Wicked Luck

by Shannon L. Maynard

16. MIDAFTERNOON: HEADS OR TAILS

  Ava

  We drink what’s left of the water Dax brought this morning before I follow him along the beach and into the forest. Dark clouds have formed in the sky, and I hope the rain will cool me off. I braid my hair while we walk, plucking off a tiny vine to tie in a knot around the end of my braid.

  Dax stops suddenly and squats down to look at some tracks in the mud. He points to some blood drops. “We can follow this trail and hope he didn’t wander too far.”

  “What exactly are we looking for?” I ask in a whisper, trying to be quiet like he said.

  “A wild boar,” he says, “and I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  He walks with careful steps and keeps his eyes on the ground. I stay close so we won’t get separated. Soon, we come to a small clearing where the trees and bushes are less dense. He holds up his hand to tell me to wait, so I lean against a tree to watch him.

  He kneels down on one knee before pulling an arrow from his quiver to place against his bowstring. Then, in one fluid motion, he raises the bow and draws back the string without making a sound. He holds the bow steady, and I strain to see what he’s aiming for in the sea of green. A small, wild boar springs from the bushes a few feet in front of him and causes me to jump. Dax’s arrow hits its intended target. After the second arrow pierces its chest, the boar falls to the ground, snarling and squealing.

  Dax rushes to the pig and plunges his knife into its neck at the base of its skull. I watch, fascinated, as he slits its throat and then digs a hole with his hands in the soft earth next to the bleeding pig. He slices the belly open, starting just below the neck, then cuts all the organs and guts free, tossing them into the hole. I cringe, squeeze my eyes shut, and turn my head to lean further into the base of the tree.

  When I’m sure the worst is over, I open my eyes. Dax turns to me, but the victory grin drops from his face. Without any warning, he throws the knife. The blade strikes the tree just inches above my head, and my hands fly over my mouth to muffle a startled scream.

  “What was that for?” I hiss at him, mortified and staring at him in shock.

  “That was me rescuing you for a third time,” he says, stepping forward to pull me away from the tree.

  Dax’s knife impaled the head of an enormous snake only inches above where my head was moments ago. The body continues to twitch and writhe on the branch. I shudder and take another step back.

  “I guess you weren’t kidding about having bad luck. I mean, that’s only the third one of those I’ve seen in the three years I’ve been here, and you just managed to cozy up next to one. Unbelievable.”

  “Thanks,” I say, my voice barely audible. Talking about my bad luck reminds me of the bracelet and the thought puts a damper on my mood.

  “You’re welcome,” he tells me. “But I’m keeping a tally so you can repay me at a later date.”

  He must sense my saddened disposition because his smirk vanishes. Using some vine, he ties the wild boar’s feet together and slings the pig over his shoulder. He strolls to the tree and pulls his knife from the bark to let the dead snake fall to the ground.

  “Time to meet the tribe.” I’m surprised when he hands me his bow and arrows along with his spear and starts walking. He drags the snake behind him. “Let’s hope my idea works. Just stay close,” he says.

  “Wait,” I say.

  Dax stops and turns around.

  “What if it doesn’t work?”

  He laughs. “Then our teeth will make a nice necklace on some cannibal’s neck.”

  I’m shocked by his words and also his nonchalant attitude. “You mean they’ll kill both of us? Why would they kill you?”

  “Because I’ll probably die trying to save you like your knight in shining armor,” he says with an amused grin. “Any more questions? This pig isn’t getting any lighter,”

  “Yeah. You said you had a plan. What is it?”

  He blinks. “Well… since you don’t speak Lamarai, all you need to do is stand there and leave all the talking to me. I don’t know how good your acting skills are, but if you could look like a goddess who might strike everyone with lightning or catch something on fire with your mind—that would help a lot.” He laughs in response to the widening of my eyes. “Okay, scratch that. Just try not to look scared.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Now let’s go.”

