Page 55 of Crocodile Tears
I watch this impromptu medical consultation while tracking our rapidly disappearing departure window.“Becci, our boat leaves in ninety minutes.”
She gives me a look that could melt steel.“Some things take priority over tactical schedules.”
The child’s mother starts crying with gratitude as Becci shows her how to apply the herbal treatment correctly.The small moment reveals everything about Becci’s priorities.Her scientific knowledge isn’t just academic theory that sits in journals.She applies it to help people, even when it’s inconvenient or potentially dangerous.
“Five more minutes,” I concede, because arguing with someone who stops mid-escape to provide medical care seems morally questionable.
Those five minutes nearly destroy our extraction plan when military vehicles appear at the village entrance.I grab Becci’s arm and pull her toward the nearest building as engines grow louder, and radio chatter indicates coordinated search patterns.
“Storage room,” I whisper while guiding her through a door marked with symbols I can’t read but that clearly indicate some kind of supply area.
The village healer’s backroom contains shelves of dried herbs, medical supplies, and enough space for two people to hide if they don’t mind being pressed against each other in the dark.The sound of boots and voices grows closer as search teams begin systematic house-to-house searches.
“This is exactly what I meant about scientific humanitarian impulses interfering with extraction protocols,” I whisper as close to her ear as possible while my frustration triggers an unwanted partial shift.Orange-black patterns appear along my forearms, and I curse silently at my inability to control stress responses during tactical situations.
“This is exactly what I meant about excessive tactical parameters abandoning basic human decency,” she whispers back with her eyes going reptilian and her voice developing the slight hiss that appears when she’s angry.
We’re both partially shifted, having a heated argument in someone’s storage closet while armed searchers move through the village.The absurdity of the situation would be funny if it weren’t potentially fatal.
The door opens suddenly, and the village healer enters to find two partially transformed reptile shifters conducting a whispered debate among her medical supplies.She takes one look at us and rolls her eyes with the expression of someone who’s clearly dealt with stranger things before.
“Agents of the lizards,” she mutters in Spanish while pointing toward a shelf that conceals what appears to be a hidden passage.“The militia finished their search and left.Captain Miranda waits at the secondary dock.Follow the concealed path behind the herb shelf.”
I stare at her in surprise.“You’re not concerned about finding two shifters in your storage room?”
She shrugs with casual indifference.“You are not the first shifters to cause drama in my village.The path leads directly to the river dock.Move quickly before they return with tracking dogs.”
Becci grins despite our circumstances.“I like her practical approach to crisis management.”
“I like her, too.Let’s follow her advice before our luck runs out completely.”
The hidden passage leads through a network of service tunnels that connect several buildings in the village.Our movements are more coordinated now, each anticipating the other’s reactions and working together with efficiency that surprises me.Military training teaches you to adapt quickly to new team members, but Becci’s learning curve exceeds anything I’ve experienced.
“Your partial shift during stressful arguments is actually quite attractive,” she says while we navigate through a particularly narrow section.
“Your reptilian hissing when you’re angry is both terrifying and inexplicably arousing.”
She laughs, a genuine sound that makes our dangerous situation seem manageable.“We’re both disaster people.Aren’t we?”
“Complete disasters.It’s probably why this works between us.”
The passage emerges near the river where a small wooden dock extends into water that moves faster than I expected.Captain Miranda’s boat looks exactly like what I expect from someone who operates in legal gray areas.It’s functional, well-maintained, and designed to appear completely unremarkable to casual observation.
Captain Miranda herself turns out to be a weather-beaten woman in her fifties, whose handshake could crush walnuts.She speaks in rapid Spanish while gesturing at the current and checking equipment with professional efficiency.
“She says the river conditions are good for travel, but we need to leave immediately,” I say to Becci.“Military patrols have increased upstream, which means they’re expanding their search pattern.”
I help Becci onto the boat while Captain Miranda starts the engine and begins untying dock lines.The vessel handles the river current with surprising grace, and within minutes, we’re moving downstream at a pace that balances speed with noise control.
Becci settles beside me on a bench that’s clearly designed for passengers who might need to duck suddenly.She pulls out her improvised specimen container and begins documenting the plant species visible along the riverbank.
“You’re conducting botanical research while we’re fleeing armed pursuit teams,” I say while watching her work.
“I’m maximizing the educational value of an otherwise stressful experience.”She points toward something growing near the water’s edge.“Those are bromeliad species that indicate specific altitude and moisture conditions.The data could be useful for understanding ecosystem adaptation.”
Captain Miranda overhears our conversation and grins while adjusting the boat’s heading.“La doctora cientifica,” she says with obvious approval.“I like passengers who find beauty in dangerous places.”
The river journey takes us through increasingly remote territory that shows no signs of human habitation beyond occasional fishing huts and small clearings.The jungle canopy creates a green tunnel that muffles sound and provides excellent concealment from aerial surveillance.
