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What they found was so far from what they expected, their almost happy confidence was immediately dimmed. Instead of trails leading to Indian villages, they walked into several hectares of clear-cut, only stumps and dead branches to carefully step through; then more jungle for a kilometer, then another clear-cut and a deserted logging camp, chainsaws and other equipment stored under a canopy, and several small tents, abandoned, apparently, until they found the loggers were still there, only dead in their tents huddled under their blankets. But the strangest part was the shriveled condition of the corpses. No scavengers had fed on them. Even in the humidity of the forest they had simply dehydrated. Matt asked, "Does malaria do that? There's plenty of mosquitos whining around and other insects too." But the tents were sealed except for mosquito net portals, and little bottles of repellent lay next to each body. In one of the tents among personal belongings they found a map with markings to guide the men to this and other logging sites. But when Matt read the title he dropped it and slumped down on a little camp chair, head in his hands and groaned, "Oh no!" When Billy asked what was wrong, he replied, "We're not where I thought we were. Look at the map." Billy picked it up and read: "Geological Survey, Area #73, Panama National Park" As Billy stared silently, Matt explained. "This is not the Amazon jungle. This is Panama and the Darien Gap, or what's left of it, and this is an illegal logging camp." To himself he mumbled "What an idiot I am." In the shock and stress of his starving vagabondage, Matt's knowledge of geography had slipped into a romantic notion, a typically Anglo-American fantasy of "turning Indian" to escape the craziness of everyday life in the USA. But now it was clear that craziness was here and everywhere they might travel, probably including the Amazon rainforest. For months, to survive they had cautiously avoided people in an overpopulated society rapidly degenerating into chaos, but in so doing they had lost track of time and place, with this now unavoidable consequence. Matt again muttered under his breath, "I'm such an idiot." Billy was quietly depressed by the apparent collapse of their great adventure, and rather plaintively asked his mentor and friend, "What's next, Professor Matt?" A grim professor replied, "We need to find people, anyone who will help us. Until then, we'll try to feed ourselves from the forest as we did back at our camp, and keep on moving and searching." Each one of this particular group of loggers kept his separate set of clothes to wear when entering and leaving the Park area, perhaps to look like innocent hikers. But Matt decided against trying to wear them, since they had no way of knowing what possibly contageous disease had killed the men. It could have been some kind of epidemic. But they did take one of their machetes, a tool commonly used by all who worked or hiked through jungle. So, they plodded on, but now Matt had a better idea where they were actually going. He could remember the famous Darien Gap, extending across the Isthmus of Panama, it was about 40 kilometers of jungle, once too dense to penetrate, but now chopped up into patches. He also knew the area had always been used by smugglers, so there was a good chance they would stumble upon one of their operations, just as they had found the logging camp, and that's what happened. This time, however, there were no dead bodies, only the smugglers' contraband carefully tucked away under branches and palm leaves. They would have passed it by except for the dried-out gray color contrasted against the deep green background, and their ever wary lookout for snakes and jaguars, also reputedly ever-present in the Darien, though they never encountered any, only an occasional slithering sound as they walked. So, they approached guardedly what was now almost a compost heap, then cautiously peeled away the leaves and branches to expose a medium sized camo dome tent. It was moist and musty on the surface, but unzipped, the inside was only a little damp around 4 boxes, 3 long and 1 short. Matt guessed they were weapons bound for one of the warring political factions that had so bloodied Columbia for the past 40 years. If so, there must be a boat nearby to carry them across the miles-wide delta of Rio Atrato that marked a very uncertain border between Panama and Columbia, just a few more kilometers to the South. To go on with their journey that boat must be found. It wouldn't be here, but close to the river. But Billy asked."How do we know they're guns? Shouldn't we open the boxes and find out?" "No." Matt replied. "But you're right, for all we know they could be machine parts smuggled to avoid customs duty at any port of entry, but you see how tightly they're sealed. We'd have to go back to the logging camp for better tools than this machete. Better to let them rot here in the jungle, then if they are guns, at least they won't kill anyone." But Billy was unconvinced. "Don't we need a couple of rifles or pistols to protect ourselves? I mean, you carried that little 22 for a long time. It kept us safe, didn't it?" "Not really." Matt replied. "Our smelly, bedraggled appearance did that. One look and a whiff of our dirt mixed with insect repellent persuaded the few people we did meet to wish us away quickly, and that includes snakes and jaguars, apparently. That's why I never had to draw the weapon. But, of course I would have, if necessary." Billy chuckled. "I guess you're right about that." "Besides," Matt continued. "If people in Columbia saw us approach with rifles slung over our shoulders, would they come running to help us? Not likely. We're not rebels, militia, bandits or smugglers. We're refugees looking for food, safety and work to earn a living. But just in case the smuggler return, let's put the place back the way we found it." Billy said, "OK, but let's leave a trail, just in case we have to come back." They stared at each other for a few moments. "We don't know what's over there in that country, Uncle Matt." Matt smiled at the boy's diplomatic skill. They were indeed like Uncle and Nephew. But now