He
was disgusted with himself. He took a nap on a roadside bench where
crowds of people were walking up and down near a market. Why had he
been that foolish? At no time did he feel tired enough to think he
needed a nap. He woke up because people were running about, shouting
in panic. He called to anyone to tell him what was happening. More
than one person called back to him while they were running.
A
war had broken out. Enemy paratroopers had landed a few miles away.
For
a few seconds his consternation paralyzed him. He did not know which
way to run.
He
glanced at the bench to see if he had any possessions. He recalled he
had sauntered to the market in order to experience the ambience, the
flavour, of the local Community; not with the intention of buying
anything. People were running in all directions.
Again,
he called out to anyone. "I'm a tourist. Which way to the bus
stop, please!" A few pointed, without speaking.
He
ran towards the bus stop. He stood there, waiting for a bus. In
mid-morning he had come to the local farmers' market by bus from the
Tourist Hostel.
A
pedestrian, hurrying by, shouted that the radio news informed there
would be no public transportation during the war. He had no choice
but to walk to the Tourist Center, about five miles away.
Briefly,
very briefly, he thought of daring to break the tourist rule of no
hitchhiking. He reluctantly opted to not break the rule, observing to
himself, in lame attempt at self- justification, that the vehicles
were speeding by so fast that it was highly unlikely any would pause
to help a stranger in these violent times.
After
a short distance, he was the only pedestrian on the sidewalk. He
hoped he recalled correctly that the Tourist Hostel was in the town,
at the far end. This meant he would not run out of sidewalk.
He
had recalled correctly; after about twenty minutes of walking fast,
the Hostel came into view. He was alarmed. Even from a distance, the
place looked deserted. Normally, there were vehicles in the parking
lot; most times at least one bus.
He
entered the reception foyer and sat on a bench. A large, hastily
magic-marker scribbled up sign propped up on the front counter read,
"Sorry. Closed indefinitely because of the war." He fought
back tears.
He
heard footsteps. A young woman came down the stairs. He blurted out,
"Please say you are a tourist, like me, stranded!"
She
stood against the counter, and looked at him, kindly. She spoke
softly, "Sorry. I'm not a tourist. However, I am not a citizen.
And I would like to leave here before those paratroopers get here.”
"Please,
may I join you?" "Of course. I've been in this town on
business for a week. Unfortunately, my way back home would have been
where those paratroopers have landed, and so I have to find my way
out in the opposite direction. And my knowledge of the opposite
direction is all theory."
He
felt some relief. "I know one helpful thing about that
direction. That road leads to the City of Singleton where my tourist
visit began. There's an international airport there. Both of us will
be able to safely leave the country there."
"Good.
That is helpful to know. And since we are going to have to walk
there, we should start right away."
"Yes,
but after we search about here to find water to drink and, perhaps,
something to eat along the way."
"Good.
Let's both look about quickly. And, we will be crossing a lot of wet
ground, so wrap your passport in plastic." "Not an issue; I
never leave home without passport-in-plastic."
Neither
found bottled water, their top-of-the-list hope. They found a small
packet of opened biscuits, and an apple.
She
led the way through the jungle in order to cut the road distance by
almost half, to Singleton. She said she was familiar with the route
because the financial business that brought her to the country was
about buying land in the area to build a factory. She had perused
many official maps and diagrams of the territory. That was the first
time she was obliged to walk on it.
He
followed her, unquestioningly, and somewhat contentedly.
They
were crossing a shallow river when it began to rain lightly. They
struggled up a slippery mountainside; they struggled to help each
other; both lost footing and tumbled down. She sprained an ankle and
dislocated a wrist. He helped her along. They lost direction twice.
They rested on the wet weed-covered ground.
She
lost consciousness, on-and-off for minutes at a time. He was at near
panic in his feeling of complete and utter helplessness.
Weirdly,
in one of her conscious intervals, she alerted him to approaching
sounds. He asked her for instructions. She advised he leave her, and
move on ahead to detect the cause of the sounds. He hesitated.
She
lightly kissed his hand in encouragement. He left her and pushed his
way ahead through the foliage.
In
a few minutes he returned, frightened; trembling. They spoke in
whispers. He said the sounds were from a group of uniformed armed
persons, moving stealthily along, lower down across the mountainside.
She asked, but he could not clarify whether or not they were
paratroopers.
He
admitted he did not know what paratroopers would look like.
She
explained their options. They could wait in silence and hope the
group would move past without detecting their presence. Or they could
call out to the group.
Since
both she and he were foreigners, there was a high probability the
group would provide her First Aid assistance.
In
his trembling fear, he struggled to observe the equal probability
that because the two of them were foreigners, that armed group was
under no obligation to not kill them.
She
was in pain; she did not have the strength nor the will for a
discussion. She took his hand and gently squeezed it in assurance.
They huddled closely on the ground in the rain. The sounds of that
group ended abruptly.
She
passed out in his arm. He panicked. Without thinking, he screamed,
"Help!"
Instantly,
they were surrounded by armed uniformed persons materializing out of
the foliage.
He
screamed louder and nearly incoherently in fear, "We are
foreigners! Tourists! Fleeing from the town of Gretna! We missed the
last bus!"
One
of the uniforms answered him quietly and firmly. "We know. We
have had a drone monitoring the two of you from the time you left
Gretna. As you can see, we are not paratroopers. We'll medicate your
friend and help you two down to the road to Singleton. Wait there. We
have radioed for someone to come transport you to Singleton."
____________________________________
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