[Lady Justice 18] - Lady Justice in the Eye of the Storm

by Robert Thornhill

  We wandered over and took a seat at the table next to them.

  Now, I’m not an envious person by nature, and I’m not a big drinker, but I would have given my left nut for a glass of their warm margaritas.

  We struck up a friendly conversation, but there was no offer to share forthcoming. I really couldn’t blame them. There was four of them and only one pitcher.

  Nevertheless, they were a friendly bunch and we spent a few minutes trading experiences we had endured during the hurricane.

  At one point, the conversation turned to the subject of our food supply. I remarked that I hoped this wouldn’t turn out to be like the Donner Party, referring to the unfortunate pioneers that had set out for California in 1846, were snowbound in the Sierra Nevada Mountains for the winter, and ultimately turned to cannibalism to survive.

  One of the four pointed to Ox and remarked that if it came to that, we could all probably feed off my friend for a week.

  Ox was a good sport about it all, but at that point, he was ready to move on.

  We were headed back to our rooms when we met a guy with a bucket just like mine, only his was filled with crystal clear water, not the muck from the pool.

  “If you’ve got a bucket,” he said, pointing, “go to the back side of the resort. They’ve uncapped the well and are dipping out fresh water so we can clean up.”

  That was music to our ears.

  It had been three days in the sweltering heat since any of us had showered and we were all pretty disgusting.

  We hustled to my room, grabbed my precious bucket and headed to the well.

  Sure enough, one of the workers was lowering a bucket on a rope down into the well, pulling up fresh, clean, sparkling water.

  He filled our bucket and we headed back to our rooms.

  I was anxious to scrub off the three days of goo, but when I got to the room, Maggie reminded me that we had a problem --- we had no towels or washcloths. We had used them all stopping the water that was blowing under our door during the hurricane.

  Then I had a thought --- one more road trip back to the damaged building. I knew the key to our old room wouldn’t work anymore, but I had left the door to the room next to it open, just as I had found it.

  Ox and Judy had towels, so they took the first bucket of water while I headed out to scavenge once again.

  As I was leaving, Maggie remarked, “You might see if you can find another roll of tissue.” Her dabbing and patting dry had depleted the roll that came with our unit.

  Everything in the damaged room was just as I had left it after pillaging the first time. I had brought along our flashlight and I shined it in the bathroom. Thankfully, like ours, the bathroom was pretty much intact. I grabbed the towels and washcloths off the rack and the roll of fresh tissue off the back of the stool, and was on my way.

  I would never have dreamed that becoming an accomplished scavenger and looter would be one of my proudest accomplishments, but as I headed back with my booty, that’s exactly how I felt.

  By the time I returned, Ox and Judy had washed, dumped the remaining water in their stool, and refilled the bucket from the well.

  For the next fifteen minutes, we stripped, dipped, and washed ourselves from head to toe. I applied a fresh coat of deodorant, and for the first time in three days, I smelled more like a human than a billy goat.

  We had avoided the beach after the storm because it was littered with dead fish and birds and was pretty disgusting, but Maggie and Judy announced that they were going to take a walk there.

  We now had a fully charged cell phone, but there were no bars whatsoever. Judy had heard that a woman had hiked up the beach and found one bar, so they thought it would be worth a try.

  Their trip was in vain. Cell service just wasn’t available.

  By the time they returned, Armando’s staff had our evening meal ready.

  Since we couldn’t leave the rooms unguarded, Ox and I went to the lunch room to get meals to bring back to our rooms.

  We noticed that something had changed. Up ‘till now, the food had been out where we could help ourselves, but now it was being parceled out by the staff. A small portion of fish and some beans and rice were handed to us in Styrofoam containers about half the size of the ones we had used with our other meals.

  While no one actually said the words, it was pretty apparent that our supply of food was dwindling.

  Full bottles of water had been handed out earlier, but this time, we were only offered a cup. The water was being rationed as well.

  We overheard one of the guests saying that we needed to be very vigilant after dark. Real looters, not just wannabes like me, were armed and hitting the resorts.

  What we had seen and heard was quite unsettling.

  We had been reluctant to leave the resort because we knew we had food and water and were relatively safe.

  Now that it seemed we were about to lose all of those things, it was time to rethink our earlier decision.

  We discussed our situation while we ate, and when dinner was over, we had all come to the same conclusion --- the next day, we would leave the resort and venture out into the unknown.

  CHAPTER 12

  It was another night from hell.

  The previous night, we had secured the chain on the door and left it partially open hoping that there would be at least a tiny cross breeze.

  With the prospect of marauding looters roaming the halls, we figured the deadbolt would be the safest way to go. One strong shoulder or boot could snap that chain and the bad guys would be on top of us before we knew it.

  With no ventilation at all, we spent the night on soaked sheets, rousing from fitful slumber at the slightest sound.

  We had decided that since we were going to the airport, we wanted to be the first ones into the van. If we were going to have to wait for hours to board a plane, we wanted an early start so we wouldn’t be spending the night at the airport.

