Treasure Tracks, page 3
“Abuelo mentioned a train got smashed by a hurricane in the Keys a long time ago.”
“You mean what’s referred to as Flagler’s folly back in the thirties?” Dad placed the flashlight under his chin again, so his face was all aglow. “Did you know his father worked with the railroad at the time? My abuelo.”
Really? “He didn’t mention that part.”
“I never had a chance to meet him. Passed away before I was born. In fact, he died at sea. Still don’t know how I let you talk me into going down to the Keys yesterday. Even missing a day of school. Shouldn’t be diving. Way too dangerous.”
“Abuelo didn’t tell me that’s how he … died.”
“Of course not. Just like him to leave out the important details. Should make you take pause. Choose a safer sport.”
“Wouldn’t be fun. Down deep, I get to float free like the fish. Visit their world. Explore—”
BOOOOOM!
It seemed like a bomb exploded overhead, shaking the house to its core.
“¡Ay, Dios mío!” Mami screamed. “Whatever fell on us was huge.”
“Will the house cave in?” I squeaked. “That felt more like an earthquake.”
Dad stared at the ceiling, worry lines creasing his forehead. “All I know is we’re staying put until this all passes. Could be hours before Irma blows through.”
Mami grabbed hold of a saint candle and raised it to study the walls. The color had drained from her face, so she looked like a red-lipped ghost.
And seriously, why was she even wearing lipstick?
“Don’t worry.” Dad pulled Mami into his shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “We’re in an interior room. No windows. Safest place to be. I suggest we all try getting some rest.” He stood and tossed blankets and pillows from a stack atop the dryer. “Prop yourself up to sleep.”
“Are you kidding? There’s no room to move,” I grumbled. “And it’s scorching hot with the AC off.” I threw back the blanket.
“Best we can do.” He snapped off the light and bent to blow out Mami’s candles.
The wind intensified to a howling scream.
With nothing but pitch dark, my eyes were useless, but my ears snapped to high alert with every creak.
At last, the lights went out in my head, too, and I slept.
4
INCOMMUNICADO
The next morning, Mami and I made our way out of our shelter after Dad gave the all-clear.
“Ay, ay, ay,” Mami shrieked. “¡Mira!” She slapped a palm over her forehead. Long red fingernails pointed out to match the smudges left on her lips.
I followed her stare. Shoot! A tree lay smack in the center of the family room. Its leaves lay scattered all over the floor, spritzing the room with forest-scented deodorizer. Unwelcome perfume.
How did I sleep through this?
“Dios mío, you can see sky.” Her bottom lip quivered. Tears welled up in her eyes, causing eyeliner to run down in streaks.
“It’s okay.” I hugged Mami the way she would do to me. Somehow it always managed to make me feel a little better. “It can get fixed.”
I think.
The limbs, piled high over the couch, told a different story. They tangled together, looking like a mass of shattered bones protruding in all sorts of awkward directions. In the exact spot where Abuelo sat and watched TV last night.
Abuelo!
My heart thumped. I raced toward the guest room and tried turning the knob on his door.
Locked.
“Abuelo, open up. You okay?” I banged until my knuckles throbbed.
“Answer me. Please.”
Silence.
I darted to my bedroom and rummaged through the desk. Think like a thief. I could pop the lock with the right kind of tool.
I settled on a pen and snapped it open. The ink cartridge would be thin enough to fit through the tiny hole in the door handle.
Emergency key in hand, I ran back to operate on the door, jamming the cartridge round and round, till click. Genius. It opened on my command.
“Abuelo! Abuelo!” I ran to his side and shook his body.
His chest moved in a steady rhythm. Up. Down. Up. Down.
“Wake up!”
His eyes pried open, and he stretched his arms wide, mouth open in a big yawn. “What’s with all the fuss?”
Phew.
“The hurricane passed.”
Abuelo yawned again before draping his legs over the side of the bed in a lazy motion. “Good riddance, Irma.”
“Why’d you lock yourself in? You scared me.”
