“Al río.”
The river? What river? “¿Qué río?”
“Ahi hay botes. Los hombres ahi pescaban.”
Jay looked at her. Karen said, “There are boats. The men fished there.”
She knelt beside the clearly agitated woman. She started asking questions and eventually dragged out what Tía meant.
This place was haunted; it was obvious by whom. It was more than simple superstition going on here. She knew from the people of the village there had been a hurricane here before, three years earlier. It was two weeks before help came. Some had died of illness and injuries. Many had gotten sick with dysentery and all had almost starved to death. The army and medical teams went to the larger towns first. The far-flung villages were on their own.
Tía told Karen she was too young to do all she had to do, but if they stayed here, they could die. Karen understood, even if the comment about her abilities grated. Heck, this little place, Los Manantial, wasn’t even on the map. For that matter, Concepción Del Norte was absent from most maps. Were her parents or others who knew they’d come up here even alive?
It crossed her mind that if her parents were gone and her sister came down to look for them—Would she?—she’d have no idea Karen had come out to this secluded place. That made her feel totally isolated. It was one thing to be lost, but to realize no one knew if you were alive or thought you might be someplace else was another thing.
It’s what had been rolling through her head. They couldn’t stay here. She was also worried that Tía’s injuries could become infected, even gangrenous. Gangrene infection can easily happen out here, Jennifer had said. It meant amputation—shudder—and if it went beyond the shoulder, death. Jay’s injury, too, could worsen. And little Lomara, she was so vulnerable, in many ways. There was another concern. They’d have to be careful to avoid further injuries, which could easily happen.
“Over two weeks,” Tía had said. It could be longer. They had enough food for six days and it would be thin. They might find something else, but she wasn’t holding her breath.
Sensing something was up, Lomara came over to listen. Jay listened too.
When Tía finish, Karen told Jay, “She says there’s a small river, twelve kilometers—about eight miles. It’s called Rio Machuca after the villager who found the way there. It runs to the Rio Hauhau. She doesn’t know how far that is. The Hauhau runs east to the coast and near its mouth is a town, Puerto Cabezas. Maybe there were villages on the Hauhau, but she doesn’t know.”
Karen thought to herself, It’s called the Rio Wawa in the Miskito Indian dialect. It means Boa River, as in boa constrictor snake—Oh goody.
“Jay, we’re over fifty miles from the coast here. When I checked out the area on Google Earth, there were several nearby rivers and they were winding with lots of twists and turns, like a snake. It would be a long boat ride.”
“How long?” Jay asked.
“I don’t know, several days, a week.”
“A week?”
“Maybe longer. But I know this, if no one comes and we stay here until the food runs out, we’re doomed. We sure can’t get out by foot or boat with our food gone.”
“Rivers are dangerous.”
“Yeah, but every day we stay here the weaker we’ll become. If we wait until even tomorrow to leave, we’ll have one less day’s food to keep us going. You can’t make game traps when on the move. A river means fish at least.”
Karen’s dad had taught her to never let a patient think they were out of options. There was always something that could be done.
“I don’t wanta walk out. It’s too far and rivers are too dangerous.”
“Then stay here!” she shouted.
Tía glared at her. “¡No le puedes hablar a él de esa manera!”—You cannot talk to him like that!
“¡Lo acabo de hacer!”—I just did. “And I will talk to him anyway I want! He needs to get his act together,” she finished in English. Way to go, she thought. What a leader—not.
Tía looked away exasperated. “No le tienes respeto.”—You have no respect.
“Lo siento, pero nos tenemos que ir.”—I am sorry, but we must go. Karen decided she’d not say anything more.
There was only one thing they could do she decided. She made up her mind.
“We have to go, today.”
Chapter Twelve
Jay asked, “Aren’t you supposed to stay with a broken-down car?”
“But what if no one’s looking for the car?”
Jay stared at her.
