The fall was hard. It crushed my ribs, mangled my arm, twisted my ankles and bashed in my head. Had Gustavo been driving any faster, I would probably be dead. I skidded across the road, tearing off my skin from my chin to my elbow, until I slammed my back on a large boulder at the foot of a towering cliff.

At first, I didn’t feel the pain, nor the rain, nor the blood trickling down my face. Still stunned from the blow, gasping for air with raucous cries, I pulled myself onto my feet, desperately grasping at tufts of grass and jagged rocks. My legs bent and buckled under my own weight, and I could barely stand, let alone walk or run.

Blurry brake lights lit up in the distance like the glowering red eyes of a predator as Gustavo’s car screeched to a halt. The driver-side door swung open and he stomped out, his face burning with rage and his gun held fast in his hand.

I stumbled, and trashed, and flailed like a fish out of water as I tried to drag myself away from him. He caught up with me in a couple steps, and flipped me over with a kick to the stomach.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he spat, as he pressed down his foot on the base of my neck.

I tried to swing at his leg, but I grew weaker with each punch, while he hardly seemed to flinch. He laughed like a maniac and his face distorted into an inhumane grin as he watched me choke. He squashed me under his shoe like I was nothing more than a cockroach.

The last thing I wanted was to die like a cockroach, a dirty, bloody mush stuck between the ground and the sole of some guy’s sandal.

So I bit him. I sank my teeth into his ankle and chomped down as hard as I could, until I pierced his skin and tore out a chunk of flesh. He let out a blood-curdling scream and fell to the ground.

I coughed and gasped as I pushed Gustavo’s writhing body off of me, and dragged myself further down the road.

My heartbeat was a hopeless cacophony, my breaths agonizing wheezes, and my pulse a rushing river pushing through my temples.

Overwhelmed by the smell of warm blood and wet tar, the burning feel of the road as it scraped off my skin, and the frightening sight of Gustavo’s fingers reaching for his gun, I could neither breathe nor think.

I barely looked down at the precipice before I threw myself into it.

I slid head first down the steep, muddy slope, and the thick bushes I slammed into on my way down did little to slow my fall. Their branches battered my sides and stabbed through my flesh, their vines tore apart my arms and legs, and their thorns ripped my skin to shreds.

I landed in a lump at the bottom of the ravine, wondering if I was still alive or even awake, agonizing moans escaping my throat as I begged my body to let me take just one more breath.

Gustavo was a blurry silhouette now, teetering around the top of the precipice. He hurriedly tried to make his way down, slipping and falling over and over again. His descent into this tree-filled, mucky pit was much slower than mine, and just a little less painful.

I took my chance, and ran with it. I kicked myself up back on my feet, all but throwing up from the pain, and I ran. Bullets whizzed through the treeline and grazed past my body, as the blasts of their impact nipped at my bare feet.

I ran and I ran, despite the leaves whipping my face, the low branches whacking my stomach, and the barbed wire-like brambles wrapping around my ankles. I tripped over vines, stumbled over ferns, ran into tree trunks, stubbed my toes on every stone, but I kept running.

I ran until I had drained my adrenalin to its very last drop. I ran until I coughed up blood, spitting out everything but my lungs, until my legs were stiff and paralyzed, and until I collapsed, black spots dancing before my eyes.

Hardly conscious and hanging on to life by a single tapered thread, I crawled. I dragged myself in the dirt to hide under the nearest bush, thrashing my legs as much as I could to cover up my tracks in the soil.

I was sure I was about to die. Maybe I’d bleed out or have a heart attack or, most likely, Gustavo would find me first, and shoot me dead the second he saw me.

I wished I hadn’t jumped. I should have stayed put with my mouth shut, and endured Gustavo’s disgusting words and his groping hands until we made it back home. Then I would have told everything to Pablo, and perhaps he would have believed me, and done everything in his power to keep me safe and sound.

My vision turned red from the blood that dripped from my brow and into my eyes. My chest was bursting, aching for a deep breath, but I bit my tongue and clasped my mouth to muffle my pained yelps.

I peeked through the leaves, and saw Gustavo limping towards me.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he sang, a rumble of anger in his tone.

A single move, a single sound, and I’d be dead. Scorching tears cascaded down my face. I breathed as slow and little as I could, sipping air in tiny gulps, and I felt myself slowly suffocating.

“I know you’re here, Emilia,” he muttered. “You didn’t make it very far, did you? Not with all those nasty wounds of yours. You know, you won’t last long out here, if someone doesn’t take care of those.”

He bent over to check his ankle, its skin bruised and bloody around the deep imprint of my teeth, and he sighed. I shut my eyes, and prayed he wouldn’t see me.

