SLIP INTO SOMETHING
Part I
Waking to the clatter of bird and monkey sounds that have become the norm, a cacophony of life stirs with the imminence of dawn. But something’s wrong, she hesitates instincts on full alert, waiting in exact silence, not moving or blinking to be sure before warning, “They’re coming!”
Everyone runs torn from sleep, this group of eight women, stay together with great purpose, this is an ideal time for an ambush and they will need the strength of their numbers if they hope to survive. Pushing through the underbrush, they all know what to do. They’ve gone through this scenario many times. Delta, their leader is taking them further into the jungle, only the sound of their feet weighing down on the fallen leaves is heard, followed by the eerie push of wind coming from above. It is not a storm. It is worse than a storm. Storms pass in the night with the angst of teenagers, tempests on the shores. Storms are welcome, they are the only time of rest, a truce of worlds.
Struggling to keep up, each woman of this family, pushes herself, not allowing panic to take hold, as a roar like thunder grips their hearts. They must reach the river mouth.
Overcome by a foul smell, Delta whispers, “That’s new.”
Shaking it off, she wonders how she would explain this to anyone outside of the hell they know. The comfort and strength they give each other and most importantly the hope they share. This is her family now and she feels the deepest responsibility for these women, this bond is all they have.
Running full out, away from the gagging odor and sound of rushing wind, just a quarter mile more, we must make it. Panic increasing her reflexes with each step, she can almost feel the brutal wind. It smells of doom and death, filling them all with despair.
Reaching the wide expanse of the river mouth, Delta leads them, skirting along the shrunken river banks, always staying undercover. The rains haven’t started yet, making the river quite manageable. Not far to go, guiding her family they finally stop, panting and bent from exertion, beads of sweat layering their skin.
It’s unnerving, how little she knows about each one of them and yet it doesn’t matter as she looks from one woman to the next.
Pulling dry reeds from the ground and snapping the roots off anxiously, they wade in. Moving toward a small densely treed island in the middle of the river a little over fifteen feet from shore.
Carefully Delta scans for signs of predators, any wake or dark shadows in the water could be a problem, as their only weapons are the sharpened sticks they carry. Once waist high, the women begin to swim, reeds in mouths like dogs retrieving sticks, carefully aware not to disturb the surface. Each stroke feels like an eternity as another loud roar careens towards them from behind. Taking the reeds into their mouths like straws and supplicanting themselves into the waist high water, protected only by the canopy of thick mango branches, they’re careful not to spread out. Eyes wide with terror they slip into the water. Before their heads go under, gun shots ring out, all birds take flight.
