Page 11 of Last Destination

“We need more rest, and we need meat.” I agreed, taking the reins of leadership he’d handed me. “Madman, think you could hunt today? I can set a trap or two, but my experience is more with bunnies and squirrels. I have no idea how to catch a wild pig in the jungle.”

Nikki clapped a hand on Madman’s shoulder. “Father hunted mostly for sport, but I know a thing or two. I’ll join you. We’ll have to save our bullets, though.”

Madman gave him a serious side-eye, but dipped his head in agreement.

“Ambrose, can you grab a bit more fruit from that same banana grove? Take Tessa with you. I’ll show Jamie how to make a trap.”

Jamie’s hanging head instantly perked up, his wary eyes landing on mine for an unnecessarily long second while everyone dispersed. Madman lingered a beat longer, his stare an X-ray of stony contemplation before dipping his head in my direction as if approving my decision. His care for me was appreciated, but his overbearing presence was not.

Despite my reservations about the man I knew, I wasn’t afraid of Jamie. What more damage could he do?

We stood in uncomfortable silence amid the rustle of the trees indicating rain would fall soon. I was learning the jungle tells as well as the Boreal Forest of my original training, but the familiarity was not breeding any sort of comfort.

Just like my relationship with the man in question.

“I’m sorry, Marl.”

His voice was soft, his accent thick, and the tears that dripped down his face set my heart on fire with grief.

“I’ll beg for your forgiveness if I have to. If I could do it all over again, I would.”

He sank to his knees in slow motion, his body trembling from a great deal of pain. The lacerations that lined his bare arms were scabbed pink and raw, and when he finally knelt on the spongy ground, his bloodshot eyes found mine again. It was impossible to look away from the train wreck he’d become. I’d never seen someone so broken.

What English words existed to convey the agony and loss of this past week?

“A traição nunca vem de um inimigo, Jamie.” The common Portuguese phrase said it best. Betrayal never comes from an enemy.

He flinched as if I’d shot him with Diaz’s gun and lowered his head to his chest. Wracking sobs shook his body like a seizure. The old version of Marley would have attempted to ease his discomfort, but the plane crash had broken something in me.

My footfalls barely made a sound as I walked away from him in search of the right materials for an animal trap. Jamie needed to choke on his guilt, drown in his sorrow, then decide if he would fight for air or die. A fitting analogy, since the man couldn’t swim.

Would I protect and provide for him like the others under my care? Yes.

Could I save him? I released the air in my lungs on a long breath.

No, Jamie had to decide to save himself first.

Once he was out of view beyond a thick jobo tree, my thoughts returned to the group’s conversation. The unsettling gnaw of guilt roiled in my gut as I considered the thousands of people who trekked through the cartel path weekly, real people with hopes for a better future. Their only crime the curse of their geography. We—they—were willing to steal their only ticket to freedom.

The sting behind my nostrils warned me of the impending tears, but I wiped them away before they could fall. It wasn’t a fight worth having now, but I couldn’t condemn another person to death in this jungle. What made their life more important than mine?

Desperate people did desperate things.

Was I desperate enough for that?

If one more of these people drenched themselves in peppermint oil, I was going to crash out.

The cloying scent filled my nostrils, giving me a raging headache; I’d take a hundred more mosquito bites over ever having to smell toxic candy canes again.

You’re just hungry, you miserable bastard.

Rubbing my temples in clockwise circles to try to release the tension, I slumped against a tree and sighed. I was fucking starving, and a week’s worth of fruit wasn’t going to be enough to keep me going. My workout routine and subsequent diet had been a curated rigid plan before this trip, and my body was eating more of its own muscle with each passing minute. The physique I’d honed for a decade after years of being a scrawny, nerdy teenager was wasting away to nothing.

Better than dead, I guess.

“Don’t be stupid, Charlie.” Marley’s voice carried through the jungle trees on the other side of my perch. “That’s a terrible plan. And you won’t be the one who pays for it, I will.”

Cocking my head toward the sound, I waited to hear more, but all I was met with was the soft hum of a billion insects waiting in the wings to chew on me again.