Skull of the Zipa PREVIEW CHAPTERS by Chuck Chitwood (best book club books for discussion .txt) 📕

Mauricio makes his way back to his spot by the fire and mumbles the entire time. I know he’s annoyed. He grabs the rifle and puts it beside him. It takes a while but eventually Mauricio fold his arms and bows his head. It isn’t long before I know Mauricio is asleep and I can finally relax a moment. Now I just have to wait for a chance to get away.

Hanging there, the only thing I can do is plan and wait; wait until Mauricio falls into a deep sleep. There have been a few times when I thought he was actually sleeping. But then he snorts and wakes with a start. After which, he looks around nervously but he never looks back at me. I think it’s because he’s more afraid Santiago will catch him sleeping on the job than worrying about whether or not someone will try to rescue me.

His fear works to my advantage because it gives me a chance to get a bit more comfortable, survey my surroundings, and plan my escape. Right now all I have is my free hand, a knife, and focus. And both my father and Uncle Ami would say that focus is the best of the three.

I scan the area where the tents are hoping to see a map, a SAT phone, a flashlight, or evidence of my father. Sure, I could just cut the rope and bolt out into the heavily wooded jungle. But I know my mom would tell me that sometimes the easiest way to anything winds up being the costliest way.

My mom’s words come back to me, Competitive running is not just about being the fastest, it’s about patience. Size up your competition and wait for the perfect moment to make your move. In this case my competition isn’t just Santiago and his men. It’s also the jungle. Before I got to Colombia, I perused a travel book about the Orinoco and I knew running blindly through the jungle was foolish. It’s filled with things like jaguars, boa constrictors, crocodiles, piranha, and the list goes on. No, running into the jungle is not an option.

If my mom were here she’d tell me to wait. ‘Wait for the perfect moment, Haddie. And then know exactly how it is that you’ll make your move.’

Thinking of my mom inspires me much like she had inspired my love for running. In a way, I was running before I could walk. When I was a baby, my mom trained for triathlons and would take me on runs with her, pushing me in one of those sporty strollers. Years later when we started running together, I would run as hard as I could and my energy would be depleted in ten minutes.

That’s when she taught me about patience, about pacing myself, and about watching for an opening. She was an amazing athlete. So, I’ll do what she would do if she were in this situation. I’ll bide my time. I’ll wait for Mauricio to enter a deep sleep. I’ll clear my mind. I’ll focus on something that inspires me. My mom.

Thoughts of the last run I had with my mom before her car wreck two years ago pop into my head.

***

We ran step for step along the cobblestone streets of Old Providence, the restored colonial village with a view of the bay. Her long legs covered ground at a rapid pace. She never slowed down for me. I, on the other hand, was expected to lengthen my stride to keep up with her. The crisp autumn morning caused our breath to be visible as we ran. Orange and red leaves covered the cobblestones of the touristy part of town leading to the downtown shopping district of New Providence.

Mom was crazy about running. She would even wake me early in the morning when my friends spent the night to go running. And when I was done, I’d come in - covered in sweat, while my friends were still snoozing in their cozy sleeping bags.

On our last run, I remember seeing her glance at her yellow sport watch. “That mile was just under five minutes. Great job!”

“Yeah, great. Maybe my heart attack will happen faster. You know, get it over with quickly.”

She smiled and her dark, almond shaped eyes twinkled. Mom had her curly jet-black hair pulled back in a ponytail. I don’t know how she managed to look both athletic and yet elegant… even as sweat rolled down the side of her face. “You know Haddie, when I was in the army I did ten miles every day at 5:00am. If we lived in Israel, you would join up in two years instead of running off to Harvard and playing sorority queen.”

I wiped my forehead with my sleeve. “I am hardly the sorority type. And Harvard’s a long way away. I doubt I’ll even make it. I’ll probably just go to King’s University and take dad’s archaeology classes.”

“Really? He makes you read something like a thousand pages. You know what he says, ‘Archaeology is 90% research and 10% boring digging through dirt.’”

I laughed. “That’s not exactly…”

“I know. I added the ‘boring’ part.” She took a swig from her water bottle. “Give me rock climbing or rafting any day. I remember when I was a little girl, my father would take me white-water rafting at the head of the Jordan River. Lush trees, crystal clear water, bougainvillea everywhere. It was amazing.”

“Maybe we can do that next summer when we go back to Israel.” We turned a corner to head back towards our house. “Can we take the short way home?”

“No way, like the song says Take the Long Way Home.” Mom started humming a song from one of her adult contemporary radio stations. Why does everybody who grew up in the 80s think that is the only decade that had good music?

