Tears of the River

by Gordon L. Rottman

  She struggled, too, to deal with Jay and not be angry with him. She understood he had a head injury and he was disoriented, but she kept thinking of him as a stubborn jerk. How would I have reacted? She felt like maybe she was reacting, but she didn’t know if she’d lost her parents.

  She made sure Tía was situated on the mattress and hung three hammocks. She got Jay into his and without warning he spoke up. “Are we leaving yet? We need to get back.”

  “Oh geez, Jay. You’re okay! Do you remember what happened?”

  He lay in his hammock staring at her. She couldn’t coax another word out of him. She didn’t know if this little emergence back into the real world was a good sign or not. This is going to drive me nuts.

  She could only hope the day’s trials had exhausted her mind as well as her body. She sat cross-legged by the fire to decompress.

  Lomara curled up with her head on Karen’s lap all bundled up in the way-too-big “Life Is Good” T-shirt found in Cris’ pack.

  Last summer’s Outward Bound School still gnawed at her. It had been awesome, but there was a problem. Their final challenge had been a three-day hike divided into four-person patrols. Karen had been designated a leader, a job she didn’t seek. She was the most experienced. They were the first to make it to the rendezvous.

  Each patrol member had written a peer evaluation of their fellows. The counselor, Willow Indigo, spoke to each of them in private. Her “granola girl” blonde hair was heavily sprayed in a perpetually windblown style. Taking her off to the side, she told Karen, “You have a lot of trail sense and exceptional skills. But there was some criticism of your leadership.”

  Miss Granola in her “Save the something” T-shirt, might as well have told her she was runner-up for the Miss World Ugly Pageant. She’d tried her best and hadn’t wanted to appear too pushy or too demanding. She gave her trail-mates free rein to do their own thing, but she expected them to keep up and contribute for the good of the patrol.

  It didn’t work that way according to Miss Granola. “You didn’t, like, guide your patrol. You set realistic goals, how far the patrol would cover each day, and you kept to the prescribed route.”

  It wasn’t good enough? “We didn’t get lost, no one was hurt, and we made the rendezvous first,” Karen said a little too defensively.

  “That’s all splendid, but it wasn’t a race.”

  That had floored Karen, no kidding, but she kept her mouth shut.

  “Karen, you didn’t like provide any guidance nor kept your patrol informed. They felt you were herding them.”

  Two of them had pestered her with questions.

  “I tried to give them as much latitude as I could. I didn’t, uh, want to be telling them what to do all the time.”

  “You’re responsible for them,” Willow said. “You can’t, like, leave them on their own.”

  Karen didn’t say much else. She’d expected her fellows to simply follow her, the leader—I hadn’t asked for the job. They were on their own about meals and where they slept. Okay, maybe she hadn’t asked what they thought of the campsites she’d chosen. In the mornings she’d expected them to have breakfasted, cleaned their mess gear, returned the campsite to the way they’d found it, pack their gear, and to think for their selves. Maybe it wasn’t the way to lead, for her to chow down on her freeze-dried breakfast, pack up, sling on her rucksack, and start up the trail as they scampered around trying to get their selves ready.

  Maybe the councilor was right. She had to guide and motivate people and that meant maybe she had to do the same for herself. She simply couldn’t expect them to blindly follow. Too, she knew that when in the woods she became so focused she didn’t pay a lot of attention to others.

  She hadn’t asked to be the leader, then nor now. Now, she had no choice.

  Firefly sparks rose from the fire into the clear purple sky in glowing swarms. She was responsible for these strangers. What would happen next? Would anyone come for them? If not, what should she do? She stroked Lomara’s hair and cried silently.

  Chapter Ten

  The sun’s rising evoked chirps, screeches, chatters, and other obnoxious bird noises. Birds could be seen winging over to reclaim their territories. Vultures were dropping into the trees at the mudslide. More circled over the distant gorge and the van. Karen felt ill. And her right jaw hurt where Jay clipped her. Probably bruised.

  Karen lay in her hammock with tiny Lomara cuddled up beside her. Last night after Karen had closed her eyes, something bumped into her hammock and her eyes snapped open. Lomara was standing there, a small lonely silhouette. Karen hoisted the girl in. She slept deeply devoid of dreams or lurking memories. She was missing something. It was a waterproofed laminated photo of her mom, dad, sister, and herself she always carried on trips. She’d left it in her duffle bag in Concepción. I sure need it now. She pictured it, all of them grinning with squinted eyes in the sun on a Galveston beach.

  She helped Tía up and went through the morning ritual. She was still grouchy. The woman, seeing the zopilotes —vultures, said this was a bad place to stay. It was now an evil place roamed by the dead and a witch. Karen didn’t say anything, not wanting to kick in the argument again.

  Tía’s arms were hurting; aching. Karen had given her another painkiller for the night, knowing they would hurt even more. Now she gave her another one and partly unwrapped her left arm to check it. It was still swollen, but it had not worsened. She hoped it was a good sign. Tía said she could endure it…she had no choice.

