The Crossing | Close To The Bone Publishing

It’s stifling hot, and the border is crowded today. Gaby and I are sleep deprived after three nights in a hostel where feral cats routinely wandered in through the open windows at night, to say nothing of the street noise. We said goodbye to Chuck this morning – he traveling to the North to meet up with friends – so we lost the only one of us with any solid language skills. His absence feels a little like bouncing on a trampoline with no safety net. We’ll probably be fine, but it feels just a tad reckless. Things take a while as we wind our way through customs, but we make it through without hassle and start the journey back to our camp.
+++++First is a short bus ride across the border, an expansive landscape of sand and desert vegetation. I glance over at Gaby, a tall, dark-haired German girl barely twenty-one years old. We’ve been working together for the last two months at the dig site, and we’re exhausted. The heat is rough in the summer, each day we only work until noon, digging and sifting through layers of earth. Once back at our camp, a concrete block with rusty bed frames, no air conditioning and the roughest of bathroom options, we spend hours cleaning our finds, mostly Bronze Age pottery shards. The team eats dinner together, lamb or beef or sometimes falafel and lots of pita, and then we get to bed early so we’re ready for the 4am wake up call.
+++++The bus shakes, and for a moment we’re lifted out of our seats. I see the sign as we pull into a parking lot indicating we’ve made it safely across the border.
+++++We hop off the bus with our backpacks and are descended upon by cab drivers. Gaby waves them away.
+++++“Let’s find our next bus,” she says.
+++++I pause, eyeing the rides on offer. The bus back to camp is painfully slow and still requires a short taxi ride out to the site. And, it’s so hot. As Gaby heads toward the bus stop, a young driver approaches me, early twenties, tall with light brown hair and freckled skin.
+++++“Good afternoon,” he smiles. “Where are you going?”
+++++His American accent stops me. “How much to Madaba?”
+++++“You’re American?” he exclaims. “Where are you from?”
+++++“Yes. I live in D.C.” I tell him.
+++++“I’m from Chicago.” He holds out his hand and I shake it, always happy to meet a fellow compatriot.
+++++“Chicago? What are you doing here?” I shield my eyes from the sun to get a closer look at him. His green eyes sparkle in the sun.
+++++“I’m visiting my uncle for the summer. He teaches at the University. Are you working on the dig out there? I’ve dropped off a few people at the camp this summer.”
+++++“Yes, we are,” I say nodding towards Gaby.
+++++“I’m Tom.” He smiles and holds out his hand.
+++++Gaby turns around. “What’s going on?”
+++++Tom introduces himself, making the pitch to drive us. I’m certain she will agree, but instead she leans over and reminds me of Chuck’s instructions to stick to public transportation.
+++++I push back. “This will be so much quicker. He’s been to the camp already. Come on.”
+++++We’ve been in the car about twenty minutes when Tom turns off the main road. Gaby is deep in conversation with him, recounting our adventures on the dig, and much of her life story. I wait to see if we get back on the main road, but instead Tom makes more circuitous turns. We’re in the middle of nowhere save for the occasional house of white stucco that pops onto the landscape.
+++++I glance at Gaby to see if anything has registered but she continues chatting away. I’m uneasy. No one knows where we are. I turn on my phone to pull up a map and look at the route. No service.
+++++“Tom, why did we get off the main road?” I lean forward.
+++++“It’s a shortcut. I mentioned that I’ve driven a few folks out to the camp before. They’ve given me the inside track on the quickest route.”
+++++I sit back unable to quiet the nerves that are buzzing, telling me to be on alert. I unzip my backpack, feeling around for my Swiss Army Knife. The kind with a lot of pull-out accessories, a couple of which are small knives. It’s not much, but I feel better. I slip it into my pocket just as we slow down. A large white house appears and we pull into the drive. My stomach lurches.
+++++“What are we doing here?” I demand.
+++++“I have to make a quick stop; it will only take a few minutes,” Tom says.
+++++“A stop?” I ask. “But where are we?”
+++++“This is my uncle’s house. Please, come inside. I just want to pick up a few things since we’re so close by.”
