100 Hours
Page 42
“So, your father throws money at problems?” Sebastián’s laugh is harsh and bitter. “That’s no surprise.”
“He’s trying to help,” I insist.
“He’s the problem, Genesis!” Sebastián stands, and I push myself to my feet in front of him. “The gap between the rich and the poor is getting bigger all over the world. Wealth and entitlement create inequalities, not fix them.” Anger flashes in his eyes, and I step back, distancing myself from his clenched fists.
“Is that why you killed his brother?”
Sebastián’s fists release suddenly. “We need to get back.”
“Tell me!” I demand. “He was my uncle. I deserve to know!”
“You . . . ?” His voice is soft, but his gaze is hard. “All you care about is what you deserve. Because you’re part of the problem too.”
18 HOURS EARLIER
MADDIE
“I hear another stream.” Luke faces the direction of running water like a hunting dog on point. “That’s our cue for a break.” “No, it’s too early for lunch, and I’m not tired yet.” I stand straighter to make my lie more convincing. I don’t have time to be tired.
“We’ve been walking for three hours.” Luke adjusts the straps on his pack, and his shoulders sag. “We have to take water where we can find it, Maddie.”
I know he’s right. And the only way we can boil water is to empty more soup cans.
I don’t realize how hungry I am until I pop the top from my beef stew, and my stomach growls.
When our refilled cans are sitting on the attachable grill over the camp stove, I notice Luke watching me with a cryptic smile. “What?”
“I have a surprise.”
I fake a gasp. “How could you possibly improve on lukewarm soup and boiling water?”
He pulls a clear plastic bag from his backpack. Clumped up in the bottom are four soft, white poufs.
“You have marshmallows?”
He shrugs. “This is all that’s left from camping with my parents. Will it upset your glucose level?”
“Not if I just have one.” Right now, I want a marshmallow so badly that I don’t give one single shit about my blood sugar level. Which is easy to say, as long as I still have insulin in my pump.
Luke reaches behind the log he’s sitting on and pulls out two sticks he must have trimmed while I was getting water. He impales a marshmallow on the end of each stick, and when he hands one to me, our pinkies brush.
We hold our marshmallows over the fire, and Luke’s goes up in flames almost instantly. I laugh as he grins, then blows it out.
I roast mine slowly, savoring the brief break from pain, grief, and misery.
He pulls his burnt marshmallow from the stick. “Come on, we have to eat them at the same time.”
“Is that a Boy Scout thing?”
“No, that’s just how my parents do it. So they can share the experience.” He shrugs, and for once, his cheeks don’t flush. “It’s just more fun that way.”
I lower my marshmallow until it catches fire. He watches me blow it out. “Ready?” I ask, and he nods. “Okay, but you have to eat the whole thing at once. That’s how Ryan and I used to do it.”
Luke gives me a solemn nod. Then we count to three and each shove a charred marshmallow into our mouths.
“That’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he moans around a mouthful of sugar goo.
“Right?” I agree, though that might have as much to do with how he’s watching me as with the sweet surprise.
His eyes close, and I watch him chew. He looks truly at ease and confident for the first time since he gave me the other half of his sandwich on the beach at Cabo.
The bag crinkles when I pick it up, and his eyes fly open. “No, we have to save them for tonight!”
“We don’t even know where we’ll be by then. We could be rescued. Or we could be captured. Or we could be . . .” Dead.
“We’ll be fine, and having something to look forward to will get us through the day, even if that something is just a brick of processed sugar.”
“But I really want that other marshmallow.”
Luke eyes me suspiciously. “Give me the bag, Maddie.”
Instead, I grin and deliberately tuck it behind my back. He reaches out, but I lean to block his arm. He can’t take the marshmallows if he’s too shy to touch me.
Luke’s eyes narrow. He lunges. I squeal, and we fall onto the ground, the log shielding us from the camp stove. His elbow lands on my hair, his face inches from mine. He’s cute, for a Boy Scout gamer, and the flash of heat in his eyes has nothing to do with the firelight flickering on the side of his face.
Then Luke freezes, and suddenly seems very aware that he’s lying half on top of me, his left knee between my thighs. His chest pressed against mine.
“I’m s-sorry . . .” he stammers, lifting himself. “I didn’t mean to—”
I pull him down, his hesitancy melting until our lips meet.
My eyes close and we both relax into the kiss. For a few minutes, there is no jungle. There are no kidnappers and no hostages. There are no spiders, snakes, or caimans. There is no grief, and no pain.
For a few minutes, there is only Luke and me, and the sweet, shared taste of marshmallow.
17 HOURS EARLIER
GENESIS
“Gin!” Domenica says as she lays her cards on my straw mat. I’ve lost four games in a row, and no one will play poker with me anymore because I won all of Domenica’s breath mints and all of Rog’s rolling papers. Which are no good without anything to roll. Hiking through the jungle sucked, but boredom is its own special kind of hell.
Álvaro cranks up the radio his group is listening to at the next campfire.
“Thanks for joining us. It’s eleven a.m. here in Miami . . .” Neda’s voice rings out loud and clear.
I look up as Holden finally stops trying to suck Penelope’s soul out through her mouth.
“This morning, we have confirmation that a small group of the missing hikers were actually out of camp on a sightseeing tour during the kidnapping. They made it out of the jungle overnight and have reported their fellow hikers missing. Among those Americans still unaccounted for are a husband and wife from Texas, four young backpackers from San Diego, and a high school dropout from Indiana. You can hear more about that on just about any news channel. Seriously, they’re playing it over and over,” Neda continues. “But what we have for you today on South Florida’s Power 85 FM is an exclusive interview with the parent of one of the Miami Six, the local teens and my personal friends who were brutally kidnapped at gunpoint yesterday from a Colombian army bunkhouse. Stay tuned . . .”