Billy was asserting his right as a partner, not just a stubborn little boy, and Matt knew how important it was to respect that. So he said, "OK then, just in case." So they moved on, every few steps breaking a small branch, or tying on one of Matt's health bar wrappers that he had refused to throw away. It slowed their progress a little, but so what? They had no company agenda to follow or be fired, no military schedule to obey or be court-martialed. They were free. Continuing on towards the river, they meandered for several kilometers North and when finally arriving at the edge of the forest, there was no river, but the land gently sloped upwards toward a semi-highland area of open fields and brush. By that time fatigue had overcome curiosity, so they rested and slept on their little mats, huddling under their lightly woven coverlets, because of a slight breeze flowing in from the open lands now spreading out ahead of them. At dawn, after a breakfast of mango and coconut, they trudged onward, happy to be free of the jungle and relaxing a little under the fresh cool beauty of a morning in rural South America. They remembered similar walks in easier times and places, and found themselves passing through fields of unpicked maize, a sure sign of civilization. They imagined horse- drawn wagons full of the harvest, yet the ears were dried up on their stalks turning gray. They picked a few anyway, just in case they found no other food. But a little further on they reached a road well paved with crushed rock but on which no wagon, truck or car was seen or heard, even when, a kilometer further on, it led to the outskirts of a small village where, on its cobblestone streets all kinds of flowers were planted everywhere, and left to wilt, but no vehicles or people anywhere in view. "Where is everybody?" Billy aked and Matt replied "I have no idea." Looking for any public building, they passed several thatched roof dwellings and a store whose overhead sign read "Panaderia" (Bakery) and a little sign on the door, "cerrado" (closed). Then the street opened onto a public square and a small Catholic church, once brightly whitewashed, now rain-streaked and drab. Both the big front doors and the back door were locked, but Matt called out anyway: "Hola! Tenemos que ayudar! Puede usted ayudamos?" (Hello! We need help. Can you help us?) Silence. So, they moved on, passing by closed and locked stores of beige stucco walls rain streaked with one or two red terra cotta roof tiles broken below, then more thatched roof cottages where he knocked and called again: "Hola! Tenemos que ayudar! Puede usted ayudamos?" Silence. Wherever they went, house by house, no response. Then they saw one with its door half open, and after calling out again with no answer, Matt thought he might have asked the wrong question, so: "Hola. Tiene que usted ayudar? Podemos ayudarle?" (Hello. Do you need help? Can we help you?) Silence. So, very hesitantly, they stepped inside, the ceiling very low over a dining/living room, and the air slightly tinged with....could it be....then a bedroom and the answer: a body, its shriveled head gaping out of its stained covers, the hair indicating a woman, dead for at least several months. Matt and Billy left quickly, afraid of contagion, and out on the street, grimly conferred over their dicovery. "Do you think the whole town is dead?!" Billy asked, clearly frightened. "Probably." Matt relpied "If not, some one would have heard us." "What are we going to do?" Billy asked, near panic. "What killed them?! Will it get us too?" "Let me think!" Matt was struggling with this grotesque, yet almost predictable reality. So, they stood there on a beautiful day in the silent street of a village of untended flowers, but minus anyone else alive but themsleves. "There's something I don't understand!" Matt admitted in exasperation. "Ever since we left the beach, when was that, three months ago? I don't remember seeing anyone, no people, no animals or birds, only insects. Did you see any?" Billy shook his head. "Nothing but a few roaches." "What the hell is going on?! Damn it Billy, I'm starting to feel like we're the last two people on Earth!" This brought tears and heavy breathing from Billy "Alright now," said Matt calming down, "I'm sorry," taking Billy in his arms, "As long as we're together we'll find some way to survive. No matter what's happened, we're alive and healthy, and we can work." After a few minutes, Matt continued. "Our first problem is food and water. We only have enough for a couple of weeks so we need to search all these buildings for food and a source of water. There's plenty of corn in the fields, such as it is, but we can't live on boiled corn. We need fruits and nuts and some other source of protein." Billy smiled wanly. "I need a Big Mack." Matt laughed, and kept on laughing, releasing his tension. "Don't hold your breath Billy!" more laughter. "I think we're vegetarians by default!" "Default of civilization" Billy added. A bad pun, but it sent Matt on a laughing jag, with Billy giggling, until both were exhausted. "My God. Matt remarked softly. "If anyone was alive they would have heard us." So, they untied their mats, spread them on the cobblestone street and squatted down to eat the day's rations, one mango apiece and several castana nuts (Americans called them "Brazil" nuts). Then came the problem of where to pee and poop. Not knowing what had killed the people, they couldn't risk entering a home or back yard for any such intimate contact. If a bacillus or some other germ was lurking on a surface, they might get infected, or so they feared. Instead they walked back out of town to a cornfield where they could bury their excrement, dried corn leaves serving as a rough wipe. Oh for the jungle's soft leaves and fresh water! Then they began searching, and immediately found in everyone's back yard a simple rainwater filtration arrangement of big plastic barrels each feeding down into a large clay jar which, after three months, were all filled to overflowing, so they immediately filled two pots to scrub their hands, and then refilled their little plastic bottles and tasted the water, which was OK, they hoped. But Matt said "Nobody can survive on rainwater. A river