Although she’d initially been annoyed by his cockiness, as each day progressed she’d found herself wanting to know more about cryptic Carter. There was something about him that she found alluring. It was almost as if he needed saving . . . even before they got lost in the jungle.
She tried to picture what he’d had with him when she’d last seen him. He had her pack, but she couldn’t remember seeing the camera on his hip. Her heart squeezed over the possibility of losing all those photos.
Otomi’s final resting place was one of them. Without it, there was a possibility they’d never find their guide again. Her mind spun with horrid thoughts, but she dug herself out of that senseless quagmire by focusing on what Carter would have in her pack. Provided he still had it, that is.
As she flicked an insect from her ear, she cursed herself for not putting her insect repellant into her pants pocket like she’d done most days. Despite the humid night air, she’d need to sleep close to the fire to keep the bugs away.
Lily’s stomach had progressed past growling and into twisted, angry knots that were borderline painful. First thing she’d do at daybreak was find food. Second, was to look for Carter.
But therein lay her dilemma.
Finding Carter wasn’t going to be easy, as she had no idea where to search. There was a chance he’d been able to get out of the river quicker than her. Especially as he could swim. While she’d been dragged miles downstream, Carter most likely climbed out well before she did.
The obvious choice was to go upriver and hope Carter would be walking toward her. It was also the direction of that cave she’d seen while floating along.
The carved cave entrance she saw was etched into her brain, and although the sighting was fleeting, she was adamant it was similar to the carved sculpture at Agulinta. The similarity might explain how her father had recreated the drawing. Maybe it was that cave he’d seen, and not the three-thousand-year-old temple that had only recently been discovered. It might explain why her father didn’t tell the world about it.
One thing was for sure: Once she and Carter were safe, she was going to come back and find that cave.
With the decision made to walk upstream, Lily quickly succumbed to overwhelming weariness. Each passing second brought another ache to her body. Her cuts stung, her right ankle throbbed, and her shoulders and neck hurt. There wasn’t a part of her body that didn’t ache. To top that off, she was exhausted and hungry and couldn’t decide which was worse.
She could do nothing about the latter, but sleep should solve her exhaustion. Deciding to dry her underwear overnight by the flames, she draped them over a stick that she secured with a long branch high over the heat. She tugged on her damp shirt and cargo pants, and positioned herself between a giant tree and the fire. Rolling onto her side to face the blaze, she did a few deep-breathing exercises to calm her mind.
Her heavy eyelids fell, and Lily allowed exhaustion to lure her to sleep.
* * * *
She woke to the sounds of monkeys beating out a terrifying chorus in the far distance, and as a faint, eerie light permeated the vegetation, she realized it was nearing daybreak.
Every muscle in her body screamed in protest as she pushed up from her side. She rolled to her feet, yelped, and stumbled backwards. Lily turned her right ankle from side to side and gasped at the agony. She reached down in the darkness and one touch of her swollen skin was enough to know it wasn’t good. A lump the size of an egg bulged over her anklebone.
Wincing, she rolled her ankle around, assessing how much movement she had. Just the fact that she could move it, convinced her it was just bruised and not sprained or broken. At least that’s what she told herself. Her surroundings gradually morphed from the darkness and she welcomed the arrival of dawn with a big yawn.
Lily crawled to the fire and using a stick, poked at the ashes to reveal the glowing coals beneath. She tossed on a pile of twigs, and then heavier branches that she’d foraged the night before.
As the fire took hold, she inspected her right ankle. A blue stain radiated from halfway up her foot to the top of her anklebone, and the bulging bruise made it look as painful as it felt.
To her horror, she realized she wouldn’t be able to get her hiking boot back on.
“Shit.” She slammed her palm onto the ground. Reaching for her still-wet boot, she fully loosened the laces and tugged the tongue out. She tried to ease the shoe on, but the pain was excruciating.
“Shit!” Screaming, she pegged her shoe at the nearest tree.
Lily squeezed her thumbs to her temples and closed her eyes, determined to plan around this new problem. Her grumbling stomach didn’t help. She gulped back a few mouthfuls of water, trying to fool her hunger into submission.
She needed food. Her brain and her body protested in mutual mutiny whenever she was starving. Like now.
Leaning back on her hands, she looked to the trees, searching for something, anything of substance. But it was fruitless. Literally.
She turned her attention back to her foot. She’d need some kind of protection. The thick-barked tree she’d tossed her boot at gave her an idea.
Hopping on her left foot, she went to the tree and tried to pry a strip of bark from the trunk. It was stubborn stuff and refused to budge. She plucked a stick from the ground and stabbed it into a ridge in the bark. Wriggling it up and down, she finally coaxed a portion of bark free. The plate-sized strip was perfect. She gathered her discarded shoe, hobbled back to the fire, and removed the shoelace.
Lily assessed the size of the bark against her sole, and gradually broke off pieces until it was ideal to cover the bottom of her foot. Holding it in place, she tugged her sock on and then, using her shoelace, lashed it all into position.