“He’s trying to help,” I insist.
“He’s the problem, Genesis!” Sebastián stands, and I push myself to my feet in front of him. “The gap between the rich and the poor is getting bigger all over the world. Wealth and entitlement create inequalities, not fix them.” Anger flashes in his eyes, and I step back, distancing myself from his clenched fists.
“Is that why you killed his brother?”
Sebastián’s fists release suddenly. “We need to get back.”
“Tell me!” I demand. “He was my uncle. I deserve to know!”
“You . . . ?” His voice is soft, but his gaze is hard. “All you care about is what you deserve. Because you’re part of the problem too.”
18 HOURS EARLIER
MADDIE
“I hear another stream.” Luke faces the direction of running water like a hunting dog on point. “That’s our cue for a break.” “No, it’s too early for lunch, and I’m not tired yet.” I stand straighter to make my lie more convincing. I don’t have time to be tired.
“We’ve been walking for three hours.” Luke adjusts the straps on his pack, and his shoulders sag. “We have to take water where we can find it, Maddie.”
I know he’s right. And the only way we can boil water is to empty more soup cans.
I don’t realize how hungry I am until I pop the top from my beef stew, and my stomach growls.
When our refilled cans are sitting on the attachable grill over the camp stove, I notice Luke watching me with a cryptic smile. “What?”
“I have a surprise.”
I fake a gasp. “How could you possibly improve on lukewarm soup and boiling water?”
He pulls a clear plastic bag from his backpack. Clumped up in the bottom are four soft, white poufs.
“You have marshmallows?”
He shrugs. “This is all that’s left from camping with my parents. Will it upset your glucose level?”
“Not if I just have one.” Right now, I want a marshmallow so badly that I don’t give one single shit about my blood sugar level. Which is easy to say, as long as I still have insulin in my pump.
Luke reaches behind the log he’s sitting on and pulls out two sticks he must have trimmed while I was getting water. He impales a marshmallow on the end of each stick, and when he hands one to me, our pinkies brush.
We hold our marshmallows over the fire, and Luke’s goes up in flames almost instantly. I laugh as he grins, then blows it out.
I roast mine slowly, savoring the brief break from pain, grief, and misery.
He pulls his burnt marshmallow from the stick. “Come on, we have to eat them at the same time.”
“Is that a Boy Scout thing?”
“No, that’s just how my parents do it. So they can share the experience.” He shrugs, and for once, his cheeks don’t flush. “It’s just more fun that way.”
I lower my marshmallow until it catches fire. He watches me blow it out. “Ready?” I ask, and he nods. “Okay, but you have to eat the whole thing at once. That’s how Ryan and I used to do it.”
Luke gives me a solemn nod. Then we count to three and each shove a charred marshmallow into our mouths.
“That’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he moans around a mouthful of sugar goo.
“Right?” I agree, though that might have as much to do with how he’s watching me as with the sweet surprise.
His eyes close, and I watch him chew. He looks truly at ease and confident for the first time since he gave me the other half of his sandwich on the beach at Cabo.
The bag crinkles when I pick it up, and his eyes fly open. “No, we have to save them for tonight!”
“We don’t even know where we’ll be by then. We could be rescued. Or we could be captured. Or we could be . . .” Dead.
“We’ll be fine, and having something to look forward to will get us through the day, even if that something is just a brick of processed sugar.”
“But I really want that other marshmallow.”
Luke eyes me suspiciously. “Give me the bag, Maddie.”
Instead, I grin and deliberately tuck it behind my back. He reaches out, but I lean to block his arm. He can’t take the marshmallows if he’s too shy to touch me.
Luke’s eyes narrow. He lunges. I squeal, and we fall onto the ground, the log shielding us from the camp stove. His elbow lands on my hair, his face inches from mine. He’s cute, for a Boy Scout gamer, and the flash of heat in his eyes has nothing to do with the firelight flickering on the side of his face.
Then Luke freezes, and suddenly seems very aware that he’s lying half on top of me, his left knee between my thighs. His chest pressed against mine.
“I’m s-sorry . . .” he stammers, lifting himself. “I didn’t mean to—”
I pull him down, his hesitancy melting until our lips meet.
My eyes close and we both relax into the kiss. For a few minutes, there is no jungle. There are no kidnappers and no hostages. There are no spiders, snakes, or caimans. There is no grief, and no pain.
For a few minutes, there is only Luke and me, and the sweet, shared taste of marshmallow.
17 HOURS EARLIER
GENESIS
“Gin!” Domenica says as she lays her cards on my straw mat. I’ve lost four games in a row, and no one will play poker with me anymore because I won all of Domenica’s breath mints and all of Rog’s rolling papers. Which are no good without anything to roll. Hiking through the jungle sucked, but boredom is its own special kind of hell.
Álvaro cranks up the radio his group is listening to at the next campfire.
“Thanks for joining us. It’s eleven a.m. here in Miami . . .” Neda’s voice rings out loud and clear.
I look up as Holden finally stops trying to suck Penelope’s soul out through her mouth.
“This morning, we have confirmation that a small group of the missing hikers were actually out of camp on a sightseeing tour during the kidnapping. They made it out of the jungle overnight and have reported their fellow hikers missing. Among those Americans still unaccounted for are a husband and wife from Texas, four young backpackers from San Diego, and a high school dropout from Indiana. You can hear more about that on just about any news channel. Seriously, they’re playing it over and over,” Neda continues. “But what we have for you today on South Florida’s Power 85 FM is an exclusive interview with the parent of one of the Miami Six, the local teens and my personal friends who were brutally kidnapped at gunpoint yesterday from a Colombian army bunkhouse. Stay tuned . . .”
