Goats on the Runway

By Esten Cross

Mother and daughter team up to tell an amazingly rare, true story of the family's unexpected trip outside the United States for a groundbreaking, life-saving surgery that was performed in secret by a prestigious group of American surgeons. The larger-than-life medical team quietly left their posts in American hospitals, carrying with each of them a well-guarded belief that they needed to gain operational success stories that might one day be shared with the world.

 

                                                                                                    But...

 

From the moment they land, the family notices something is not right. Masses of people roam the area with dying loved ones and worldly possessions in carts and buggies. Militant gangs created roadblocks to steal and kill during the chaos. It is only when the family arrives at the hospital that the truth is finally revealed and it is too late to turn back.

 

Jungle Cat Fight- Car Chases & Escapes- Cia Hideout-Civil War Relics- Suspected Filovirus- Hazmat Suits- Voodoo- Refugees- Kidnapping- Machine Guns & Bullets ...and one Oblivious Little Sister

 

"A story of immense struggle that ultimately led to triumph!"-- Jen Landing, Senior Editor

"Enjoy the comedy that tethered the family to sanity and come away from the book with a clear understanding that everything in life is within reach…if you just decide to go for it!"--E.Cross

"The family detailed unimaginable highs and lows with raw morality and humor. A rare find."-- Rosen Vye, Author of The Tattle Tale Series

 

Books that change the way you see the world are our passion. Check on the wredwolfewren website for updates and new releases.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WredWolfeWren
• Release date: Jan 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985441703

Book preview

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Table of Contents

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Prologue

Muffled wails and moans startled me. A lady in a hazmat suit rushed around my body and charged into large double doors. The doors kept swinging open, in and out. With every click and clack a horrific scene was revealed. Bodies piled on top of each other. Black blood was leaking from people’s eyes, nose and ears. I mentally retreated into a dark, deep hole for several minutes. There was a physical jerk when my mind and body reconnected. The jolt sent me chaotically running back to our assigned room. We had survived hostile militia, vicious mountain cats, and a long journey through a jungle filled with dying refugees. I knew that what was taking place behind those doors is not survivable.

Chapter One

Noble

Dom, Dom, DOM!

Pervasive dreams of witnessing deadly disease troubled me since I was a young child. Overwhelming images of people groaning and crashing violently tormented my youth. Medical books filled my childhood bookshelves. My family whimsically labeled me a hypochondriac; I preferred to call myself well-read and prepared. Almost two decades later, after the first reoccurring dream, I was now on a plane that was carrying me straight into those life-altering visions. I just didn’t know it.

Ladies and Gentlemen brace yourselves! There are goats on the runway! The captain issued the warning over the crackling intercom system. The passengers, including myself, thought this was another joke to add to the long list of puns the pilot made during the flight. Not a soul onboard displayed even the slightest concern.

If you were to have a glimpse inside the plane at this moment, you would see my family was different than anyone else onboard. You would notice my sister, the only child on the flight. She carries herself in a way that commands attention, a 15-year-old pre-Madonna who was acting fierce and bold despite the dull clothing she was forced to wear on this trip. Her curly blonde mop of hair is pulled into a top knot. Most of her face is hidden by large black, reflective sunglasses. Despite her plain attire, there is nothing plain about her natural beauty. Yet, she diminishes her own allure with an icy personality.

Next to her is my mom. Her black curls are cut short, framing her swollen face. No one would guess she’s in her early 40’s. There is a saying in the south people use to perfectly describe her appearance. Death warmed over. This was actually accurate. Mom was dying. We were here to solve this problem. But to anyone who doesn’t know this fact, my mom appears to have extreme altitude sickness. Her skin was translucent and thin, she struggled to breathe, and her grip on the armrest would probably leave permanent groves in the fake leather. It was ill advised for someone in her condition to fly, but there were no other options.