“Look, I don’t know if we can get over the road’s gorges and Concepción may be wiped out or abandoned. We’d have to keep walking for days, we can’t do that. It’s out as an escape route. The river may be a very long trip with lots of risks. Chances of rescue from the outside, even if my parents are alive, are slim. At least anytime soon, and we don’t have a lot of time to wait and see.”
“So the river?”
“Yeah, we’re going on a Huckleberry Finn river cruise. I’ve been on canoe trips and feel comfortable on rivers. Being real about it, I know there’s dangers too; a strange river in an unknown land.”
She tried to explain it to Tía.
She was going to have to be the leader she didn’t want to be. One thing she knew; this little tribe couldn’t walk very far. Eight miles to the river would be enough of a challenge. It would be particularly hard on Tía, but she was willing and she was tough. Each step would shoot pain through her arms. She hoped Jay could hold it together. She was worried about Lomara. Their Venturing Scouts post had taken some 1st graders on a day trip. Kids may have boundless energy, but trying to get one to walk a mile down a strange trail, well, moving stone blocks to build the pyramids was easier.
Lomara was tough, she was from here and used to a hard life. She’d probably make it. She was barefoot though. Yes, her soles were like leather, but eight miles on a rough trail…She’d have to make some kind of footwear for her.
Karen stood and walked over to Tía.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Vamos a ir,” said Karen.
Tía nodded and closed her eyes.
Thank goodness she didn’t argue with me.
Karen had a lot to do. She sat and focused on what they faced. It was still early, but if they were going they needed to get a move on ASAP. They had many hours on the trail ahead of them. A healthy person could walk a mile on a rough trail in twenty minutes with ease. This tribe didn’t meet that criteria. Karen figured it might take twice as long and frequent rests would be necessary.
Tía said she didn’t need shoes when Karen took Jennifer’s to her. “Debes hacerlo,” —You must, Karen insisted. They were a little large so she folded gauze pads in the toes and Tía begrudgingly slipped them on. Karen wished she had better clothes for her to wear, other than the T-shirt and thin slip.
Karen looked at the packs and bags. Way too much stuff. They couldn’t carry it all and two trips were out, even with just her and Jay making the second, assuming he would oblige. That would total twenty-four miles, and waste a second day. She’d have to choose carefully.
Tía and Lomara couldn’t carry anything, plus the chickens would have to be carried.
There was a “ton” of medical supplies. She selected bandages, dressings, gauze pads and rolls, adhesive tape, bottled alcohol, antibacterial soap, handy-wipes, Imodium, antibiotics, antiseptics, and some other medications. She also took a few saline IV bags and tubes and needles. There was a small instrument bag with scalpels, clamps, forceps, and bandage scissors. Packets of pre-threaded sutures were selected, maybe not for stitches…hopefully, but for repairing clothes. There were items she left hoping they’d not need them.
The tools. The machete was absolutely essential. She was never without one on any camping trip. She selected the pliers, both flashlights and pocketknives. The big flat blade screwdriver might be useful. The rope and towing strap were coming, even if heavy. She made dead certain she had the m
agnifying glass tying a cord to it and then to a belt loop on her jeans.
There were a lot of toilet articles. She sorted through it all and filled one of the toilet kits with toothbrushes—yeah, they were using someone else’s—toothpaste and two bars of soap. Everything else was left behind, brushes, combs, deodorant and shampoo; the last two attracted insects. On second thought, she took a brush.
All of the stuff fit into a single medical bag. The hubcap, scorched license plate, duct tape, and spare T-shirts, socks, and towels went in.
She had an idea. She loaded the TP, two paperbacks, and blank census forms in a backpack. It would all serve as TP. Bulky, but little weight. Lomara could manage it.
Karen loaded the food and water into the other medical bag. It proved to be quite heavy, but they needed the water.
She looked at the chickens and the tool bag. It was a tight fit and they were none too pleased.
They had three heavy bags to be carried by two people, if she could get Jay to carry anything.
Everything to be left behind she dumped beside the flagpole.
