The Howler Monkey, how they cry!

With their screaming growls racing through the sky,

Like a charge from the light brigade.

The sound is very loud,

And they seem pretty proud,

Of the fact that they can be heard for miles.

It’s early Sunday morning. I am alone on my porch at my house because my husband is traveling and won’t be back for two more days.

It’s very still out here. The village we live in has not awakened.

Rain, rain won’t go away,

And will be back another day.

Our roof has large leaks galore,

Especially when the heavens pour.

Its great big heart out

To give us more

Moisture,

The soil a drink,

The lakes to restore,

Levels of their normal reserves.

One of the men walked over to us. “Cállete!” he yelled, sticking the barrel of the rifle in our faces and then moving it and the stock to beckon us to start walking. He took us over to where Cecil was standing with the Federale’s gun pointed at him and bound the three of us together. The two women were further away tied to a tree, which made me really angry to see. I needed to figure out a way to get us out of this mess.

“Likely, if the Federales are really part of the whole trafficking cartel, we can easily spot that fact by how they respond to the men coming out of the cave. If they turn out to be on their side, then I can try to disengage them with my taser and your shovel, the flare gun, and so on. They are good weapons if used right and in a timely manner. We don’t want to be stupid and put ourselves in the line of fire, but if we sneak up on them when they are preoccupied, then I think we can do some damage until the other help arrives.” Cecil told them.

I nodded my acceptance of his order. "Just bring back my wife and stay safe doing it," I pleaded as they turned and left to make their way to the bottom of the earth's rocky opening.

I waited only about fifteen minutes when I heard stomping feet and bodies charging through the underbrush behind me voices that sounded like cursing. The Federales had arrived.

“They wouldn’t have access to firearms, and even if they did, they’d not have ready access to bullets, so they likely wouldn’t bother with that kind of weapon. They are masters with a knife, which they probably make from obsidian found in Chiapas, as well as handmade axes, and machetes. They’d get by and would do a lot of damage with those tools, their meanness, and their hands.”

The more dangerous wildlife came out at night to feed, for one thing, and another, we didn’t know what kind of two-legged creatures were lurking about. Rumors had milled around the community that there was some kind of encampment, deeper within the jungle’s density, of men who were less than civilized. Meaning, I had assumed, that they didn’t care what they took or who they hurt when it came to wanting something for themselves. No one had actually seen this camp, so I thought it was a made-up story to keep the masses away from the better swim areas.

Have you ever watched the morning grow

From total darkness, no light to show

The bare outlines, which are around

that slowly merge into profound

Shapes and forms, no details yet,

just subtle hints that you regret

not having them remain?

My heart was hammering and I nearly missed the noise in the background. I had to strain to hear. There was a thrumming noise, constant in its rhythm that would be accompanied by a sharper whack, like the striking of a hammer. But then a new sound caused us to stop in our tracks — chilling my bones. A scream. I clutched Marty’s arm.

“What the hell was that?” I whispered.