by Laura Resau
How long can a person go without oxygen? It can’t be this long. But Lupita said Tortue could hold his breath for a long time when he went diving as a kid. I pray he still can. Please, Tortue, hang in there!
Once, twice, three slices through the rope. And he’s free.
With all my might, I pull up my father. Be alive!
He breaks through the surface, gasping for breath, coughing and sputtering. Thank God.
I want to collapse, cry from pure, sweet relief. But there’s no time. Another rush of tide pounds us. As it races out, I push off from the wall, pulling Tortue with me, going with its momentum. We’re nearly out when another wave heads toward us.
“Grab on!” Wendell shouts, stretching out a paddle. Tortue and I lunge forward and clutch it just as the next waves hits. Wendell grips the oar as the water drags our bodies backward. We hang on, barely. The next lull comes, and Wendell heaves us into the boat.
Tortue is shivering violently. Wendell wraps him in a blanket, then starts pulling up the anchor. “We have to get you to shore, Tortue.”
“No, wait!” Tortue gasps. “It might not be safe.”
Wendell lets the anchor fall back down. There’s enough light to see the fear in his eyes. “Why?”
Tortue’s voice is raw. “My brother. This morning, after I left you, I took a nap under my boat. When I woke up, Pepe was standing there.”
My heart starts thudding anew.
“He said he wanted to apologize, clear up some things. Told me his friends had tried to get him involved in some shady deals, but he wanted out. Said he realized that his family was all that mattered.” Tortue pauses, choked with emotion.
I stare in shock. “And you believed him?”
He nods. “I know, it was stupid of me. But he’s my brother. I had to give him a chance. He said he wanted to right his wrongs. Asked if we could go for a ride, for old time’s sake.” Tortue wraps the blanket around himself more tightly. “As we rode out here, every place we passed held memories. We even laughed, remembering good times. Pepe asked me to stop the boat here. This was a cave we came to as kids when the tide was out, when it was safe. He suggested we swim inside.”
I clutch my head. “And you did?” I ask in disbelief.
“Yes,” he says, lowering his gaze. “At the heart of it, I just couldn’t believe my own brother would harm me.”
I take this in. I admit, Pepe had me fooled for a while. He’s incredibly manipulative, charming, well-practiced at lying. It’s terrible but not surprising that he’d wield these skills on his brother.
“So then what?” Wendell urges.
“Pepe jumped in. I did the same. We swam around, splashing each other like kids. Then I blacked out. Next thing I remember, he’s tying my hands. My head ached. He must’ve hit me with a rock.” Tortue’s voice breaks. “I kept saying, ‘Hermano—brother, how can you do this to me?’ ”
I reach out, touch his shoulder, trying to find the right words. “I’m so sorry, Tortue.”
He takes a deep breath and continues. “The water wasn’t high yet, but we both knew the tide would come in soon. Pepe finished tying me up without a word. His eyes—they were so cold. After he climbed back in the boat, he said, ‘You should never have come back. That land is mine.’
“I asked him if he was guilty of the poaching so many years ago. He laughed and said of course.” Tortue pauses. “He said that to reach your dreams, you have to make sacrifices. Or sacrifice others.
“And then, before I could say another word, he left.” Tortue wipes away tears with his wrist. “He left me to drown.”
“I don’t understand,” Wendell says after a moment. “Why didn’t he just kill you?”
“He’s a coward.” Tortue spits out the words. “He has his friends do his dirty work. Or the ocean tides.” He takes a long breath. “I knew I had to live, Zeeta. I knew you were waiting for me—with my whole family. I had to survive. So I called to Gracia.”
He looks down at her, swimming in circles by the boat. “And qué milagro—what a miracle—she came! She came to the cave opening and I could just see her head, but she couldn’t fit inside. ‘Go,’ I told her. ‘Go to Wendell and Zeeta.’ It was my only chance. Hours passed, and I’d almost given up hope when I heard the boat’s motor.”
He looks at me, his eyes welling up. “Gracias, mija, gracias.”
I lean forward, open my arms to him. This time, he meets me halfway. And my father and I share our first hug—cold and wet, but somehow, perfect.
