by David Cline
“If that is all true,” Wood said. “Why are you putting yourself at risk to warn us?”
For the first time, Amara noticed that the man did look a little nervous. Beads of sweat ran down his face. Furrowed lines stretched across his forehead. He looked around at the people scattered throughout the bus, all absorbed in their own lives.
“I am scared for my country. If you are who I think you are, and you manage to escape with your lives, I hope you can save us all.” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Wood. “God speed.”
With a violent jerk, the bus came to a sudden halt and the man was out the back door and walking down the street before Amara could ask a follow up question.
Wood slowly unfolded the paper and with a confused expression held it out for her and Wilkins to see. There was only one word written across it.
“Ararat?” Amara asked. “What is that?”
Wood turned the paper around again and examined it closely. “I don’t know,” he said. He folded it carefully and put it in his pocket. “If that guy is telling the truth, we have bigger problems to worry about at the moment.”
Amara looked out the window. They were leaving the large crowds of the city. Traffic was thinning.
“Where does this bus take us?” she asked.
Wood looked around at the ten or so passengers surrounding them.
“It should take us within a couple blocks of where Fin and André are,” he said. “We need to get back there and bunker down until nightfall.”
He stood and walked back a couple rows to an elderly man. Amara could not hear what was said over the ambient noise. After a minute, Wood pulled out his wallet and passed the man some cash. The man then removed his hat and shirt, handing them over to Wood.
With a grin, Wood sat back down behind them and passed up the clothes.
Amara glanced around at the other passengers. Everyone stared at them until she looked their way.
“I am sure our description has been sent out all over the city. We need to change our clothes and split up.” He looked out the window. “Our stop is coming up. Wilkins, you good to find your way back on your own with your leg?”
Wilkins grunted through clenched teeth. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Wood reached up to a wire that ran along both sides of the bus above the windows. He pulled on it and a buzzer sounded at the front. The driver slowed and pulled over.
“We are going to get off here,” he said to Wilkins. “Pull the chord when you reach that panadería.” He pointed to a building about a half mile farther down the road with a large picture of a loaf of bread. “When you get off, follow the street west. It should take you straight to the house.”
Wilkins gave him a thumbs up.
Amara followed Wood down the center and descended the steep stairs out the back door. Before she stepped away, the bus had accelerated and immersed them in a black cloud of exhaust. She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face.
“Nowhere to give the bus line a review is there?” she asked.
Wood laughed as he led her across the street and into the neighborhood. “Brazil manufactured most of the busses here decades ago. Once they were old enough to be replaced, Argentina bought them secondhand and continued to use them. Once Argentina no longer wanted them, Paraguay bought them thirdhand.”
He glanced behind his shoulder. Amara did the same but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
“The silver lining to riding these old vehicles,” he continued, “is that your stomach becomes as solid as rock. Nothing in the world can make you nauseous after riding these around for a few years.”
They turned at the first corner and hugged the right side of the street. Amara tripped over a rock that jutted out a little farther than the rest and caught herself before falling.
“These streets are awful,” she said. “Cobblestone is too generous a word. It’s like people just buried a bunch of rocks in the dirt.”
Wood laughed again. “That is exactly what they did. People have told me it’s so that the heavy rains don’t wash the roads away.”
They picked up the pace. It was clear Wood wanted to get off the streets as soon as possible.
In Argentina, they had stayed in a cheap hotel when they were not working and had never ventured out into the neighborhoods where real people lived. Along both sides of the street were little cement houses that were all painted a different color. Some were a baby blue. Others were a worn-out red. Despite looking run down, they possessed a certain quaintness. Each sat behind a tall wall with broken glass cemented on top. People sat out on plastic chairs enjoying the warm temperatures and waving amiably as they passed.
They crossed the street and began to follow a narrow trail through a field. The dirt was red and soft like walking along a beach. Wild knee-high grass and trees with long slender trunks flourished all around them.
When they reached the other side of the field, they turned left, and Amara recognized the gate they had parked the truck in front of earlier that day. So much had happened in the last 24 hours, it felt like it had been weeks since they hid their rental car in Argentina and entered the suffocating jungle.
Wood did not clap this time. He rolled the gate back and the two of them passed through. They followed the stone walkway up to the front door and entered.
Amara was relieved to see Wilkins safely laying on his back on the floor with his leg bent. Hermana Rosa knelt beside him with his knee between her hands.
“This lady is a witch doctor,” Wilkins called up to them. “I thought that I would be off my feet for at least a few weeks.”
“I told you,” Wood said, sitting down on the couch. He let out a long sigh of relief.
Fin came around the corner with two plates full of food. He handed one to Amara. “I am sure you guys are hungry,” he said.
Amara had not thought about food for a long time, but now that it was in front of her, the smell made her stomach crawl with anticipation.
“What’s the plan?” Fin asked, sitting down next to Wood. “I wouldn’t mind staying. Hermana Rosa is like the mother I never had.” He looked down at Wilkins, who still grimaced as she worked on his knee. “I hear however, that we are in deep with the Nazis.”
