Freedom Fighters

27. Utopia

Out of open sockets, still glassy eyes stared at the living with indignation. Huffing at the exertion, the Almeidas stacked the five bodies onto a pile of dry wood. The unsightly bodies had been stripped and the valuable ammunition they carried had been scavenged by the revolutionaries.

"Light it," Juanita said without emotion. The stoic twins obeyed. Lionel crouched down, lifting up some of the twigs. Marco lit up a few matchsticks and stuck his hand into the space his brother had created, lighting up the tinder underneath. Then, gently, he blew air at the flickering embers, till it grew larger and larger. Once the fire got into a ravenous momentum, Lionel removed his hands. As it rose and consumed the bodies, the crowd of revolutionaries and villagers watched silently, some with a deep sense of satisfaction, others with cold emotionless triumph. Even little Oliverio, with bloodthirsty fervor in his eyes, watched the glorious glow of the flames.

"Well, that ambush was easier than I thought," Dario said, feeling that something was amiss. "I did not expect this area to be so lightly guarded."

Juanita nodded, agreeing with his assessment. "This village is a choke point into the paths that lead to the Sierra Maestra. They should have, at the very least, a few platoons here, not just five miserable soldiers."

Just as they were conversing, an elderly man with a stooped back approached them. A thin smile could be seen sprouting out of his white beard, a smile that still contained a layer of apprehension, as he shuffled towards the two revolutionaries with rifles hanging down their shoulders.

Juanita, noticing the embedded fear, smiled as widely as she could. "Señor, are you the village leader?"

The old man maintained his tense smile. "Yes, I am. Young woman, you are the leader of this band of fighters?"

"Yes. We are of the Movement, señor, and we seek to liberate the country from Batista's grasp, and that includes fighting the Rural Guard who hold all you peasants prisoner to the landlords," Juanita said. Still seeing the uneasiness in the village leader's posture, she extended her hand. "You can trust us, señor. I swear, by my word, we do not seek to harm any of you."

He took the hand most readily, shaking it, relaxing visibly. "I am glad to welcome you all to rest here."

"Señor," Dario asked, brows furrowed in thought. "Were there always this few soldiers around the area?"

The village leader shook his head. "Oh no. Just yesterday, many of them were ordered to transfer down south to La Plata. I heard that a garrison had been attacked there."

"Oh..." Dario nodded, taking in the news with interest.

"I remember the platoon commander, a cruel man named Manquillo, cursing. Something about Fidel Castro being alive."

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"My brothers," Juanita repeated, her words echoing into the serenity of the night. "They are alive."

The small group sat about a campfire in a corner of the village. As a form of gratitude, the villagers had offered them a variety of foodstuffs, which were graciously accepted by the hungry revolutionaries.

Like a factory production line, the Almeidas sliced up chicken meat into cubes on a cutting board, handing them over to Huber to be skewered. He then gave the skewers to Dario and Juanita to roast over a flame. Potatoes massaged with oil and wrapped in fragrant leaves were deposited near the foot of the fire.

"I knew it." Huber grinned. "They won't die that easily."

Dario smiled, knowing that the chance that Camilo was alive had increased. He was not exactly shocked by the news that Fidel was alive. Somehow, he always knew that he was. The man had that quality about him, that he was destined to achieve greatness, and would not die before he did.