Andrew Klavan - If We Survive

“What happened?” Jim murmured dully. “It looks like someone… blew it up.”

Palmer nodded. “The rebels. Mendoza said they were everywhere… Maybe he even sent a few of his guys out here to make sure no one used it to escape.”

“Well, what do we do now?” asked Nicki. I could hear the panic rising in her voice. She already sounded as if she was about to burst into tears again.

“Could we drive?” Meredith asked. “Could we get back in the van, drive to the border, try to break through to Belize or Mexico?”

Palmer turned to her. He seemed about to answer, but he didn’t—he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just stood there. His eyes were on her, but he seemed to be looking right through her into some unseen distance. And I realized: he was listening to something.

I listened too. Over the heavy pattering of the rain, I heard it clearly. Engines—cars or more trucks. Not far off—and coming closer, getting louder, quickly.

“They’re coming,” said Jim softly. “They’re coming after us.”

Nicki let out a noise, a little gasp. She brought her hands to her mouth as if to hold in her mounting hysteria.

“Mendoza knew we’d come here,” I said. “Where else could we go? He knows right where to find us.”

I looked at Palmer. We all looked at Palmer. With Pastor Ron gone, there was no question who our leader was now. Palmer might not be the nicest guy in the world, but he was a trained fighter, the only one we had, and we needed him.

But for another second, Palmer just stood there, silent. The noise of the engines kept growing louder. It sounded as if the trucks—and the rebels they were carrying—would be here in minutes.

“Shouldn’t we get back in the van?” Jim asked nervously. “Make a run for it…”

Finally, Palmer responded. He gave a quick shake of his head.

“There’s only one road and, by the sound of it, they’re coming toward us from both directions,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “There’s no way to drive out of here.”

I swallowed hard. In all honesty, I almost felt like crying. So close, I kept thinking. We had been so close to going home. The lightning struck again and the thunder rolled again and the rain fell harder, washing my hair down onto my forehead. I had to brush it back out of my eyes.

Then Palmer started moving.

“Come on,” he said to us.

“Where?” asked Jim. “Where can we go?”

Moving away quickly, Palmer answered over his shoulder, “Into the jungle.”

Let’s go! Move it!” Palmer barked at us—because the rest of us were just standing there watching him. We seemed frozen where we stood.

Palmerwas now at the van. He was reaching inside. As I stood there watching, he brought out a machine gun and strapped it over his shoulder. Then he brought out a pistol and stuffed it into his belt. Then he brought out a knife—a great big dagger—which he put in his belt on the other side. It was almost comical: the guy was like a one-man army or something.

I was the first to come to my senses, the first to realize we had to move, we had to help him. I went to Palmer’s side.

“That’s a lot of guns,” I said. “Where’d you find them?”

“A couple of rebels tried to stop me from reaching the van,” he said.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I understood what he meant.

“Get yours,” he said to me.

“My… ?”

“The gun, the gun. Come on.”

“Oh, right.”

“And here.” He handed me something—a curved metal container that I recognized as being part of the weapon. “Spare magazine,” he said. And when I looked at him blankly, he added, “In case you run out of bullets.”

“Right,” I managed to murmur again.

The others had come up to join us now. Palmer pulled out a small backpack and tossed it to Jim. “Put that on. We’ll need it.” He turned to the girls. “Grab anything from the van that looks useful,” he told them. “The jungle’s not a fun place at night.”

I left them there to go back around the van and get my gun. My mind was a jumble of thoughts and feelings. I couldn’t sort them all out. I was thinking about the gun, I guess. My gun . And the spare magazine. Palmer was expecting more fighting, more shooting. And he was expecting me to be part of it. That meant I might have to kill someone else—maybe more than one person. The idea made something rise up into my throat, something that tasted ugly. But I swallowed it back down. I clenched my teeth. If that was the only way I could stay alive— if that was the only way I could keep my friends alive—then I was going to do it, I told myself. I had to.

I reached the back of the van. Took out the machine gun. For a second, I just held it in my hand and stared at it. I wished I was home playing video games. Make-believe violence is a lot more fun than the real kind.

I went back to join the others.

The engines were coming closer by the second. I couldn’t see the trucks yet, but they sounded really close and I thought they must already be heading down the side road. That meant they would be here any minute.

Palmer must have thought so too, because as soon as I stepped up to him, he said, “All right. Follow me.”

He started off across the airfield.

Meredith took Nicki by the arm. Nicki cried out as the thunder struck again—louder this time.

“Come on, Nicks,” Meredith said.

She struck off after Palmer, holding on to Nicki—and Nicki sort of stumbled along with her.

Jim followed them. I took a quick glance over my shoulder to see if I could spot the oncoming rebel trucks. There was still no sign of them. I hurried after the others.

The rain was falling harder now. The dirt of the field had turned to mud. It squelched up over my sneakers as I walked. I felt the cold and damp of it as it soaked into my socks. The sky was already nearly black with clouds and it seemed to grow blacker by the minute as the afternoon turned toward evening. The trees that bordered the airstrip were already growing dimmer in the fading light.

“The jungle’s not a fun place at night.”

Yeah, I was willing to bet that was true. As we neared the dense trees, I thought about all the stuff that might be hiding in there—all the creatures, I mean, ready to come out and start hunting as soon as darkness fell. As a rule, I’m not too fond of creatures. I mean, I like dogs a lot. We have a Labrador at home—Feller—getting old now, but generally a great guy. But the sort of creatures you are likely to find in a jungle— man-devouring snakes, crocodiles, and tigers immediately came to mind—don’t exactly make good pets. As I walked on, my imagination playing over the possibilities, I felt a sort of bubbling acid of fear in my stomach. Rebels who wanted to shoot me at my back, animals who wanted to eat me up ahead. But what was I going to do? What was there I could do? Nothing. So I kept walking.

Palmer reached the trees. He never hesitated. He just charged on and quickly disappeared from view into the heavy foliage. Meredith and Nicki went in next, then Jim. And finally, I reached the edge of the jungle.

From the outside—from the airstrip—it didn’t look like there was any path, but when I got close, I saw that there was. Brushing a humongous frond out of the way, I saw a narrow dirt trail that twisted between more humongous leaves and low bushes and the humped roots and outstretched branches of the surrounding trees. Palmer must’ve known the trail was there because he headed right for it and was now walking along quickly and surely. The others stumbled after him. I stumbled after them.

The thunder rolled again as we walked, and the rain hammered hard and loud against the roof of the jungle, rattling the thick covering of leaves. The water dribbled down from above in steady streams. It poured through my already dripping hair and soaked through my already soaking clothes. It was all pretty miserable.