After a moment, Wendell asks, “Ready to go?”
“One moment,” Tortue murmurs, peering over the edge at Gracia, who’s drifting beside us, just within arm’s reach. We each stroke her leathery shell, worn and scarred, and whisper “Gracias.” She meets our gazes with her ancient eyes, then swims away into the darkness.
“Let’s paddle back,” Tortue says. “I don’t know if Pepe’s out there somewhere. He might notice my boat’s gone. Might be waiting for us at Playa Mermejita. We have to approach carefully.”
Wendell flicks off the light and hands me an oar. Slowly, we paddle around the rock outcropping toward the beach. “See anything?” Wendell asks.
“No.” I wish we could just turn on the motor. My arms are tired, my whole body throbbing from being bashed against the rocks. And the older bruises from this morning’s fall are suddenly aching.
Noticing my exhaustion, Tortue reaches out to grab my oar. “I’ll paddle a while.”
“No, you rest,” I insist.
Suddenly, Wendell whispers, “Look, there, through the trees!”
My gaze follows his finger. Moonlight glints off something shiny. A truck. It’s parked on the dirt clearing in the jungle, just beyond the beach. And then, through the trees, I see the bobbing orange glow of two lit cigarettes. I groan.
“Change course!” Tortue urges. “Let’s beach the boat in my little cove instead.”
“But how will we get up the cliff walls?” Wendell asks. “In the dark?”
“I know the way. You can follow me.”
I’m not looking forward to climbing up the same cliff wall I already fell down once today. But it’s the best option. We paddle the boat around, heading for the cove.
“Let’s hope they didn’t see us,” Wendell says, glancing back.
“And if they did,” I add, “that they don’t guess where we’re headed.”
The cove looks empty, just the sliver of sand enclosed on three sides by towering cliffs. The rock face on the right rises into the west part of Comet Point, the spot where I’ve watched many sunsets. The steep incline directly across the beach is where I fell this morning, which seems like ages ago. Briefly, I think of Layla and my new family back at the cabanas, waiting for us. By now, they must have finished the flan. They must be worried.
We drag the boat ashore and run to the base of the cliff. Tortue starts climbing first, showing us exactly where to put our hands and feet. The darkness makes it harder to find secure grips. We feel with our hands, watch Tortue’s shadow above us, listen carefully to his instructions. “Put your hand on this root here,” he whispers. “Then wedge your foot in here.…”
There are a few close calls when I slip, but Wendell manages to catch me, helps me regain balance. Wendell too skids down a couple times, but he grabs roots to keep from falling farther. Every muscle in my body burns. My bones throb, my flesh stings.
By the time we’re nearly to the top, I’m so exhausted I don’t know if I’ll be able to hang on to the last handhold. Tortue is already there, leaning over, on his knees, breathing hard, watching us. He reaches out to pull me up the final stretch. I’m doubled over, gasping, as he helps Wendell. For a moment, we don’t move, just catch our breath, taking in the dizzying height we just scaled.
I give Wendell a depleted grin. “We did it.”
But he’s not returning my gaze. He’s looking at something over my shoulder. Something terrible, by the expression on his face. With dread, I turn around.
/>
Two figures step out from the shadows. First Pepe. Then El Dedo. My heart sinks. They saw our boat and beat us here.
Both men are holding machetes, blocking the path to the jungle, straight ahead.
To our right the land curves into Comet Point. To our left are more rocky cliffs, which descend to Playa Mermejita. I glance down at where we came from. Not an option.
I look at Wendell and Tortue. There’s just enough moonlight to see the expressions on their faces. Dismay, anger, fear. We’re in no position to defend ourselves. We’ve spent every last remnant of energy on the climb.
The men step toward us.
It’s amazing how sheer terror can make adrenaline kick in, just when you’re sure your reserve is empty. Instinctively, my body wants as much distance as possible from those machetes. The only direction to run is onto Punta Cometa, toward the tip.
“Run!” I shout in English, and take off. In my peripheral vision, I see Tortue and Wendell sprinting, spreading out across the point. I understand the strategy—use our numbers to our advantage. There are two of them and three of us. Maybe someone can escape and get help. It’s our only hope.
