Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda
by
Adonis Plethora

Sandy has discovered a cache of weapons and a hidden boat on an uninhabited island. He shimmies into the boat, but is discovered by the nephew of a gunrunner. Oh, if only!!!!

A young soldier, no older than Sandy, steps up to the boat, raises his rifle, pointing it at the youth. “Up! Saldrà!” His voice cracks and his hands shake. “Get out of the boat. Hands up!”

Sandy raises his hands and puts them behind his head. “What do you want?”

“Walk.” The soldier steps behind him and presses the gun barrel, very shakily, against Sandy’s back. The captive shivers as the cool metal touches his damp skin, walking in front.

As they enter the clearing, a man stands and approaches. “Ah! Bienvenido, chico! I am Alvarez. You have already met my nephew, Frederico. You’re name? You may put your arms down.”

Sandy lowers his arms. “My name is Sandy. What are you going to do with me?”

“Please sit down and we will talk. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Sandy sits with his hands on his thighs.

“I will use you.”

“Frederico and I are strong, but we cannot move the merchandise which you have stumbled upon. After you have helped us, we can negotiate for your release – is there Mama and Papa?”

“My brother’s gone to get help. Our father is a park ranger. He’ll bring the Coast Guard!”

“Well then, we don’t have much time. Ándale. Let’s get started. Everything goes to the beach.” He waves the gun at Sandy. “Now, get up. It will be very hot in a short time.”

They move crates of guns and ammunition, continuing for three hours in unbearable heat.

Frederico unbuttons his shirt, tears it off, wiping his face and tying it around his waist. After another hour, sweat rolling down his back and chest, Frederico collapses. Sandy rushes over to help him up, grabs the canteen from Alvarez, and gives it to Frederico.

Alvarez smacks the canteen to the ground and knocks Sandy away. “Up. Now, both of you.”

“He’s too weak. We need to rest.” Sandy stands face to face with him. “He needs to rest.”

Alvarez stares back at the prisoner, looks at his nephew, and turns away. “Bien. We are finished. Frederico, stand up.” He tosses the rifle to the boy. “To camp – go.” He shoves Sandy ahead.

When they arrive back at camp, Alvarez grabs Sandy’s shoulders and pulls. “Stop – against the tree.” Sandy walks to the small palm tree. Alvarez turns him and shoves his back against it, grabbing coils of rope nearby. “Sit down. Put your arms around the tree trunk.” He gets behind and pulls Sandy’s arms tightly together, the boy’s back rubbing against the thin trunk.

Within minutes, Sandy is tied to the tree: his arms bound above the elbows, his wrists secured, and his chest and abdomen are tied tightly. He strains as he gets his second wind. He twists his legs against the ropes, pulling his thighs and ankles trying to separate them. He bursts against all the ropes, pulling his wrists, thrusting out his chest, bucking his hips, and kicking his legs in a futile attempt at changing his predicament. “Let me go, now! You’re not gonna get away with this! My father is coming for me! Let me go!”

“Oh, I should have told you that I don’t take orders well, or threats. And it’s better that I don’t hear them at all.” Alvarez whips out a bandanna, rolls it, and cleaves it into Sandy’s mouth, tying it tightly behind his head, fighting firmly against his captive’s head-jerking.

“MMPHFFF! MMPHFF! MMMMMPHFF!” Sandy twists his head and, with loud, muffled grunts, tries to separate his arms and wrists, struggling against ropes and cloth. He settles into puffing through the cloth, sweat pouring over his entire body. “MMPHFF! MMPHFF!”

Alvarez smirks, satisfied that Sandy is secure. “I’ll be in the tent, Frederico. Guàrdele! Watch him.” Alvarez chuckles and pats Sandy’s cheek and walks to the tent.

Sandy presses his head against the bark, puffing more. He pulls himself away, just slightly from the tree, straining as the rope around his chest scrapes his skin. He whimpers, closing his eyes.

Frederico puts his rifle down and moves to a large barrel next to the tent. He gets a bucket from the table and dips it into the water. He brings the bucket to Sandy and bends down. “MMMPHFF! MMMPHFF!” Sandy puffs, eyes bulging, fearing the unknown. He struggles in a new assault against the ropes. “MMMMMPHFF! MMMMMMPHFF! MMPHF! MMPHF!”

Frederico presses his fingers to the cloth at Sandy’s lips, and dips his bandanna into the water.

Sandy closes his eyes as his captor dips the shirt again in the refreshing water and squeezes it over his head and face. He sucks moist air in through the bandanna, then feels fingers in between the cloth and his cheek – Frederico is loosening the gag! It droops to his neck. “Ah! Th–”

Frederico covers his mouth. “Silencio, amigo.” Sandy nods. Frederico cups his hand and brings water to Sandy’s parched lips. Frederico gives him one more drink. “I’ll return soon.” He re-gags Sandy. “Just in case he is awake, it must look the same.” He pulls the cloth tightly behind Sandy’s head. “I’m sorry, Sandy. But it must be just as Tio tied it. It won’t be long.” Sandy whimpers but nods. He hears some garbled speech at the tent, then yelling. Alvarez is louder than his nephew. After more arguing and a sudden thumping sound, there is a crash. He pulls against the ropes to try to see better, and shortly after, Alvarez yells to him from the tent.

“Hey, chico! It looks like my nephew will be unable to keep his promise to you! He is, as the expression goes… ‘a little tied up at the moment.’” Alvarez laughs and spits on the ground. “And now, I prepare to meet my men.”

Sandy twists his torso, pulls his wrists against the tree, scraping the rope against the bark; he bucks his hips as he digs his heels into the sand, trying to get some give in the restraints around his knees and ankles. “MMMPHFFF!” He hears helicopters and boats with sirens sounding. He bounces and screams against the cloth as he sees his brother and dad running towards him. He sits still as his father tears off the gag. He gasps, “You gotta get to the tent! Frederico, help him!”

His father cuts the ropes from his chest, arms and wrists as his brother frees his legs.

He stands with their help. “Come on! We gotta get Frederico!” He races to the tent and enters.

“MMPHFF! MMPHFF! MMMMMPHFFFF!” Frederico, facedown and hogtied on the cot, pulls at the ropes holding him. “MM-MM! MM-MM!”

“Frederico, it’s alright! We’re okay. It’s gonna be okay!”

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