Excerpt of Ignore the Pain by J.L. Greger

"CHAPTER 15: SARA AT EL ALTO AIRPORT IN BRAZIL

It was a rougher than usual landing, or so it seemed to Sara in the rickety wheelchair/gurney. In the reclined position, she felt every jolt as the plane lumbered down the runway after what seemed like a fast decline. The plane slowed to make a turn and stopped suddenly.

It had hardly stopped when Sara felt something slam into the plane slightly behind her. She guessed at the rear exit. She could hear yelling outside the plane.

The pilot boomed over the intercom. “Passengers are to stay in their seats until the seat belt sign comes off.” A pause. “Even in business class.” She heard the curtain slide open. Someone was yanking at the ties that had stabilized the chair during the landing. She could see nothing. A comatose patient doesn’t ask question. She remained silent. Lew was there. She could hear his heavy breathing, almost snorting. Obviously, he’s nervous. The cart began to roll.

“Stay with the cart and do what you’re told.”

She wasn’t sure if Marge was speaking to her, Lew, or both. She heard muffled noises from behind the closed door. A cold blast of air.

Marge whispered, “Good luck.”

The gurney rolled forward and hit something hard, maybe the edge of the door. Suddenly she wasn’t being rolled. The gurney was being lifted first at her feet and then her head. She was glad that Lew had strapped her in around her hips and her waist. Wow. She was flying, or at least it felt that way. First down, then level, finally up. It was chilly and breezy. The pace seemed rapid. She heard a door slam. Suddenly she felt warm air.

“I don’t know if I can keep up.” Lew was panting loudly.

An unidentified raspy male voice said, “Dr. Lewis, here’s your immigration cards. Give them to that Bolivian immigration official. Don’t give details. Say she’s comatose. He’ll take care of the rest.”

She guessed she was in a big, empty room. There was an echo. Someone leaned toward her. She could feel his breath on the sheet by her ear. “Stay quiet, no matter what.” It was the same rough voice as before.

A few feet away she heard muffled conversation. She was flying again. They were carrying her through a quiet corridor. A thud. Grating noises as metal slid over metal.

Abruptly the noise of a crowd surged around her. She felt small bumps to the gurney several times. She was being pushed, not carried, through a crowd. The ride was jerky; she swayed as if she was on a back of a camel - a hot, sweaty camel. She had the mad urge to pull the sheet off her sweating face.

Cool air again. They stopped. She could smell the exhaust of a running car engine. Snapping noises, probably from folding up the wheels of the gurney. She felt her back hitting something hard. She was slid forward so hard and fast that she bounced back against the restraints, like an echo.

The vehicle, probably an ambulance, lurched off. The vehicle stopped abruptly, screeched off, and stopped apparently waiting for some sort of gate to open. They appeared to merge onto a major highway. The ride was smooth, seemed fast, without major turns. No one spoke, but she could hear heavy breathing and smell sweat, could be hers.

Someone pulled the sheet off her face. She was looking at a fiftyish man with short dark hair. His tanned face was sun-lined. His black eyes were hard. His general appearance, even with a white shirt, matched his voice – rough.

“Sara Almquist, you have been kidnapped.”

Sara wanted to scream or cry, but decided it was best to show no emotions. She felt the spoon in her hand. She could move her arms, but she thought any action now was useless. Maybe an opportunity would come.

The man smirked. “We got good info on you. You do okay under pressure.”

He pulled the top sheet off. And loosened the straps about her hips and waist. “You might as well sit up. The ride will seem smoother.”

She was in an ambulance. A second man in the ambulance wore a uniform. She thought it was from the U.S. Marine Corps. He pointed at the rough man. “Xavier Zack, better known as Xave, has a weird sense of humor. You’re safe. I’m Marine Lieutenant Dick Smith. We’re on your way to the U.S. consulate in La Paz, actually in El Alto.”