Luuk, the self-proclaimed know-it-all, was locked in a battle of wits with the ancient, oversized gray contraption known as the computer. Its desktop screen engaged in a relentless disco of flashing and glitching, as if it had a personal vendetta against him. The glacial pace of the internet was akin to a cruel, never-ending joke, causing his frustration to brew into a headache. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, as if trying to physically scrub the irritation away. Two painstaking hours had passed, and all he had accomplished was uploading a measly fifty files, each no larger than a grain of sand in the digital desert.
His neck felt like it had hosted a not-so-friendly wrestling match, with his own skull, and he took a moment to survey the surroundings. The suburban store seemed to be stuck in a time warp that had frozen in the 1990s. On one wall, taxidermy mounts struck peculiar poses, casting eerie, lifelike shadows beside them. Exotic birds, pheasants, deer heads, raccoons - they seemed to regard him with unblinking judgment.
If Luuk had been searching for the perfect setting to conduct a sociology experiment on a long-forgotten town, he'd struck gold. For the past two hours, the only signs of life were the relentless glitches on his screen. The other nine computers in the room mirrored his frustration by remaining as motionless as the stuffed animals on the wall.
Outside, rain pelted the windows with a vengeance, and the wind whistled through the creaking door. Luuk had initially entertained the idea of returning to the motel for the night, despite the potential of sharing a room with his companions. But in a place where internet access was anything but a luxury, he was determined to make the most of this less-than-ideal situation. He couldn't help but think he was wading through the digital equivalent of sewage.
Just as he reluctantly placed his fingers back on the keyboard, the report of two gunshots resonated through the rain-soaked air. His spine snapped to attention, and the nearness of the sound sent an electrifying jolt through him. "Rotzak," he muttered in Dutch under his breath as he promptly yanked out his pen drive from the CPU and snatched his phone charger from the nearby plug. He was on the verge of standing when the shop owner's voice pierced the tumult.
A lanky teenager, who happened to be her son, swung down the yellow shutter gate and locked Luuk inside with them. Panicking, Luuk tried to communicate with the Portuguese-speaking pair, attempting to make himself understood. His own self-talk chimed in his worrying, regressing mind: She's just a shop owner. She won't harm you.
In broken Portuguese, she shared alarming news: invaders were once again wreaking havoc at the gold mine and were expected to reach their quiet town for trade. Luuk considered his options and decided it was more prudent to stay with the research delegates, a choice that accelerated his heartbeat. But for a fleeting moment, his thoughts veered towards Jona.
"Deixa-me sair. Vou ficar com meus amigos no motel." [Let me out. I'm going to stay with my friends at the motel.]
The shop owner remained resolute, unwilling to risk opening the door. She urged him to pray that his companions stayed in their room.
Five minutes of failed negotiations and a narrowly avoided temper tantrum later, she relented. Luuk slipped through the small opening created by her son, enduring a barrage of curses before they sealed the door behind him. Cold, harsh raindrops assaulted his face as he stood outside. The earlier miasma of dirt mixed with refuse from the shop's vicinity had been replaced by the absence of life. The town lay eerily deserted, shrouded in darkness, bereft of streetlights. It resembled a ghost town, leaving him momentarily blinded by the profound darkness.
"Luuk!" A hand on his shoulder brought him back from the abyss.
Luuk's body reacted like a tightly coiled spring, and he spun around with lightning speed. His fist, now tightly clutching his knife, nearly turned his unsuspecting visitor into a pincushion. "Freaking Jesus!" He hastily folded the knife and tucked it into his windbreaker's pocket alongside his charger and pen drive.
The flashlight in Jona's hand revealed his face, which bore a frown thanks to rain-soaked hair that obscured one eye. "Sorry, but you've been gone for nearly three hours. Then I heard the gunshots. Where were you?"
Luuk, never one to miss an opportunity to convey his sarcasm, decided not to question how his presence or absence had been meticulously monitored. Had Jona been waiting for him? Following his every move? Perhaps even sneaking into his room? Why was this guy so concerned about his whereabouts?
His fingers suddenly had a peculiar, involuntary twitch, urging him to push the stray locks of hair out of Jona's eyes. There was a sense of magnetic attraction that defied simple explanation. It was a feeling he couldn't quite identify, somewhere between curiosity and fascination. Yet, now was hardly the time for existential self-examination.
He pushed the inexplicable infatuation aside and offered an explanation. "The owner of the internet café locked the door after the gunshots. I couldn't get out." He accepted the proffered flashlight. "What are you doing out here? It's dangerous. Where are your glasses? Where's your boyfriend?" He guided Jona towards the motel, a note of concern threading his voice.
