Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One), Nathan Hystad [primary phonics books .TXT] 📗

The window stayed open, and I leaned my elbows on my knees. “Almost there.”

Sweat covered Marcus’ forehead, but he was acclimating well. For a kid who’d never traveled growing up, he’d sure adapted to the hardships of adventure, even better than I did.

It made me wonder if my dad had ever come here, to this town. How had Dirk Walker dealt with muggy weather, mosquito bites, and sleeping on the ground? These were things I’d never had the chance to learn.

The landscape was oddly level, with a few ranges of low-lying mountains some miles in the distance. We’d passed the main river that bisected the country an hour ago, and now it was drier, the lush jungle giving way to thinner tree cover and hard-packed soil.

Five minutes passed, and I finally spotted a farm. A trickle of goats lazily trotted across a fenced field, and children kicked a ball in the street as we drove by. I lifted a hand in greeting, but the kids only regarded me with suspicion. “Friendly place,” I muttered, but Marcus didn’t seem to hear.

The truck lurched to a stop, nearly knocking me from my seat, and the driver hopped out, tapping his palm on the side of the vehicle. This was it: the end of the line.

My legs protested as I climbed to my feet, and I descended from the truck bed, swinging my pack over my arm. “Pay him, Marcus.”

My sidekick had half of our money, and he slipped our agreed-upon amount from his bag, shoving it toward the tanned man. He didn’t say a word as he headed to his seat and turned the truck around, driving the way he’d come.

This was it. Our destination. Marcus had his cell phone out, and he shook his head. “This isn’t it, Rex.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to catch a glimpse of his screen.

“The coordinates are still several miles away.” He waved farther down the road, and I sighed. There was a scattering of buildings in this godforsaken town, all of them constructed at least a hundred years ago, and they’d been neglected since then.

I’d visited a lot of places like this over the years, and at some point, they all blended together into one miserable pit stop you didn’t want to linger at. The air of poverty was heavy, and I wondered how they got up every day.

Still, as we walked across the rough and bumpy road centering the village, the inhabitants seemed happy. Maybe this was far enough from the oppressive government. They got by with what little they needed, and that carried them through the days.

Some of the structures were solid, with white plaster and thatched roofs, while others were no more than shacks. A pair of men sat outside what looked to be the local watering hole, each smoking cigarettes and clutching sweating bottles of beer. “Let’s ask.” I walked past them, feeling both of their stares on me as I entered.

A fan circled precariously from a low ceiling, and I heard soft music playing from an old stereo behind the bar. It was early in the day, and there were only a handful of people inside, including us. The barkeep was in his fifties, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt and dark pants. His moustache was too large for his face, but he seemed friendly as I crossed the room, sitting at the bar.

“Dos cervezas,” I said, making the peace sign with my left hand. He nodded, popping the tops off two brown bottles and sliding them to us.

Marcus flipped his phone and turned it to face the man. “Do you know where this is?” he asked, and I translated.

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he just shook his head. “No hay nada ahí fuera.”

Marcus glanced at me, and I relayed, “Says there’s nothing out that way.”

“Are you sure?” I asked him in Spanish.

“Antigua cantera de rocas.” The man flipped a towel over his shoulder and turned around, cleaning a glass.

“Rock quarry.” I tapped the bar, sipping the beer. What I really needed was more water, and I asked for some. The man started to pour some from a tap, and I shook my head, sliding ten US dollars’ worth of bolivars at him. He smiled, snatching it quickly, and brought two bottles of water from a refrigerator.

“What do you think? Walk the rest of the way?” Marcus asked, and I nodded.

“Unless you want to ask those guys out front for a ride.”

Marcus swallowed half his beer in one chug and made a refreshed sound when he was done. “Not on your life, Rex. I’ve seen this movie before, and I’m not ending up in the bottom of the quarry with my computer in their hands.”

We had a few hours before dark settled, and I wanted to keep moving. I didn’t know if we were going to uncover buried secrets in this rock quarry, or what we’d find, but I definitely didn’t want to be out there at night.

I finished the beer and slipped the barkeep another note, thanking him.

The two patrons were gone when we exited, but I smelled their lingering body odor mixed with cigarette smoke. Two miles wasn’t far, but after a day of traveling across the tumultuous landscape in the back of trucks, the hike would be a strain.

The sun was high as we left town. Only a few people remained in the streets, and I guessed the population of this place had to be under three hundred. Little more than a blip on the map.

We kicked up dust as we walked, and within ten minutes, my shirt was stuck to my chest. The ground ascended as we went, and as we crested a hill, we spotted the quarry from this vantage point. The rocky opening was massive, with a set of giant dump trucks parked near the entrance. They weren’t much more than rusted-out hunks of metal, and I wondered how long the place had been abandoned.

“This doesn’t look promising,” Marcus