“This place looks like it’s going to blow,” said Quattro softly in my ear.
When had he moved to stand close to me like he’d appointed himself my personal bodyguard? Before I could spend more than a nanosecond processing that thought, Grace’s distinct objection—“I am not elderly!”—cut through the crowd’s mutterings. I scanned the area until I spotted her, then shot her with Hank, who was holding a visibly pale Stesha near the front of the line. Ruben was gesturing emphatically to one of the impassive soldiers, universal sign language for “She’s getting evacuated. Now.”
Grace hurried over, intercepting us as we walked toward them. “You made it!” she said, hugging me tightly. “I was so worried about you all.”
“What’d the doctor say?” Mom asked, bending her head down to Grace as they walked side by side back to Stesha.
Grace shook her head. “No doctor. She’s worse, but she’s refusing to leave.”
Overhearing Grace, Stesha cracked her eyes open and said, “I’m the captain, and I’m not leaving until you’re all safe.” That spot of defiance sapped her energy. Stesha sagged into Hank’s arms.
“Come on, Stesha. You might have a concussion,” said Quattro, glancing at me with a slight nod to tag-team with him.
So I added, “Reb’s going to kill me if your chin gets infected. You’ve got to have that taken care of.”
“It’s just a little cut,” Stesha protested feebly, but she didn’t even bother opening her eyes this time. Yet with some kind of finely tuned internal radar for trouble, they opened just as a soldier approached her with Ruben trailing close behind.
“Traitor,” she said softly to him.
“You have to go,” I told her.
“I know.” Still trying to take care of us, Stesha dug a last PowerBar from her pocket and pushed it on Ruben. “But I’m not leaving Cusco until you’re all there.” Even as she was led to the helicopter, we could hear her calling back to us, “I’m not leaving Cusco.”
“Where’s Grace?” Ruben asked, glancing around increasingly worried. There was no sign of her.
“Figures,” said Dad, rubbing his temples.
What possible reason could compel Grace to remain in an overcrowded town with no promise of a bed, hot meal, or shower? I knew what would make me stay. My gaze shifted over to the remainder of our ragtag group, lingering on Quattro.
“At thirty-five people per helicopter,” said Dad, now eyeing the growing crowd, “this evacuation is going to take an eternity.”
“But you’re lucky. You’re going blind,” said Hank, who then ducked his head, embarrassed. “I mean, you and your family can be evacuated now.”
“I’m not an invalid,” Dad answered, and he straightened himself to his full height. I was so glad to hear him say those words aloud, and wondered if he was listening to himself.
Twenty minutes later, my eyes filled with tears as the helicopter door slammed shut and the rotor whirred loud. Our group was fragmenting. None of us had been able to say a proper good-bye to Stesha. I hadn’t even hugged her. Everything had happened so fast once she was trundled off with a soldier. The lump in my throat grew larger as the helicopter rose. Selfishly, I didn’t want to see Stesha go. My eyes caught on Quattro, who nodded in understanding at me.
As soon as we left the perimeter of the helipad, Grace magically reappeared, smiling innocently. I could feel Dad fuming, but any scene I was afraid he might cause was trumped by a more urgent problem.
“We don’t have a room at our hotel,” Helen told Hank, concern creasing her forehead.
“We’ll figure it out,” Hank said confidently, and with a homing instinct for the only five-star hotel in the town, he steered us to Inkaterra.
The boutique inn could be reached only by crossing a private wood bridge. On the other side, we found ourselves in a lush oasis that couldn’t have been farther from the fear, filth, and garbage back in town. Elegant, understated casitas dripped with vibrant bougainvillea. The fountain in the central courtyard burbled sweetly, nothing like the bellow of the river. A discreet wood sign pointed to the spa, gift shop, and restaurants.
I could hear my parents murmuring as we approached the reception building, worrying about the cost of the rooms. Having to admit to everyone—including Quattro—that we couldn’t afford this place was going to be sheer awkwardness.
Hank strode in as though he’d stayed in places this luxurious hundreds of times before. Of course, he had. The woman at the front desk had her hair pulled into a sleek updo, not a strand out of place, as if this sanctuary made her immune to the disaster beyond the bridge. After Hank inquired about a room, she informed us that there was, in fact, one ultradeluxe casita available, complete with its own plunge pool and private garden.
And then she named the price.