleader minions pull into a parking space along Main Street in her little red convertible. Without even realizing I’d done it, I rolled my eyes at the sight. That car. I remember how she drove it to school on her sixteenth birthday. It had a big red bow on the windshield and all her little followers and the grease monkey gear heads drooled like Pavlov’s dogs.

Yes, Courtney was a snob and wasn’t shy about letting people know it but she never had a hair out of place, not even after driving with the top down on her car. “Look at her hair, dad. Courtney’s hair is long, blonde, and perfect. I just want something…easier; manageable. My hair is such a mess. It’s all wiry and crazy.”

He glanced across the street. “I wouldn’t say her hair is perfect. It’s nice but she looks like every other teenager under the sun. You’re unique; one of a kind. And your hair is just like your mother’s. She always struggled with it. But whether it was wild and crazy or fixed for a night out, it and she was always beautiful.”

I elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re my dad. You have to say that stuff.”

“Actually, I don’t. There are plenty of dads that are stingy with compliments.” I knew he meant well but he switched into his professor voice and my mind went into sleep mode. “You know me, Haddie, I try not to use superfluous words. I mean everything I say. Keep in mind the words of Eleanor Roosevelt, ‘No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.’”

“How could I forget it, Dad? You wrote it on a Post-it and put it on my bathroom mirror.” We crossed the street to the Style Shoppe, one of those places with an extra “pe” on the end to make it sound quaint in an attempt to ensnare tourists.

“Knowing wise words and living wisely are two very different things and quite mutually exclusive.”

I rolled my eyes again. “English, please.”

“I’m just saying you can’t just memorize famous quotes, you have to absorb them into your DNA and walk them out every day. You may have memorized Mrs. Roosevelt’s words, but you’re not living her life.”

“Did good ole Eleanor have to deal with witchy cheerleaders?”

He smiled. “I’ll