"Aarón was dead asleep. Not even an earthquake could wake him now. And I... don't know. I couldn't find my glasses. I ran out as soon as I heard the gunshots. I thought... My student might regress upon hearing loud noises. I thought... you..." His voice trailed off, and he murmured an apology.
Before Luuk could unravel the cryptic puzzle of his companion's responses, another round of gunshots punctuated the rain.
"Tsk. They're coming," Luuk declared, a hint of exasperation lacing his words.
Jona gasped, as if he had just surfaced from a deep dive. "They are?"
"I hope not. The café lady cautioned me." Luuk attempted to push the motel's glass door open.
It remained obstinately unmoved. He tried pulling it. It remained defiant.
"Why won't it open?" Jona's voice trembled with unease.
"Why? Because the staff here are selfish and only concerned about their own asses." Luuk drummed on the door for a full minute, rainwater splashing onto his face. However, no savior appeared from the gloomy interior. "Call Chaves. Or your students."
Another gasp from Jona, and then a dejected look. "I don't have my phone with me."
Annoyed, Luuk handed over his own phone. Jona made five unsuccessful attempts to call Chaves, but the man was apparently in a slumber too deep to be disturbed.
"I told you. Not even an earthquake could wake him."
"Your students?"
"I don't have their numbers."
"Great. The two of us sure have the worst luck, don't we?" Luuk observed, a humorous lilt in his voice as he regarded his now-soaked companion.
"Did that abominable receptionist notice you sneaking out?"
Jona wiped the rain off his face and examined him, seemingly grasping the nuances of English. "Yeah, he told me not to go out."
"Yet he locked you out. I'd love for those invaders to teach him a lesson," Luuk muttered, his frustration barely concealed.
"Luuk, don't say that. Let's just... Let's find shelter, okay?" Jona shivered as thunder roared and bent over, clutching his injured leg.
The cold was exacting its toll on him.
Surveying the deserted town, Luuk's mind snapped to attention when he spotted the yellow truck. "You didn't lock the truck earlier, did you?"
"No, I didn't. We were the last ones to get out. Not sure if they locked it after we left." Jona winced as he straightened his back.
"Come on," Luuk said, guiding him towards the truck.
The ground had turned to sticky mud, with rainwater infiltrating his boots. The cold was as extreme as the scorching heat earlier in the day. The prickly wind seemed to have dropped the temperature by fifty degrees.
Jona made a valiant attempt to open the truck's doors. "They're all locked," he shouted over the downpour.
Luuk, with a trace of mockery in his voice, retorted, "Yeah, that's pretty obvious, Sherlock." He glanced at the ground and noticed broken branches scattered around.
"What do we do now?" Jona looked around helplessly.
Luuk snatched up a branch at his feet. "Hey, Jona. Shine the light here." He examined the branch, which appeared fragile but was somewhat sturdier due to the rain. He drew out his knife with a flourish. "You know, when I was a kid, my brother gave me a Swiss Army knife. He told me, 'Brother, keep this, but don't hurt yourself with it.' Then he taught me how to use it." With deft movements, he stripped the branch of leaves and cut it into three ten-inch sections. "How to pick a lock, how to unlock doors, how to stab and slash more efficiently."
"Jiu-Jitsu doesn't teach you how to stab people. Your brother sounds... well, never mind." Jona looked away.
Luuk, not one to let an opportunity for a lesson pass, added, "You might be surprised, sensei, but most martial systems can teach you how to use a knife for self-defense in various forms. The only difference is that you'd need a knife in your hand." He handed the branches to his companion and focused on prying open the truck door. "Now, hold this."
Jona responded by placing his flashlight on the truck's roof and, with both hands, tugging the door open. "You know, Luuk, I didn't expect to become an accomplice to breaking into a truck today."
Amused, Luuk shoved the longest branch deeper into the door gap to reach the open button on the car door handle. The door clicked, and the alarm shrieked to life. Ignoring the racket, he kept the door ajar, glancing around to find the fuse box in the dashboard. Extracting the fuse for the alarm, he disabled the piercing sound. "That's one less noise to worry about," he quipped.
The door stood open, and as they turned to face the road, they were greeted by the sight of three menacing figures approaching them in a truck. Luuk could only shake his head. The day just kept getting better.
The relentless rain hammered on the roof, its rhythm matching Luuk's growing tension. The voices of approaching men cut through the rain. Luuk strained to decipher their Portuguese, but as their conversation veered towards the topic of gold versus sex, his relief washed over him. They weren't hardened criminals but seemed more like petty crooks.
"Short of playing mute, there's not much we can do," Luuk whispered, gripping Jona's arm. "If they ask you something in Portuguese, act like you can't understand. Try speaking any language besides English and Spanish. Do you know any?"