  By 7:30, the four of us were at the front entrance to the resort with our luggage. We had cleaned out our rooms and packed every drop of water we could find, not knowing when or where there would be more.

  Other guests had the same idea, and by eight o’clock, a dozen others, including Palmer and Muriel and the margarita people, had joined us.

  We were patiently awaiting the arrival of the van when a small rental car pulled up. It was one of the few guest rental cars that were still drivable.

  Their news left us all in shock.

  They had been to the airport and been turned away. They had been told the military was not allowing anyone to enter.

  We had heard from one of the other guests that there were only twenty-seven of us left at the resort, and with this news, it didn’t look like we would be leaving anytime soon.

  Up ‘till now, Maggie had been solid as a rock. She hadn’t complained even once about the hardships we had endured, but this latest news was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  “Walt,” she muttered, grabbing my arm, “I just can’t spend another night here. I’m so scared.” And with that, she wept uncontrollably.

  I comforted her the best I could, but I had to admit that this blow had taken the wind out of my sails too.

  Judy put her arm around her friend. “Let’s go back to our rooms and get some rest. Everything’s going to work out. I know it will.”

  Since we had packed everything from our rooms, Ox and I were reluctant to drag our luggage back up three flights of stairs. We told the girls we would stay put in case something changed, we would be ready to go.

  Watching Maggie head back to our room, comforted by her friend, I realized that this was the most concerned I had been for our safety since the whole ordeal had begun. I had absolutely no idea how we were going to get home.

  An hour or more had passed when one of the staff announced that our breakfast was ready. We were all reluctant to leave our luggage unguarded, but the staff guy said he would stay and watch it for us.

  We hadn’t e
aten since four o’clock the previous day, so the prospect of a good hot breakfast was very appealing.

  But it wasn’t to be.

  When we arrived at the dining area, all that was there were a few protein bars, some bags of pretzels and some of the red beans left over from the night before.

  Our worst fears were confirmed. There was no more food.

  I couldn’t stomach the left-over beans, so we grabbed bags of pretzels and headed to our rooms.

  Our news about the food dampened the girls’ spirits even more.

  None of us spoke as we munched dry pretzels and washed them down with tepid water.

  When we had eaten all we could bear, Ox and I headed back to the front of the resort, hoping for a miracle.

  The miracle arrived about noon.

  Apparently, the airport had been reopened.

  Armando announced that he had made arrangements with a van driver from another resort who would transport us to the airport for twenty bucks a head.

  Thankfully, the one thing we did have was cash. There had been absolutely nothing to spend it on since we had arrived.

  I took off to the room to get the girls while Ox helped load the luggage.

  By the time the three of us returned, the van was nearly full. The girls squeezed in, but there was no room left for me.

  Judy and Maggie and two other women were occupying one bench seat. Seeing my predicament, Judy shoved the two women tight against the far side of the van and scooted over as far as possible.

  “Get your ass in here!” she ordered.

  I climbed in and was able to get one butt cheek on the seat. The other was suspended in mid-air, but I didn’t care. I would have stood on my head just to get to the airport.

  It was a strange feeling, pulling away from the curb. It had only been four days since we had checked into the luxury resort, anticipating a relaxing vacation, but it seemed like an eternity. We had lived through the eye of the storm, and thanks to Armando and his staff, had survived the aftermath. We were still a long way from home, but at least we were headed in the right direction.

  The destruction we witnessed on the twenty minute ride to the airport was depressing.

  Power lines were still down, businesses were boarded up and resorts were in shambles. It was no mystery why we had no cell phone service. Every cell tower we passed was on the ground.

  The elation I had felt driving away from the resort took a nose dive when I saw what was waiting for us at the airport.

  A line of people and luggage stretched from what was left of the air terminal for a mile along the gravel parking lot.

  Maura, Armando’s second in command, had accompanied us to the airport, and thank goodness. None of us spoke fluent Spanish.

  We paid the driver, secured our luggage and Maura directed us to the end of the line.

  By this time, it was one in the afternoon. The sun was blazing hot, and reflecting off the asphalt, the temperature had to have been in the mid-nineties.

  Every so often, there was a whisp of a breeze, but it wasn’t much help.

  Inch by inch, the line moved forward.

  About a half hour later, Maura returned.

  She had good news and bad news.

  The good news was that Mexican commercial planes had taken the place of the military aircraft from the day before. Aero Mexico and Interjet would be flying in throughout the day and transporting evacuees to either Tijuana, Mexico City or Guadalajara.

  The bad news was that there would be no flights after dark, so if we didn’t get on a plane by then, we’d be spending the night on the ground.

  I soon discovered that there was a natural rhythm to the way the line moved.

  We would hear a plane land, and for the next ten to fifteen minutes the line would advance quickly as several hundred passengers were taken aboard.

  Then there would be absolutely no movement until the next plane landed.

  I had always teased Maggie about bringing everything but the kitchen sink on our vacation trips. Now I was glad she did. She had packed a collapsible umbrella in our carry-on. That little bumbershoot turned out to be worth its weight in gold. It was the only thing sheltering us from the burning rays of the sun.

