Rottman - Tears of the River

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Published by The Hartwood Publishing Group, LLC,

Hartwood Publishing, Phoenix, Arizona

www.hartwoodpublishing.com

Tears of the River

Copyright 2014 by Gordon Rottman

Digital Release: June 2014

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers imagination, or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Fifteen-year-old Karen Herber is exactly where she wants to bein the Nicaraguan rainforest with a volunteer medical team. What she had not expected was a hurricane collapsing a bridge to wipe out her team and a mudslide burying a village. Only a Nicaraguan six-year-old girl and a forty-four-year-old woman with both arms broken survive the mudslide.

Then she finds that Jaydon Bonner survived, a privileged, arrogant seventeen-year-old American tenderfoot. Academic and confidence concerns are already dragging Karen down and she was tagged a weak leader in Outward Bound School. Her doctor parents are pushing her into a medical career, of which shes uncertain.

Less than fluent in Spanish, but an experienced backpacker, the reluctant leader is challenged by Nature, animals, desperate men, and her fellow survivors mistrust and cultural differences. Their only path to salvation is a risky boat trip down a rainforest river, 150 miles to the mysterious Mosquito Coast.

Karen soon finds her companions experiences, so different from her own, invaluable with each deadly encounter forging a closer bond between them. Through all the danger, Jay is there and manages to come through.

To my family.

It is often said that writing is a lonely or one-person job. Thats true to a point, but there are so many others who influence, inspire, and lend support. The initial editing and advice provided by Beverly Rosenbaum, Roger Paulding, and Dotti Enderle were invaluable.

First off, this book would not have been possible without CEO and Editor-in-Chief Georgia Woods, Executive Editor Lisa Dugan, cover artist Georgia Woods, line editor Molly Daniels, and the rest of the staff of Hartwood Publishing. Their help and innovative management created a great editorial environment.

I am extremely grateful to my awesome critique group for their advice, support, and brutally honest and absolutely essential critiques: Stan Marshall, Linda Bromley, Heather Walters, and Roxanne Carr. A special thanks goes to the Houston Young Adult Writers Group and the knowledge and expertise they all so willingly shared in support of each other.

Equally important to this story are the many wonderful folks I met and worked with in Nicaragua on medical and construction missions. A big thanks goes to the selfless women of the St. Francis of Assisi Association who sponsored our trips and the wonderful nuns of the Sisters of the Annunciation.

A very special thanks goes to my cousin, Consuelo Garcia, for making certain the Spanish made sense. Of course my wife Enriqueta, all the kids, and our great family in Mexico were vital to this books creation. I am most grateful to the granddaughter and many nieces who inspired me, especially: Victoria, Christina, Cecilia, Elvia, Liliana, and Gabriel.

Last, but not least, I wish to thank the readers of this book and hope they look forward to Karens coming adventures in Nicaragua and Alaska.

Karen Riley Herbers head bounced against the side window with a hard thump. Stupid van. She couldnt nap without getting her head banged.

The next jolt bounced her against the seatbelt, and then back against the headrest. The old vans engine chugged to pull the vehicle over the muddy, rutted road, which was little more than a goat trail.

Sorry bout that, kids, the driver shouted over his shoulder. Its not going to get any better, but its not too much farther, I think.

I hope youre right, Johnny, Karen muttered. Itll be easier to walk.

In this mud? I dont think sooo, deary, said Jennifer the grouch. The blonde physicians assistant was becoming a real pain in the butt. She seemed to have a negative or opposing comment every time Karen opened her mouth. And her insistence on calling her deary didnt endear her to the younger girl.

At least its stopped raining, she said, trying to deflect Jennifers snitty rebuff.

Well, well see how long thatll last with a hurricane blowing in, was the snapped reply.

Karen resolved to count to ten before saying anything more. Then she decided the heck with it. Shed just keep her mouth shut. She didnt know what Jennifers problem was, other than disliking a fifteen year-old tagging along on this little expedition. Jennifer wasnt exactly thrilled with the side trip anyway.

The next jolt, followed by a sideways jerk, slammed Karen into the armrest.

Cant you drive any better than that, Jennifer shouted at Johnny.

He turned and gave her a severe glare, then swung his eyes back to the almost-a-road.

Johnny too, must have decided the best policy was to keep his mouth shut.

Karen looked out the window to the left. Nothing but scrub brush and scrawny trees covered the ridge side. Not much of a jungle. When told months ago they were going into the Nicaraguan jungle, she pictured an exotic rainforest overflowing with birds of unimagined species, monkeys, jaguars, strange creatures, and a towering canopy of forest. Instead, northeast Nicaragua was flat brush land, scattered scrub trees, swamps, and a few low hills. The scenery was boring, really boring. This ride was just as boring, despite the turbulence surprises.

The turmoil generated by Jennifer didnt make it any easier. Karen reminded herself she was there to help out unfortunate people, and that was worth it all.

She looked out the right window past the inert Cristino. It was more of the same, low brush land, except that a couple of hundred feet above the flatlands, stretching off to the horizon, was endless wet green blandness. From Managua it had taken two days to get to the village, Concepcin Del Norte, which theyd left two hours and sixteen miles earlier. Once theyd left hilly central Nicaragua, the scenery had been the same the whole boring trip.

CristinoCriswas bundled up in a protective ball, dozing. He was eighteen, three years older than Karen. She liked the interpreter. He was always showing her something interesting and telling her about his country. Shed made it clear she wanted to learn, see, and do things. The university student accommodated her, especially when others in the group didnt really seem to care about this strange land. Oh sure, they wanted to help-the-people