Free Hurricane by Terry Trueman Page A

it?”
    â€œIt is a white Volvo truck—a large van. It is four years old, 1994, perhaps a ’93.” It says Cruz Reparto on each side in bright-blue letters.”
    â€œVery good, José,” the doctor says. He picks up the microphone attached to the radio on the dashboard. “This is MEDRUN eight-niner. Come in.”
    The radio crackles. “Acknowledge, MEDRUN eight-niner—identify.”
    â€œCaptain Albertson, Unit eight-niner.”
    â€œAcknowledge. State your purpose, sir.”
    Captain-Doctor Albertson speaks clearly and directly with an official sound to his words. “We’re approximately three kilometers outside the village of La Rupa. Have encountered and enlisted support of English-speaking Honduran national to assist in translation. Over.”
    â€œCopy that, sir. Over.”
    â€œNeed an all-alert priority search and seek, three Honduran nationals. Identities: Señor …” He pauses a second, letting his thumb slip off the button on the microphone, and turns to me. “What is your father’s full name?”
    â€œAlberto Cruz,” I say.
    The doctor clicks the button of the microphone again. “Señor Alberto Cruz and two teenaged children …”
    As the doctor talks into his radio, he asks me for descriptions of what Dad and Víctor and Ruby were wearing, their height and weight, and all kinds of questions. I answer as best I can remember. The doctor passes all this information along.
    The radio crackles again. “Copy all and roger that, sir. Good luck in La Rupa. It sounds pretty ugly out there.”
    The doctor glances at me, looking a little embarrassed. “Affirmative. We’ll check back at eleven hundred hours and provide update on mission status. Signing off.”
    â€œSigning off, sir.”
    The radio goes silent. I say, “Thank you, doctor. Thank you so much.”
    â€œIt’s the least we can do for our new translator,” he says, his voice kind and gentle. “You will help us, right?”
    â€œAbsolutamente,” I answer. “Sorry. I mean, absolutely, yes, of course!”
    We arrive at the southern entrance to La Rupa. The three trucks slowly inch forward. Seeing the damage, I am stunned all over again. I’ll never get used to this new La Rupa.
    We move past the Rodríguezes’ little shack. The people standing and sitting there watch us in silence. No one looks surprised to see me in the truck with these soldiers. No one looks happy or scared or anything, really—just numb. Some of the people begin to walk cautiously toward us.
    Silently I say a prayer for Dad and Víctor and Ruby. “Please, God, let my family be okay … please let them come home to us …”
    As I look at what’s left of La Rupa, I have a sick feeling. I say another prayer, this one soft but out loud. “Please, God, let Juan be okay … please, God … please, God, don’t let us be too late.”
    Before the truck even comes to a full stop, Berti bounds out. But instead of running to the house, she stands still, looking at me and waiting for me to come to her.

FOURTEEN

    Lieutenant Sally parks the truck where the mud makes it impossible to drive any farther. How long until the doctor can see Juan? I try to mentally will us to hurry up the muddy street to our house.
    As we get out of the truck, Dr. Albertson asks, “Where is your brother?”
    â€œThat is our home,” I answer, pointing up the street. “Juan is there with my mother and many more people.”
    â€œLet’s go!” Dr. Albertson says.
    As we walk, Dr. Albertson calls to his nurse, Lieutenant Sally. They talk quietly together as we hurry up the muddy road. They wear boots with thick treads, so they are able to pass through the mud more quickly than I can. I struggle to keep up. Berti stays by my side. The doctor and nurse pause at the door to my house, waiting for me and Berti to