Vice

by Callie Hart

  “And it’s the rainy season,” he continues. “It’s going to pour down for an hour or so. I hope you’re not afraid of a little water, Kechu?”

  “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

  “Good. You and I will hunt together. Later, after we have stopped for food, you will go back out with Ocho, and I will go with my daughter.”

  Fernando’s men disperse; five separate groups head in five different directions, and for the next hour and a half Fernando and I stealthily move through the forest, not speaking, not breathing a word to one another. He uses a total of five rudimentary hand signals, which I pick up very quickly: slow, stop, listen, look, and fire.

  I snap off four shots, making all four kills. Fernando seems impressed each time I take an animal down, patting me on the arm, nodding encouragingly, as a father might to his son. The entire time we’re stalking through the trees, I’m thinking about what it will feel like to end his life. My mouth is filled with the taste of copper. It’s only when I catch myself literally biting my tongue that I realize where the blood in my mouth is coming from.

  Finally, Fernando raises his rifle to his shoulder, and squeezes the trigger, the first time since we started the hunt. The way he handles his weapon, and the way he aims, takes sight, and shoots all in one smooth, fluid moment, defines him as an expert marksman, and yet he only clips the deer in the shoulder.

  Strange.

  I’m on the verge of asking him what went wrong, when Fernando hands me his rifle and starts rooting through his pack for something.

  “I find these kills with guns so impersonal, don’t you? I’m the kind of man who likes to get his hands dirty.” From the bag, he produces something that surprises me—a fucking ball hammer. It’s old, or at least it looks like it is. He spins it around in his hand, and then jerks his head in the direction of the fallen deer. “Come. Best not to keep her waiting.”

  Twenty feet away, through the dense vegetation, the deer he’s shot is lying on its side, writhing and groaning, its eyes rolling with wild panic in its head, and frothing at the mouth.

  “There she is,” Fernando says. He stands for a second in front of the injured animal, hands on his hips, still gripping hold of the hammer, admiring the poor creature at his feet. “I always feel so guilty afterwards,” he says. “But not in this moment. When I’m holding the hammer, ready to bring it down, I feel nothing but anticipation. You understand this, I think, Kechu.”

  “I think you’re probably right.”

  Fernando hums softly under his breath while the animal thrashes and moans. He moves very slowly as he bends down on both knees and strokes a hand down the side of the deer’s face. “There, there, beautiful girl,” he murmurs. “There, there.” And then, with the speed of someone half his age, he hefts the hammer over his head and brings the weighty metal end down on the side of the deer’s head. Not once. Not twice. Not three times. I lose count of how many times he raises and brings down the hammer. The deer is dead after the first couple of blows. Fernando doesn’t seem to care, though. He doesn’t stop until the animal’s head is caved in, shards of broken bone all over his arms, all over the ground, pulped brains and blood clumped together on the backs of his hands. His shoulders are rapidly hitching up and down, his breath labored when he finally stops.

  “Quite a rush,” he says, panting. Using the sleeve of his shirt, he wipes at his forehead, streaking even more blood over his face. “Next time, you should use this,” he tells me, holding out the hammer. I take it, my expression flat and even. If he expects me to react or shy away from his violence, then he has another thing coming. He’s showing his true colors for the first time, though, and they truly are forming a sinister, foreboding palette, all blacks and reds and violent oranges. He’s a soulless man. I can see that now, as I look into his eyes.

  He’s on his knees, covered in pieces of the deer, out of breath, and I am holding his hammer; it occurs to me that this could possibly be the perfect moment I’ve been waiting for. How easy would it be to bring this thing down on his head? We’re alone out here, with no witnesses, and no one to stop me. And yet, now doesn’t feel like the right time.

  The small walkie-talkie Fernando’s carrying clipped to his belt blasts static at us out of nowhere, splitting apart the silence, and the moment is gone, disappeared in a puff of smoke. Loud voices stream out of the walkie’s speakers, and then Fernando is getting to his feet and responding, speaking into the receiver.