I was crouching with my limbs bent at awkward angles beneath me. My legs began to tremble, struggling to carry my weight, and I was seconds away from falling.

He stared at his injury for an excruciatingly long time, long enough for the pain in my legs to submerge my entire body. He groaned, and mumbled, and cursed under his breath.

“Me va a matar, me va a matar,” he repeated endlessly.

He’s going to kill me, he’s going to kill me.

The very second he stood back up, I fell to my knees. Thankfully, he was too distracted to notice the faint rustling of leaves coming from the bush I was hiding in. He looked up to the sky, nervously scratching his throat and gritting his teeth as he pulled out his phone to make a call.

“Hey, Oscar, uhm, are you back at the villa yet?” he stuttered. “Great– are you alone? Is Pablo there? Alright, I’m going to need all of our men. I’ll explain later. Just send them to me. No, no, Oscar, don’t give him the phone, don’t tell him–”

His whole body seized with frustration, and he threw his phone to the ground and stomped around like a spoiled child.

“Fuck!” he yelled, before he picked up the phone and took a deep breath. “Hey, hi, Pablo. Yeah, uh, we need to talk. About that– no, actually, no, she’s not okay. She’s gone fucking crazy, Pablo. She jumped out of the car while it was moving, and then she jumped off a fucking cliff. I don’t know where she is. She ran away. I told you she would–”

His face scrunched into a bitter frown and he anxiously tugged at his own hair. I found a tiny bit of solace in knowing that Gustavo was just as fucked as I was.

“I did, Pablo, I did stop her,” he spat at his phone. “And then your enraged whore bit off half of my fucking leg. I don’t know how she did it, she fell down what, thirty feet? And then she kept running.”

He paced around in circles, scouting the area to find any sign of life. At times, he came dangerously close to me, so much that I could hear Pablo’s voice sputtering through the speaker.

“Why the fuck didn’t you run after her?” I heard him scream.

“I can’t fucking run, I’m telling you, she bit out a chunk of my leg. Just send all the men, now, before she gets away. This is your fault, Pablo, I told you she’d try to escape.”

I wanted to scream, I wanted to run, I wanted to give up, to end this nightmare and go home. Instead, I was stuck here, rolled in a ball under a bunch of leaves, having to withstand every itch, every ache, every urge gnawing at me. I laid so still that my arm cramped up, and my legs turned numb. I needed to breathe, I needed to pee, I needed to fart, I needed to get that fucking spider off of my arm.

“I’ll tell you what fucking happened,” hissed Gustavo, still speaking into his phone. “She did exactly what I said she would. She used you, made you trust her, and then she ran away as soon as she could.”

And just like that, in a few words, all my bridges were burnt. I’d poured the oil, Gustavo had lit the match, and it was too late now for me to turn back.

“Bring her back alive,” ordered Pablo.

“I can’t guarantee that,” Gustavo groaned. “Our safety is worth more than your closure.”

Pablo hung up the call, and Gustavo sighed. I choked back my tears, my eyes still riveted to the gun in Gustavo’s hand, wondering how long I had left before he’d point it to my head again.

I had no choice but to stay still and hold my breath until Gustavo got bored of waiting for a sign of life. I closed my eyes and counted every second, picturing each one like a single grain of sand trickling through an hourglass. I got to eight-hundred-something, and then lost track of the numbers, before Gustavo gave up and walked away.

I rolled onto my back, my mouth hanging wide open as I gasped for air. With every breath, I could think a little clearer, and I started to plan out the next phase of my escape.

It would only take a couple of minutes for Pablo’s men to get here, and I knew they’d comb through every square foot of the jungle, look in every bush and under every stone, and they’d find me much faster than Gustavo could on his own.

It didn’t matter how painful each of my moves was. Waiting around here would be a death sentence. I begged the birds and crickets to keep on chirping loud enough to silence the sound of branches cracking under my feet. I crawled away from my hiding spot, dragging myself on my already-shredded hands and knees.

I panted, shivered, wobbled and winced with every move, crouching behind every fern and stumbling from tree to tree. I crept around the forest floor for maybe an hour or two, always in a straight line, only ever stopping to pull out a splinter from the bloodied palm of my hands or to untangle my foot from a bunch of vines. When I felt far enough, I finally stood up, and neither Gustavo or any of his henchmen were within my sight.

Slow and unsteady, I made it to the deep part of the forest, where the canopy was so thick that it muffled the pitter-patter of the rain falling on top of the trees. Daylight barely trickled through the branches, just enough to light up wafts of thick, gray mist. Here, the jungle was eerily quiet, without a single bug or bird to be heard. All you could hear was the faint wheezing of my breath, and the odd critter scuttering somewhere in the distance.

