“Another day,” I say with a quick glance at Kusi.
He looks over and nods.
We make our way back to Paititi, and while the mood isn’t exactly somber, it isn’t happy, either. We’ve lost too many people to celebrate. It’s an odd group: strangers bonded over a horrifying experience. Introductions are made quickly, and the night we spend in the jungle is filled with food and cups of bamboo around a roaring fire. No one talks. Kusi and Manuel venture off to try to find Sonco’s body, but the jungle has swallowed him up. Only Manuel’s machete is found. When they return, I hug them both—much to Kusi’s shock.
We set off early the next day, the sun barely greeting us through the dense canopy.
Exhaustion is a relentless taskmaster, and by the time we reach the waterfall, I can barely walk. We find the boats where we left them, hidden under palm fronds, the new home to snakes. Manuel tucks me inside the canoe closest to us. I sit on his lap, no longer caring if there’s a black caimán following us, or a school of piranhas swimming beneath the wood.
We glide under the curtain and water pounds the top of my head, pours into my ears. Manuel clutches me tight, and then we’re on the other side. For a stupid moment the wordhomeinfiltrates my mind.
Home.
I shake my head and stumble out of the boat.
“Do you need me to carry you?”
“No,” I mumble, straightening my shoulders. “I can walk down all those steps, no problem.”
Manuel laughs and scoops me into his arms. “You don’t have to.”
Rumi glances at us, a slight smile on his face. Kusi and I tell him parts of the story, the ones that aren’t too painful to speak out loud. And we hear his harrowing tale. “We were attacked on the way out,” he says. “One minute, I was walking toward the jungle border; the next, I couldn’t move. Not even an inch.” His voice drops to an angry rasp. “And then Umaq appears in my line of sight and shoves something into my mouth. I don’t remember the rest.”
“I’d like to know how he survived in the jungle for so long,” I say.
“Umaq can control the blood running in every human and animal,” Rumi says promptly. “What enemy of his stands a chance?”
I tuck myself closer to Manuel’s side, the itchy fabric tickling my cheek. “I want a bath.”
“You’ll get one,” Manuel promises.
I lean closer, and pull his head lower so I can whisper in his ear. “With you.”
He pulls away, blushing the deepest shade of red. He gives me a rueful smile right before kissing me hard, his hold tightening as if he never wants to let me go.
Fine by me.
Later, after we’ve all bathed and slept, we meet in one of the buildings to eat. It’s just us, the survivors, except for Chaska, who slept through the night, the deep slumber of healing. Being in this room without her is so strange. My conversation with Sonco feels like forever ago. Every and now again my attention snags on Kusi, whose face turns bleak when he thinks no one is looking. There’s a haunted line to his mouth, despair etched into the curve of his cheeks. I understand his grief, and so when he meets my eye, I give him a sad, bracing smile.
Even though I know it’s not enough—nothing will ever be.
We eat rice mixed with dried beef, seasoned with a blend of dried herbs and several fried eggs cracked over the top. I have two helpings of everything, and then load another plate full of fruit: maracuya, duraznos, and frutillas. Manuel sits next to me, a haunted gleam in the deep well of his dark eyes.
His fingers tighten around a clay cup filled with jugo de durazno.
“What is it?” I ask softly.
“What if Chaska never wakes?” he whispers, his lips twisting.
I grab his drink, set it on the mat, and take his clammy hand in mine. “Luna said she will. We need only time and patience.”
His jaw clenches, but he squeezes my hand and then lets go so he can eat. Chatter hums throughout the meal, subdued, as talk circles around the next few days. There are funerals to arrange, people to mourn, a city that needs to meet and accept their new leader. Kusi bears all the discussion with a stony expression, as if, were he to allow one crack to form, all the emotion he feels would pour out.
He will need help in the coming days, weeks, months.
When we’re done eating, Rumi sets his clay bowl onto his woven gold-patterned mat then clears his throat. “I’ve been gone from home a very long time. I must get back to La Ciudad.”
Kusi bobs his head and says, “You will have whatever you need for the journey, as well as an escort out of the jungle. But you’re sure you don’t need to rest for a few days more?”
