Prism - By Rachel Moschell Page 0,49
skeptical about his offer. She raised one plucked eyebrow and took in Wara’s bloody face and disgusting appearance. “My dad said that?” Wara squared her jaw, determined to get through this, to get to the Martirs and make sure they were safe.
Alejo tried his most convincing smile. “C’mon, I bet I’ve got good taste.”
“Fine, no problem, Alejo.” Alexis shook her head and rolled her eyes. She took one last glance at Wara but didn’t seem to be concerned as she sauntered into the back room. Apparently Boris’ little adobe house was the kind of place bloodied strangers could show up and no one would blink an eye. Wara was feeling weak again and wished she could sink down into the faded orange sofa. A sudden thought halted her midstride towards the couch.
“I know the numbers of all your family’s cell phones. We can call them. Good old Alexis must have a phone we can use, right?”
“Nope,” Alejo shook his head firmly. “I’m not about to use the cell phones here---could be tracked afterwards. My sat phone stayed with Stalin, since he had it on him when I went into the tent to…talk with you right before the Khan showed up.”
“What about internet?” Wara was feeling desperate, like she was trying to run through quicksand, not able to move a single step forward. There had to be some way to warn Nazaret’s family, before Alejo and Wara could make it to Cochabamba in the plane outside.
“Yeah, there’s internet.”
“Well, I can catch your sister on Facebook. She’s online like all the time. She’s got to be online right now.”
“My sister still uses that? Aren’t there social networking pages that are a little more…modern?”
“Yeah, well. Some of us still use it.”
Alejo led Wara into the first side room, where, sure enough, there was a very sleek, cobalt-colored computer sitting atop a battered bamboo desk. “Don’t we have to ask?” Wara looked up at him. Alejo was opening a little black fridge in the corner of the office. He pulled out a bottle of very cold water, twisted off the lid and handed it to Wara.
“Here. Drink this. Nope, me and my friends kind of half live here.” Alejo was already flipping on switches and in a few seconds Wara was sitting before a picture of Alexis in a canary yellow bikini, along with several swarthy teenage boys, next to one of the cascading waterfalls just outside of Coroico.
Nice.
She gulped half the water bottle, then signed into Facebook while Alejo drank the rest.
“Yes! I knew it!” she hissed triumphantly. The little green icon blinked back at her, telling her Nazaret was signed in, as usual. That girl was always on Facebook.
Alexis came in, winked at Alejo and tried to strike a sultry pose. “Bring me a pair of really tight jeans, ok Alejo? You’d better take a good look so you can remember my size.” She unceremoniously dumped a pile of clothes on the desk, posed again, then scoffed and stalked away when Alejo didn’t even look at her. Wara was typing furiously.
“Nazaret, are you there?? Please, let me know if you are there, quickly. It’s urgente!”
Ten eternal seconds passed, and then the reply message blinked, “Wara??? Are you ok?”
By now, Nazaret must have heard about the accident. Eduardo and the Australians must have told the Martirs that she and Noah had been on the bus. But there was no time for beating around the bush.
“I’m ok. You could never guess who is here with me right now. I am here with your brother. Alejandro.”
More time clicked by, and Wara couldn’t even begin to imagine the look on her friend’s face. Finally a single word came back from Nazaret. “What?????”
“There’s no time to explain it to you right now, but I’m here with your brother, and he was involved with some people….anyway, he knows you are in trouble. Some really bad people are going to come looking for your family to KILL you. You have to run. Now!”
“Tell them to go to the Hostel Salta,” Alejo whispered, leaning over Wara and gripping the edge of the desk.
“Alejo says to go to the Hostel Salta NOW!” Wara’s fingers flew across the keys.
“Do they remember where it is?”
“You know where it is, right?” Apparently the Martir family had experience with the place, maybe knew the owners.
A pause. “Yes, I remember.” Wara could almost see tears slipping down Nazaret’s cheeks.
“They need to register as the Rojas family,” Alejo told her. “Well meet them there.” As Wara typed,