I whipped my head around at every sound, whether it was the faint crunch of a dead leaf under my bare feet, or the silent thump of a ripe fruit hitting the ground.

God, I was hungry. And thirsty. And cold. My teeth chattered relentlessly, both from the bite of the cool air, and from the pain that came whenever I tried to rub the dirt off of my open wounds.

I wished I could tell myself that this was almost over, that I was so close to home, but I couldn’t. Pablo’s words echoed in my head.

It’s a long way home, Gordita, especially when you don’t have any home to go to.

I didn’t know where I was going, nor did I know how the hell I’d get there. I didn’t even know where I was.

I panicked every time my stomach rumbled. Every shadow looked like a man, every branch seemed like the silhouette of a gun. I swore I could hear steps creeping up behind me. I tried to convince myself it was just the echo of my own. Their pace matched mine, and they stopped whenever I did.

I looked over my shoulder. A blurry shadow of a man floated in the distance, lost in the mist. Just as he turned his head, I threw myself behind the thick trunk of a tree. I held back the urge to shush the rotting bark that cracked under my weight, and the loud beat of my heart, racing as I heard loud steps rushing towards me.

A loud gunshot echoed through the jungle. A flock of birds flew away, and the man stopped in his tracks.

“Soy yo, hijo de la gran puta, soy yo!” he yelled.

It’s me, you son of a bitch, it’s just me!

I peeked around the tree for a quick second. It was a young guy, probably even younger than me. His skinny figure floated in his oversized camo gear, and his small frame made his hunting gun look ridiculously big.

“¿Por que putas estabas corriendo?” answered another guy as he ran to meet him.

Why the fuck were you running?

“Había algo moviendo por allá,” he said, and pointed in my direction.

There was something moving over there.

I moved out of their sight just as they turned their heads towards me.

“Tal vez un mapache,” shrugged the other. “No creo que la chica siga aquí. Ya hace horas desde que la vieron.”

Probably a raccoon. I don’t think the girl is still around. It’s been hours since they last saw her.

They both stood still for a second, while the young guy seemed to hesitate.

“Parecía más grande que un mapache,” he muttered.

It looked bigger than a raccoon.

“Entonces era un coatí. Igual, vámonos de aquí.”

Then it was a coati. Whatever, let’s leave.

“¿Qué vergas es un coatí?”

What the hell is a coati?

“¿Qué te importa? Vaya, muévete. Si ves a algo otro, disparalo y basta. Que sea la chica o no.”

Does it matter? Come on, move. If you see anything else, just shoot it and be done. Whether it’s the girl or not.

They lingered around for a minute or two, constantly looking over their shoulders and up at the higher branches of the tall trees. There was an uneasy look on their faces, and an unsure quiver of their fingers near their guns’ triggers. They nervously danced from foot to foot, and shuddered at every sound.

I seriously doubted that they were afraid of me. Perhaps they’d heard of something else lurking in this forest, and as harmed and unarmed as I was, maybe it should have worried me, too.

They left in the same direction as they’d arrived in, and as soon as they seemed far enough, I darted the other way. I tried to run, but I couldn’t keep up for very long. I tripped, stumbled, rolled my ankle again. Every time I fell on my face, I’d take a deep breath, and get back up. And then I’d keep going, each time at a slightly slower pace, drawing painfully close to a final stop.

As I dived deeper into the forest, the fog grew thicker, and the daylight was dimmer. Huge trees, with trunks several feet wide, shot up to the sky like skyscrapers, and aside from those and a few Jurassic-sized ferns, the ground was bare and hiding places grew scarce.

I felt dwarfed by nature, crushed by exhaustion, and pain shot through my limbs with every step. I had to get out of here. I felt like I was going around in circles. Maybe I was. I swore I’d seen the same twisted branch three times already.

I came across a small river, and I glanced at the murky water, wondering if it was worth drinking it to soothe my parched throat. I figured it was not.

But, as desperate as I was to find my way out of this place, I needed a break. I waded into the stream, hoping the cold water would wash my wounds and numb the pain. The river only reached up to my knees, even in its deepest spot, so I curled up like yet another rock in the turbid river, moaning in pain, shivering from the cold. I was beaten, bruised and bloody, shattered both in my soul and body.

Freedom was more painful and confusing than I remembered. I would have rather been unharmed, sitting by a pool with a cocktail in my hand. I’d rather be feeling safe, with Pablo by my side. I swallowed back the thought with a painful gulp.

