Treasure of the World by Tara Sullivan (free ebook reader txt) 📕

blaring of a horn outside the gate. We all turn in our rows and watch as Doña Inés waddles over and cracks the gate open. For a moment we watch her listen to whoever’s on the other side, mildly curious. But when she turns around and I see her wide eyes and ashen face, I know this is no ordinary visit.

“Don Marcelino,” she calls. “Get your truck and come quickly! There’s been a cave-in at El Rosario!”

8

A cave-in.

For fifteen heartbeats, no one moves.

Then people are running, shouting.

I realize that I am one of those people.

“Don Marcelino!” I scream.

Don Marcelino had set off at a sprint as soon as Doña Inés shouted out the news, not even pausing to turn off his precious speaker, which is still playing patriotic music in the background. Keys in hand, he’s now at his truck. That’s why they came to get him, of course. I bet they’ve called everyone with a flatbed pickup in good working order to help cart the wounded to the medical centers at the base of the mountain. The teachers are helping to pull open the heavy gate as quickly as they can. He’ll be gone in a moment.

I grab the edge of his open truck window.

“Don Marcelino!”

“Ana,” he barks, his glasses slightly crooked on his face, “this is not the time. Get out of my way!” His face is pale and his hands are shaking so badly that he’s having trouble getting the keys into the ignition.

“Let me come with you, please!”

He stares at me.

“My father and brother work in El Rosario,” I go on, my words tripping over themselves. “Please!”

He manages to get his key in the slot, finally, and the engine roars to life. His eyes flick to the open doorway, then to my face.

“Get in,” he says.

“Thank you!” I gasp. Racing around, I pull myself up. Some of the other older students and even a few teachers vault in with me. There isn’t anyone at my school who isn’t connected to the mine somehow. Everyone wants to help, if they can.

We crouch in the truck bed and hang on to its rusted edges for dear life as Don Marcelino rattles the ancient vehicle up the winding, rutted path to El Rosario. I know he’s probably pushing the engine to its limit with a grade this steep, but all I can think is, Faster! Faster!

The pockmarked red-and-black-striped rock face whizzes by a few centimeters beyond the side-view mirror, but even so, I lean off the side of the truck, trying to see farther—around that bend, into the future. Into the past.

How bad is it?

I can’t wait, don’t know how to make my heart slow its furious pounding.

And then, all of a sudden, I don’t have to. Don Marcelino swings the truck around the last bend and shudders into the open entryway to El Rosario.

The truck stops, and my heart stops with it.

With the screech of the brakes still echoing in my ears, I jump out and try to get my bearings.

It’s chaos.

People rush and jostle.

Bodies and rubble litter the ground.

The air is filled with dust and noise—high wailing cries, drawn-out moans.

I look around frantically, whipping my head back and forth.

My lungs burn.

My brain chokes on the sounds.

I force my feet to take me to the first person on the ground in front of me. It’s Bumpy—Francisco. He’s sitting, clutching his head, his eyes out of focus. Blood oozes through his fingers. He’s hurt.

My fingers shake as I touch his shoulder. Even if I hate him, I can’t leave Francisco without help, but I have no comfort to give. No medicine. No bandages. No water.

I feel useless.

I shake off the helplessness and run to Don Marcelino.

“There’s a man here, he’s hurt!” I leave them together and move on to the next hunched form.

I kneel in front of him, and the silt-laden mud of the mine entrance coats my leggings, chilling me. I push my hand against his shoulder to tip his face off the ground.

It’s Papi.

But Papi’s face is like seeing a familiar house after the family has been evicted for not being able to pay the rent. He’s not there anymore.

I pull my hand away as if I’ve been burned and clutch it to my chest.

He’s dead.

My father is dead.

It feels like I can’t get enough air.

The wind whips rock dust into my face.

It sticks.

I must be crying.

A keening noise.

It’s me.

I brace myself on the ground and the rock is cold and hard under my fingers, ragged-edged like my heart.

“Help!” I manage, but it’s only a whisper.

I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and see César standing over me. His face is haggard and filthy. His eyes are gentle.

“Don César . . .” I manage, “my papi . . .”

César gathers me off the ground and holds me in the protective cage of his arms as I sob. Over my head I hear him barking orders at the other men to find something to cover Papi with and move him over to where he can wait for a truck that isn’t carrying the wounded.

I have to tell Mami, I think numbly. She doesn’t even know he’s dead yet. I have to tell her, and Abuelita, and Daniel. My head snaps up. Daniel!

César lets me go.

“Daniel!” I burst out. “Where’ s Daniel?”

César looks around with me. Figures dart in and out through the smoke boiling from the mine entrance, trucks arrive and leave, people who aren’t miners stream through everything, trying to help but adding to the confusion.

I wrench away from César.

“Daniel?” I lurch through the debris. “Daniel!”

I reach out, again and again, touch a dust-covered shoulder, turn a wounded face to mine, grab a hand. I stare into the glassy eyes of the living and the dead.

My brother is nowhere to be found.

I see César and Don Marcelino helping other people. I see Victor, rocking with his head in his hands. I see women and children trying to help carry their