Finally, you would see me. I am the eldest daughter, nearly 20. My walnut-colored hair is twirled into a braided bun with a shelf of bangs covering my forehead. I am pale from exhaustion and my eyes are defined by deep, dark bruised circles instead of colorful makeup. My appearance didn’t reflect someone excited about a tropical paradise vacation. I am here on a mission. I have planned everything per hour and minute. I was here to save Mom. My face is determination, and I am radiating intense stress with a pinched look on my face. The beach is on everyone else’s mind.

This plane is filled with a very cliché group of older Americans on vacation. Every man is wearing a tropical shirt over jean shorts. Women are draped with flowery dresses or white linen shirts. Everyone is sporting tropical themed jewelry, nails, and makeup, in various combinations, to complete their looks for the perfect family photos they are planning to take right when they exit the plane. They are loud and jovial. Different groups were mixing to create one big party. I was wondering if they noticed the three strange, somber ladies in the back row all wearing shades of gray. We were a blot of darkness in a moving sea of color.

We were close to the ground now. The plane glided into a valley of low mountains and the ocean disappeared. I felt a small sliver of regret because I had not gazed out the window at the amazing view. The plane made a screech, and a mechanical whirl could be felt under our feet as the tires pulled into position. The windows turned into a green blur as we nose-dived through tropical trees.  

There is a certain tension any flyer feels when the plane is about to land. I don’t think any of the passengers will forget this flight. My sister disrupted my thoughts by saying, Oh, wow! Hey mom, look at that! It’s so prett- She was stifled by the loud engine noises and force of us stopping immediately on the runway. Our faces were slammed into the seats in front of us. My sister’s drink splashed on the three of us as her sunglasses broke from the impact. The captain floored the engine in reverse. The tail of the plane began to swerve out of control. People screamed. The plane came to a stop sideways on the tarmac. Holy Hell! What was that!, Lily yelled. Smoke from the tires blew past the small windows.

Mom was clutching her chest, with raspy weak breaths leaking out of her tightly closed mouth. I’m fine, I’m okay, she whispered. It seemed the last bit of color she had was drained away. People with weak hearts should not feel stress. For the past few years, I had done everything in my power to force life to be uneventful, but it proved to be an impossible task. I could do nothing to ease her flight anxiety.

The once picture-perfect vacation-goers are now disheveled, and it seemed more than one drink was spilled during this landing. A small echo of moans bounced throughout the small seating cabin. One woman was bleeding from her forehead a few seats ahead of us. The stewardess handed her a napkin while her husband helped her apply pressure to the wound. People quickly grabbed their bags and hurriedly exited the plane. My sister and I helped mom up. We reached for our carry-on bags and fell in line.

I was refreshed by a wave of humidity and heat I felt as I went through the plane door. Bleehhhh! The sound of goats certainly grabbed my attention. I was shocked to see an actual herd of goats on the runway. The goatherder was cursing in the direction of the plane, especially at the pilot. It seemed his flock had scattered and some of the goats had separated as they tried to evade the aircraft rocketing towards them. Behind us was a thick forest, and a few goats popped up between the leaves to spy on us. I helped mom and my sister down the stairs and was slightly amused by their facial expressions as they looked at our surroundings.

This sets the stage for the rest of this trip... my sister said as she watched a goat nibble the dress of one of the tourists who promptly struggled to remove the cloth from its mouth. It looked like my sister was already in a terrible mood. Please, please be good for mom, okay? Keep the mood fun, please... I whispered back to her. I would later come to learn her prediction was spot on; but remaining hopeful, I grabbed mom’s luggage. My sister took out a bag of cheddar puffs and fed a small, white goat. The goat’s approval of the cheesy snack attracted additional goats. Some tourists laughed as Lily began to command the herd to follow her in tight circles or fetch. Cameras began flashing in our direction. My sister’s antics completely overshadowed our rough landing. Eventually we were interrupted by the crew.

We were directed to go into the airport and follow the signs. What airport? A green valley obstructed any view of the island. The tarmac was squeezed between a jungle canopy and what looked like an abandoned greenhouse. I only saw a clear tarp bellowing in the wind and I saw a handful of people walk towards the structure. To my surprise, the clear tarp with a duct-taped veranda was the airport. But before we could process the shock from it all, a whistle blew from the trees. Men, women, and children ran from the thick jungle dodging the tourists and goats to board the empty plane.