Wood looked at Hermana Rosa with a deep fondness. “For everyone’s safety, we need to cross the border as soon as possible.”
“Wilkins told us they are watching all of the streets that lead out of here,” Fin said.
Wood glanced at the small black clock hanging on the wall. “We won’t be crossing the border on any street. We just need to wait until dark.”
Chapter 6
The rest of the day passed in a state of absolute happiness. Hermana Rosa radiated love and affection and her family spent all day making their guests feel as comfortable as possible. Every time they tried to thank her, she would blush and speed off to perform some other act of service for someone. Amara could not help but feel a little sad when she peeked through the curtains and saw the sun had set.
Wilkins was up on his feet again. He limped around the house with his arms out wide, testing the limits of his knee. “Hermana Rosa,” he said, “you are the most talented and underappreciated physician I have ever met.”
André felt better as well. The Frenchman napped and had awoken well rested and rejuvenated. Amara sensed that he did not want to leave. Especially after she told him who was searching for them outside in the darkness.
Wood entered the room with the old flip phone in his hand. “Are you ready to go?” he asked. “I just got off the phone with Esteban and he is going to kill the power to the neighborhood in five minutes.”
Amara gave him an incredulous look. “There is just some switch or something he can click?”
“Don’t worry, power outages are a daily occurrence down here. You just need to know where to jostle the wires.”
“Any news about the people looking for us?” Fin asked.
“Hunting is a m
ore appropriate word,” André said, glaring at Wood.
Wood grimaced. “I’m afraid, our friend on the bus wasn’t exaggerating. Every vehicle that is in route out of the city is being stopped and searched at checkpoints by local police.” He rolled his eyes. “They are calling them routine inspections, or something ridiculous like that. I heard rumors of us appearing in a different neighborhood, and they were searching house to house.”
“The local police are helping them?” André asked. “It sounds like Germany during the early 1940s.”
Wood shrugged. “I honestly didn’t think that the group we were looking for was going to be this prominent after all these years. I thought the building we entered was going to be occupied by a few old guys reminiscing about the good old days. The priest dressed in robes that met us at the door only strengthened my theory.”
He walked over to the curtain and peered out the window. “However, the moment Wilkins turned those flood lights on, I knew we were over our heads.” He looked at Amara. “I would have never led you into danger had I known all of this would happen.”
Amara laughed, hoping it would make her look braver than she felt. “Another grand adventure for my journal. My friends in Oregon actually tried to convince me that archaeology was boring.”
The lights suddenly went out and the room was immersed in darkness. There was a moment of silence while their eyes adjusted. Wood moved toward the front door. “Time to go.”
Everyone took turns hugging Hermana Rosa. They all promised to repay her kindness any way they could. Hermana Rosa simply shook her head and, in broken English, wished them all a safe journey as they followed Wood outside. They slipped out the gate and silently made their way up the sidewalk.
There were no signs of life anywhere. It felt like walking through a graveyard. Even the sounds of frogs and crickets that were typical this time of night seemed to have paused in anticipation. A thin layer of smoke had settled over the neighborhood. It had a peculiar scent. The only light came from the moon which was half covered by clouds.
Amara hurried forward and drew even with Wood. “What’s that smell?” she whispered.
“Burning garbage,” Wood said. “Having someone collect it every week costs money. So, most people in these poorer areas burn it in their yards at night.”
“Sounds environmentally friendly,” she said.
Wood chuckled. “You should see what happens when it rains.”
“Where is everyone?” Amara asked.
“Bunkered down in their houses,” Wood answered. “Being out on the street at night is dangerous business down here. And when the power goes out…”
Headlights from down the street pierced the haze. Wood motioned for everyone to hide. Amara ran around a corner and knelt behind a brick wall. She saw a couple figures dive into an overgrown bush.
The light grew closer. Her heartbeat so fast, she thought anyone nearby could have heard it. A large truck passed slowly. A person in the bed rotated a large spotlight. Amara held her breath as the light lingered on her hiding spot for a long moment before moving on.
“You would think we were international fugitives!” Fin hissed, when the truck had disappeared around a corner.
“We might as well be,” Wilkins said, brushing himself off. “I bet there is a pretty high price on our heads.”
“We will be out of the country soon enough,” Wood said.
“How are you planning on doing that?” André asked. “It seems to me that we are in far more danger now than we were back at Hermana Rosa’s house.”
Wood gave him a sly smile. “Don’t doubt me. You’ll see.”
André rolled his eyes and shot Amara an irritated glance.
She ignored him and they moved down the streets like ghosts. It was eerie walking through the low hanging mist. The only sound that broke the silence was the distant snarl of dogs fighting.
They turned down a narrow path that was so dark, Amara could not see anything around her. She stopped and Fin ran into her from behind.
She squinted and tried to make sense of the shapes around her. She saw Wilkins form take off his backpack and pull out a pack of matches and two small candles.
