You wake up inside the back of a truck. The voices coming from the cab sound female and are speaking in a language you can’t identify.

The last thing you remember before collapsing in the dust was chattering monkeys hurling green nuts at you as you sucked at your completely depleted camelbak and they capered, seemingly thrilled at your demise.

You raise your head slightly and the world lurches sickeningly as the truck careens around another bend. Then a strong, gnarled  hand pushes on your shoulder and you slump back down.

Warlord or freedom fighter, Guatemalan centralist or Mayan leftist it didn’t really matter. You wouldn’t have the strength to deviate from whatever path they had set for you.

“Agua” you croak, “Agua”. It elicits no response – who are these people and where are they taking you?