El Cayo (end)

El Cayo,by Abinyah Walker,written October 20,1999

El Cayo

(end)

 

A thick fog descended upon us, it must have been sent from heaven to help us. We walked along the shore Costa, Matt and I, searching for the nearest and shallowest point from which to cross. And for the first time since we stepped into the presence of El Cayo we had a struck of luck. We had stumbled upon a canoe.
“It looks like it’s in perfect condition.” Matt said excitedly. He was helping me navigate because of my bad eyes and by now our feet were worn and bloody and we couldn’t wait to give them a rest. We had only made it a few miles because of the rugged terrain and our lack of proper equipment. The odds of getting bit by deadly snakes had increased dramatically; and we knew the risk of catching malaria or yellow fever by getting bit by the wrong insect. Still it was a sure chance we would get killed if we stayed here! Pulling the canoe out of the mud Costa started expressing his outrage in less than elegant words.
“Its f*cking bent! There’s no way we can use this!” Anaya broke out in tears the stress of the ordeal had finally broken him down. He stood there sobbing; his tears like the deadly currents of the Usumacinta. We all stood there in a long pause, the wind blowing in my hair, the calls of tropical birds echoing for miles through the thick jungle, and us like ants in a park. I collected my thoughts.
“Everything is not lost. We can use this to wade across the Usumacinta and just 12 miles down there’s a colleague of mine on another dig. If we can just pull it together for a few more hours we’ll be home free. Now get a grip on yourself man and let’s go!” I said vigorously. I stuck my arm out and waited for confirmation, and huddling together we grabbed each other’s hands and squeezed.
With our newfound hope we dragged the canoe into the river and waded in. The water was cold; it gripped us and sucked us in. We bathed in its cool stream while trying not to get swept too far down stream. Near the other side we felt the bottom and dragged our carcasses out of the water shivering and fatigued.
“What was that…” Matt said, and before I could yell watch out Anaya was knocked to the ground an alligator grappling at his leg. I grab a large rock to beat the beast, but another tore into his arm! His screams were terrifying and in slow motion blood spewed everywhere, mostly on me. Matt and I didn’t hesitate seeing the lewd creatures tear Anaya in a lustful frenzy; we simply turned and started running for our lives. We ran for ten minutes before we realized we were no longer being followed. Battered and bruised, our feet bleeding and swollen we could still feel Anaya’s screams, the horror flashing in our minds eye. We calmed down and looking around gasping for breath found ourselves hopelessly lost. Without the river to guide us our case was desperate. Wondering in an unknown direction we stumbled along weakened by our beating, fatigued by the swim, and not having eaten for ten hours we were driven by fear. Our thirst was prevalent but we could not risk drinking the water suspecting it harbored cholera, hepatitis and any number of parasites. It was fortunate however that Matt knew the local plants and identified the beijuco de agua vine, which secreted water for a few seconds when cut, before its veins contracted. With Anaya’s blood still on me I didn’t dare wipe it on any foreign plants, some of them quite deadly. Stammering along, we suddenly began to feel watched. The jungle had eyes and they were trained on us. I could feel its humid breath on my neck, its growls and hissing in my ears as we trekked with suspicious glares. Night was beginning to take over again and a hard cold rain began to pour down on us. We constructed a makeshift shelter and paused for the night. We tried to sleep but the rain, the wind, the essence of the jungle its self kept us awake, griping us with fear. I never allowed myself to cry, but thoughts of hopelessness entered my mind. Huddled together we thought of our families and told each other stories to maintain moral. Matt’s breathing was getting worse and the run had been detrimental. Jungle survival wasn’t one of those courses offered in general anthropology and without the river we were hopelessly lost.
I woke in a cold sweat to find myself in a foreign environment and it was dark all around. I rubbed the sheets stepping out of bed and walked to the bathroom, my feet hurt. I turned on the light but it didn’t seem to work. I rubbing my eyes and looking up screamed.