must be close by and we have to find it, maybe tomorrow." But the most amazing thing was each cottage had a simply constructed composting toilet, with a tube leading down through the wall out to each back yard and into a large plastic cylindar set up in a frame to be rolled by an attached hand crank. "Who built this equipment?" Matt wondered. "People think of rural villages as backward and dirty, but not here. This village was using green technology to produce their own fertilizer! No wonder flowers were blooming everywhere! Some one must have inspired all this, a person well traveled and educated. Maybe there's a progressive priest dead in that church in the square? We should go there soon, maybe tomorrow." In kitchen cupboards they found bags of corn, beans, dried peas, and dried coconut too. On a dining room table Billy saw some papers and a letter that he showed to Matt. It was hand-written in Spanish, but Mat could read more easily than he could speak. Thus, a man named Julio Alvarez (probably lying dead with his wife and child in the bedroom) had a sister Maria in Bogata who, after telling of the tragic death of their mother and father, wrote the following: "Julio, muchas personas aqui estan muy inferma, hombres, mujeras y ninos, una cierta clase germen del virus. La poblacion entera esto enfermo y muchas estan muertos o agonizantos! El castigo de Dios es sobre nosotros! Pero de alguna manera estoy vivo y en salud buena. Nolo entiendo. Esto no tieno sentido. Por que estoy vivo?!" This letter was post marked three months before. After translating for Billy, the most important piece of the puzzle fitted neatly into a suspicion seething in Matt's brain ever since arriving at the village (aptly named Santa Flores). The word "virus" told the story. Billy's mystified look again inspired Matt to try to explain to himself, as well as to the boy, the probable events that had occurred during their long journey, of which they had been almost completely unaware. "I think I know what happened. I remember for many years medical scientists and doctors all over the World were warning of the danger that the ever-growing population could not be protected from a virus spread by people traveling everywhere, and that if any new virus evolved within the always growing farm animal industry, it might not be diagnosed in time to develop treatment and stop it from turning into a pandemic. But business executives and their friends in political office dismissed the scientists' warnings as merely an attempt to gain more money for various scientific projects. So, nothing was done, not even after science writer Laurie Garret published her book "The Coming Plague" in which she reported the often heroic work carried on by public health organizations, and that the worst fear of doctors and nurses were the "super bugs", viruses that develop immunity to all antibiotics. More funding was needed to develop new medicines to stop them. But the new global economic and political agenda was set for all time and nothing would ever be allowed to seriously interfere with it. Factory livestock farming would continue and grow right along with the ever-growing population, onwards and upwards to Moon, Mars and stars. Nevertheless, a deadly super virus did evolve somewhere in the World after the global financial and social collapse of 2008-9. As social services broke down and homeless people drifted everywhere, teams of doctors, medical scientists and hospital staff were powerless to stop it from spreading quickly from jet travelers to busy airports to bus terminals to train stations to supermarkets to shopping malls and restaurants, but worst of all among the hundreds of millions of starving homeless people wandering everywhere in search of food and shelter. Then it was the flu epidemic of 1918 multiplied by a thousand, which means that by now most of the Earth's population has died, only a few scattered individuals with inborn immunity surviving." "Like us" Billy added. "Like us" Matt agreed, "AND Maria Alvarez, at least she was three months ago. But how is she living in a city of the dead?" "Like us?" Billy added again. "Yes, by scavenging and wondering what to do next. It's a miracle this letter was delivered. What happened to the mail deliverer? This is, or was, a rather poor little village, with no town hall, post office or police station, so the mail must have been delivered from a larger town further down the road, so perhaps the mail carrier is alive too. We should go look for whoever it is, maybe tomorrow. But now we have to find some clothes to wear and a place to sleep tonight." So, out and back up the main street and into an alleyway next to the "Merceria General, Propietario Emelio Gonzalez". Matt forced a window open with his little shovel, looking nervously over his shoulder, which got a laugh from Billy, and he shouted "Policia! Policia!" After climbing inside, they closed the window and unlocked the door. Without electricity anything they examined had to be brought to the front window. But the little general store had flashlights and batteries, still good after only three months, so they were able to find undershirts & shorts, pants and long and short sleeve shirts, a little too short for Matt and a little too long for Billy. But the clothes smelled so clean compared to their pungent body odor from so many months of wandering homeless, they decided not to wear them until they had bathed. It was afternoon with still plenty of light, so Matt proposed they find the river and wash with the soap and towels provided by Senior Gonzalez. Matt was tempted to leave a promisory note in case the gentleman suddenly showed up, which brought another chuckle from Billy who scolded his elder: "You need to get with the new program Professor Matt, it's freebies all the way, today and every day." Matt shook his head and smiled, "I'll get used to it." So, out the front door they stepped with towels and soap, on their way to a river that had been a basic source of life for this village and thousands of other creatures down through the centuries and millennia of recorded and un-recorded history. |
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Back to Chapter One Back to Contents John Talbot Ross |