Happy with the result, she put on her other shoe and stood. It was painful to stand on her right foot but not unbearable, and the bark shoe was better than nothing. Lily went in search of a branch she could use as a makeshift crutch, and once she’d located one, she picked up her right boot and set off upstream in search of Carter and food.
A long forgotten memory of a camping trip with her brothers tumbled into her mind and she recalled them making whistles out of leaves. Searching for the perfect leaf also kept her mind occupied and she tried several before she hit success. With the thin, glossy leaf held taut between her two thumbs, she held it to her lips and blew onto the edge. The resulting squeal was piercingly loud. Louder than her voice and also, though she didn’t want to contemplate it, the whistle might not attract the attention of the drug dealers like her voice would. At least that’s what she told herself.
Lily eased up to the water’s edge, searched both sides of the river, then blew on the leaf whistle. She received no response. Not that she’d expected to. The water was flowing very fast, so she hoped like hell that Carter’s comment about crocodiles not liking fast flowing water was true.
She navigated her way along the bank and decided to count her steps to measure her progress. Every fifty steps, she stopped and blew her whistle. Counting her steps not only gave her something to do, but it also gave her something to look forward to. The stops were the opportunity to rest her throbbing ankle and sip water from the river.
Weaving her way over and around all manner of obstacles, she became aware that the sun was steadily gliding from her side of the river to the opposite side. She decided that once the sun reached the pinnacle of its arc she’d take a rest and elevate her foot for a while.
The monkeys were active at dawn, but now, in the heat of the day, the only sounds she heard were the tumbling water and the occasional bird. Her grumbling stomach added to the noise, as did her ragged breathing.
She kept up the pattern; fifty paces, blow the whistle. Fifty paces, blow the whistle.
It was mind-numbingly repetitive. The scenery barely changed too—river on her right, jungle on her left, blue sky above.
/> A flash of yellow halfway up a tree caught her eye, and she nearly melted at the sight. Papaya fruits hung heavily off a tall, thin plant. With her mouth already salivating, she charged at the tree as fast as her bruised ankle would take her.
It didn’t surprise her that the fruit was too high to reach. Nor that the tree was a tall, skinny pole and impossible to climb. The surrounding trees offered no solution to reach the fruit either. Furious at the evil torment the plump fruits presented, she grabbed the stalk, as high as she could, and dropped her weight. It bent over, but the moment she tried to reach the fruit it sprang back upright.
She launched at it again. This time she grabbed the stalk and when it bent over, she crawled hand over hand along the trunk toward her meal. A loud crack resonated, and the plant snapped and toppled over. Lily fell to her knees at the fruit, plucked the one with the most amount of yellow skin, and twisted it free. She sniffed it first, inhaling the fresh, tropical lusciousness.
She drilled her thumbs into the outer skin and kept digging until the fruit split open. After she scooped out the seeds, she held the papaya to her mouth and devoured it in seconds.
Two juicy fruits later, her stomach was painfully full, and she lay back on the ground and stared up to the treetops. A light breeze caught the leaves and shimmered them in the filtered sunshine. She raised her right foot and placed it on the trunk of a tree. The throbbing in her ankle had become her constant companion, and elevating it did little to ease the painful beat.
She rolled her head from side to side and attempting to release a knot in her neck, she held the stretch. Her eyes settled on a straight piece of wood in the distance. She eased up on her elbow, peered at it and gasped as she realized what it was. A cross.
Lily rose to her feet and hobbled over to it. The cross was tilted on an angle, rustic and weathered. She knelt down and tried to read the inscription carved into the wood, but nature had obliterated the words. It was a strange sight, out here all by itself in the middle of nowhere.
Her brain went into overdrive as she tried to understand why someone was buried in this remote location. A horrid thought barreled through her brain. Should she die out here, no one would bury her. Am I destined to become animal food? Her mind raced as she pictured her poor family, never finding out what happened to her. Her quest to the middle of the Mexican jungle suddenly seemed incredibly foolish.
For a fleeting second she thought of abandoning her search for Carter and continuing on downstream. But as quickly as the idea entered her mind, she dismissed it. She had no doubt Carter wouldn’t stop looking for her, and she was determined to do the same.
Saddened by the isolation of the lone cross, she restored it upright. Satisfied it was secure again, she glanced around, searching for a reason for the grave to be there, and her heart nearly stopped at what she saw. Another cross, also tilted on an angle, was just six feet away. This one had a small necklace draped across the middle bar. She limped over and ran her fingers beneath the small turquoise beads that’d been threaded along a leather strap. The necklace was tiny—too small to fit her neck at least. Her heart squeezed as she contemplated whether it was a child’s necklace.
Her hand went to her throat as she saw yet another cross to her left. She scanned the area more thoroughly and spied cross after cross, dotted among the vegetation.
“What on earth happened here?” The words whispered off her lips as she went to study the next cross. This one had a miniature cross carved into the top of the wood, but other than that, there were no other discernable carvings.
The next one had wire wrapped around the two pieces of wood, holding the cross in place. Each cross was slightly different. All looked handmade. She found one under the shelter of a large, sprawling tree. It had remnants of flakey blue paint on the cross bar, and as she leaned in closer, she noticed chunky letters engraved into the wood. The paint, trapped in the carving, made it legible.