Um, I guess they aren’t concerned with tsa here.... I thought out loud. The pilots and stewardess looked like they were used to this sort of thing. Okay, let’s get on with it. I politely shouted.  I didn’t have time to be sucked into another situation. I steered my mom and sister into the tarped hall. Plastic and tape bellowed in the wind and the inside of the makeshift airport smelled like a greenhouse. After fifty feet or so, while I was wondering if we were headed in the correct direction, we heard music playing ahead. Doors were propped open waiting for passengers to arrive and retrieve their luggage. It did not have the typical clinical or business feel of the airports in America. We were standing on a large slab of concrete and one wall was open to the outdoors. There were no businesses, nobody following signs to reach other gates. There were no shops. People flowed in directly from the forest. Travelers pushed past us with their bags and began sorting themselves into marked vans that were headed for their specific resorts. I noticed a few groups had matching t-shirts with the name of a church or charity on the front. It seemed their luggage was supplies for the locals. A small vendor caught my eye. He was trying to sell DVDs with a large sign that displayed in various colors, ‘NEW RELEASES!’ To my complete surprise, the first Rambo movie was his main disk. Oh wow. My thoughts were interrupted by a very welcoming hello. We were approached by a local man who helped direct the resort transport. Which resort? May I help you? He was speaking English with a French accent. His skin was a beautiful caramel color that helped illuminate his bright smile. I imagine he was hired because he was the perfect islander image that tourists needed to see in order to feel welcomed. Yes, sir. Would you direct us to the rental cars?

His face clearly displayed shock. You don’t have a transport? You want own car? We all nodded. Oh, wow, you must be familiar visit, no?

My sister in true form and fashion had no patience. She was gazing longingly at the beautiful dresses other women were wearing. Yeah, sure whatever, just bring us to the car. And he did. Then another man behind the counter, the rental service assistant, was just as shocked at the three of us wanting a rental car. Apparently Americans never drive themselves for whatever reasons. The two men spoke very quickly in rushed French. It was a good thing I knew the language a bit.  I caught some of their conversation. They did not want to give us a car. We were women, clearly alone, and it seemed like there was death here? Wait, did I hear that right?

I lied. I’m not proud of it. But sometimes you have to do what you have to do. The car was necessary in the coming days. We would have to travel to and from the hospital. This had to happen. Oh, please hurry. It seems when my father and uncles arrived ahead of us they did not know about the rental cars. The resort transport is broken at the moment. We are only driving to their location, and we aren’t driving around... That seemed to do it. We were given keys to the car and brought to a vehicle that looked older than me. The rental assistant looked at me and in his best English said, Don’t stop for no one. His words were ominous. Before I could ask any questions, he folded the keys into my hand and walked back inside the airport.

My sister left mom behind to catch up to me and in a hushed voice asked, Hey, did you hear those guys? They said people are dead or something? My sister and I were taking French together and I was surprised she could translate some of the rental assistant’s conversation. I put her fears to rest. No, they said they didn’t want us to drive on deadly roads. That pacified her as we piled our bags in the small trunk. French adverbs and different tenses were her weak point. But I was proud, in a strange way, that she applied what we were studying. She fought me throughout the entirety of our classes and schoolwork. I tried to help mom into the car, but she wanted to drive. You will have to navigate; you know I don’t know how to read maps. My sister was buckling herself into the back seat. Um guys, we have a problem, there is no cell service. She leaned into the front seat to show us that texts were not going through.

Don’t worry, I prepared for everything. I pulled out a stack of papers. I had a contingency plan in place for everything that could possibly happen. The printer at home could barely handle the number of maps I had printed for every leg of our journey. From the airport to hotel, hotel to the hospital, and back again. But instead of appreciation, my sister let out an annoyed groan. Should have known... and leaned back into the rear seat. Mom started the engine. It sounded weaker than a remote-controlled toy car. The little seats vibrated, and I hear my sister spit out a range of muffled curses. But I felt victory within me, pure victory. We had made it. This was happening.

