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 South Road
At Simon’s insistence they had rested only a few hours before starting up again. Dawn in the mountains was an eerie pale pink light without the sun.
On they trudged in silence. Time seemed distorted—unreal—and the light played tricks with what they saw, or thought they saw. Then, just before midday, one of the guides half a mile ahead came running back. They heard him before they saw him, his voice carrying easily in the stillness. And while the Australians couldn’t understand, they knew from the excitement in his voice that he’d found what was left of Avianca flight 243.
Simon and Cooper forgot their sore and tired feet. Suddenly, everyone was running, following the guide. As they skirted a shoulder of the mountain, there it was, nestled almost gently in a narrow gully gouged from the mountainside by the endless fast-running streams. The jet had broken into three large, ragged pieces, as though it had been torn apart by some huge giant with fiendish, clawed fingers.
“Hit in the front,” said Eduardo, as they scrambled into the gully.
The Australians looked at the blackened nose and cabin section which appeared to have exploded. The police had been right: a missile had downed the plane.
But there were more important things at hand: Simon and Cooper were calling out, hoping against hope that Sandy and Andrew were still alive.
“You take the tail, Coop, I’ll have a look up front,” said Simon. It was only when they crawled inside the jet did the full impact hit them: row upon row of twisted human bodies, toys of the forces of death that overcame more than 100 passengers on Avianca flight 243.
“Andrew, Sandy, can you hear me?” Cooper Weatherall could barely talk. He’d never seen a dead body before let alone all this. And yet here he was, elbowing aside the remains of an elderly man, and a woman and child still clutching each other. Clothes, books, shoes, magazines, a lipstick. Odd things that would stay in his mind forever. Still he searched, whispering Sandy and Andrew’s names, over and over, hoping to find them, and yet hoping he wouldn’t.
“I can’t find them. They’re not here!” Coop’s voice was on the edge of hysteria.
“They’ve got to be, keep looking!” Simon’s voice sounded far away, from another time.
Señor, señor!” Eduardo was calling from outside the plane.
“In a minute, Eduardo, we’ve got to keep looking.”
“But señor, look.”
Coop stopped his search, and peered out of the gaping hole where once the middle section of the aircraft had joined the tail.
“We are not the first ones here, Señor Coop.” Eduardo’s sharp dark eyes fixed on Cooper.
“What do you mean?”
“Look at the peoples. Their pockets all empty. No money, no jewels. No, Shining Path here before us.”
Simon had joined them. He was agitated and not listening.
“I can’t find them. I can’t find them. Eduardo, get the men to spread out and search…They could have wandered off.”
“Simon, listen to Eduardo. Someone else has already been here!”
“What? No!”
But Eduardo shook his head.
“It is true, señor. The men find other tracks. Other horses has been here. And no valuables.” He waved a brown, weather-beaten arm in the air, “All gone.”
“But they wouldn’t steal…” Simon faltered, “They wouldn’t take from – dead bodies. And who’s been here, anyway? Who would be in this god-forsaken place?”
Eduardo spoke softly.
“The Shining Path. This their country. No, señor, they kill peoples. Those peoples over there, Shining Path kills them. Show no mercy to rich travellers.”
The boys followed Eduardo’s finger to a group of half a dozen bodies seemingly huddled together.
“Those peoples survive crash, but killed for money, clothing, whatever Shining Path want.”
Simon couldn’t think straight.
“But where are Sandy and Andrew? They – were – on – this – plane.” He spelled out the words slowly, to convince himself. “And who the hell are Shining Path?”
“Politicos! Marxist rebels opposed to Lima government.”
Eduardo looked at Simon, and then at Coop.
“No like gringos. Shoot foreigners.” Eduardo gave them both another, guarded look.
There was a moment’s silence, as the Australians considered what to do.
Then there was a shout. One of the guides was gesticulating frantically. Eduardo ran the 100 metres to where the man stood on a small, rocky outcrop above the plane. The Australians followed.
”Oh god!“ Simon turned away, and Coop covered his eyes.
The fat, white, naked body of a middle-aged man was lying chest down on a large smooth rock. There was no head. Small rivulets of blood had dripped over the rock to the ground below. The man’s hands were tightly bound behind him. A piece of paper flapped in the cold air from the twine that bound him.
Eduardo read it without touching it. Then he nodded and he spat at the body.
“Understand, understand.”
“What?” said Coop, still not looking at the body.
“This man, big army chief from Lima. He come to Cuzco to talk to Shining Path, he say. But paper say he come to shoot Shining Path leaders. This man no good.” And again he spat on the body.
“Eduardo,” said Simon slowly, “Did Shining Path shoot down the plane?”
“I think so.”
“Because this man was on it?”
Eduardo nodded. “I think so.”
“But the other people on board...”
Eduardo nodded again. “It is the bad luck. But here,” Eduardo looked at the Australians with undisguised distaste, “the life is very cheap. Very cheap. Better this man die, than Shining Path.”
Simon guided Eduardo away from the execution rock, down towards the plane.
“Eduardo, is it at all possible that for some reason, Shining Path could have taken my brother and his friend with them?”
Eduardo considered the point. “Possible,” he eventually said, “but not so likely. Gringo foreigners—” And he put two fingers in the shape of a gun barrel, to his head.
Simon took a step forward.
“Eduardo, if for some reason Shining Path has Sandy and Andrew, my brother and I will pay money—a lot of money—to get them back alive. Do you understand my friend?” He took the slightly built Aymaran Indian by the shoulders. “A lot of money. This money could buy Shining Path guns, ammunition, anything they want.”
He let go of Eduardo’s shoulders. “You know where to find these people.” It was not a question.
Eduardo did not reply. He looked at the two tall, blond Australians with their clear blue eyes, their open faces, their soft hands, their warm well-made clothes. Rich gringos. His look hardened.
“Eduardo, we will give you US dollars to buy Shining Path many guns.”
Eduardo sighed.
“Si, it is true. We can find them. But we have money now, gringos!” And he spat on the ground again. Eduardo’s true allegiances were now very clear.
“Coop, give him all the money we’ve got.”
Cooper Weatherall dug into his backpack and found his wallet. He handed over about $US300.
“This not so much.”
“The rest is in Cuzco,” Simon lied, hoping that whoever was coming from Australia would bring the money he’d asked for.
“You not lie to Shining.Path. Otherwise, like man on rock.”
Simon nodded, holding Eduardo’s fiery eyes in a steady gaze.
‘I promise, Eduardo.” And Simon did something he’d never done before: he crossed himself. This seemed to please Eduardo.
“Good. We go this way.”
Well, what have Simon and Coop got themselves into? Following the Shining Path sure ain’t like following the Yellow Brick Road, Dorothy! If the Shining Path takes no prisoners, what’s happened top Sandy and Andrew? And what’s to stop the rebels adding two more gringo scalps to their list, namely Simon and Coop’s? We’re all a long way from Kansas - and Adelaide too, for that matter - so let’s hold hands and take deep breaths as the chill factor plunges below zero in the next terrifying episode of South Road, A Suburban Love Story, when Simon and Coop finally reach journey’s end.
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