The bright flare of the match made her pupils constrict. She looked around and saw they were on a steep cement decline surrounded on either side by a wall of green plants. It did not look like it had been made for foot traffic. Garbage rotted all around. Amara thought it looked more like a large ditch to help drain water when the rains came. The cement was uneven and shaped like the letter U.
“Watch your step,” Wood warned as he passed her a candle. Amara took it and held it out so Fin and André could use its light behind her. The angle was so steep, she was forced to reach out to overhanging branches to steady herself.
Soon the pathway evened out, and Wood stopped again holding his candle out high above his head. They had arrived at the entrance to a decrepit old structure.
“Is that a cross?” André asked in his thick accent. Amara thought his voice sounded shaky.
She looked up. He was right. Hanging lopsided above the ominous entrance was a wooden cross. In front of it was a Virgin Mary figure that was missing an arm. The face was scorched like it had been consumed in a fire. Amara shivered.
“Have you lead us to an abandoned church? André asked. “How on earth did you even find such a sinister looking place?”
Wood had a wide grin on his face. His eyes explored the darkness longingly, as though reliving fond memories. “On accident,” he said. After a pause, he walked through the entrance where a door used to be.
André gave Wilkins an exasperated look.
Wilkins walked over and slapped André on the shoulder. “Sometimes you just got to go with it.” He gave them a knowing smile and then hurried inside after Wood.
“They have given us no reason not to trust them,” Amara whispered to André. The last thing she wanted was to make their precarious situation even worse with drama from the Frenchman. She looked up at the rickety beams. “I Just hope the roof doesn’t collapse in on us.” She entered, the rotting floorboards creaking under her weight.
The construction was simple and looked like something straight out of the Salem witch trials. The exposed rafters were covered in cobwebs. The walls were crumbling and debris littered the floor. There was an aisle down the middle with decaying pews on both sides. A few small arched windows sat in the center of opposite walls but had long since had the glass broken out of them.
Amara’s flickering candle made the whole scene that much more surreal. Fin and André stopped beside her and looked around. Wood and Wilkins whispered near the front next to an old pulpit.
“You going to give us a sermon or what?” André asked. He made no attempt to conceal the sarcasm in his voice. “You were a missionary, here right? Trying to convert us?”
Before Amara could say something to defuse the situation, Wood walked behind the decomposing pulpit. He raised his arms out wide like a southern preacher. “Why wasn't Jesus born in France my brothers and sister?”
Silence filled the old chapel. Wood put his right hand over his heart. “Because he couldn't find three wise men or a virgin.”
There was a pause, and then both Fin and Wilkins broke out laughing. The sudden sound after perpetual silence startled her and the hair on her neck stood vertical. She watched Andrés face turn a dark shade of red in the flickering light.
Wood walked down the aisle and put a hand on André’s shoulder. “Ask, my son, and you shall receive.” He gestured past Wilkins. “Our golden chariot awaits to take us to the promised land.”
André looked to where he was pointing and then shook his head. “You Americans are crazy, and arrogant.”
“Don’t forget good looking,” Wood added in an insulted voice while he wagged his finger. He winked at Amara. “Come my friends. The hour grows late.”
They followed him past the pulpit to the front of the church. He turned and looked at the three of them. �
�Remember, when the time comes, let me do the talking. No sudden movements.”
André and Fin both looked at Amara with raised eyebrows. She gave them a reassuring nod and when she looked back toward Wood, he had vanished. She stretched her candle out and for the first time noticed a crack zigzagging from floor to ceiling that ran down the length of the front wall. She walked closer and saw that it concealed a narrow opening. The hidden exit was completely invisible from the front. An optical illusion. A hidden staircase led out the back of the church and down a steep hill.
They descended in silence down winding steps barely visible through the thick vegetation. Enormous leaves loomed over their path at head height and everyone had an arm up as they pushed their way through.
Amara was careful not to bend the branches too far so they would not snap back and hit Fin in the face behind her. She almost lost her balance twice as she squinted through the darkness trying to locate the next place to position her foot. The stairs had been constructed poorly. Large pieces of rusty rebar stuck out at jagged angles. It almost felt more like descending a ladder.
“Careful not to slip and slice yourself on the metal,” she whispered to no one in particular. “I can’t remember the last time I had a tetanus shot.”
She pushed her way through some thick branches and saw the narrow pathway leveled off. They had reached the bottom.
She stopped and cocked her head to one side, listening. In the distance, she thought she heard waves lapping against sand. That could not be right, though, they were in the middle of the Paraguayan suburbs.
Wood waited until the last person had descended successfully before continuing forward. She was about to ask him where they were when he caught her eye and he held a finger up to his lips. His face was full of nervous excitement. A bead of sweat ran down his cheek and hung for a moment on his chin before falling to the ground.
Amara held her breath. She could sense that something was about to happen. Goosebumps spread out over the skin on her arms.