The car struggled over the sloped hill to carry us out to the road. The airport was set in a valley blanketed by thick trees which blocked any view of the area. As we crested that hill, my victorious energy fell flat. It was replaced with shock. The road, if you can even call it that, was full of naked people in various stages of duress. Some women were pushing an older man in a wheelbarrow across the street. A motorcycle chugged past with four passengers intertwined holding a mattress and large propane tank. It seemed to defy the laws of physics. I couldn’t see anything but the people holding the mass together.  A woman had several children on top of a donkey pulling a large cart of furniture and goods. Every person looked like they had not eaten in days. The faces ahead of us were hollow and the people who did have clothes on were swallowed by their dirty garments.

My sister was not prepared for the shocking scene. The wheelbarrow stopped for just a second beside the car and my sister got a close up view of what appeared to be a deceased man. Mouth agape and skin grey, his eyes were sunken into his head in an unnatural stillness. Lily’s head snapped towards me with a frightened expression on her face, but I quickly motioned for her to not say a word. Mom could not back out of this trip. I pretended to ignore the whole scene. Take a right. And mom push the mileage button on the dash. We will need it to keep track. My sister was in shock at my acting, but I prayed she would remain quiet until we reached the destination. She did not know that I was suppressing the growing panic that was steadily building within my chest by taking slow, long breaths. I focused on the mission. With every new horrific thing coming past the car, I would repeat a mantra in my head... Be strong, be calm, this must work....The harsh realities we passed were forcibly ignored so I could provide mom accurate directions.

When we were planning for the trip, mom confided in me that she wanted to arrive a few days in advance. We had never had a proper vacation, and if she did not survive Mom wanted to have a few days with me and my sister. She said to plan something really memorable. And I did. I found a large treehouse and bungalow resort in the jungle. Something so beautiful and tropical that I doubted mom would remember how she felt or think about her surgery as she gazed into endless valleys and mountains underneath waterfalls and wade pools. I booked the largest and most remote treetop bungalow with huge queen-sized beds draped in white linen netting to keep the bugs away. We would have fresh fruit and fish prepared by renown chefs while my sister would have more than enough activities to keep her busy. They even boasted an outdoor gym overlooking a ravine. Tropical parrots were said to just fly from the trees to grace the shoulders of anyone who called out to them. My sister had no idea that she was going to get a few days in what was called, ‘a mile below heaven.’

But it was harder to drive than we all thought. We had come to rely on gps in the past few years while traveling with mom for work. Now we were guessing about which grassy path to drive into, and we worried about becoming stranded if the car got stuck. The roads were unmarked and there were no street signs. There were no traffic rules either. People, motorcycles, and donkeys weaved in and out without a care in the world. But the longer we drove, the more impoverished and in crisis the people seemed to become. We passed a ravine full of people bathing naked... and they were using the rushing waters as a toilet. Downstream from this natural potty, people were washing clothes and scooping water into pots for cooking. My sister was not amused. I am so angry with you right now... she said with pure venom as she slid below the window. I can’t believe I was being blamed for the state of things!

Finally, it looked like my directions were starting to match what we were seeing. I was surprised we located the right course after so many wrong turns and distractions. I had a dozen maps spread out on my legs and I couldn’t see the floor of the car. So, what we are going to do is turn left after that ridge, and there should be a mile left to go.. I was lost in thought when I felt the car slow down. I noticed mom and my sister clearly tense up and I brought my eyes to the road. A man in blue camouflage clothing was waving at us. It looked like he wanted mom to stop. He turned around for a moment and on his back was a huge gun. Something a tactical unit would use... like a machine gun. In this moment, time slowed for me. I noticed a pile of things on the side of the road. I think the soldier had emptied other vehicles. I noticed people were kneeling in the woods, crying and shouting at other men in similar clothes who held their weapons pointed towards the people. And, lastly, I saw in the thick brush what looked like the unclothed body of a women who I doubted was still alive. Blue camo man seemed confident Mom was going to stop. I lost the ability to speak but prayed Mom could hear my thoughts. Drive! Don’t stop!! Drive!

