WELCOME TO MY JUNGLE

CHAPTER 2

Yang puffed out his chest, trying to confront the men, yelling at them they were making a mistake, but it was all useless. It was of no use to him.

Mrs. Cheng, who feared for her husband's life, made the intention of taking something from the drawer, at the same time the men quickly exchanged a look with her, and pointed their guns at them, so that neither of them would think of doing a movement.

Yang, although he didn't say anything anymore, you could tell his blood was boiling because of what was happening in his shop. He was still sweating and now his eyes were alight.

And his wife, who knew him, made a slight movement of her head to silently ask him not to do anything.

These men, whoever they were, clearly did not come in peace.

The commercial, when he came out of his astonishment, demanded they showed him their passports, but they did not answer.

- But, who are you?

Who in the hell do they think they are? he asked furiously.

The young boys knelt down, they asked each other if they had done something to be in this situation, but they only managed to stammer a:

-Bro…

The salesman repeated the question again, and since he was still standing, they invited him, hitting him with the butt on one of the shoulders, to get down, so that he would remain kneeling.

The man let out a groan, as he hunched over on the ground.

None of the young people found an answer to find out if any of them had a remote idea of ​​why the hooded men were there, and they all began to worry, while one by one they pointed their guns at them, so that it would be clear who was in charge there.

Finding no reason, and seeing how the man touched his shoulder injured by the rifle butt, they all began to look at each other, stunned, trying to catch a glimpse of the others, which would shed some light on the critical situation.

With a slight dragging sound, they barely noticed the bridles had closed around their wrists.

In a few seconds, without realizing it, everyone was handcuffed.

-But what is this? Martha yelled. What are you doing with us?

The bell on the shop door tinkled lightly.

A neighbour was going to enter, but the finger of one of the hooded men, who turned in surprise, made him stop opening the door.

A negative gesture of the finger, which then approached his mouth, to ask for silence, made the man run out of there, like a frightened rabbit.

"We're leaving now," added one of them.

And one by one, they were taken out into the street.

It was night, the temperature was pleasant...

Instinctively everyone looked up at the sky, because it was starting to drizzle.

Apparently everything was normal on the street.

In the park opposite the boys playing soccer could be heard.

The streetlights were on, and the cars were still going by as usual.

It seemed what they were experiencing did not belong to that street.

One by one they were put into the dark van, and before they finished putting their heads into the van, one of the young men, who was the last in line, saw an acquaintance and shouted:

-Help us, call the pólice!

And with a push, they put him in the vehicle.

Quickly, four hooded men got in with them and closed the gate.

The other two stood in the front, separated by a very dense grille that let sounds through, but barely allowed shadows to be seen.

And with two slams, the central locking informed everyone on board that no one was missing and that no one would be allowed to leave.

They didn't have time to see if the van had a name on the side, because they were loaded into it, one after the other, but evidently, it didn't have any insignia.

-Be quiet! Shut up!

They all lowered their heads, except the boy, who saw through the back window that his acquaintance had heard him and he was standing in the middle of the road, waving his arms and yelling at the van.

What he did not see is that the neighbour who had left scared told him from the other side of the sidewalk, by signs, that he had already notified it to the officers.

As the wheels screeched down the hill, passers-by began to mill around the sidewalk, excited, wondering what was going on in this seemingly quiet neighborhood.

And by the time the first police sirens began to wail, the van was several blocks away.

In the van they were very tight.

Their shoulders rested on each other's, and they moved as a single entity.

Had it not been for the stress of the situation, they would have been able to perceive that they were swaying in unison, to the rhythm of the waves, in a rhythmic movement.

The van had a certain smell of gunpowder, mixed with rubber, but it was not very intense. And perhaps they couldn't even perceive it, because the smell that stood out above all was the smell of fear. Fear of not knowing what was happening.

They were kidn*pped, but they didn't know who their kidnappers were, nor did they know the reason for their detention... They had no information.

Natalia's head echoed the phrase from a Liam Neeson movie, in which she, on the phone, told her daughter (that she was also being kidn*pped by strangers):

-Look at them and describe any detail of them. It's very important. All over the journey.

Anything you think you perceive will be essential for me!

She had to keep her head down, because they were watching her, and she couldn't see any details of the kidnappers or the van.

Also, everything was dark and it was not easy to make out any details.

For this reason, she mentally counted the minutes it took to make each turn, each stop, and the direction they were going, in order to draw a map of the route in her head.

But it was the first time she had to do it and with her breathing so agitated, and the mumbled comments of her mates, who lamented their situation, two traffic lights ago she had already lost the count.

Actually, she had not the slightest idea if what she was doing would be of any use to her, but at least the beating of her heart -which since she entered the van began to drill into her head-, had become more bearable.

"I must have my blood pressure through the roof," she thought.

-I have to relax and take deep breaths.

I breathe in one, and I breathe out in four.

I can't do this- she was discouraged.

Come on, one time, four times, Nata.

Concentrate, don't let it be said that a nurse loses her temper - her conscience told her.

And when the most negative side of her yelled at her: I'm not prepared this. If it is that, I am not prepared for this!, it was heard:

-No, on the other one.

The van backed up quickly and turned the other way.

Her thoughts stopped dead and for a moment, as the van passed near what seemed to be a group of very noisy young boys, she thought she heard a light Hala, Madrid!

"Thank you, my God," she thought. It is true, the Real Madrid played today.

We are in the surroundings of Santiago Bernabéu’s stadium.

We may be on Bravo Murillo street, or in the surrounding area.

Will they go to Plaza de Castilla to access a highway? Which one, which one will it be? Could it be that they choose the A-1 and then they will go to the North?

If not, it could also be that they were heading towards an airport. To Adolfo Suárez Madrid Barajas or to Torrejón?

I hope they're not going to take us out of the country- she blurted out.

And that comment only increased the insecurity feelings from the others…

Oh my god, oh my god! - said Martha, who was close to her, who had not stopped trembling, while looking at Natalia out of the corner of her eye.

And the van accelerated progressively, and everyone knew they had entered an acceleration lane. An acceleration lane to an unknown destination.

The driving was very fast, and although some believed the driver was not experienced enough because his driving was somewhat nervous, the majority knew they were dealing with a professional driver.

Those sharp turns, and numerous lane changes while traveling at high speed were not habitual.

Young boys were used to driving like this in video games, which they practiced with friends, to catch the worst criminals of the mafia clans, and Yang, a fan of movies and action series, knew that the police and the army have that driving knowledge: evasive driving.

Moreover, he himself knew how to do a few maneuvers, and he was good at them.

During a certain time, he had thought about signing up for one of those courses.

That is why, while some were convinced that the hooded men belonged to a mafia clan, the other was firmly inclined to think that they were part of a police or military command.