I crouched in the rear of the truck at her head, holding the intravenous
bag and watching the green canopy of the jungle flash by our windows. Farmers
leaned on their machetes to watch us pass, smoke drifting lazily behind them
on their burning plots. Through the rear windows, I watched the old Toyota
truck bouncing along, moving in and out of view through the clouds of dust
that we raised. There in the front seat sat the six children, their faces
ghostly through the haze.