“Trying to keep the hurricane out, Fin.” He chuckled. “Took a big sleeping pill and didn’t hear a thing. Best way to ride out the storm and block out Ratón. How’d you all do? The house?”
“Not good. Come look.”
“Buenos días.” Mami greeted Abuelo with a half-hearted smile. Her eyeliner had painted dark blotches around her eyes, so she looked more racoonish than human. “Did you sleep okay?”
Dad joined us in the family room, notepad and pencil in hand. Tap. Tap. Tap. “I’ve completed a full assessment. Roof’s a wreck. Yard and pool a mess—darned thing looks like a green swamp. Perimeter light—”
“Stop.” Abuelo put his hands over his ears. “I just rolled out of bed. Way too early for one of your checklists.”
Dad ignored him and kept right on tapping. “Lots to do, and we may not have electricity restored for days. Even weeks.”
“Ay, bendito, I couldn’t even make us cafecito.” Mami wrung her hands together in a tortured rhythm.
Abuelo grimaced. “Now that is bad news.” He stared at the gaping hole in the ceiling. “I see you got a new skylight.”
“Not funny,” Dad shot back. “Not time for one of your jokes.”
For once, I agreed. The big hole made Mami cry, which wasn’t something she often did. I tried to break the tension. “Things could be worse. We’re all good.”
“Victor,” Mami scolded her husband. “No fighting. Fernando is right. The important thing is we’re alive.”
Ratón barked and ran up to her, tail wagging and long pink tongue hanging out.
“Yes, yes, I know you’re alive, too,” she whispered.
“At least we have insurance to cover damages,” Dad said.
“Of course you do,” Abuelo said sarcastically, refusing to give Dad a break. “Any update on the Keys?” he asked. “Last night, the meteorologist on the news predicted the hurricane would blast right through.”
“We don’t have power. Wi-Fi. Anything. Cut off from the world and all news. Hard to say what’s happened. Can’t even drive down the street until they clear all the fallen trees and debris. Could be holed up for days,” Dad said with a sigh.
Abuelo groaned. “Gotta check on my house,” he said. He grabbed his car keys and headed toward the front door.
We followed him to the door. Outside, the sky was bright blue, and a gentle breeze was blowing.
“Did you hear the part about roads being blocked with debris?” Dad shouted after him. “I’m sure the Overseas Highway is still closed. You can’t leave.”
I had to side with Dad again. “Please, Abuelo. Hang with us. Don’t leave.”
“Relax. The tree didn’t knock me on the head. Got one of those battery-powered radios in the truck. You all rely on all your fancy technology, but looks like my twenty-dollar radio’s the only thing working around here.”
* * *
Crackling static trailed Abuelo when he returned holding an ancient-looking piece of stone-age tech. A long aluminum antenna projected for three feet.
“Cudjoe Key.” A man’s exaggerated newscaster voice boomed out from the hundreds of tiny speaker holes. “Ground zero as the storm entered Florida—”
“Confirmed. Keys took the hardest hit.” Abuelo’s brows furrowed wrangling with the weird antenna wires. “Terrible news for me, but good news for you, Fin, they also announced schools will remain closed all next week.”
“How is this good news?” Dad scowled.
“Come on, Victor. Even you were a kid once. All kids like dodging class. Isn’t that right?” Abuelo poked me in the ribs.
I grinned from ear to ear. “Very good news!”
“I can take Fin with me to the Keys,” Abuelo offered. “Take him off your hands and keep him busy with cleanup. Gonna need an extra set of hands if you can lend him out to me.” He shot me a wink.
“Please, Dad, please. Abuelo needs me way more than you. I can help him. Plus, it’s not like you trust me to do much anyway,” I finished under my breath.
Dad narrowed his eyes. “I do trust you to help me clean up our yard. But after that, you can go with Abuelo for a few days. Only when they give the all-clear that it’s safe in the Keys. Got it? And only until school resumes.”
“Of course.” Abuelo gave me a lopsided smile. “I wouldn’t dream of taking him anywhere you deem unsafe.”