  One of his teams has shot and killed a cougar. They’re excited about the kill, and from the looks of things, so is Fernando. “Do not move it,” he orders. “I want to be the one to skin it.”

  He doesn’t strike me as the sort of man to ever break a sweat, and yet he takes off running, ducking around trees and jumping fallen logs in his hurry to reach the kill. I run after him, easily keeping up; my fists pump the air, and with every step I take I see the hammer in my hand, and I think about smashing him over the head with it. Before I know it, he’s found his men and the dead cougar, though, and I return his hammer.

  Natalia’s leaning against a tree, arms folded across her chest, rifle propped up beside her; when she sees me, she shifts—probably a subconscious action, but it makes her look guilty of something. Fernando doesn’t see, too busy with the impressive looking cougar, but Ocho does. He frowns, shooting a suspicious glance between me and Natalia, then he backs off into the forest, his head bent low, eyes on the ground, as if he’s looking for something. I suspect he’s thinking about Natalia’s strange reaction to me, though. That shit’s probably going to be back to bite me in the ass sooner rather than later.

  Fernando poses with the dead cougar for twenty minutes, while men take shots of him with their cell phones. Anyone would think he’d caught the thing himself. Once he’s satisfied that the moment has been documented well enough, he orders his men back out in their teams.

  “Where did Ocho go?” he demands, looking around for the man.

  I keep my mouth shut tight. Natalia doesn’t say a word either, though she saw him walk off as well. None of his other men witnessed where he went, so no one gives Fernando the answer he’s looking for. Does not go down well.

  “You. You,” he says, pointing at two of his men. “Come with me. Natalia, would you prefer to continue hunting, or do you wish to join us in looking for Ocho?”

  “I think I’d prefer to carry on with the hunt, if that’s okay with you, Father?” She needs to hide her anxiety a little better. Her voice sounds too high, too airy. It makes her seem afraid. Fernando doesn’t seem to notice, however.

  “So be it.” Fernando casts his eye over his remaining men, until his gaze finally rests on me. “Kechu, you will look after my daughter, won’t you? You’re a good shot. Don’t let anything eat her.”

  I’m shocked. A few days ago he was telling me to stay away from her, warning me not to speak to her alone or swear in front of her, otherwise he was going to cut off my tongue. Now he’s telling me to take her out into the highlands of Ecuador by myself. “Of course, I’ll take excellent care of her. I promise.”

  Fernando nods, and then he dashes off through the trees. Natalia doesn’t wait for the remainder of her father’s men to disappear back into the rainforest. She collects her rifle up and slings it over her shoulder, hurrying off without another word. We’re a hundred feet away from the other men when she spins around and stabs me in the chest with her finger.

  “What are you thinking? Why are you going off with him alone, when he’s carrying a gun? Didn’t I tell you he wants you dead?” The alarm in her voice is palpable. Her pupils are dilated, huge and black, blocking out the majority of her irises. She looks and sounds terrified, which catches me off guard.

  “Whoa, why the hell are you so worried? I can take care of myself.”

  “I told you,” she snaps. “Laura was my friend. What do you think she would say if she knew I was letting you gamble so dangerously with your own life? She would want me to make you leave this place.”

/>   “Funnily enough, Laura was always trying to get me to do what she wanted me to do instead of what I wanted to do. And she never succeeded. Why should this be any different?”

  Natalia huffs out a frustrated breath. “This game you’re playing has run its course, Mr. America. It’s time for you to go back home.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She’s clearly losing patience with me. Pacing back and forth along an invisible three-meter long line in front of me, she buries her hands in her hair and growls like the little wolf that she is. “I already told you I’m not like my father, Cade. I don’t like watching people die. I especially don’t like watching people die when they don’t need to. You could easily tie me to a tree and run. Your motorcycle is still where you left it. When my father finds me, I could tell him you didn’t hurt me in any way, and he will probably give you a head start before he sends people after you.”