Chapter Two

Porter

Here Little Chick Chick

Maps were all around me. My older daughter, Noble, was born with more of her Daddy’s brain, and trip after trip I had heavily relied on her genetically inherited navigational skills. However, I didn’t understand what I was seeing. She had maps on the floor, maps tucked in the cubbies, maps on the dashboard, and she even had a map tucked into the driver’s side window. Within minutes she had wrecked that little rental car, but truth being told...if she had let me navigate I would have literally found a way to drive us to another country. I cannot read a map to save my own life! I also do not manage well in a cluttered environment. As I started collecting all the maps from hell and doing a little motherly fussing, I glanced to the backseat expecting to see my youngest daughter, Lily, grimacing with her arms crossed. That’s not what I saw. Instead, she had the face of someone horrified. She was scrunched in a tiny ball. She was squatting in a ball, holding her knees, and her mouth was wide opened as if she was in shock. I immediately began to look outside the car at our surroundings. We had rented a car and drove right into Hotel Rwanda! It may have been a mix of Hotel Rwanda and the first couple of Rambo movies. Not to offend...but in my head I literally said, ‘WTF!’ But I used the words.

What in the world was happening on this small island? I felt utterly incompetent as a parent in that moment because I did not bother checking online for current news. Mind you...I was dying. Still though, being a mother had always come first. Where was my head? Uniformed men had taken people hostage and were forcing them to kneel shortly off the dirt road in the woods. These people were villagers who appeared to have nothing to their names. The uniformed men had AK-47s and machetes and were not men of conversation. Instantly I knew there would never be a word said or accepted between us.

Dead people were everywhere, and it was a life altering vision. Most of the people, dead or in current participation, were wearing t-shirts, shorts, and flip flops. The large majority did not have shoes on their feet. They were not being car jacked because they didn’t own a car. They were not being robbed. All of them looked alike to me, as if they were from the same area. Yet, many were pushing carts full of belongings which appeared to be all they owned. I likened it to seeing a homeless person pushing a  shopping cart. My mind was all over the place as I well understood I had minutes to figure the shit out.

There was a large Dominican man up ahead, a couple hundred feet. I used my mean Mom voice to jar my daughters out of their state of alarm. Whatever orders I shouted I needed them to immediately respond. I still had it. My mean demand woke them up out of a paralyzed position. From the backseat I hear, Mom! ...Mom! The men clearly in charge were wearing blue camo. Other soldiers were wearing camo you might see Americans wearing. These men were all over the place yet coordinating. It was some kind of an organized movement. Glancing out the driver’s side window a soldier in the woods motioned me with his gun to move forward. Other gunmen around him motioned us out of the car, moving the guns, firing their guns, and yelling a language that wasn’t jiving with my thoughts. My head was so full of all of their shit, of everything I was seeing, that one of them could have been asking me to read a newspaper and I wouldn’t have recognized the request.

I yelled, Girls...hold on! This could get nasty, but my ass isn’t stopping a millisecond for these crazy bastards! I floored it! Pedal to the metal honey! That large man in blue camo walked out into the center of the dirt road, which looked about 75 feet wide. I yelled, not that he could hear me, Don’t do it, Buddy! I will leave your ass for dead! Don’t do it!

Lily yelled from the backseat, Mom! He’s going to shoot us! Look...he’s positioning!

I yelled back, And we might take a bullet, but we will not become prisoners of this shit! In truth, I came a few inches from taking that man’s life. In that moment, my survival emotions were either going to save us or wreck the car! The little boxed rental car was all over the road and the potholes in the road made us keep jumping in the air. Mad Max Thunderdome did not have shit on my driving! And in the midst of all the turmoil, I had zero idea I was driving us up a mountain. A flipping jungle mountain! I took turns without thought. Decision after decision on the fly until we were a few miles away. I brought the car to a screeching halt and clutched my chest. I