Andrew Klavan - If We Survive

We didn’t go far, though. Not far at all. After a few moments, I glanced back over my shoulder and saw the airfield just disappearing from sight—and as soon as I looked forward again, I saw the others had stopped and were gathered right in front of me. When I reached them, I saw Palmer, holding up his hand to bring us to a halt.

He spoke softly, quickly. “Get low,” he said.

He gestured for us to get down. We all squatted. I felt the damp earth squeeze up around my ankles.

“Ew,” said Nicki.

“Ssh,” said Meredith, and Nicki was quiet.

Palmer listened—and so we all listened, crouched there, dripping and shivering in the rain.

The downpour was really loud here, thudding relentlessly on the leaf covering above us. At first, I thought it had drowned out the sounds of the engines, but then I realized, no, the engines had stopped. The next moment I made out a series of clunking noises. It was the trucks, I realized: the doors of the trucks opening and closing.

The rebels had reached the airstrip.

I heard a voice barking orders in Spanish.

Mendoza . My mouth formed the word, but I didn’t dare say it out loud.

Palmer was suddenly up and pushing past me. He didn’t say a word, just headed quickly back down the path, toward the airstrip, keeping his back bent, his head low. I hesitated for a second, uncertain. He hadn’t told me what to do. He hadn’t told anyone. But then it occurred to me, you know, that I was the only other one of us who had a gun. If Palmer got into trouble, if he had to fight, I might be able to help. That’s what I thought, anyway, so I decided to follow him.

I hurried down the path—imitating Palmer, bending over and keeping my head as low as I could. I retraced my steps until I found Palmer down on one knee, close to the edge of the jungle.

Weirdly, he seemed to be expecting me because without turning around, he held up his hand, gesturing me to stop, and then waved me down. So I went down, knelt down as he had. Instantly, the cold mud seeped through my jeans. Nicki was right: Ew .

Palmer peered through the trees and the falling rain so I did too. We were very close to the airfield. I could see it clearly through the gaps in the leaves. I could see two green trucks parked there now, one on either side of our black van. And I could see the crowd of armed rebels milling around in the storm. I counted a dozen of them and I noticed right away that one of them, just as I had thought, was Mendoza.

Unlike the others, the rebel leader was standing very still. Only his head moved as he turned it slowly to scan the edge of the jungle. He was looking off to our right but panning his eyes relentlessly in our direction.

Then he stopped—and he seemed to be looking right at us.

I caught my breath.

“Stay cool,” Palmer whispered.

Good advice. I wished I could take it. But my heart was pounding so hard I was afraid Mendoza might be able to hear it.

The rebel went on staring at us—that’s what it felt like he was doing, anyway. Then he started barking orders again.

“What’s he saying?” I whispered.

“He’s remembered this path. He knows we must’ve taken it.”

“Will they come searching for us?”

Palmer shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s gonna be dark soon. He doesn’t want to be out here in the jungle at night.”

Yeah, I know how he feels, I thought.

In answer to Mendoza’s shouts, two rebels had now gone running up to Palmer’s black van. One leaned inside the driver’s seat. A moment later the van’s hood popped open. The second rebel approached the hood. He unhooked a hand grenade from his belt.

I heard Palmer whisper a curse. “I’m still paying for that van,” he muttered.

Then Mendoza shouted something, which I’m pretty sure translated into, “Run!”

The second rebel pulled the pin of the grenade and tossed it under the van’s hood.

The rebels scattered, running off across the airfield in all directions. Mendoza, meanwhile, calmly walked away from the van, casually getting out of range just as the grenade exploded.

The noise of the blast was huge in the open field. An enormous fireball engulfed the van—a huge blossoming dome of orange flame rising into the gray rain and the black sky. If the van hadn’t been our last means of escape, it would’ve actually been kind of awesome to see. Even as it was, I knelt there mesmerized by the strange beauty of the vehicle’s fiery destruction.

It took a couple of seconds for the sound of the explosion to subside. Then Mendoza shouted again and waved his hand to get his gunmen to follow him. Toting their machine guns, they all gathered at once and started walking across the airfield. They were walking straight toward us.

Palmer was up in the next second. He pointed down the path.

“Here they come, kid,” he whispered sharply. “Time to go.”

I moved as quickly as I could in that crouching run. I felt Palmer rushing along just behind me. Up ahead, I saw the others—Meredith, Nicki, Jim—still squatting miserably in the rain, waiting for us, watching for us, their eyes large, their mouths open.

As we reached them, Palmer brushed past me. I heard him whisper to the others, “They’re coming after us. Move fast and low. Follow me.”

He took the lead and the others were up and after him at once.

We rushed down the trail, brushing past the jungle leaves, squelching through the mud, gasping through the rain. The thunder rolled and the rain was loud, but when I listened, I could hear the rebels right behind us. I could hear them crashing through the branches. I could hear Mendoza calling to them, “Vamanos.” Let’s go .

I glanced back over my shoulder. Their fatigues were hard to see amid the green leaves, but I caught glimpses of them. I wondered if they could see us too, but it didn’t seem that they had yet.

They would soon, though. We were moving fast, but they were moving faster. Of course they were. They didn’t have to keep their knees bent and their heads down like we did. If they spotted us, they would open fire and almost surely wipe us out in an instant, so we kind of had to run and hide at the same time. There was no way to do that and outstrip them as they just came marching on, relentless.

In my growing fear, I thought of calling up to Palmer: They’re gaining on us! But how could I? If Mendoza heard us, it would all be over. Anyway, I had faith that Palmer knew the rebels were catching up. It was the sort of thing he would know. And I told myself he must have some kind of plan. He must have.

Funny. A few hours ago I’d really disliked this guy. His arrogant attitude. His mocking glances. His ironic drawl. He really rubbed me the wrong way. Now my life was in his hands and I was glad—glad, I mean, that he was the one who was leading us. As jealous as it made me feel, I understood now what Meredith had meant when she said he was exceptional— a hero. She was obviously right. That’s obviously exactly what he was—or, at least, what he was meant to be. Fearless, tough, decisive, and ready to risk his life for us—a bunch of kids he hardly knew. I guess you don’t always have to be a nice guy to be a good man.

Anyway, like I said, I figured he must have a plan—and sure enough, he did.

Rushing down the trail, I glanced back over my shoulder again. What I saw made my heart clutch in my chest. The rebels were close. Really close. Any minute now they were going to spot us and riddle the jungle—and us—with bullets.

I turned back, feeling I really had to say something now, to warn the others—and the others were gone!

I had a second of real panic. Where were they? Then I saw them. They had followed Palmer off the trail to the left. They had plunged into the depths of the jungle and were now disappearing and reappearing into view as they pushed their way through the heavy leaf covering.