Two things left to do. With the screwdriver she broke the side mirror, jimmied the largest piece out of the housing with her multi-tool’s pliers and duct-taped the broken edge. She looked into the reflection. Same blue eyes, long sandy blond hair in a ponytail, the bruise on her right jaw. Thanks Jay.
The next chore was footwear for Lomara. Calling her over, Karen traced her feet with a felt-tip on a folded T-shirt . She cut out two pairs of six sole-size layers of cloth and seat cover vinyl and roughly stitched them together with sutures. Pushing them up into the toes of Cris’ way too big white gym socks, she tack-stitched the soles in. Pulling them onto Lomara’s feet as the girl giggled, she bound them in-place with gauze strips. The socks’ heels were halfway up her calves. Better than nothing. The four hammocks went in the backpack Jay would carry…she hoped.
She’d previously lit a fire with the lens. They’d eat the rest of the cabrito before setting off.
As they ate, Karen explained what they were going to do—trying to keep them informed as Miss Granola had said. Tía looked like she had her doubts. Karen felt the woman didn’t have a lot of faith in her, being so young and a girl.
There was one last thing to do before moving out. On one of the blank census forms she wrote a note with all their names, listing those who had perished in the van, that they were going to the Rio Machuca and taking a boat down the Rio Hauhau to Puerto Cabezas, and dated it. She put it in a Ziploc bag and set the discarded tools on top after laying it beside the flagpole. The sheaf of census forms she put in a big Ziploc bag and it went into the medical bag.
Lomara was excited and already had her little pack on.
Karen had the heavy bag of food and drinks. She could barely lift it. And she was going to carry the chickens too. Jay’s bag, too, was quite heavy and he stood looking at it.
That’s when Tía told her to cut a stout three-meter long pole for Karen and Jay to carry on their shoulders with the three bags hanging from it. The chickens took turns poking their heads out of the small, unzipped opening. It was going to be a mess in there.
With the pole cut and bags hung, Karen asked Jay as politely as possible to lift one end to his shoulder. He ignored her.
“Okay, dude.” Karen got in his face. “No work, no food!” That seemed to get his attention. “Now pick it up and march.”
“No deberías…” —You should not… started Tía.
Turning on her, Karen shouted, “I don’t want to hear it!” The English got through.
“You don’t have to be a jerk about it,” stammered Jay.
“Who’s being a jerk? You want her to carry it, or how about Lomara?”
Karen lifted the pole’s back end while Jay cantankerously grabbed the front end. She wanted to be where she could see him. Starting off, Tía and Lomara followed them to the spring. There they drank up and filled the bottles. Karen pulled out two towels to use as shoulder pads. The bag’s carrying handles were sliding on the pole so she tied them in place with vines.
Karen looked at the ragged little band. It was going to be slow. She knew she needed to settle down and show more patience. Even if she had to do everything.
Then she realized something. She knew they’d never pass this way again. She and Jay were going home, eventually…she desperately hoped. But Tía and Lomara, where would they go? They were leaving their families, friends, and everything they’d had, to rot in this filthy jungle. Vultures were hopping through the trees. How could they deal with such losses?
Below them were the contorted bodies of their families. Karen thought about saying something, but she didn’t know what. The Binyon poem, For the Fallen, emerged in her mind, “They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old.” She’d be nothing but a presumptuous teen trying to say lame words of comfort in broken Spanish. Karen looked at them, feeling rotten, feeling so sorry for their losses.
She saw it in their eyes. They knew they were leaving for good.
Tía stood and Karen thought she was going to say something, but she only said she’d lead the way to the trail. Tears streaked her cheeks. “No mires hacia atrás.” —Do not look back.
Karen choked it down.
“What’s wrong?” Jay started.
“Don’t say anything,” she said.
She and Jay lifted the heavily loaded ten-foot pole. Tía led off setting the agonizingly slow pace with Lomara following her. Karen brought up the rear so she could keep an eye on everyone.
It was brutally hot and the humidity enervating; strength-draining.
