Remi led, Amal brought up the rear. Though the trek to their new shelter hadn’t taken long, it was slow-going with all the girls in tow. The runoff from the mountain above channeled down the numerous crags. Rivulets of water splashed across the ledge, creating treacherous silt-covered fissures that gave way, ready to catch the unwary traveler.
About thirty minutes into their journey, one of those rivulets widened considerably, washing a two-foot gap in the trail. Remi stopped, poked the other side with her walking stick, felt solid rock, and jumped across. She turned, holding her stick out toward Nasha. “If you slip, don’t let go of the stick. I’ll pull you up.”
Nasha grabbed the staff but hesitated as thunder echoed across the mountains.
“It’s okay,” Remi said.
Nasha jumped. Each of the girls followed. The sky let loose, rain pelting them, as they continued up the cliff. As they neared the shelter, Remi stepped over a narrow rivulet, then turned to make sure the others saw it. She called out, her voice lost in the rush of wind, but Nasha nodded, easily stepping over. Jol followed. As Nasha’s foot hit the other side, the ledge disintegrated, plunging her downward in a torrent of water and mud.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
He who learns, teaches.
– ETHIOPIAN PROVERB –
The girls screamed as the ground disappeared beneath Nasha’s feet. Remi grabbed her arm and dragged her back as the crevice widened at an alarming speed. When she looked down, she saw Jol about twenty feet below, precariously balanced on a narrow outcropping of rock.
“Don’t move,” Remi shouted to her, then turned her attention to the other girls. She held the stick out across the open space. “Grab it, Maryam.”
“What about Jol?”
“I’ll get her.”
Maryam wrapped her fingers around the thick staff but didn’t move, her eyes locked on her fallen friend.
“Don’t look down. Look at me. You can do it.”
She gave a hesitant nod and jumped.
When everyone was across, Remi shouted to Amal, “The cave’s not much farther. I’ll be right behind you as soon as I get Jol.”
Amal nodded. “Let’s go, girls. They’ll be fine.”
Remi moved to the edge of the gap and slid down the cliff, the progress slow as she braced herself with her walking stick in some spots and blindly felt for solid finger- and toeholds in others. Finally, she reached Jol, the poor girl’s eyes wide with fright. “Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“Take my hand,” she said, reaching down. She wrapped her fingers around Jol’s slim wrist. When she was safely in front of her, Remi instructed her where to place her hands and feet as they slowly worked their way up to solid ground. Several times Remi searched the horizon, praying the helicopter would return while they were there on the open cliff where someone might actually see them. But as they ducked to the ground with each wind shear that threatened to rip them from the ledge, she knew help would not be arriving by day’s end.
At least they’d have a safe and fairly dry spot to spend the night, she thought as she hustled Jol beneath the overhang. Amal tore off more strips from her shirt, wrapping one around a cut on Nasha’s leg, and another on Jol’s right forearm, scraped raw from her fall.
Remi, grateful the injuries weren’t worse, took the first watch.
As night fell, Amal suggested the girls try to get some sleep, but they were too keyed up to rest. After a while, Jol said, “Mrs. Fargo, you promised to tell us about your treasure hunting.”
Remi looked back, just able to make her out in the dim light. “Tomorrow maybe.”
Jol turned to Amal. “Have you ever found any treasure?”
“Once. When I was a little girl.”
The girls clasped their hands together, chorusing, “Tell us. Tell us.”
“It happened back when I spent the hot summers at my grandmother’s home.”
“Where did she live?” Maryam asked.
“Near Bulla Regia. In the heart of Tunisia.”