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107 13 Aloud explosion awoke me to flying debris, scattering birds, and the sight of Moeun, Doeum, and Sek running through the burning forest. After a moment of panic, I gathered my stuff together and ran easily through the thickets. Safe in the moist, dense growth of trees and brush, I sat and waited for my larger companions . Moeun and the others had to crouch to get through. They found me and calmed down to an easy pace. When we came to a field of tall grass, Sek, having been a military policeman , took the lead. We must have run about 2 miles when Sek stopped so suddenly that we fell into a pile on each other, breathing heavily. We were running for our lives. We had come to the edge of an open clearing. It was mid-January; the moon sat low in the west. Exposed by the bright moonlight were jungle hammocks strung up between the trees. I trembled. If Sek hadn’t stopped abruptly, we would have run into a Khmer Rouge patrol. We backtracked quietly, and Sek led us as we slithered on our bellies and elbows. Every other minute, we stopped, peeked, listened, and crawled again. After about a mile, Sek said we could stand up and walk. Our cautious walk soon became a speedy lope and then a full-speed sprint. When Moeun, the eldest in our group, couldn’t keep up, we slowed down to a speedy walking pace. When I found a buffalo waterhole, my companions drank with no hesitation . The stench was too much for me, and, after carefully swallowing some, I threw it all up. The rest of the day, I was thirsty and sorry that I hadn’t been able to keep the disgusting water down. Dawn was turning into daylight. Searching for a hiding place in the rice fields south of National Highway 6, we found a bush no more than 4 feet high. Barefoot Escape Srae Noy, Resin Mountain, and the Deep Northern Jungle We had to wait until dark to cross the well-used, well-guarded highway, which connected Siem Reap to the Battambang Province to the west. By this time, our little group had come to a consensus. We couldn’t hide in the forest forever. We would starve, die of thirst, or be killed. We had to find a place where we could be safe from the Khmer Rouge. Our quest for safety meant that, sooner or later, we had to leave Cambodia. I woke up dizzy in the intense heat. We fanned ourselves and waited out the long hours until the sun set. At about two o’clock, some people started working in the fields and we feared someone would use our bush for a toilet. We stayed still, praying. I forgot thirst and hunger. After about an hour, when the workers finally moved on, we agreed that we need to head for the Thai border. We knew nothing of Thailand except that it was in the northwest. If anyone else from our forest group had survived, they probably also headed northwest to join up with the resistance fighters rumored to be there. We had no food, no supplies, and no choice but to follow the rumor. I did what I could to help. “I know where Thailand is, roughly, but I can’t say how far it is or how much time it will take us to get there,” I said, taking a stick to the dirt. “Tapang village is here, north and northwest of this highway.” The men grinned at each other and appointed me group leader. They didn’t know the only landmark I needed was National Highway 6. Because of my familiarity with the area and my love of geography, I more or less knew the places just ahead of us. At dusk, at about six in the evening, under clouds of swarming mosquitoes, I led the group on our journey toward the north. Thus began our escape from Cambodia. At 10 P.M. we were still on the narrow asphalt of National Highway 6. Distant headlights sent us scurrying down the embankment. Otherwise, we strode along confidently. Suddenly, I ducked and stood still. The men fell to the ground, looking at me; there were no lights down the road. I pointed to the glow of cigarettes up on the embankment, along the highway on both sides of us. Armed soldiers were spread out 300 feet apart—just far...

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