  Lomara was Lomara, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She was ready to go, and hungry.

  Jay was sitting in his hammock, his feet on the ground, looking bewildered as ever. At least he’d not thrown up again and had even kept down the greasy goat.

  Karen bent down to look in his eyes. They were nor…

  “Where am I? I hope you know.”

  Karen jerked back. “Between no hope and the middle of nowhere. Welcome back to the world.”

  “Where’s the van? I thought we were ready to go.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Remember what?”

  “What happened, to the van?”

  “I don’t know, what happened to the van?”

  He’s making my head hurt. “The bridge fell apart and the van went into the gouge.”

  “You’re kidding. Was anyone in it?”

  “Yeaaah. Like all of us.”

  “All of us! Anybody hurt?”

  She looked into his eyes. “Jay, you and I are the only ones like, uh, who got out.”

  “What? Where are the others?”

  “In the van.”

  “Are they okay?”

  “Jay, they’re in the van at the bottom of the gouge, since yesterday. They’re all dead.”

  “Dead? Yesterday? I don’t…” He stood and started pacing around. “I don’t understand. Has anyone come for us?”

  “Jay, you need to sit down and I’ll tell you…what happened.”

  He sat in his hammock staring at her, but still looking vacant.

  She told him everything that happened and what happened to him. Except for one thing. She didn’t say anything about how she had tried and almost succeeded in dragging him out of the van as it plunged into the gouge. And how she had given him up for dead. She failed him. In a way, she felt she’d failed them all. Karen only said, “I got out with your help and then the van fell.”

  “And they all died.” He stared down the road.

  Karen nodded. She had an empty feeling inside.

  “They’re still in there. How come I made it, lived through the fall?”

  She could only shake her head.

  His face scrunched up, like he was going to cry. “I feel like something’s missing.”

  “How do you mean?” She started to touch his arm, but something held her back. His head must feel like a peanut butter milkshake.

  “I don’t remember anything. It’s all missing. I remember we were loading the van and w
ere going to leave and now I only remember waking up here.” He looked around like he’d never seen this place.

  Actually, he hadn’t seen this place Karen decided. The village was gone, the van was gone, and so was just about everyone who’d been there. It must be mind-twisting.

  “Then what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Wait and see if someone comes I guess.” She suddenly felt very tired.

  “What if they don’t?”

  “I don’t think we can walk out with the lady having broken arms and a little girl. You’re not in such good shape either.”

  “I can walk.”

  “Maybe. You could get worse. So could the lady. And more of the bridges may have fallen in. The gorges are flooded.”

  “So we wait?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And if they don’t come?”

  “If they don’t come tomorrow, maybe I’ll try and go for help. Leave ya’ll here.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Yeaaah.” She should have sounded more positive.

  “Oh, right. A girl like you, just walk out by yourself, all that distance.”

  That bristled her up. “Yeah, not a problem. I can do that. I’ve hiked farther in Big Bend and its worse there.”

  “Wow, Supergirl.” His smug look really torqued her.

  “Up yours. I’d out walk you any day of the week.”

  “You must be some awesome babe.”

  Grinding her teeth, she counted to ten, but only got to three. “I am. Sit down, I need to clean your cut.”

  “You’re a doctor too?”

  “You wanta clean it yourself? Here’s the stuff.”

  Jay scowled at her, but sat in the hammock.

  She cleaned his scalp wound and re-bandaged it as he pointedly ignored her. Her bedside manner was not exactly gentle.

  »»•««

  For breakfast Karen gave everyone a granola bar, quartered a mango, and they passed the orange soda around. Lomara made Tía laugh as she tried to catch mango juice dripping off her chin. Karen no longer bothered asking them to wash their hands.

  “This is all we get?” grumbled Jay.

  “We’ve got to make it last,” she said.

  “So you’re in charge of the food too?”

  She considered giving him the job, but decided they’d be out of food by tomorrow night. She ignored him.

  Karen kept the empty soda can and told everyone as best she could not to throw away the water bottles, anything of paper—needed for fire starting—or anything else. There would be a use for everything. She hoped they understood.

  She picked a few scouting ants off the goat meat. She hoped they could forgo eating until at least early afternoon. They’d finish off the cabrito and that was the day’s meal. The bread would not keep much longer. She was thinking peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches for tomorrow’s breakfast. Could the four of them make do on a chicken a day, just a quarter of a bird apiece, plus a few snack goodies? How long before rescue arrived? Would it?

  There was no way they could walk out. Tía and Lomara couldn’t negotiate the gorge with its near vertical sides, if the rushing waters ever went down enough to cross. Jay probably couldn’t either. There were probably more ravines with lost bridges. Was there even anyone at Concepción? Had they evacuated? Would they return anytime soon? Were they buried by a killer mudslide or did the river there flood and wash them away? She wanted her Mom and Dad.

  Through the pain, it crossed her mind that if they were alive they’d have their own problems and maybe not be able to launch a search. A very selfish thought slithered through her mind. She hoped they’d not be too inconvenienced having to look for her. Don’t think like that! She knew they’d be looking for her if they could.

