Calvin Baker - Grace

I stood wearily and climbed uphill another hour, before finally picking up a ridge wide enough to pass over without falling into one of the ravines. From there I descended the remainder of the way.

By the time I reached the truck it was near two o’clock, and Sylvie was nowhere to be found. I was dead with worry, and tried to keep my mind from running off with bad scenarios, as I searched the cab of the truck for the medical kit and checked around for a spare key.

I did not find keys to the truck, and the medical kit was half empty, with nothing of use for the gunshot wound. I was overcome by thirst then, and went round back to find water and my gear bag, where I had some painkillers Doc had given me. It would be light in a only few hours and I did not think they could head back down before then without my being able to see them before they spotted me. I calculated if I slept three hours, and set out for Sylvie an hour before light I could still keep out of their reach.

When I climbed up into the back of the truck I was struck hard by something crashing into me, and tumbled backward, reaching for the gun holstered in my waistband.

“I’m sorry,” I heard Sylvie gasp. “I thought they had caught you. They were so close.” She threw her arms around me, crying with joy but drew back when she saw how I winced in pain, as moonlight streamed into the truck through the open flap. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not you,” I told her.

“Let me see,” she said, pulling away in shock, when she saw my arm and how bedraggled I was. “You’re covered in blood.”

She touched my shoulder gently, near the wound.

“It is better not to touch it.”

“They shot you?”

“It did not hit anything major, or I would have known already,” I tried to comfort her.

“You are just trying to keep me from worrying,” she said.

“Worrying does not help.”

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“Like hell.”

She found scissors and cut away my makeshift tourniquet, and made bandages from a clean shirt, and began to pour water from a canteen to wash away the blood, but I told her it was better to save the water. She began to redress the wound with the clean bandages, and I began to feel cold and clammy and parched. I was thirsty again and asked for the canteen, and drank deeply, until it was empty. She wrapped a blanket around me to help regulate my temperature, and refilled the canteen from a half-empty jug in the truck, and I drank half of it down, and swallowed the last of the pills.

We had not eaten since breakfast, and I had no appetite, but forced myself to eat an energy bar we found in our packs.

After that she fashioned a sling for my deadened arm, to elevate the wound, and make carrying the weight of it easier. There was nothing else for us there with the truck but danger. We refilled our canteens from the last of the water in the jug, found a bit of food, flashlights, a compass, and money from our packs, and started down toward the trees.

It was five treacherous miles to the lake by my reckoning. The hard night around us was infinite and deep, as we tried to keep watch for the predators and soldiers and whatever else might be out there in the jungle. I still had rounds in the gun, but not enough.

“From the lake we should be able to cross the border out of the country by water.”

“Do you think we will be able to find a doctor?”

“No. There are none in places like this, and if there was one he would either have fled, or else have some connection. But if we reach the lake, we can get one of the villagers to row us across.”

“I’m afraid.”

“We still have the pistol,” I said, calculating the chances of running into one of the rebels, or a predator that did not fear humans.

We were out of sight of the lorry by then, on the last stretch of fore mountain. Down below the tree line had come into view, and just after that a break, and a stretch of plain, where there were some structures visible.

“Look, there is a village over there,” she pointed.

“I think it is better if we avoid it,” I cautioned.

“They may be able to help us.”

“Or harm us,” I argued.

I did not want to take the risk, but we were not certain of our exact location or the lake’s, and I knew she was right. We oriented ourselves toward the village, and kept focused on it as we came down the last stretch of incline onto flat ground, where the village disappeared in the darkness.

When we were finally off the mountain, we began quickly as we could manage across the open plain, toward the cover of the forest. We had no sense of shelter as long as we were out in the open, and no advantage over anything else out there, except for the few shots left in the gun.

We thought being back inside the forest would offer a greater sense of protection, but when we entered the trees again the shadows quickly brought home how many more places there were for danger to lurk, as we began to worry about what might be above us as well. There was no choice, and we picked our way carefully through the strange forest, trying to control our fear as the trees swallowed us in the denseness. The vegetation was equally impenetrable, and we fought through with our hands, using the compass to navigate a straight-enough line.

There were no stars visible anymore, only the occasional break in the clouds and gilded light of the moon, which shone sharp into the forest, playing intermittent tricks with the shadows. I felt every sense grow acute, and the fear at least deadened the pain. We made our way through the darkness by feel, a few feet at a time.

My shoulder was in terrible shape after a while, and there were no more painkillers, so I tried to focus on my steps to take my mind off the shoulder. After an hour the forest seemed to thin out, and we could get a glimpse ahead, where the outline of the village came clear again, but was soon swallowed by darkness when the clouds passed across the face of the moon and fog began rolling in over us, swelling the night with a perfect darkness and perfect fear.

We continued on until we startled, hearing activity in the leaves ahead. We froze where we were, listening to a rustling of the ground moving steadily toward us, with the confidence of feet familiar with the forest. Whether human or animal was impossible to tell. We crouched against the trees, and tried our best to remain calm. The sound grew steadily nearer with slow intent. I kept my hand on the gun, hoping for the advantage of surprise over whatever it was I was going to shoot.

A moment later we heard the meaningful patter of human voices crystallize, but the words did not separate out one from the other. We knew what we faced, at least, and hoped it was a villager out looking for wood for the morning fire, and not something more nefarious out there at night.

The steps grew closer until we were certain it was more than two people. We did not wait, but quickened our pace in the other direction, to run before they could reach us.

Their movements were confident in the strange landscape, and when we heard them stop, we stopped as well. A voice called out to us, but we did not know the language nor trust the voice we heard, and did not leave the spot where we hid against the trees, until the nearby branches stirred with a movement too near. I stepped out with the gun drawn, and saw in the break of the moon three children passing in near silence.

They startled when they saw the gun, and paused, looking at us, and at the gun. We did not say anything at all, and they broke out running in the direction of the plain.

When they were gone we kept in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. There was something about them that did not seem like children. Perhaps I was only being fearful, but it was not a time to second-guess the instinct telling me I did not want to find out what they might have known that gave their faces such hardness and courage in that jungle.