Our forgotten, old school bus was cruising down the highway at 100 K.P.H. I dosed off to the steady bumps of the “paved” road. I soon woke to startled voices of locals yelling in Lao. Just as I lifted my confused head to see the reason of their distress, bam! I was flung forward and hit my head on the metal hand grip bars. I stood up angry, trying to figure out what was going on and the reason why my head was throbbing uncontrollably. All the main windows had spider web cracks running all over them. It was impossible to see through them because the sun reflected in the glass, making it look like something was ablaze. I started to walk toward the front of the bus, vying for a better angle. I had not taken three steps when I felt it, the bus was tittering on the brink of something. Quickly people scurried over to the other side, but the damage was done, we were going over. CRASH! Somebody broke through a window and jumped out. Seeing that that if you walked out of the bus’ door you would step onto air, I figured that it would be a good idea to start some breaking. A couple people had already headed toward the broken window and it looked like there was going to be a pile up soon. It was obvious that other people thought that the first guy had it right because all around you could hear breaking glass. A third of the passengers had already hopped off, including my brother and parents. I had to hustle, only I had a problem, my only weapon was me and my bag. It would be stupid to punch the window and get my hand cut up, but what could I do? I reappraised the situation and decided to try my bag. I tried my best but the window stood firm. I would waste too much precious time going to another window that was at least five rows down. I hit it. Glass shot into my arms, my nerves were sending pain signals though my body like wildfire. I could have tried to ease the pain but my mind was on auto-pilot. I flung my bag through the window to widen the space to get through. I climbed on the top of the seat and flung my body through the hole. Luckily I got through the window unscathed, save a nasty bump when I landed on the hard road. I lay there motionless willing the pain away when it happened. The sound echoed itself through the ground. At first it was it was a petite, quiet squeal, like a newborn pig wrapped in a blanket. Then it flipped. CRASH! BOOM! CRASH! All the way down the hill like an elephant stampede. Then, CRUNCH! It stopped. It echoed around a bit until all was silent.

I had gone over the story so many times in my mind, like a broken record. We had hopped on a bus out of Nong Khiaw, Laos to go to a weekly market, looking for cheap, local food for the day. The bus had been going fast toward a bridge when a semi came sharp around a corner. Our driver had quick wits and purposely rammed into the railing on the side. Thankfully, we didn’t tip quickly and were all able to get out. The semi wasn’t as lucky. He hit our truck, lost control and flipped over the bridge, dying on impact. The bus, like the market, came once a week and the area was so remote that no other vehicles passed by. We would have to stay alive for one week before another bus traveled along that otherwise deserted road. We had already gone 100 kilometers and it was another 150 to the market, and it was very unlikely we would make it there before it was dismantled and abandoned until the next weekend. We decided that the smartest thing to do would be to walk back to town. Fortunately the semi was carrying produce from a farm in China. We all divvied up the portions for each person to carry.

Today was day five. We had walked 85 kilometers in the blistering heat and hoped to finish today. I was given my share of food but it wasn’t enough to live on for the time it would take to get to town, but also all of the walking that we had to do. Half of us had stayed at the site and the other half had started to walk. I think my family and I were glad that we had walked because we stood a chance of getting help sooner. As I walked I started to feel the empty pangs of hunger. But worse was dehydration. We had all carried a bottle of water on the bus; the semi had provided nothing. So all we had to live on was 1500 ml. for the week. Two people had already died of dehydration, I hoped I wouldn’t follow. I heard a shout from the front, “A car, a car!” Sure enough tumbling down the little dirt rode was an SUV coming from down the road from Nong Khiaw. Attempting to hail it down, we stood on the side of the road waving our arms wildly. Sadly enough the SUV just kept on trucking down the road without even a backwards glance. We soon realized how grungy we looked and it was no wonder that the guy driving the car did not stop. Hindered by this unlucky fortune we trudged on, more desperate than ever to make it to the town.

I heard someone at the front of the pack shout out that there were houses ahead. We had all experienced mirages, I thought this to be no different until I looked up and also saw the buildings. “Are we all going crazy?” I thought to myself. I thought so for some time until I saw the original guy that had informed me of the discovery walk into one of the houses. I looked around and saw the group hugging and celebrating. We had made it. J

Story written by Peter Picado-Curtis

Based on a true story with a fiction in the middle and top.