  Would search planes prowl the area? When? What were the chances of them being found? Even if they attracted a plane’s attention, there was no place to land. Helicopters in Nicaragua were about as rare as Hollywood celebrities with rational lifestyles.

  Regardless, she cut down and trimmed a long sapling with the machete, dug a hole with it in the road, and jammed in the pole. She tied on a hot pink T-shirt from Jennifer’s pack. She should have erected the flagpole yesterday.

  Karen thought again about walking out by herself. It was scary to think about, but she could if she had too. She could take the packaged food and make good time, if she could find a way over or around the flooded ravines. That meant she’d leave three nearly helpless people alone with a few chickens. As tempting as the idea was, she realized it was unrealistic. It could doom them. And what if no one was alive at Concepción or no one was there? Like it or not, she was stuck with them. Maybe I’m a rotten leader, but they’re stuck with me.

  She told herself it was time to get things moving. While Lomara grazed the chickens, Karen took all the empty bottles and to fill them at the village spring.

  “Jay, let’s go fill the water bottles.”

  “I can’t. My head hurts.”

  She let it go.

  “Where’s my iPhone?” Jay demanded.

  “Probably in the van. You can go back and get it.”

  “I need my iPhone.”

  “There’s no cell towers out here and how are you going to recharge it, plug it in a knothole?”

  The smell over the buried village was ghastly and vultures hopped through the foliage, sometimes startling her as they suddenly flapped up through the trees. She still persistently shouted, “Hola!”

  Chapter Eleven

  On her return to the camp, Karen was hit with a bout of diarrhea. No doubt from the water. It wasn’t too bad and she found some Imodium. She remembered what one of the scouts had said. “I don’t see how that little tablet can plug up that…” Well, never mind, she thought.

  Lomara collected firewood, one couldn’t have too much. Jay even helped, a little. Karen better organized their gear. Tía rested on her mattress, only her lips moving in prayer.

  In her backpack Karen found the blue envelope with the census forms. It saddened her. Steeling herself, she thought they could be used as toilet paper. No, no way, they were priceless. They were the only record of all the people who had perished there. No one would ever dig them up, but at least it would be known who they’d been. She’d give them to the authorities. Their relatives could be told what had become of them. Eight adults and thirteen kids were buried there.

  She took out the remaining blank forms for future TP. Then an idea struck her. She started going through the forms and found the two she was searching for, her companions’.

  Lomara Chamorro Prado. She had been born in Managua when Karen was in 4th grade, when she was nine. And now she was responsible for her. Lomara had never been to school. She’d had an eight-year old brother and, Oh-my-God, a four-year-old sister, Aracela. Karen remembered her; the two girls had stood before her table holding hands. Aracela was a miniature copy of her sister. The proud mother stood behind them. Karen clutched the paper fighting down mind-wrenching sobs. What was Lomara going through, what was she really feeling? She resolved to do everything she could for the spunky little girl.

  She watched Lomara deliver a small, but for her, a tremendous armload of sticks. Lomara’s orange T-shirt sure clashed with her bright blue shorts; not that color coordination mattered now. Orange would make it easier to find her. It was so long that Karen had to cut off its bottom and knotted it in the back and beside the collar to take up slack.

  She knew less about Jay than the woman and the girl. He was two years older than Karen, a junior, and she was responsible for him too, regardless of his less than helpful attitude.

  Despite what she knew about them, she also had on her hands a head-traumatized boy older than her who she couldn’t count on, didn’t even like for that matter. She shook her head. Leaders aren’t supposed to dislike anyone. But he’s such a dweeb.

  Maybe it was for the best that he wasn’t quite right; otherwise Tía would expect him to take charge. Lomara was so young and
helpless. And Tía was literally helpless, superstitious, and had no faith in Karen. It was the venturing crew from hell.

  Karen looked over at Tía on her mattress, who gave a quick shake of her head to chase off flies, her arms being immobile.

  Karen read her blue form. Ramona Gutierrez Araica was from Ciudad Sandino outside of Managua and had lived with her nephew’s family of five. Her husband died six years ago. With no support, she probably thought it would be better to risk life out here in the wilds rather than in Managua. Karen did the math. Tía was forty-four, older than Mom. She remembered the woman during the census, helping others fill out their forms. She had glared suspiciously at Karen even then, perhaps wondering why a young gringa was taking the census like an oficial.

  “Karena.” She heard a cracking voice.

  She turned to the woman. “¿Mande? A politer way of asking ¿Qué? —What?

  Her face held a painful expression. Karen rose to go to her. Was she taking a turn for the worse?

  “Este es un lugar embrujado. Debemos irnos. Debemos irnos ahora.”

  Jay asked, “What’d she say?”

  Karen processed the words, “This is a haunted place. We must leave. We must leave now.”

  “Oh, I bet,” he responded.

  The concern and urgency was certainly in the woman’s face, in her eyes even more. Silly superstitions.

  “¿Dónde, Tía? ¿A dónde podemos ir?—Where? Where can we go?