  I was actually amazed at the civility of the people standing in line ahead and behind us. We all laughed and joked and tried to make the best of a very frightening ordeal.

  I suppose it was a good thing that people were getting along. From the moment we stepped out of the van, we were surrounded by members of the Mexican military carrying automatic rifles.

  I could only imagine the chaos that could ensue if the thousands of people in the line became disorderly. There was no doubt that the soldiers would do whatever was necessary to maintain order.

  Then another thought occurred to me. Thousands of people. What happens if someone has a call from Mother Nature? I looked around and there wasn’t a porta-potty in sight. Then I remembered the one that had exploded in the parking lot at the resort. I doubted that many of them had survived Hurricane Odile.

  I questioned one of the gals in front of us. She pointed to what was left of a small building. “You go back there, squat and squirt. Not a pleasant experience if you’re a prude.”

  I couldn’t imagine it being a pleasant experience even if you weren’t a prude. Thousands of people had been in that line in the past two days. I wondered what poor soul was going to draw the short straw and get to clean up all that pee and poo when this ordeal was over.

  I was worried about Maggie. Her bladder has serious limitations. We make a lot of pit stops on road trips. Thankfully, we never had to cross that bridge. Dehydration has its perks.

  The line was moving faster than I had first imagined it would, but as we grew closer to the damaged terminal, we noticed something that worried us.

  When we were in the back of the line, everyone had adhered to a strict no-cut-in policy, but now that we were closer, we noticed that Mexican families were scooting past us to the front of the line, and the Mexican soldiers were letting them do it.

  We had been told in addition to the 30,000 tourists that were trying to get home, another 70,000 Mexicans whose homes had been destroyed were also trying to get to mainland Mexico to join family there.

  On the one hand, it made sense. This was Mexico and they were Mexican citizens being evacuated on Mexican airlines, so it was no surprise that the Mexican military was cutting them some slack.

  That was not good news for us gringos.

  If enough Mexicans showed up to fill the planes before dark, we would be spending the night in the gravel and eventually have to relieve ourselves in the toxic waste dump behind the building.

  Having been in line two and a half hours, we were hot, tired and soaked with sweat when we finally reached the edge of the terminal and could see the front end of the line.

  Out of all that we endured over the past three days, the hurricane, the hot nights in the resort and the uncertainty, the next half hour was, to me, the most traumatic of all.

  As we inched closer to the front of the line, the calm and semblance of order was replaced by chaos and panic.

  Armed soldiers had formed a barricade at the front of the line and one of them was shouting orders in Spanish that only the locals could understand.

  People were jostling one another and shoving their way to the front of the line.

  I thought I understood that those wanting to go to Mexico City were to form in one line. There was a rush as everyone fought to get in that line.

  Then the soldiers started letting people pass through to cross the tarmac to the waiting plane.

  Soon, I heard, “Only nine seats left to Mexico City.”

  There was another surge and everyone rushed to be one of those nine. We were far enough back that I knew we weren’t going to be on that plane.

  A few moments later, everyone wishing to go to Guadalajara was directed to another line, and the pushing and shoving started all over again.

 
Suddenly, my worst nightmare became a reality. Maggie and I were separated.

  She had been swept forward by the surging crowd and I was stuck trying to drag our luggage through the unruly throng.

  I saw the panic on her face as she reached back to me, but there was nothing I could do.

  Then, another miracle happened.

  I saw Maura grab Maggie, pull her to safety and start barking orders in Spanish to the locals that had kept us apart. I don’t know what she said, but it was certainly effective. The crowd parted just enough for Ox to go barreling through like a Pro Bowl fullback.

  I followed in his wake and moments later, Maggie and I were back together.

  Maura barked more Spanish at one of the soldiers holding us back and he stepped aside, allowing us onto the tarmac.

  I thanked Maura, and the four of us headed to the Interjet that would take us to Guadalajara.

  At last we were headed home!

  CHAPTER 13

  It would be difficult to describe the feeling that swept over me as I plopped into the seat of the big plane, but relief and gratitude were high on the list.

  Through the window, I could see the long line of people still waiting and hoping to escape their ordeal, but it was already four in the afternoon. Many of them would spend the night on the ground.

  We had just spent three hours in the broiling sun. We were drenched with sweat and had drunk nothing but tepid water. I opened the jets above our seats and breathed a sigh of relief as the cool air washed over our bodies.

  A half hour later, we were in the air, and shortly after that, Angels of Mercy appeared, pushing their little cart filled with ice and chilled beverages.

  ICE!

  I can’t begin to describe the sensation as the chilled bubbles of a 7-Up filled my mouth and slid down my parched throat. I know it was a moment which I’ll never forget.

  It was an hour flight from Cabo to Guadalajara, and with the cool air, the chilled beverage and a bag of nuts, my spirits were higher than they had been since the ordeal began.

  It was about six in the evening by the time we deplaned and retrieved our luggage.