Out of Captivity : Surviving 1,967 Days in the Colombian Jungle

336 OUT OF CAPTIVITYbunch guarding us, it seemed possible that we’d meet up with morepeople from Caribe.Marc stood with his hands on his hips looking across the camp. Heshook his head and looked up at the sky. The sun was just beginning togo down and everything was gilded by an amazing late-afternoon goldhue.“I just hope there’s five of them. All I want for Christmas is for thereto be five of them.”“Me, too, bro.” I got up and stood alongside him. “Regardless, Marc,Julian was a great guy. We owe it to him and everybody else that didn’tmake it to get the hell out of here.”Just before we’d left Milton’s group, Tatiana had told us she’d heardthat Julian Guevera, the military hostage who’d been forced to crawl onthe forty-day march, had died in captivity. Julian was one of the mostheroic of the hostages we’d encountered. He suffered from tuberculosis,and the FARC refused to treat him for it. When Tatiana told us thathe’d died, I didn’t want to believe it. Whenever I thought I was havinga rough day on a march, I thought of him and everything he’d beenthrough—a serious gunshot wound to the head, tuberculosis, beingchained through all those days and nights while struggling to march. Ididn’t have a hell of a lot to complain about in comparison.Marc had grown real quiet thinking about Julian and what I’d said.“All we needed was the Catalinas, you know? Enrique said he was justwaiting for orders to put us on that airplane. A wing and a prayer, Keith.I got the one covered, we just needed the other. So close. So close.”“I know, I was tasting the turkey. I really was.”“I’ve got a pack of crackers with our names on it. Let’s get Tom andcelebrate.”MARCAs 2006 rolled over into 2007, we continued to have at least one blessingto be grateful for. With the exception of the polyester-cord tethers