Dad said, “We can walk. I think I read that it’s only about an hour on foot to town.”
“Helicopters are coming today to fly people back to Cusco. That’s what everyone’s been saying,” Hank said, shaking his head emphatically. “We’ve got to get down fast.”
“I can walk,” Grace agreed.
“I can walk, too,” said Helen. Overhead, the sun broke free from the clouds. She brushed her thick hair off her face, tilting her cheek up to the sunlight. The massive stone on her engagement ring no longer glittered; it was covered in mud, like all of us.
“People are saying that the train isn’t running. The track’s been flooded,” Ruben informed us after checking in with another guide. His brow furrowed with concern. The helicopters are our only chance of getting out.”
Stesha cleared her throat, but her voice was still strained. “First things first; the porters need to get home. There is no way the helicopters are going to fly them back to Cusco. The government is only going to evacuate tourists. We all know that.” With trembling fingers, she handed a wad of cash to the porters, asking Ruben to translate. “Tell them thank you and that I’m giving them a huge bonus when I get back to Cusco.” Her voice faded. “Let’s give them as much food as we can.”
The porters refused to leave, backing away from the money until Stesha threatened to do all the cooking on the next trip.
From the corner of my eye, I watched Quattro move away from our group like he was going to make a run for it with the porters. Christopher blinked then as though waking from a hundred-year sleep. First, he asked Quattro, “Can you scout out the trail?” Then to Ruben: “You need to get on that bus and get Stesha to a doctor and on the helicopter.” When Ruben protested, Christopher explained, “You’re the only one who can speak the language. The rest of us will be fine.”
Both Christopher and I watched as Quattro scowled but readjusted his backpack before walking across the parking lot to the trail head. Only then did Christopher glance over first at Grace, then at Hank. “You and Grace need to go ahead and make sure we have rooms.”
“Grace?” Hank protested. “I can handle the hotel by myself.”
“Yeah, Grace,” Christopher answered, casting a quick glance at Helen, who nodded her approval. “She needs to get off her feet.” As Hank began grumbling again, Christopher added, “And no one’s going to complain about you getting on the bus if you’re accompanying her.”
That shut Hank up, but not Grace, who planted her hands on her hips. She demanded, “Don’t I get a say in this?”
Mom rushed to answer: “Grace, you’ve walked the entire Inca Trail.”
Even though I felt like a traitor, I nodded when Grace glanced at me, because Mom had a point: There was no reason for Grace to prove anything more, and we needed to hustle if we had any chance of snagging a spot on the rescue helicopters.
While we watched, Ruben pounded on the bus door until the driver cracked it open. Catching the gist of the conversation wasn’t tough: Ruben kept waving over at Stesha, who was sitting on the curb with a bloodied bandage hanging off her chin. After a few minutes of negotiations, Ruben waved us over in triumph. People behind us began complaining loudly again as the reality of scarce seating sank in.
“I can walk with you,” Grace protested once again.
“Grace, Stesha needs you.” I pointed to Stesha, who was now seated on the bus, her head leaning against a window, her eyes scrunched shut like she was in pain.
“And Hank’s going to need you to sweet-talk the hotel into giving us rooms,” Mom added.
Grace nodded reluctantly before promising, “We’ll see you there.”
I felt like chasing after the bus as it departed the parking lot, not because it was transportation but because it was our link to half our team. As the bus disappeared around the corner, the porters reluctantly accepted the rest of our food supplies. I teared up at the sight of them leaving, too. No, this wasn’t how our trek was supposed to end.
“We should go,” Christopher told all of us now. I wondered if his urging was really meant for Quattro, who had returned with his report: “The trail looks fine.” He was staring at the gates barricading the ruins like he wanted to vault over the turnstiles, scale the chain-link fence, and break into Machu Picchu.
Mom sighed, lifting her eyes to Dad, and murmured apologetically, “I’m sorry about this trip. You were right. We should have stayed home.”