“Hmph,” Dad grunted.
At least I’d get my way.
5
P.U.
Three days later, the announcement blared through Abuelo’s antique radio: “US-1 cleared through the Upper Keys. Residents must show ID to get in.”
Dad set me free. Yahoo! Because hanging with Abuelo, even if I still had to deal with no Wi-Fi, no hot showers, and no AC, was way better than staying locked home with cranky parents.
Making our way down the Overseas Highway, I imagined an angry giant had also broken free. Using an oversized club, he had stomped his way through the Keys, smashing everything in sight.
Kaboom!
Boats lay tossed on their sides like discarded toys, next to refrigerators and ceramic toilet bowls and endless other objects usually kept inside houses. Downed trees and branches were scattered across yards along with rooftops and other things ripped off houses. Some houses were smashed through. Docks had been tossed from the water onto the road. The edges of the street were lined with all kinds of trash for everyone to see.
Ahead of us, a huge GET YOUR KEY LIME PIES HERE sign pointed at a ginormous fallen buttonwood tree. Abuelo swerved to the left, curving around the outer branches at a crawl.
“All these dead trees are depressing.” I frowned. “Must be hundreds down.”
“Lots of cleanup. Good thing they’re only letting islanders back. The true conchs. At least for the next days, it’ll keep traffic down.”
I pointed out a giant tank. “Is this what it’s like driving into war? There’re green camouflage trucks all around.”
“That one right there’s an amphibious vehicle. Moves over land and water like a crocodile. National Guard’s been deployed, along with government relief crews. FEMA.”
“What does that mean?”
“Federal Emergency Management Agency. They deal with all this hurricane aftermath. Bring in food and supplies to help people recover.”
“How about even having a place to sleep?” I motioned toward a mattress on the edge of the road.
“Nature’s way of purging. Out with the old.” Abuelo sighed. “Irma blew in ’bout sixty miles south. Little past Seven Mile Bridge but looking mighty close to bull’s-eye around here.”
“Good thing it couldn’t mess with a train—”
“About to find out if she had her way with my lot.” Abuelo made a sharp right turn into the winding lane leading down to his house on the bay. When we reached the end of the road, we both sat and stared in silence at the jungle that had taken over his home. Palm fronds and other branches covered the yellow-colored structure, so it looked green instead.
“Still standing.” I forced a smile. “Doesn’t look like any trees smashed through your roof.”
“No, but they came down everywhere else.” His tone turned drill-sergeant monotone. “Got a machete in the truck. We’ll slash our way through the limbs that are blocking the driveway.” He took a deep breath before moving the gear shift into park and stepping into a tangle of branches and leaves.
“Ugh, what’s that smell?” I wrinkled my nose, smacking away a mosquito attacking my cheek. More bugs appeared.
“My guess, combo of rotting algae, dead fish, and dirty water. Gonna get real uncomfortable in this heat with no AC. You sure you’re up to this?”
“It’ll be like camping.” My voice faked upbeat while I buried disgust down deep. I steeled myself for battle, flailing my arms and jumping in circles to fight off the swarm of buzzing insects flying in for lunch.
Abuelo didn’t waste a minute before jumping into action and swinging the machete around like a powerful sword.
Slash. Crash. Slash. Boom.
Limb after limb fell to the ground, no match for the strength of his strokes.
Meanwhile, I kept myself one rank above useless by carrying the debris to a corner of the yard. An army of biting flies swarmed behind me, playing a game of follow the juicy blood of our leader.
I swatted at the air in a frenzy. “You got any bug spray in the truck?”
“We’ll need to get in the house for that. Getting close. Almost cut a clearing. One more branch—” Blade sliced through wood before the machete fell to the ground. Abuelo dropped to his knees, his face bright as the red palm tree berries scattered across the dirt.
“What’s wrong?” I ran to his side. “Take a break. I can do the rest.”
At least I could try …
“I got this,” Abuelo grunted. “Just … need … a minute…” He paused. “Hand me one of those waters your mom packed in the cooler.”
