VIII
Driving alone, Bill headed south-southeast out of La Ceiba. He
was alone because Eke, after the meeting with Carlos, flew a
commercial flight back to the States to pick up the plane again.
This time, he would be going back for “supplies” – stuff they had
accumulated through the years and stored at their parents houses.
Stuff? Well not vague stuff but weapons – remnants from their
childhood and beyond. They liked to blow things up. They liked to
shoot things. Theyd been doing it all their lives.
And now Eke went back to load the plane with the weapons they
were comfortable using, weapons they had used before. They didnt
know exactly what they were getting into but they had a good idea on
the firepower they would want.
They had five days until they were to meet Jacque and Maria and
in the meantime they decided to split up and while Eke was flying
back from the States, Bill would travel back to where they planned to build the cabin. He would cut out the final 20 feet of the driveway and
maybe even start a little construction.
As Bill drove, he thought about the incident on the ship and
therefore worried about thieves. Even though the back of the 1972
Chevy truck was covered with an old green tarp, it was obvious there
was stuff back there. The truck had been modified back in
Massachusetts to cover any circumstances they could imagine. For
instance, against the cab in the back they welded a three-foot by
instance, against the cab in the back they welded a three-foot by
gallon gas tank. The trucks tank
held 80 gallons while the spare held 100. Bill didnt want to run out of
gas in the jungle.
The precaution served him well as he drove a highway and then a
single lane road than then down a bumpy unpaved road for hours. At
least the shocks were new. On and on he went and then on way
down that last unpaved road as the sun began to fall he saw the red
and white sign that was his own little joke. It was hanging from a tree
in the middle of nowhere. It said, “Help Wanted.”
Fifty feet ahead he saw a tree with an obvious black dot of paint
on it. That was it – the marker. The driveway would start right there.
Bill pulled the truck over and stopped. He got out immediately. He was exhausted. Physically exhausted. More than that. Completely
exhausted. Mentally, spiritually. He needed to rest. He looked at the
trees and he couldnt even see the clearing 20 feet back. In some
ways, that was good. But it emphasized what he needed to do yet.
Bill was the mechanic. He could fix anything and thats why he
was sent to drive while Eke was charged with flying back. Eke was a
better pilot but Bill was by far a better mechanic. And what they
brought down– an all-terrain motorbike for one– was the kind of stuff
that always needed to be worked on. Not to mention the
reconditioned 1972 Chevy truck.
Centered on the bed of the truck were 30 sheets of exterior half
inch plywood, and four rolls of tarpaper. The all-terrain vehicle was
harnessed on top and there were two planks ready to move to create
a ramp to get it down. Bill started to unharness the bike.
He checked the gas tank. It was half full. He tried to start the bike
and on the third try, he succeeded in turning over the engine. Down
the plank, he took the bike into the woods back to the site of the cut
logs.
Everything, including the chainsaws, were untouched. Bill shut off
the bike and stood there. He took a deep breath. He looked at all of it, listened to the birds of the jungle singing. He couldnt believe it. The
dream was true. It was true!
But what was the dream exactly? He wondered.
After a few moments of contemplation, Bill picked up a chainsaw
and went to work. They wanted the entrance to the road to be as tight
as possible– barely enough for the truck to fit through. They wanted
to remain secluded as much as possible.
Bill cut down trees, dissected them into smaller logs and then
used gravity to roll them out of the way. He worked at a steady pace until the sun was down.
