Chapter 20: Meeting the witch

The standoff reached a peak as Franklin, driven by desperation and the urgent need for medical assistance, dropped the commander to the ground and pulled out his pistol. "We don't have time for this!" he declared, his voice tight with urgency and frustration.

Tito, witnessing the escalation, pleaded with a tremulous voice, "No, please don't..." His plea hung in the air, thick with fear and the potential for violence.

Amid the tension, Bach, ever the peacemaker, made the sign of the cross over his chest. The Pickaxe Man noticed this gesture and his demeanor shifted slightly. Curiosity piqued, he addressed Bach directly, "Who are they to you, father?"

Bach, opening his eyes from his prayer, looked back at the Pickaxe Man with a hint of confusion before responding simply, "My... friends?"

This acknowledgment seemed to resonate with the Pickaxe Man. He nodded in approval, the tension in his posture easing slightly. "A friend of the church is our friend too," he declared, laying down an ultimatum rooted in his own moral compass. "Leave the Nazi here and we'll lead you to the healer."

Franklin, sensing the shift in the situation and recognizing the opportunity to secure the needed medical help without further conflict, slowly lowered his gun. With a deep, reluctant breath, he dragged the commander back to the plane. There, he locked the disgraced officer up, ensuring he was no longer a threat to their safety or their mission.

Once the commander was secured, the atmosphere among the villagers visibly softened. The forest dwellers, now trailing behind the Pickaxe Man, began to lead Franklin's group deeper into the bush. The path wound through dense foliage, a natural barrier that had kept their village hidden and protected from outsiders until now.

The journey into the heart of the forest felt like a passage into another world, one removed from the violence and chaos that had marked their recent experiences.

As Franklin and his group entered the heart of the village, a palpable tension stirred among the villagers, a reflection of their precarious lives. The villagers, momentarily pausing their daily chores, watched the newcomers with a blend of curiosity and wariness. The sight of Franklin and his companions walking through their village seemed to be a rare occurrence, judging by the cautious gazes that followed them.

The village itself bore marks of hardship and survival. In one corner, Franklin noticed several injured and sick people being tenderly cared for by women and children, a testament to the community's resilience and compassion. Nearby, undernourished children huddled close to a fire, nibbling on the remnants of moldy bread, their small faces smeared with soot and dirt.

A group of teenage boys, somber and silent, were engaged in the grim task of digging graves, while mothers nearby whispered prayers over their deceased children, their tears mingling with the dirt as they clutched pendant crosses tightly against their chests. The raw grief displayed was heart-wrenching, painting a stark picture of the daily realities faced by this secluded community.

A toddler, curious and oblivious to the strangers, started crawling towards Franklin's group, only to be quickly scooped up by his mother who retreated back to the safety of her cabin, her actions protective and swift.

Suddenly, a voice rang out, "The scouts are back!" This announcement shifted the atmosphere as children abandoned their scant meal and rushed towards the Pickaxe Man, their faces lighting up with a mixture of relief and excitement. The teenagers set aside their shovels and joined in, while mothers, still cautious, slowly approached with their toddlers peeking out from behind matted skirts.

As the village's attention converged on the returning figure of the Pickaxe Man, a path cleared for a single woman making her way through the crowd. Her presence commanded respect and reverence, evident in the way everyone bowed slightly as she passed. This was Jill, the healer of the village, the witch doctor whom Franklin had sought in hopes of finding a cure for Goh and relief for Sumi.

"What is this? Where are the supplies that I asked for?" Jill demanded, her tone sharp and commanding as she addressed the Pickaxe Man, who bowed his head in shame and pointed towards Tito.

"He insisted," the Pickaxe Man muttered, his voice tinged with regret.

Tito, feeling the weight of the accusation, wiggled out from under Goh's arm and raised his hands defensively. "Hey! What the—" he began to protest, but was quickly silenced by Jill's stern hand raised in a stopping motion.

"He's a single boy, stopping my scouts, an entire fleet of a dozen grown men?" Jill's voice was incredulous, her eyes sweeping over the group with a critical gaze.

Pickaxe Man looked down, unable to meet her stare. Tito, undeterred, responded earnestly, "Wait, but they really do need our help, ma'am... we couldn't just turn them away..."

Jill paused, her expression softening slightly as she considered Tito's plea. The situation was complex, blending the village's needs with the unexpected arrival of these strangers who bore the scars of their own battles. Her decision, Franklin knew, would dictate not just the fate of his group but also the delicate balance of trust and survival within the village.

Jill's gaze was probing, heavy with judgment as she looked over Franklin and his weary companions. "You're one of them, aren't you?" she accused, her voice cold and dismissive.

Franklin, puzzled, raised an eyebrow in confusion. "One of what?"

Jill's response was a shake of her head, laden with disapproval. "We don't help anyone associated with the likes of your kind," she declared, her voice firm and unwavering.

Franklin's face fell, embarrassment coloring his cheeks as he turned away. The Pickaxe Man, ever the mediator, quickly intervened. "But ma'am. The priest. They are with the father," he urged, trying to bridge the gap between Jill's steadfast rules and the dire needs of the group.

Jill's glare shifted to the Pickaxe Man, her expression unyielding. "And? I am no Christian. You already know how I feel about your shenanigans," she retorted, her tone sharp and dismissive.

The murmurs among the villagers grew, especially from the mothers clutching their crosses, who cast uncertain glances towards Bach. Sensing the growing tension and the need to soften Jill's stance, Bach spoke up, his voice gentle yet firm. "If I may, miss... Could we please have a moment with you to plead our case? Surely you wouldn't mind sparing some time to just speak with us," he suggested, appealing to her sense of compassion.

Jill paused, her steely gaze moving from Bach to the other members of the group. Her eyes lingered on Sumi, noting the blood at her ears, then shifted to Goh, who leaned heavily on Sumi, clutching his stump leg while grimacing with each labored breath. Something in their plight seemed to reach her, breaking through her initial resolve.

"Come," she finally said, softening slightly. She turned and led the way toward a large cabin at the center of the village. The crowd parted respectfully, creating a path for her and the newcomers. The villagers' eyes were filled with a mix of curiosity and concern as they watched the group follow Jill.

As they entered the cabin, the interior opened up into a surprisingly spacious room filled with various herbs, potions, and medical implements—a stark contrast to the rustic exterior. The air was thick with the scent of medicinal plants and earthy remedies. Jill moved with a sense of purpose, indicating for Franklin, Goh, Sumi, and Bach to follow her deeper inside.