+++++Gaby looks at me with a raised eyebrow. I get out of the car and scan the area. There are a handful of houses nearby and I spot a couple small children playing in the distance. I don’t know what to do so I follow Tom up the steps and Gaby trails.
+++++We walk into the house which is spacious and well-cooled. The main living area has a high ceiling, like an atrium, and there are lots of plants, plush furniture, and white walls. Tom tells us to relax and he’ll bring us tea.
+++++“Oh, that’s okay,” I say not wanting to drag this out a second longer.
+++++Tom nods and disappears down a hallway.
+++++I survey the house for any sign of another person, the uncle, a wife, and swallow hard when I find none.
+++++Gaby sits down on the couch, her long legs crossed.
+++++“Are you feeling weird about this?” I ask her.
+++++“I’m not getting a bad vibe from him. People have been nothing but nice to us since we got to this country.” Gaby is right and for a moment that calms me. But he’s American, I think.
+++++I hear a light clatter and turn expecting Tom but am surprised to see a woman walking into the room. She looks around forty years old and is very well dressed. I’m so relieved to see her I croak out an awkward ‘hi’.
+++++“Good afternoon,” she says in a very proper British accent. She sets a silver tray down on the table in front of us. She’s petite with long brown hair and wears a flowing purple and blue dress. A stack of gold bracelets dangle from her wrist as she fills our cups with a steaming hot tea. She points to the sugar and honey on the tray, and I shake my head.
+++++“Tom mentioned you girls are from the states, where abouts?” she asks.
+++++Gaby responds, but I can’t stop looking at her clothes and jewelry which are very stylish.
+++++I interrupt them. “I’m sorry, is Tom coming back soon?”
+++++“I’m right here!” Tom announces walking in. “Thank you, Becca,” he says sitting down across from us. He picks up a cup of tea for himself and takes a sip. I lift my cup and taste the strong mint on my lips. I swallow a few drops and set the cup back down. I don’t pick it up again. Becca does not join us, but hovers around the room doing what, I don’t know.
+++++After a few minutes of small talk, Tom says it’s time to go. I watch him and Becca walk down the hallway, and I strain to make out what they are saying, but with no success.
+++++“We’ll be out of here in a minute,” I whisper to Gaby as much as to myself. But, as the minutes tick by, I keep thinking, we are still here. We are not leaving.
+++++“Gaby, check for cell service.” Despite the air conditioning, I’m sweating.
+++++Gaby swipes her phone open. “Nothing. Wait. Yes! I’ve got a signal.”
+++++“Oh, thank God. Text Chuck. Drop a pin so he knows where we are.”
+++++“Yeah, got it.” She taps quickly. “It’s done.”
+++++At that moment Tom walks into the room carrying a backpack.
+++++“Let’s get going,” he smiles. I take my first deep breath since we’ve been in the house.
+++++As Tom drives us away from the house, I try to remember if he’s going back the way we came. There are so few landmarks, it’s difficult to know, but I’m relieved to be in the car.
+++++“Becca really liked you girls,” Tom says, looking at us from his rear-view mirror. “She says you’ll do great.” He slows the car and comes to a stop.
+++++“What did you say?” A fresh wave of panic tightens my chest.
+++++He doesn’t answer and steps out of the car.
+++++“Gaby, where’s your phone?”
+++++She swipes it open. “Oh no.”
+++++“What?! What is it?”
+++++Her face is ashen. “My texts didn’t go through to Chuck.”
+++++“What?” I reach for the phone, then notice a large black SUV approach from the opposite direction. I freeze as the car pulls up right next to us. Two men get out.
+++++Tom opens the driver’s side door and leans in.
+++++“I’m sorry, we’re not going to your camp.”
+++++“What? What are you doing?” I’m yelling.
+++++Gaby screams as the doors on either side of us open and the men reach in to grab us.
+++++“You should have taken the bus.” Tom winks.

[Image Credit : Photo by Artem Goncharov on Unsplash]

by

The following two tabs change content below.

Carolyn Phillips is a fiction writer from Chicago, Illinois, US. You can read her published short stories in the Prairie Light Review, Line of Advance and on Substack at ‘Paper & Ink’. You can also visit her on Instagram @carolynphillips.lit and Tik Tok at carolynmphillips.