Jona looked at him. "I'm Japanese."
Luuk clicked his tongue in frustration. "I meant any language I can understand."
"I did study French, but I'm not exactly fluent."
"Good enough," Luuk said with a wry grin.
Flashlights pierced the darkness, and Luuk couldn't help but squint as they scrutinized the newcomers. The men stood in front of them, and their conversation about the truck and its occupants only fueled Luuk's irritation.
The short man with the shotgun finally broke the silence in Portuguese. "Este não é um lugar de férias. O que estrangeiros como você estão fazendo aqui?" [This is not a vacation spot. What are foreigners like you doing here?]
"Désolé, nous ne parlons pas Portugais," [Sorry, we don't speak Portuguese.] Jona responded in an admirably convincing French accent.
"Des Français? Je n'ai jamais rencontré un Français dans cette partie de la forêt," [Frenchmen? I've never met a French guy in this part of the forest,] another man replied.
Fuck French for being a lingua franca, Luuk thought.
"Quelle coïncidence. Vous parlez français," Luuk forced a laugh. "Bien sûr. Je viens de Guinée," [What a coincidence. You speak French. Of course. I am from Guinea,] he continued.
The tension built as the men approached, and Jona's determination was palpable. Luuk held his arm, ready for any physical confrontation if it came to that.
The man asked, "Que faites-vous ici? Connaissez-vous le propriétaire du camion? Qui êtes-vous?" [What are you doing here? Do you know the owner of the truck? Who are you?]
Jona glanced at Luuk, who kept a firm grip on his arm, signaling him to play along.
"Non. Je suis chef. Nous faisons de la recherche sur de nouvelles recettes. Ce Japonais ouvre un restaurant à Manaus," [No. I am a chef. We're researching new recipes. This Japanese man is opening up a restaurant in Manaus,] Luuk replied.
"Chef? Cuisinier? Vous essayiez de voler le camion." [Chef? A cook? You were trying to steal the truck.] He laughed.
"Non. On a perdu la clé, et le motel est fermé." [No. We lost the key, and the motel is closed.]
"C'est?" [It is?] The man was distracted by gunshots from afar.
Luuk held his breath as the man considered their response.
The conversation between the native men continued, and in the dark, Luuk strained to see their faces. The atmosphere grew tense as they awaited their leader's decision. They didn't spare another glance toward Luuk and Jona and turned around.
With their trucks eventually departing toward the sound of the gunshots, Luuk climbed into the front seat, and the darkness swallowed them. Jona began to sniffle on the backseat.
"You're crying? It's not that scary," Luuk remarked.
"I'm not crying. It's cold," Jona retorted. "And that was scary. I've never seen a shotgun that close before. I thought you're afraid of people or something like that."
"Stop assuming," Luuk muttered. "As long as I understand them and they don't suddenly announce that they're gay, they don't scare me."
As they settled into the truck, Jona let out a groan. "Charley horse," he moaned. "I haven't felt good since...yesterday. The rain's not helping."
Luuk quirked an eyebrow, kicked off his wet boots and socks, and threw them on the passenger's side. "Move," he instructed, pushing Jona aside and maneuvering to the backseat.
"The hell is wrong with you?" Jona exclaimed.
"You have a smart, dirty mouth when you're in pain," Luuk commented. Kneeling on the seat, he examined Jona's leg, his own grin disguised by the darkness. "I told you to keep your vocabulary PG." As he pushed
the jeans' bottom hem upward, Luuk couldn't help but said, "That's quite the scar you've got there. Did you wrestle a crocodile or something?"
The mood shifted. Jona didn't answer, just listening to the rain outside.
"You told him I'm opening a restaurant in the city?" Jona gave a small laugh a minute later. "That's a witty lie."
He's surprisingly proficient in French, Luuk thought. "I couldn't think of anything else that sounded less suspicious. The other choice was to tell him we were looking for a make-out spot."
"That's... an awkward reason," Jona said.
Luuk couldn't help but quip, "Yes, it would be so awkward, it could make a mime cringe. But how awkward must it be for a gay man like you?" He tugged Jona's toe as his other fingers worked on the stressful calf.
Jona moaned and instinctively clutched Luuk's shoulder. "What?"
For the love of God, stop moaning, Luuk thought. His stomach churned with a peculiar mix of emotions, like a hormonal teenager watching people make out in a movie - a territory his own sexual life had never ventured into. What are you even thinking about? He's just a guy.
"Did you shave? It's weird to shave your leg as a man," Luuk said, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction. "You have a peculiar fetish."
It took Jona two seconds to respond after another painful moan. "What?"