  I follow him through the trees and wonder how I will force myself not to look terrified. I’m careful not to step on the snake or the trail of blood dripping from the neck of the slaughtered boar, catching myself studying the perfect lines of Dax’s tan, muscular back as he walks in front of me.

  He’s so strong. The image of bravery and confidence all rolled into one—with a wild boar slumped over his left shoulder and a huge, venomous snake at his side. The colors seem unrealistic—the stark contrast of the forest greens, the bright red blood of the boar, Dax’s corn silk golden hair, even the striking vibrant orange pattern running down the snake’s body looks like someone painted it on. The combination is visually appealing like a piece of art, one that I could almost imagine hanging in a collection in a gallery.

  I’m struggling to keep up with him, which is pathetic considering he’s carrying a wild pig and a snake, but I’m so tired—the stress of this seemingly endless day is taking its toll. The air is hot and muggy, and I wipe my forehead on the sleeve of my shirt. Maybe I’m foolish to have so much confidence in Dax keeping me alive.

  The trees grow thin, and floating houses come into view in the distance like the ones I saw at the Lambai village. The clearing is filled with villagers hanging out and working on various tasks, but my smile is greeted by blank stares. A few children stand near women adorned with long skirts made of feathered palm leaves and coconut shells worn in a bikini-type fashion. I’m fascinated by the geometric designs tattooed all over their arms, necks, and faces.

  The spear feels awkward in my hand. My heart pounds as the tribe people gather around us and eye me with what I hope is curiosity and not a morbid desire to chew on my arm. I look to Dax for some type of moral support, but he pays no attention. He’s stopped in front of a ladder that extends sixty feet in the air to a large house at the top of a tall tree. I pry my gaze away from the two skulls standing guard on top of bamboo sticks on either side of the ladder, and focus on the man climbing down to meet us. Two men grab me from behind and take Dax’s spear along with his bow and quiver from my shoulder. Two more men appear with bows drawn and their arrows aimed at my chest.

  “Dax!”

  He drops the boar and snake, hurling words at the men with the arrows and the ones holding my wrists, and then turns his attention to the man climbing down the ladder. The man jumps the last few feet to the ground and faces us with his arms folded across his chest. Various bones and tusks adorn his face as piercings, and the necklace of teeth that hangs around his neck makes my pulse skyrocket. On top of his head is a large headdress made of black and blue feathers, and just like the other men in the village, a short skirt of small palm leaves hangs from his waist—the only thing that keeps him from being naked.

  I assume this is the chief. He stands silent and stares at me while Dax talks. I’m trying not to panic and force myself to stay calm when all I want to do is fight them off and run. Dax is doing all the talking. He picks up the snake and drops it at the chief’s feet. The chief barks an order, and a man hurries forward and drags the snake away. There’s an uncomfortable silence. The chief’s eyes dart from Dax to me and now the tribe people stare at him, waiting for what I assume will be some sort of decision that involves my fate.

  The chief says something to Dax, and Dax nods in reply before they lock hands in what looks like some sort of handshake. I exhale as the men lower their arrows.

  Dax hoists the boar onto his shoulder and grabs my hand to lead me towards a group of trees on the far side of the clearing. My paranoia won’t let me stop looking over my s
houlder every five seconds, and I almost miss the large structure in the trees. The house was built to blend in with the treetops rather than tower above them.

  Dax steps through the trees, and the whole house comes into view. It’s an intricate web of different structures all connected by hanging bridges and walkways—not as high up as the other tree houses in the village, but still sits a good fifty feet from the ground. I notice the narrow and very steep ladder leading to the main part of the house, and I smile. It would have been impossible for Dax to carry me up the ladder-type stairs.

  “Roxy?” he calls out, but he’s answered with silence.

  A group of curious children gawk at us from the edge of their village, and one of the older ones runs over to say something to Dax.

  “It seems she got impatient and went to find some fruit.”