“Can we at least stop for a bagel? I’m starving and we’re right here at Ye Olde Bagel Shoppe.”

“You know, just adding the words ‘ye olde’ and putting an extra ‘pe’ at the end of the word doesn’t automatically make it old.” Mom laughed and then said, “Okay, fine. Bagels and coffee and then four more miles.”

We ordered cinnamon raisin bagels and two coffees. The shopping district was just starting to come alive with the morning bustle. The bookstore opened. Bicycle riders started pouring through downtown before the streets were jammed with tourists gazing at the trees and looking for bargains.

“Mom, why can’t we take the short way home? It’s just a mile and half through the park. We can do the full run next time.”

“Haddie, there are no shortcuts in life. When you take one, you rob yourself of a lesson.” She took a swig of coffee. “Plus we’re not guaranteed a next time.”

“I think I’ve learned the running lesson pretty well.”

She took another drink of coffee and winked. “Apparently not, if you want to take a short cut.”

“No, just a break for one day, please.”

“Something else you’ll learn is that my people… no our people never get a break. More is expected from you and no breaks will be given to you. You must work twice as hard as everybody else. Plus, remember what Uncle Ami always says, ‘You never know when you’ll have to run for your life.’”

Finishing off my bagel, I almost laughed, “That’s a little over-dramatic don’t you think. ‘…run for your life?’ From who, crazy tourists? Stuck up zombie cheerleaders? Besides, I’m American. I’m only half-Jew. Dad’s Anglo side counts, too.”

“Yes, yes. Now finish your coffee.” She drank my coffee and patted my hand. “Besides you never know when you’ll be chased by zombie cheerleaders.”

“I’ve already been attacked by one named Courtney.”

“See. There you go. No shortcuts for you.”

She bolted up, pushed her chair in, and darted out the door. I gulped down the last bit of my coffee and chased after her. My legs felt like jelly. It took all my energy just to catch up. Breathing hard, I finally caught up to her as we took the long way around Oak Park instead of cutting through the middle of it.

“Complaining, negotiating, asking for special consideration earned you what?”

“Noth…” I gasped for air. “…ing.”

“And now you’ve worn yourself out playing catch up.”

“You—are—so—mean.”

“No. I—am—so—awesome!” She threw her hands in the air and skipped around like that old Rocky movie my dad watches some times, the one with the old dude who mumbles all his words. “I am Hannah Engler Green! Hear me roar!”

“Mom! People are looking at you.” I lowered my head.

“I don’t care. Let them look. I’m fabulous.” She waved at a couple of landscapers planting new shrubs along the edge of the street. “Good morning. Looks awesome.” She gave the guys a thumb’s up.

“You’re cracked, Mom.” I shook my head.

“Your turn. Scream you name at the top of your lungs. It feels good.”

We left the park and headed north in front of King’s University. Its historic library sat at the far end of the oak tree lined quad and a few lacrosse fanatics were already on the lawn.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” I called out. “I’m Haddie Green.”

My mom put her hand up to her ear. “What’s that? Did somebody say something? I couldn’t quite make it out.”

I screamed, “I’m Haddie Green.”

A lacrosse guy called back, “Yo, hey, Haddie. I’m Brad. Call me later, Dude.”

“She’s too young for you… dude!” Mom replied. Turning to me, she said, “Now do it again.”

“Come on, Mom.”

“Do it.” She jabbed an elbow in my shoulder.

“Fine.” I waved a hand and yelled a little louder. “I’m Haddie Green everyone.”

“That is not your full name.” Mom said, “Own it.”

I took a deep breath and belted out, “I’m Hadassah Ruth Green! Hear me roar!”

All the lacrosse guys cheered. Mom and I busted out laughing. I know it’s stupid, but I must say it felt good to scream my name aloud.

I felt alive around my mom. She cooked spicy meals. She made my dad take ballroom dancing lessons. She made you feel like you could achieve any dream and conquer any obstacle. She was perfect at everything. I wish I could be just like her. Confident. Controlled.

I didn’t realize that morning would be the last run I would ever take with my mother. And since then, I have jogged almost every morning. There’s something about slicing through the cool morning air that makes me feel close to her.

***

I wish my mom was here. I bet she could get out of these ropes in a flash. But she isn’t. It’s just me. And I know what she’d tell me. No shortcuts, Haddie.

No, running into the jungle like a scared rabbit is not an option. I’m not a scared rabbit. I am a jaguar. And I will go into the jungle… stealthily… like a jaguar. I take a deep breath and scream inwardly, I can do this because I am