  “I told you. I’m not going anywhere.” Her worry is quite endearing. Her hair is tied into a messy bun on top of her head, and the strands that have escaped her hair tie are plastered to her neck. It’s hot and humid, and the damp air has left a high sheen on her skin that makes her look like she’s covered in massage oil or something. For all that, she’s not dirty, and she doesn’t smell bad, though. She’s only a few feet from me, and I’m practically dizzy from the clean, fresh floral smell that’s coming off her. No wonder she hasn’t caught anything yet—every animal in a five-mile radius can smell her soap on her, and they’ve undoubtedly fled in the opposite direction.

  I can’t get over how fucking perfect she is. She’s like no other woman I’ve laid eyes on before. I’m sure as hell not going to come across another woman like her in the future, that’s for sure. Her freckles are insane. She’s wearing another one of those strappy tank tops, and I can’t stop staring at the countless galaxies and constellation of dots that mark her skin.

  “You’re being stubborn. And stupid,” she snaps. “You American men always think you know best. No one can ever tell you otherwise.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s just men in general,” I retort, smiling. “At least that’s what Laura would have said.” It’s so weird talking about her in the past tense. In other ways, it isn’t though. For so long I’ve been worrying about Laura, desperately searching for her, leaving no stone unturned in my wake, but there has always been this ugly, terrible seed of doubt buried deep within my subconscious. I’ve suspected that she was dead for a long time. Now, using the past tense sticks on my tongue, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it might if her death had come to me as a complete surprise. I’m still crippled by the knowledge that I failed her, but my heart has been prepared for this moment for what feels like an eternity.

  Natalia laughs softly. “You’re right there. I suppose I ought to know better than to try and tell you what to do. Laura told me you were…what was the word she used? Ah, yes. Pig-headed.”

  “Pig-headed?” That’s definitely a name Laura would have used for me. I can almost hear her calling me the exact same thing right now. I shake my head, sadness washing over me. “What else did she tell you about me?”

  Natalia’s cheeks turn a delicate shade of red. She glances away, fiddling with the strap of her rifle. “Well. She said you were always a bully when you were little. You’d never let her play with you and your friend from next door. You were fiercely protective of her, though. You would never let anyone else pick on her. She told me you were strong and protective. She said you had a dog called Arry that you loved more than anything when you were in school, and that you cried when it got loose and ran away.” She pauses, watching me slyly out of the corner of her eye. “She said you never knew, but your father hit the dog with his car and it died. No one ever told you, because they knew how upset you would be.”

  “God damn it. I fucking knew that dog hadn’t run away.”

  She laughs, her voice all silvery and gentle. “And…Laura said that I would like you. She said you were handsome, and that women were always throwing themselves at you, and you never noticed.” Her cheeks have turned an even darker shade of crimson now, and she can’t seem to focus on anything apart from the rifle strap in her hands. “I can see now why she would say that,” she whispers.

  “You think I’m handsome?” I’m teasing her, using a playful tone, but it embarrasses her, I think. She throws her head back, tilting her chin at me defiantly.

  “And so what? You’d be a liar if you told me you didn’t think I was beautiful. I know you do. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

  “How do I look at you, Natalia?”

  She huffs and puffs, getting herself all flustered, and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. “Like you already think you own me. Like I’m already yours, and you’re planning how you want to enjoy me.”

  “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t pictured us fucking, Natalia, but I’d never think I owned you. One person can’t own another. You can only own someone’s heart, and that has to be given freely in the first place.”

  She shuts up. I don’t think she was prepared for me to admit I’ve been fantasizing about her. She must have thought I’d deny it point-blank, but fuck. What’s the point in that? I’m a cards face-up kind of guy. I don’t like guessing or teasing, and I don’t like wasting time. In the past, being so forthright has gotten me into trouble, lots of trouble, but it’s better to be honest than to hide behind lies all damn day long. I won’t do it. I’d rather be shot down in flames than never know where I stand.

  “If my father heard you say you daydream about me like that, he would kill you on the spot,” she says.