I tossed him a bottle and braced for one of his long speeches. The usual plastic polluting the oceans. Stewards of the sea—blah, blah, blah—naval pledge and all.
Instead, he closed his eyes, and his breathing became labored again.
“You sure you’re okay? Want something to eat? Mami packed my favorite. Sándwich Cubano.” My stomach rumbled at the thought of food where I wasn’t the main treat.
“I’ll pass.” Abuelo chugged his water in one gulp and hurled the empty bottle onto a mountain of debris. He crushed the remaining branch with bare hands, squeezed through, and pried open the front door.
I grabbed a sandwich and followed his lead, chomping down on thick slices of ham and pork pressed between crusty bread. Mami had celebrated finding an open panadería this morning as though she’d accomplished the greatest feat in the world. Chomping away, I decided she spoke truth.
“Mami also packed your fave, croquetas. Don’t you wanna take a break and dig in?” I mumbled between bites as the mosquitoes followed me inside and took more nibbles out of me.
“Rest?” Abuelo smirked. “Nonsense. Too much to do.” At the back of the house, he ripped open the shutters covering the sliding glass doors leading to the patio deck. “She made it!” He raced down the flight of stairs, closing the distance to the water.
I joined him at the dock and watched him pat Sirena with loving strokes.
“My goddess of the sea,” he whispered. “No match for your grandma, though.” His eyes turned misty. “My real sirena. May she rest in peace.”
The ocean lapped against the hull of the Whaler with gentle waves—not even a hint it had ever put her in danger. At the end of the canal, where the houses met the bay, it was clear some boats weren’t as lucky. A sailboat floated with its keel above the surface, its tall mast plunging into the water and nailing it into a shallow grave.
“Dock took a beating.” Abuelo leaned over the sides to inspect the wood. “Gonna have to order some lumber. Get this fixed.”
“I can help with hammering and drilling.”
“Sure thing. Why I brought you, boy. Let’s finish cleaning and see if we can make a trip out soon. Do some scouting.”
“Yes, please! Can we go out later today? Please.”
“Easy, slick.” Abuelo laughed. “Bit soon, but we’ll shoot for tomorrow.”
“Seriously? I thought it would be days.” I broke into a smile, absolutely certain that’d have been the case if Dad had anything to say about it.
“It’ll be good to get out and have a look. Storm may have moved things.”
“You mean the treasure may have moved?”
Abuelo nodded. “I’ll brief you tonight. Still got plenty of daylight to work with. Let’s get on with the chopping.”
So we did. In addition to him chopping and me carrying, what he didn’t mention was there’d be scrubbing and scraping, sloshing through mud, and tons of sweeping. Hours upon hours of cleanup for me to earn my next-level mission briefing. Worth it. A chance to learn more about Abuelo’s secrets.
6
ANCIENT HISTORY
As the sun dropped in the sky, Abuelo trekked indoors. I followed him into the hot and humid living space, my body caked in dirt, sweat, and the reek of rotting seaweed I’d cleared from the shoreline.
He walked up to a cabinet with two wooden doors and twisted a tiny black key in the lock. Opening it, he pulled out a stack of maps and journals and balanced them against his chest. After sweeping off an assortment of papers and envelopes cluttering his coffee table, he smacked down the pile.
“I’m about to let you in on all the secrets. The family legacy. But first, we have some gourmet delights to indulge in.”
“Yes! I’m starving again.” Though the secrets were the real score. And I’d kill for a shower—even cold, but I swallowed the desire to whine in my throat. I readied up, sitting crisscross on the floor so I didn’t ruin his couch.
Abuelo had strolled into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of silver sandwich-sized pouches from a cardboard box stored on the floor of his small pantry. “Dig in,” he said as he slapped one in front of me.
I tore open a corner and examined the contents. The food inside resembled dried dog treats better suited for Ratón. “This is dinner?”
“You wanted to go camping.” Abuelo grinned. “Been saving these MREs for an emergency. With food and supplies hard to procure, perfect time to put them to use. They only last ’bout ten years.”