At first, the water seeped into my cuts and stung me like a thousand icy needles. I rested my head on a smooth stone, with my lips just high enough above the surface for me to breathe. The longer I stayed still, the more the pain settled in, and the closer I came to giving up

I need to get up, I told myself. I need to keep going. But the mere thought of putting any weight on my mangled feet made me wince in pain.

After a while, I stopped feeling anything at all. I was tired, so tired. I was defeated, and lost. I didn’t see any point in fighting anymore. I almost felt comforted by the fact that I would die on my own, and not at the hands of Gustavo or his men.

I’d pass out soon, and drown without even noticing it. My body would float down the river, hopefully bloat to the point that even the most godless men wouldn’t dare to touch it, and sink to a nice grave at the bottom of the pretty lake, rather than end up chopped up in garbage bags in some stinky pit.

As my eyes glazed over, a finger gently tapped my shoulder. I lifted up my hand to brush it off. I didn’t want to be woken up.

But it wasn’t a hand that tried to shake me awake. Not Gustavo’s, not Pablo’s, not anybody’s. It was just a pebble. A tiny rock of rose quartz, tied to my neck by a golden chain, bouncing off my collarbone as it fluttered in the current.

I held it tight in the palm of my hand, and despite the freezing cold water surrounding me, I felt the warmth of Ana’s embrace. I smiled as I wondered what it would have been like if I had made it out of here and gone back home to her.

I would have waited until the weekend for her to come home from college and back to her parent’s home in Goose Creek. I would have sat on one of the curbs where we used to pick daisies. She would have walked out of her house and noticed me out of the corner of her eye. She would have looked once, twice, then squinted in my direction. Then she would have stood still, and stared around in disbelief. She would have walked down the crumbling road of my cul-de-sac, and as she came closer, she would realize it’s really me. She would have run into my arms, tears streaming down her face, and we would have sobbed together for an hour straight.

If I saw Ana again, I could tell her about my adventures, the good, the bad and the ugly. I’d tell her about Pablo, a man stranger than any character I could have ever made up in my wildest daydreams. I’d tell her how out of all the men in this world, he was the one who fell in love with me, how he unwillingly set me free and how I managed to escape. She’d tell me about everything that happened to her, before and after she made it home, how she grieved me and how she still couldn’t believe I was real as I sat by her side.

I wished I could tell her about Juan Sandoval, the dumbest man I’d ever met, how I made him believe that I was a spy, and maybe I’d tell her how low-key handsome he actually is. And we’d laugh out loud, to the point of tears.

I would have done anything just to hear Ana’s turkey-gobble laugh once again. I would have killed a hundred of Pablo’s men with my bare hands if I had to. But I didn’t have to. All I had to do was make it out of this river before I drowned, and out of the forest before anyone or anything caught me. Then, I’d make it out of this country and back to Goose Creek. I was almost free, and although every move felt excruciating, I wasn’t ready to surrender just yet.

I rolled onto my stomach, moaning, groaning, and biting my lip to stop myself from screaming too loud. I dragged myself out of the water, and hoisted myself onto my feet.

I figured if I walked at a steady pace, I could last maybe an hour more. If I followed the stream for long enough, maybe I’d find a small village or a single home, where I could find some help, a warm blanket, a glass of water and a phone to call the cops.

I walked for hours, much further than I thought I could, always putting one foot before the other, following the slithering river, pushed along by the hope that I’d find a way home.

But by the time the silver fog turned to gold, the day turned to night and the air grew cold, I was still wandering alone in the jungle. It was a dark, moonless night, and I struggled to find my way through the pitch black forest, with the odd firefly serving as my only light.

I didn’t give up, for as long I could stand, because I knew I wouldn’t make it until the morning. My teeth chattered, my legs ached, and my blood had dried in thick crusts all over my hands and face.

I couldn’t see anything, not even a few inches in front of me. I walked slowly, tracing half-circles on the ground with the tip of my toe to check where I was stepping, stretching my arms in front of me as if I was stuck in a lonely, ghoulish tango.

I couldn’t run, because I didn’t have the strength. I couldn’t walk, because I didn’t have my sight. I couldn’t crawl, either, because I didn’t have any skin left on my knees. So I danced.

I danced until I could feel the rain on my face. That meant the canopy was thinner, and I was almost out of the forest. Then I kept on dancing, although a little faster. To keep my spirits up, I hummed the tune of an upbeat waltz, but only because I didn’t know any tangos.

Then, I saw an orange glow peeking through the clouds in a nearby valley. A village, its streetlights, and the headlights of moving cars passing by like shooting stars. The light at the end of this long, dark tunnel.