  “Good thing he’s not around, then.”

  “He could be.”

  “We’d better lose him, then. Care to lead the way?”

  She gives me a rueful smirk, an “okay, wise guy” kind of smirk, but she sets of walking in a northerly direction, shifting her rifle from one shoulder to the other. Walking four feet behind her, I get a stellar view of her ass as her hips swing from side to side, and I have to remind myself that I can’t actually pursue this woman. I fucking can’t. I’ll lose my dick before I get to exact my revenge for Laura, and then what will I have to live for? No more meaningless sex, and no more jerking off. I might as well be dead, too.

  “You can’t go any faster?” Natalia calls over her shoulder. “My grandmother used to move through the forest faster than you.”

  “I live in New Mexico. Do you have any idea how rare it is to see a tree there, let alone this many of them, all pressing together trunk to trunk like this?”

  “Stop complaining. I know you’re not from New Mexico. You’re from Alabama. They have plenty of trees there. Laura told me. Bayous, too.”

  I’m beginning to resent the fact that this woman knows so much about me, when I don’t really know anything about her. Nothing at all, really. Asking questions of her seems unkind, though. Any answers she might be able to give me will inevitably lead back to her father, and I don’t want to upset her unnecessarily. A part of me doesn’t want to hear it, either. She never said the words, but they were there, hanging between us like a motherfucking noose all the same: her father won’t let another man near her normally. No man…except him. I feel sick to my stomach.

  A low rumble of thunder overhead scatters birds from the trees, and I feel it—a shiver of electricity through the air, powerful enough to make the hairs on my arms stand to attention. Natalia looks up, studying the small patch of sky that’s visible through a tiny chink in the canopy overhead.

  “It’s time,” she says. “The rain is coming. We’d better find somewhere to wait it out, otherwise we’ll be soaked.”

  “I don’t think there are that many watertight buildings out here,” I observe.

  “Oh, you’d be surprised.” Grinning, she sets off running, just as her father did earlier. It’s much harder to keep up with her than it was to pace him, though. She’s nimble and small, light on her feet, and I’m a hundred and eighty-
five pounds of muscle, packed onto a broad, 6’3” frame. Suffice it to say, I am not graceful or silent as I crash through the undergrowth behind her.

  I’m starting to feel the burn in my lungs when the heavens open and the rain begins to fall. Describing this as rain feels misleading. This is more than rain. This is a torrential downpour, so sudden and violent that it’s like being hosed down by riot police. And I should know, I’ve been doused by the five-oh more than once in my lifetime.

  It’s deafening, layers of sound crashing and warring over one another, millions of water droplets hitting fat, broad leaves, mixed in with the grumbling, resonating vibration of thunder overhead.

  Natalia doesn’t even hunch over to protect herself from the downpour. She runs with her back straight, her hair soaking wet, water flicking off the ends as it swings from side to side like a pendulum. I can’t see where we’re going anymore. I just follow after her and hope to god I’m not about to tumble face first over a cliff face.

  She stops abruptly, pointing upward. “Can you climb?” she gasps.

  I look up, and there are small lengths of wood hammered into the trunk of the closest tree—the trunk is huge, and the lengths of wood seem to be spaced evenly enough to be used as hand and foot holds. The most rudimentary ladder ever. I shake my head, trying not to laugh.

  “If you can, I sure as hell can.”

  “Good.” She bolts up the tree like she’s been climbing the thing her whole life. That could well be the case; as I grab hold of one of the makeshift handholds, I see that it’s worn and scuffed. It’s probably been nailed to the tree for a really long time. We climb ten feet, and then up another five, and I realize I seem to spend a lot of time climbing ladders with this woman: first down into the bunker, and now up into this tree. Another five feet, and suddenly we’re pretty fucking high up in the tree; I scan up ahead, trying to see how much further she’s going to take me, but all I can see is her perfectly shaped ass and I suddenly don’t care anymore. I want her to keep climbing forever, if it means I get to appreciate the view for a little longer.