The trail was a mere footpath winding down the ridge and to what it led, Karen could not imagine.
Chapter Thirteen
Downhill was painful on the rough trail. They stumbled on at a snail’s pace. Karen was afraid Tía, as slowly as she hobbled along, was pushing herself too “fast.” Karen told her to stop and rest anytime she needed to. She’d given her a codeine-laced painkiller first thing in the morning and a second when they started out. She hoped it wasn’t too much, but the woman would no doubt be experiencing jarring pain with each step.
They didn’t halt for a break until reaching the ridge’s base a half hour later. The bags on the pole were swinging side-to-side so Karen lashed them hard against the pole.
They sat in the shade, but felt like they were baking in the motionless air. There was a light breeze in the treetops, but it didn’t reach the ground. At least when they walked, the air was moving a little.
The skies were clear with little breeze and the air was hot and muggy. It worsened as the sun rose. Sweat rivulets ran down her back.
Karen had everyone drink all the water they could. She wasn’t concerned about conserving it. They were heading to a river after all. Keeping everyone hydrated was critical if they were to make it. Acclimatized as they were, her charges were dripping sweat.
When Karen set the pole down, she felt like she could fly. It was quite a load to bear. Her shoulder already ached. She rolled her shoulders and head to loosen up.
“You feeling okay?” she asked Jay.
He paid no attention.
“Okay, what’s wrong?”
Sitting with his knees up and his arms draped atop them, he glared at her. “No, I’m not okay. This stuff’s too heavy and it’s too hot and I don’t know where we’re going.”
“We’re going home.” I hope, she thought, but didn’t say it. “And we got to have this stuff.”
Lomara squatted on the side of the trail, peed in front of everyone while drinking her water and smiled up at Karen. Different standards are okay here, but it weirded Karen out. Jay looked away, embarrassed.
Tía stood and without a word began walking. Her determination was astounding. The woman realized she had to push herself while she still had strength. Even with Tía hobbling down the trail, Karen still had to urge Jay to pick up the pole.
After a time Karen said, “Jay, let’s try switching shou
lders.”
He cooperated. They lifted their end of the pole with two hands over their head, shifted the towel over, and lowered it onto the opposite shoulder. They soon could do this smoothly without disrupting the other. Sometimes Jay would have the pole on his right shoulder and Karen on her left. She figured he was cooperating just for his own comfort.
The trail gradually turned east following the ridge’s base and made a sharp turn back south. They’d no more than rounded the turn when they came upon the fork. Karen called for a halt. Tía slumped to the ground and Karen asked her which branch to take, right or left.
“No lo sé.”
Great! She doesn’t know. No one had ever mentioned a fork to Tía.
Karen remembered an old scout joke. “When you come to a fork in the trail, take it.” It wasn’t so ha-ha funny now.
Sipping from a water bottle she studied the two paths. They looked no different from one another. The pounding rains had washed out any traces of old footprints. The left trail led to a bit higher ground. Maybe they both led to the river, the higher trail being used when it was wet. If one of the paths doesn’t lead to the river, where does it go?
“I think it’s the left trail,” said Jay.
“Why?”
“Just is.”
“Ohhh, good.”
“I guess you think it’s the right?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. How about you going up the left and see if you can find any old footprints? Just go a couple hundred paces.”
“I’m tired.”
“So am…Never mind, just go up it a little ways then. Or do I have to check both trails?”
Jay climbed to his feet with colossal exaggerated effort and stomped up the left trail.
The left trail just didn’t feel right to her. A gut feeling, maybe from having tramped down so many strange trails. She scouted the right trail. In less than twenty yards she came across a washed out gulley. She made out where steps had been cut into the near side and there were still four log-abutted steps on the far side. There were also bamboo stakes driven in the ground at the steps’ bottom on both sides and in the brush to the right were some of the poles that had been part of a small washed-away footbridge. This had to be the right one. Using the machete, she hacked and dug at the half washed out steps cut in the gulley’s side. She needed to improve them for Tía.
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