I’m behind a giant cactus now, looking around desperately, squinting in the darkness. There’s nowhere left to run. A few more paces and I’ll be off the edge of the cliff. El Dedo is running after me, brandishing his machete. I can barely make out Tortue, racing along the other side of the peninsula, the east part of the comet. Pepe is closing in on him.
No one is chasing Wendell. He has looped around and is scrambling up the dirt hill, heading toward the jungle. He must be hoping to run for help.
Now El Dedo has reached the other side of the giant cactus. I dart one way, he darts the other—a cat-and-mouse game. It’s a matter of time, probably only seconds, until I’ll no longer be able to dodge him.
A scream flies from my mouth, a raw instinct. Of course no one back at the cabanas will be able to hear—the crash of the waves against the cliffs drowns out any feeble human sounds.
But Wendell hears. He freezes, turns back. In a flash, he’s half falling down the hill, then barreling toward us at top speed, yelling, “No! Don’t hurt her.” He stops a few meters from El Dedo. “Don’t touch her! What do you want?”
El Dedo turns, holding his machete up to Wendell. “You had three warnings,” he growls. “No more.”
Stall, Zeeta, stall. Keep him talking. “You can’t kill us all,” I say. “You’ll be caught. Everyone knows your motives. There’s already a search on for you.”
Pepe grins. “No problem. They’re all friends of mine.”
Wendell makes a wide arc around the cactus and takes my hand. I squeeze it, trying to communicate that I love him.
I catch a glimpse of Pepe and Tortue on the other side of the peninsula. Tortue’s hands are up and Pepe is leading him toward us, machete at his neck. “Got him!” Pepe calls out.
El Dedo turns to wait for them. I’m grateful for the distraction. Every moment we manage to stay alive counts. Every breath, every heartbeat. If we can just hang on a little longer, we can find a way.…
“I told you to go back, hermano,” Pepe hisses into Tortue’s ear. “And you didn’t listen! If you’d left, I wouldn’t have to do this!”
As Pepe goes on with his rant, I realize he must feel guilty, at least a little. If not, he would have just killed his brother in the cave. He would kill us all right now. He’s not acting rationally. The key, I’m thinking, is to keep him talking.
“How could you do this to your own brother?” I demand. “And your sweet mother?”
Pepe glares, lifting his machete. For a moment I wonder if I’ve pushed him too far, if I’ve just provoked him to chop me into pieces. But he spits out, “She coddled him. All his melodrama, his moodiness—it was just a ploy for attention. I’m the successful one. The one who deserves the land.”
Jealousy? That’s what it sounds like. He’s actually jealous of his brother. For a brief moment, I have a flash of sympathy for Pepe.
Tortue looks at his brother, eyes full of pain. “I’m sorry, hermano. I know it must have been hard for you.”
I’m praying that Tortue might get through a chink in his brother’s armor, when El Dedo shouts, “Shut up!” He gives us all a look of scorn, his lip curled. “None of you have any idea how much money is riding on these hotels, do you? Tens of millions. More than you can dream of.”
“But you don’t make much at the Turtle Center, Pepe,” Wendell says. He must see my strategy of making them talk. Maybe if we stall enough, help will arrive. “You don’t even have starter money.”
“I have investors in Mexico City,” Pepe shoots back. “Narcos. Drug lords. It was all set. I just needed to get Mamá to give me the land. She was hanging on to it. For him.” He spits out the words, scowls at Tortue. “She kept renting it, and I kept having my vatos cause trouble. And after years of this, I nearly convinced our parents. They were getting tired of renting the land. Giving up hope on my pathetic brother.” He glares at Tortue. “Then, out of the blue, you pay me a visit, hermano, asking if our parents have forgiven you. I should’ve killed you then. But I figured I’d just have them sign the land over to me before you revealed yourself.” He focuses his glare on Wendell and me. “And then you two interfered.” His face twists into a grin. “But with all of you gone, the land goes to me.”
“Your parents will never do that!” I cry, trying to make my lie sound convincing. “Everyone knows what you’ve done.”