"Your leg is surprisingly smooth for a guy." Goddamnit. Stop it, Luuk!
"Are you... seriously talking about my lack of body hair right now, Professor Smit?" Jona inhaled, adding a hint of subtext: Are you a pervert?
He touched Luuk's shoulder for support and shifted beneath him, shivering uncontrollably. "I don't do well with rain."
Luuk took a deep breath, attempting to quell the storm of emotions inside him. "How's your leg?"
"Painful still, but no cramps."
Luuk unzipped his waterproof windbreaker and took it off, along with his dry undershirt; only the hem was wet.
"Why... Why are you taking off your clothes?" Jona edged away, looking puzzled.
"Oh, Jesus. Relax. I'm no homo like you. Take off your shirt, dry your hair, and wear this before you catch a cold on my watch." Luuk couldn't resist a bit of rude humor in the face of awkwardness.
Jona looked rather reluctant as he accepted the shirt Luuk offered, and with his back turned, he stripped off his wet shirt. After ruffling his damp hair and letting out another sneeze, he squeezed into Luuk's shirt, which was probably a tighter fit than the previous night's embrace.
Luuk, eager to break the oppressive silence and relieve the awkwardness, decided to finally confront the question that had been simmering within him all day. "Why'd you lie to me?"
The leather creaked as Jona turned around to face Luuk. "What do you mean?"
Luuk leaned back, zipping up his windbreaker. "You know, you said you're not into men. But last night, I saw you and Chaves having a make-out marathon."
The silence in the truck was deafening, with the only audible sound being Jona's congested nasal passages.
Upon witnessing their passionate exchange the previous night, Luuk had expected to harbor resentment, but his own reaction surprised him. It was like an unwanted rush of feelings he didn't quite understand and had no intention of diving into. "You know my instincts are always on point. So, what's the deal? Why'd you lie?"
Jona replied, his voice bearing an unexpected hint of sincerity, "Well, maybe your so-called 'instinct' isn't all it's cracked up to be."
Luuk fixed his gaze on Jona, though it was dark, he could still make out Jona's features. But discerning his expression was a whole different story.
"Looks like my eyes betrayed me big time, considering I witnessed you two going at it like hormonal rabbits," Luuk quipped.
"For the umpteenth time, I'm not gay," Jona responded, unfazed.
Luuk raised an eyebrow, unable to resist the urge to be angry. "So, what's your card in the sexuality deck then? Pansexual, demisexual, asexual? Let's not get bogged down with all the newfangled labels. The only way you're not gay after last night is if you tell me you're a girl, which, for the record, you're clearly not."
A tense silence fell over the truck, followed by the sound of the door being unlocked by Jona. "Call me whatever you want, Professor Wordsmith."
Before Jona could step out and get himself drenched in Luuk's dry shirt, Luuk grabbed his arm. "I'm not here to grill you on your sexual orientation. It's the 21st century. No judgment here. I just need answers. "
Jona retorted, "That's rich coming from someone who's had a raging case of homophobia."
Luuk wasn't having it. "Don't shout, kid. Believe it or not, I'm willing to cut you some slack even if you're gay."
A sigh from Jona followed, and he stated firmly, "Let's just drop it, okay? Chaves loves me, and we had a little late-night encounter. It doesn't make me gay. None of your business."
A peculiar emotion stirred within Luuk, and he couldn't quite put his finger on why it unsettled him. He muttered, "A 'late-night encounter'? Helping him with what, your body? Sounds like he took advantage of you."
Jona, perhaps puzzled by the sudden turn in the conversation, threw in, "Como é que a conversa foi aí parar?" [How did the conversation even go there?]
Luuk couldn't let it slide. "I'm just saying it sounds like an absurd situation. Why would your buddy let you do that if he's such a great friend?"
Jona's response was candid, "Well, maybe I'm the one who's taking advantage of his love for me. Ever thought of that? I'd help him out a thousand times over. He's my best friend."
Luuk had one more jab in store, "Taking advantage of his love? That's a bit unconventional, don't you think?"
Just as Jona turned to leave, he winced, clutching his calf. "Damn this cramp."
But Luuk wasn't ready to let him wander off into the pouring rain and drench his dry shirt. He held Jona's calf and urged him to stay. "Just stay. It's pouring out there. You'll be a soaked mess in no time."
With a sigh, Jona gave in. "I'm sorry. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. It's not about lying to you; you just can't understand." His hair brushed his brow.
Luuk couldn't ignore that mischievous urge to run his fingers through Jona's hair. Instead, he removed his hairband and idly ran his fingers through his own hair.
In the midst of this confusion, Luuk couldn't help but wonder: What exactly are you? Who are you?