Moonlit Retribution

Chapter Nineteen

Groaning, I pick myself off the ground, studiously ignoring the complaints of my stomach. Ríjez helps me up, catches me when I stumble. “I’m alright,” I croak unintelligibly, then clear my throat and try again with a little more success. My throat is parched, and the burn hasn’t been quenched with time. I wish for a giant bottle of Pepto Bismol or maybe just a pitcher of water, but I know that I’ll have to wait to get to the complex before getting a safe swig of water. If we ever return to the complex, that is. Somehow, it doesn’t seem like the smartest thing to do.

Mella gives me a thorough once-over, then hands me--of all things--a handkerchief. “Here. Try to clean yourself up and we’ll be on our way.” She turns back to the trailer to avoid the scene. “And please, just keep it,” she says disgustedly.

Rolling my eyes, I wipe myself as clean as possible and just end up using grass to get most of it off…and pocket the mostly clean handkerchief. Hey, you never know when it’ll be useful.

“Are you going to be okay for this?” Ríjez asks, his hand resting on my lower back to keep me steady. “You could always just stay here while we…” he trails off uncertainly, but I wave him off.

“I’ll be fine. Really. If you think this is bad, I won’t even mention the Flu of ’06 Incident,” I say dismissively.

He wants to argue; it’s written all over his face. But he must figure that I’ll just stubbornly ignore his concerns and go on anyway. Smart move on his part. Nodding, he leads me back to the trailer, and we slowly make our way to the pit.

After about another twenty minutes, the trees begin to thin out, and a few thin cords of tripwire in other sections of the woods catch my eye. We’re close, and since we don’t feel like being weighed down by the trailer, Ríjez and I leave Mella in the thicker vegetation. We cautiously inch forward, ever aware that the next step we take could be our last. And now that we’re aware of the acid traps, I keep a sharp eye out for anything dangling in the trees. All I see is a mess of dead leaves and broken branches; more tree limbs lie on the ground than attached to their respective trunks. We finally decide that, after snapping two trip wires, evading the resulting barbed wire nets, and dodging a dead-fall tree trunk, we have successfully disassembled whatever traps are in the thirty yard radius and usher Mella and the body-loaded trailer into the clearing.

We go about doing this for several more minutes--find a clearing, search it, set off the traps, continue on. I have no idea how far the pit is, but I’m sure that we’re getting closer. And I’m right, for once. After the fourth clearing, we stumble into large area of level ground and quickly deduce where the pit that has Dev’s body decaying in it is; it’s right on the edge of the clearing, partly obscured by brush and thicket, and the single boulder that had allowed me to heave Ríjez out of the pit.

Cautiously, all three of us approach the depression, even though we had told Mella to stay behind. My skin is tingling with apprehension, and the burn in my esophagus intensifies with my anxiety. The dead, dry grass crumbles noisily beneath my boots. I feel like an arrow is going to come sailing out of the air at any given moment. It dawns on me just how defenseless we have made ourselves; we’re in an open clearing, weighed down by luggage, and armed with only one gun. Not the best survival scenario.

For some odd reason, we reach the pit with no trouble. I refuse to look into the hole, fearing a repeat episode of my vomiting, but Mella and Ríjez crouch down to better examine it. I expect them to be discussing the corrosive effects of the acid or how long it would take for it to completely dissolve a body, but all I hear is the sharp intake of a breath.

“Mister Ríjez,” Mella says caustically, “you know better than to lie to me.”

“Fucking hell…” Ríjez whistles through his teeth, ignoring her statement. “Invasion of the body snatchers.”