“Who’re they gonna believe? The most popular guy in town … or a few outsiders?”
“You’ll never get the land!” I counter. “Just let us go.”
“Shut up!” El Dedo yells, making me jump.
Wendell shoots him a fiery look. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
El Dedo smiles, a terrible, creepy smile. “Business partner. The brother Pepe never had.”
Keep stalling, Z. Keep stalling. At some point, Layla and Joe will come looking for us. Maybe they’ll bring backup. I rack my brains for some distraction. “Why were you poaching? I mean, you’d only get a few thousand pesos compared to the millions you’re talking about.”
With a sneer, El Dedo says, “A few thousand pesos for a couple hours of work every night? Better than a real job. Enough to tide me over till the hotel’s up.”
“But what—?”
“Enough questions,” El Dedo snarls. “Time to jump.”
Tortue speaks up loudly. “Brother, I’m asking you this one last favor. Kill me. But let them go.”
My heart jumps. I shake my head frantically at Tortue.
Pepe doesn’t answer.
El Dedo says gruffly, “They know too much.”
“They’ll leave,” Tortue cries. “Wendell and Zeeta and her mother. They’ll leave tonight and never come back.”
Pepe regards Wendell. “I know this guy. He’ll never leave those turtles in danger. And the girl won’t leave without him.” He shakes his head. “You’ve given me no choice.”
“Move to the edge,” El Dedo orders, raising his machete.
There’s nothing else to do. I have no doubt this man would take joy in slashing us to bits. In fact, he’s probably looking for an excuse. We move to the edge, and I glance down. Below, the cliffs are straight drop-offs, the water churning savagely below against sharp rocks.
Briefly, I wonder if this is where Meche fell. I wonder if there’s any chance we can survive with just some broken bones, a limp like hers, or if we’ll meet the same fate as her daughter. If the ocean will batter us and carry us away. If our bodies will ever be found.
Tears pour down my face. I lock eyes with Wendell, then Tortue. Not now, not after I’ve finally reunited with my father, found my home. Not now!
I draw a deep breath into my belly, into the wildest animal part of myself, and I scream.
El Dedo smacks my face hard, nearly knocking me right off the edge. Wendell’s hand shoots out toward me, steadying me.
El Dedo laughs cruelly, as if he’s a cat torturing a bird, drawing out the agony, taking sick pleasure in it.
Wendell holds me close, inspecting my cheek. Then he sends El Dedo a look of daggers.
This violence sets off Tortue. In one swift movement, he lunges toward Pepe, grabbing for the machete. Pepe swings it away and slices into Tortue’s arm. Blood spills out. Tortue staggers backward, clutching his wound.
Pepe’s eyes are hard, cold, unfeeling. He simply orders, “Jump.”
My eyes fix on Wendell’s. I know him so well, I can guess what he’s thinking. He’s not going to jump; he’s going to charge El Dedo. I brace myself, get ready to grab the machete in the confusion.
And then, from the tail of the comet, a thin voice calls out, “¡Hola! What’s going on?” It’s a woman’s voice. A figure is heading toward us, limping slightly. Meche.
“Help!” I call. “Call for help!”
Another smack from El Dedo. He shoots me an insidious grin. He’s enjoying this, watching me teeter on the edge, relishing my pain.
My face throbs. I’m vaguely aware of the iron taste of blood in my mouth.
“Turn around, Meche!” Wendell shouts. “They have machetes!”
“Meche, go get help!” Tortue calls.
But it’s too late; Meche is already close enough to see the men. She takes in the situation.
“They’re gonna kill us, Meche!” I scream. “Run!”
Meche, keeping perfect balance, steps down the incline, then stops a few paces from us.
The men are watching her and giving each other looks, as if communicating about this new development.
Meche is a vision in a black dress and silvery shawl, her hair piled in braids on her head. Standing tall and regal, she commands, “Drop your machetes.” She eyes our captors with utter disdain. “Or else.”
I have to admire her ability to bluff. Of course, she’s been practicing that witch persona for years now. It’s convincing.
“Or else what?” Pepe demands.