I didn’t feel the last minutes go by. The closer I was to the village, the brighter was my smile.

I’m almost home.

It was hardly a welcoming place. The whole village smelled of stale water and wood smoke. The lights were off in most of the houses, and there wasn’t anyone walking around, other than two stray dogs with wagging tails and their ribs sticking out, and a muddy pig tied to a tree with an old rope. But I doubted I’d come across any of Pablo’s men here, and that was all I needed.

I kept going towards the source of light, a blinding white glare from a single lightbulb. Beneath it was a small patio, a few sun-bleached plastic chairs, and three men drinking beer. Hard-working men, with their hands and clothes stained by paint and motor oil. Not murderers, with big guns, gold chains and all dressed in camo.

I walked up to them, hobbling, panting, struggling to stammer out a coherent sentence. They stared at me, at the tattered wounds all over my body, at my summer dress, all ripped up and bloody, at the haggard eyes staring back at them beneath a few strands of wet hair.

“Esta bien, Seño?” one of them dared to ask.

Are you okay, Miss?

I shook my head no, and began to shiver uncontrollably. The older man of the group walked up to me, and put his hand on my shoulder.

“Por favor, sentate, mija,” he said, a worried tone in his faltering voice.

Please sit down, my daughter.

I nodded, unable to push out an answer through my chattering teeth, and he gently helped me to walk to one of the chairs.

“Llama la policía,” he told one of the other men. “Esto me parece muy grave.”

Call the police, this looks really serious.

He scrambled to pull out his phone, while the old man softly rubbed his hand across my back to warm me up. The third man stood up, and ran to a nearby house.

I sat in silence, wondering which miracle had brought me here. The man on the phone stuttered out a few panicked words I barely understood. Something about finding a girl, he didn’t know what happened. The girl was very hurt, maybe lost, she hadn’t spoken a single word yet. She needs help, maybe an ambulance. He asked them to come quickly.

It’s almost over.

I still shuddered every time a car drove by. I tried my best to hide my face, just in case one of them belonged to one of Pablo’s guys. Thankfully, none of the cars seemed to stop, to slow down, or even notice I was there.

I wondered if I’d ever feel safe again. How far they’d go to find me. Maybe I’d have to live my whole life in fear, thinking it would be a matter of days before he sent someone to Goose Creek to kill me.

“No encontré una cobija pero había un poco de café,” said the man who ran out of his house, and handed me a plastic cup. “Perdone que solo está medio tibio.”

I couldn’t find a blanket but there was a bit of coffee left. I’m sorry, it’s just lukewarm.

“No creo que hable español,” muttered the old man.

I don’t think she speaks Spanish.

“Sería una gringa? Qué hace andando por aquí? Esta en drogas?”

Do you think she’s a foreigner? What is she doing around here? Is she on drugs?

“A saber, vos,” he shrugged.

Who knows.

They stared at me in silence as I slowly sipped my coffee. They seemed both concerned and confused, as if they’d just found a wounded alien. They stood around, a hopeless look on their faces, looking around to see if there was anything else they could do.

If they only knew how much I’d suffered, if they knew what I’d been through, they’d know they were already heroes to me. I told myself I’d send them flowers once I got home, or maybe something nicer if I could afford it. I wished I could tell them how grateful, how relieved and happy I was to have found them.

But I was in too much pain to smile, let alone talk, and felt myself slipping in and out of consciousness.

“Todo va a estar bien, mija,” the old man whispered as he gently squeezed my fingers. “La policía está llegando.”

Everything is going to be okay, my daughter. The police are on their way.

“Gracias,” I answered softly.

Thank you.

A few minutes passed before a black pick-up truck whooshed down the road, lighting up the quiet village with flashing hues of red and blue.

One of the men waved them down, and hurriedly tried to explain the situation to them. The officer shook his hand, patted him on the back, and took quick notes of everything he said. He thanked him, and asked the men to go home, assuring them that I would be okay.

I stared down at my coffee, unable to lift my head. One of the policemen who’d stepped out of the car walked straight towards me. He wrapped his warm jacket around my shoulders. I closed my eyes as I snuggled in the thick fleece, breathing in the comforting and somewhat familiar smell of the perfume that lingered on it.

“Are you okay?” asked the officer who stood in front of me.

I’d never seen his face before. Thank God, I thought, because anyone who wasn’t a stranger would have probably tried to kill me.

“Do you speak English?” I asked him. “My name is Sarah Kennedy and I–”

“We know your name,” interrupted a calm voice behind me. “Get in the car, Gordita.”

Long Way Home

0 Comments