She deciphered it as Rosa Maria 4 Augusta 1980.
“What happened to you, Rosa Maria?”
There were seventeen crosses in total. Each one was different from the next and only one provided an inscription.
The scene was both creepy and serene at the same time. Her mind drifted to Carter; she was certain he’d love to photograph this. With that thought, she took one last glance at Rosa Maria’s grave and went back to the river’s edge to blow her leaf whistle.
Still no sign of Carter.
Lily plucked another papaya from the felled tree, but this time as she ate it, she savored every single bite. It was delicious and sweet, and exactly what she needed.
Ready to get moving again, she picked the remaining three papayas, and with no way to carry them, she tucked her shirt into her shorts and fed the fruits down her top. She distributed them evenly so they were placed around her torso.
She hobbled to the river’s edge, blew on her whistle again, and after listening for a response and receiving none, she continued counting her paces and traveled upstream.
The sun was high in the sky, beaming heat and light upon her with equal intensity. Stifling humidity had sweat trickling down her back and underarms, and she longed to stop and rest along the riverbank, but she pushed on regardless, eating the fruits as she went.
She’d only reached forty paces when the scenery did change. And dramatically too. A river of caked mud had long ago ploughed a brutal gash through the jungle, bringing with it fallen trees, giant rocks, and anything else that’d been in its path.
Lily climbed onto the dried mud and ate her last papaya as she trod across the rubble expanse. All sorts of bits and pieces had been caught in the mudslide. She found splintered planks of wood, twisted metal, and two coins, both dated 1972. She spied the remains of a mangled pushbike, shredded clothing, and heaps of other objects she didn’t recognize. The only item she kept was a bent fork that might come in handy later.
About halfway across, the sun, which was now far over the other side of the river, reflected off something on the ground. When she reached it, she was shocked to see the rays bouncing off the side mirror of an old car that was nearly fully submerged. The car’s roof was riddled with rust, underlining just how long it’d been buried there. It made her wonder if the graves she’d found were for those who’d died in this landslide.
It was highly unlikely that anybody who’d been swept up in the muddy avalanche would ever have been found. The remote location would’ve hampered search and rescue attempts too.
Seventeen people . . . lost without a trace. Is that to be my fate too?
Lily cast that ill-timed thought aside and stopped to blow on her leaf whistle.
A new sound echoed through the jungle and her heart skipped a beat.
She blew again and the reply was instant.
Yes. Her heart slammed into her chest as she considered it could be the men with guns. But it had to be Carter; she believed in her heart it was him.
“Carter. I’m here.”
She stumbled over in the rush to move forward and fell to her knees. Ignoring the new affront to her flesh, she cupped her hands to her mouth to project her voice, and yelled until her throat burned. “Carter!”
“Lily!”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “Carter. I’m here.” She climbed to her feet and waved her arms like crazy. “Carter.”
“Lily.” He sounded far away. “Lily.”
A flash of movement across the river caught her eye and she shielded the sun with her hand. “Carter. Carter, I’m over here.”
He stepped out from the tree line and his beaming smile, while welcome relief, failed to mask how pale and weak he looked. “Thank God. You’re alive,” he yelled across the river.
Something wasn’t right. The way he stood, gripping a branch, favoring one leg, made him look to be in agony. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.” He shook his head. “Boy, am I glad t
o see you.”
“You too.” Tears tickled her cheeks and she flicked them away and hobbled to the river’s edge. “What do we do now?” Just the thought of getting in that water again made her stomach turn.
Carter dropped the pack off his back, and she nearly crumbled at the sight of it. She had entertained the notion that she’d never see it again.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “I’ll swim to you. Okay?”
His weakened state was as clear as if he’d been standing right before her, and his plan didn’t seem like the best idea.
“Okay, Lily?”
“Are you sure? It’s dangerous.”
“I’m a strong swimmer. I’ll be fine.” He limped to the river, proving her suspicions that he wasn’t fine. She wanted to beg him not to do it, but at the same time couldn’t think of an alternative solution.
“It’ll drag me downriver,” he yelled across the torrent. “So you walk downstream and when I get there, I’ll walk upstream to you. Okay?”
She recalled the swirling water and being hurled along, completely at the mercy of its powerful force. Her heart leapt to her throat. She wanted to stop him. But they had no choice. “Okay,” she finally said.
When he picked up the backpack, she froze. It was an extra burden he didn’t need. As much as she wanted it, she wanted him more.
“Carter?” she yelled.
“Yo?”
“Leave the pack.”
He did a double take. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve dragged it this far. It’s coming with me now.”
“You don’t have to.” She couldn’t tell if he was angry or joking.
“I bloody well do. Now start walking that way.” He pointed downstream. “Go on, I’m watching.”
She chuckled at his bossiness. “You sound like one of my brothers.”
“Good.”
She reached for her makeshift crutch, clutched it with her fingers, and hobbled forward.
Out of Reach Page 17