“Not speaking to your wife?”
“Yeah, that’s the tough part. I remember shortly after we were married, I took a trip to Tierra del Fuego and was out of contact for a while. It was awful. I wasn’t able to speak to Sheridan or English. I vowed it would be a cold day in Hell before I did that again.”
“I get that. It’s terrible.”
“Four more days and we’ll be back in civilization.”
“I can’t wait.”
“The reserve is supposed to have an internet connection we can use. At least we’ll be able to email them.”
We packed our gear and, with the assistance of our guides, carried it down the long and narrow steps to the jungle floor. They piled it onto a rickety cart and we went to the river where a boat waited. We would ride it up to the reserve and disembark there.
“How did you know about all this?” I asked Beck. It had been quite an undertaking.
“Photography groups. I’m in several of them and we exchange helpful travel tips.”
“I wondered because this is totally off the beaten track.”
“It is, and they also help with English-speaking guides.”
They were necessary here. Vietnamese wasn’t a language you could figure out or translate by yourself.
The boat ride was picturesque. Mountains loomed up on either side of us as we chugged down the winding river toward the coast. Lush greenery made for a rich background as I shot the boat pilot in the forefront. I had no idea how I’d ever process all these photos when I got home. In the evenings, I deleted the ones that didn’t speak to me, but I was left with thousands. That didn’t include the ones Beck took.
Travel took most of the day, but we arrived at our next destination before dusk. The check-in office was closed, but they’d left a key with instructions on where we were staying. It was a fairly nice structure, similar to a cabin, but upgraded. We unpacked and our guides went in search of food, but came back empty-handed. Everything was closed. Luckily, we had energy bars so we ate those for dinner.
In the morning, we walked to the main office, or what you would call it. It was rather primitive, but had what was needed.
We were greeted by the friendly staff, and our translator accompanied us. Several messages awaited us, some for Beck and some for me.
When I read the first one, I shouted Beck’s name.
“What?”
“It’s English and Easton. They were in a car accident.”
He rifled through his messages until he found the same one I’d received. “Shit. We have to leave.”
“How soon can we get out of here?” I asked.
He asked the translator and they went to work on getting us out of there, with the aid of the staff. The fastest we could get back to Hanoi would be two days.
“Two days?” I asked.
“I’m sorry. That’s the best we can do. You are in a remote part of the reserve and boats with motors don’t often come here.”
“What about a charter? Can’t we call someone? Or what about a water plane? This is an emergency.” Beck’s urgency must’ve gotten through to them.
The translator spoke with the staff again. We didn’t know what they said. Then one of them got on a landline and after some shouting and who knew what, we were told a family would take us to the next town back downriver. From there, we’d get a train to Hanoi and catch a flight back to the States.
My feet stirred up the dust outside our quarters as I paced and a thousand wasps stung my gut.
“Okay, you have to calm down,” Beck said.
“I knew it. I had this horrible feeling when I left. It bothered me all the way here.”
“You can’t control everything, Tristian.”
“How can you be so calm?”
“It’s a fucking façade, but we can’t do a thing until we get home.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“Age helps, I suppose.”
Time inched by until that family showed up. They brought two canoe-type boats we crammed our bags into and pushed off. Two men paddled us down the river. Unfortunately, we had to leave our translators behind because there wasn’t room for them.
The boat ride was quiet as we couldn’t converse with them and we were each in a different boat. I couldn’t stop checking my watch and prayed Easton and English were okay.
We made it to the next village. I doubted a train would even stop here. It was so small, it didn’t seem train-worthy. However, after the men located carts that they piled our bags onto, we followed them to a train station. It wasn’t exactly what we were used to, but as long as a train going to Hanoi stopped there, we were good with it.
When the train arrived, we were surprised how nice it was. I’d assumed it would be like the local European ones, but it was nice. The men helped us load our bags, and we paid them well for their help. It took all my self-control to remain seated. The urge to run up and down the aisle was overwhelming.
Beck grabbed my bouncing knee. “You have to stop.”
“Sorry. Sitting is killing me.”
“Your fidgeting is killing me.”
The train station in Hanoi was insane. People rushed everywhere and it took us a while to locate the information stand. We were informed on where to go for a taxi. By the time we got to the airport, we’d missed all outgoing flights to the States for the night, but we got seats on the first one out the next day.
We checked into a hotel by the airport, but I didn’t sleep all night. The good thing was we were able to call Sheridan.
Beck did that duty and put his phone on speaker. When she answered, she said, “Thank God! I wondered when we’d hear from you.”
I let Beck do the talking.
“We just got in from the hinterlands and are flying out in the morning. How are they?”
Sheridan cleared her throat. “Easton is fine. She has a broken arm, but is doing well.”
“What about English?” Beck asked. All I heard was her breathing. “Sheridan? What’s going on?”
“They put her in an induced coma. She has a head injury and they won’t know the extent of it until she becomes conscious.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Tristian
Every cell in my body froze. I couldn’t swallow, and then an awful ache hit the back of my throat. I fell to the chair and rocked back and forth, hugging myself like a child. Get a hold of yourself, my brain screamed. Only Sheridan’s words kept circling in my head.
How could English be in a coma? She was so young and full of life. This wasn’t real. I pinched the flesh under my arm until a bruise would show up tomorrow. It wasn’t a nightmare. I was fully awake because that pinch had hurt like hell. Then I wondered why my jaws ached only to realize my teeth were clenched together.
Beck came over and said, “Now is the time for your faith to kick in. She’s young and strong, Tristian. You have to believe in that.”
I nodded, but my thoughts pinged elsewhere. “We can take her anywhere. Get her the best doctors she needs.”
His hand landed on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Let’s take it one day at a time.” He walked to the room’s minibar and poured us each a drink. I wasn’t sure my stomach could handle anything at the time. Waves of nausea rolled through it.