Grave of Hummingbirds by Jennifer Skutelsky Page B

dragged the soft wool over his head.
    Now and again, until the corral was out of sight, he looked back over his shoulder as he and Alberto headed for the straggling cottages at Colibrí’s end and crossed the bridge. He switched off his cell phone to conserve the battery, then turned his attention to the peaks ahead of them, wondering how a condor might be snatched from such a huge sky.

    The rocky cliffs above them threw stony ropes of narrow ground toward the village. Alberto moved ahead, sure-footed and nimble, but the paths were steep and, more than once, Finn tripped and stopped to catch his breath. Each time he was tempted to give up, Alberto turned to watch him with fierce, critical eyes, and Finn forced himself to keep going. As they climbed, nausea crept up on him and his head began to ache.
    Alberto said nothing and moved quickly. A blinding sun moved slowly with or against them, hiding occasionally behind rearing cliffs and overhanging rocks. Paths gave way to boulders, and ragged edges jutted away and toward them, scraping Finn’s hands, pushing aside his hip, prodding his ribs. In the punishing altitude he coughed and coughed, a dry, convulsive rattle that water couldn’t soothe.
    He tried to enjoy the way his muscles were being tested. It was a change from ballet and he relished the exertion. But the higher they climbed, the more aware he became of something else, something more than the challenge pulling him up toward the peaks. From somewhere nearby, a plaintive cry reverberated off the rock walls.
    “Did you hear that?” Finn asked, panting and hoarse.
    Alberto stopped, placing his hands on an overhanging ledge for balance. “What? Can you hear something?”
    “Sh. Listen.”
    The cry rose all around Finn, turning him cold and stiffening his joints.
    “I’m going back,” he said.
    “What’s the matter?” Alberto asked and stepped down. “I hear nothing.”
    Finn scanned the creeks below and the towering rock face ahead. The scream echoed inside him now, moving through his veins and making his heart pound. “I’ve had enough,” he said.
    Alberto quickly clambered down, cutting him off to prevent his descent. Finn’s sneaker slid across loose stones and gravel, and his knee gave way as he scrabbled for a foothold. He reached out wildly, staring down in horror at a vertical drop he’d been too afraid to examine on their way up. They had covered more distance than he could have imagined.
    Alberto grabbed his forearm and held on as Finn found his balance. “We don’t have far to go, and you can’t go down by yourself. Trust me. I know these mountains.”
    The cry stilled and seemed to hang in the air, uncertain.
    “Where are we going? How much farther?”
    “Not far. Sit for a moment. Rest.”
    The call started up again, and Finn knew he couldn’t turn away. Only he could hear it, and he might be the only one who would respond. He answered, his mind reaching out and up, catching the cry, letting it resound deep inside him, hurling his own back. I hear you, I’m coming. “I don’t need to rest,” he said. “Let’s move on.”
    Farther up, the trees disappeared. Cold and breathless, Finn almost staggered into Alberto as he stopped and placed a finger on his lips. Now they could both hear voices, the words unclear and some distance away but unmistakably the sounds of men in conversation.
    Alberto thrust Finn back against the face of the mountain. “You make no sound. Nothing. Be quiet and stay by me.” He knelt, then crept forward and lay on his stomach, peering over the edge of the cliff into a wide canyon, where the ground was smooth except for occasional ripples and random, shallow crevices.
    Finn spread his hands against the rock.
    Don’t turn back. The voice was old and frail now, weak with exhaustion. Fear and desperation had made it seem strong.
    Finn crouched and crawled over to Alberto.
    About twenty feet below them, five men skittered over the rock.
    Alberto nodded toward a