“Does anyone want Thai food?” Cass asks. “I can order. It’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
Gus murmurs, “What’s going on with her?”
I didn’t hear his approach, but at least he’s on my right side. I snap, “How would I know?”
“It’s a concussion, right? But shouldn’t she be feeling better by now?”
I quietly say, “If it was just a concussion, yeah. But I think her brain is swelling from the hit she took. There could be bleeding inside her skull. Confusion, loss of balance, migraines, they’re all symptoms.”
“Can you help her?”
Gus actually thinks I can do something for Cass? “Haven’t you been paying attention? I can’t climb a tree or walk in a swamp without freaking out.”
Gus says, “You did great climbing up.”
I actually laugh. “Too bad I had to come down.”
“I’m scared, too,” he admits, giving a black cricket on steroids with a serrated jaw and red antennae a wide berth. “I’m just better at hiding it.”
We watch Jupiter pull Cass over a network of slippery roots. She looks like a rag doll.
Gus asks, “Is there anything we can do?”
I shake my head. “A neurosurgeon would need to place a shunt in her brain to relieve the pressure.”
“She’s going to die?”
“If the swelling compresses her brain stem, then she might stop breathing. But what do I know? I’m not a nurse.”
“Do you want to be one?”
I wave a crimson dragonfly away. “I don’t know what I want to be. Understanding all that medical stuff is cool, like following clues, figuring out a mystery. Unlike life, it all makes sense.” I pluck a flower from a lily pad and twirl the pink blossom. “What I don’t like is feeling pressured by my mom to be like her, not my dad. It’s like she’s constantly tugging at a rope stretched between us, so I tug back, but I don’t even know what I’m fighting for or against anymore.”
Gus hisses, “Snake.”
A light green snake with a triangular head swims toward us. It’s thin and at least two feet long. Fun fact? Arrow-shaped heads usually mean the snake is poisonous. Overhead a black-winged hawk swoops through the forest’s canopy, hits the water with a thwack, flies up again, grasping the venomous snake in its talons. Life and death happen fast in the Amazon.
“What you said before, about no one forcing me to be an actor?”
I exhale. “It’s none of my business.”
“After my dad died, a scout saw me in a shopping mall, gave my mom his card, told her I’d be perfect for commercials. I got the first job I auditioned for and kept getting work. It paid really well, so my mom never got a job. I’ve been acting ever since.”
“What you did to me?”
“Sucks. I get it. There’s no excuse.”
“So why’d you do it? Truth.”
Gus meets my gaze. “I’m kind of on autopilot. I take the work my agent tells me will further my career, memorize lines, show up, put the check in our family bank account, then move on to the next job. I’m not saying some of it isn’t fun, but I do what’s asked and rarely question it. That includes agreeing to flirt with you for the show, even after the crash. It was wrong. I’m sorry, Danny. Truth.”
I release the grudge I’ve been holding tight and it floats away. It’s one less thing to carry out here. “Okay. But now that you know, you can’t use being on autopilot as an excuse anymore.”
Gus crushes a horsefly on his arm, leaving a gooey red-green smear. “Agreed.”
He’s not off the hook yet. “I know you don’t have a father anymore. I’m sorry about that, really. But mine was MIA for a long time. This is my chance to get him back so I need you to stop being the son he always wanted and give Cougar time to see that I’m not so bad.”
Gus scoops a handful of water and lets it run down the back of his neck. I try not to notice the way it makes his skin gleam. He says, “I wasn’t trying to get between you two. Honest. Your dad, he’s this bright light, you know?”
I skirt a neon-yellow water bug with bulging red eyes. “I know. When he shines on you nothing is better.”
Gus nods. “Yeah. But I get that Cougar isn’t my dad. I’ll back off. Promise. Forgive me?”
“Leaning that way. Tell me something embarrassing about you.”
“What?”
“Something no one else knows.”
Gus’s mouth twists sideways, like he’s thinking.
“It can’t be something lame like the first time screaming girls followed your car or tried to break into your hotel room.”
Gus laughs. “I’m not in a boy band. Let me think. Okay. I hear ’70s music in my head, usually at pivotal moments. Havana, Jim Taylor, the Hawks, King.”
“Seventies?”
“My dad’s favorite musical era. He left behind a big collection of vinyl records. I was obsessed with playing them over and over again. Must’ve driven my mom nuts but she never stopped me.”
“What song do you hear right now?”
“King. ‘Leave.’”
“Sing a few lines.”
Gus shakes his head. “I’m pretty much tone-deaf.”
“Even better.”
He clears his throat. “‘I’m a king without a crown, a man without a home, a pilot flying low, an archer with no bow...’”
It’s hard not to smile because his singing is truly horrible. “You are tone-deaf. Good. Apology accepted.”
Gus lifts the container he’s carrying with the ember. Water pours out of the holes poked in the bottom of the bamboo. “Sorry about this, too.”
I laugh. “You get a pass for that one.”
We move through a section of swamp with a hole in the canopy above. It allows a narrow beam of sunlight to stream in. It makes the water around us appear emerald colored. In the golden light, pink blooms growing along vines wrapped around tree branches come so alive they glow. We stop, tip our faces and soak the magic in. If we stayed right here, would a search plane see us? But we can’t stay. It’s getting late in the day—the crepuscular hours. That’s when predators feed. Another fun fact I learned from watching countless COUGAR episodes.
The swamp water slowly recedes. It’s replaced by deep mud. This isn’t good. We’re supposed to find a big river, a tributary of the Amazon. None of us comment. We slog through the mud, our legs coated with the rank-smelling stuff, sweat creating gritty brown runnels in the sludge painting our skin. Jupiter stops to peel a leech off his calf. I shudder and scan my skin, beyond relieved to find no leeches. Gus has one on his shin. He grimaces, then rolls it off with his palm, flings it into the bog.
When the ground is firm, the swamp in the distance, Cougar stops us for the night.
Jupiter states the obvious. “There’s no river.”
Cougar scowls. “Obviously our gamble didn’t pay off. We’ll find a river tomorrow. Put your layers and bug repellent on. Jupiter and I will build a quick shelter. Gus, scrounge as much dry wood and leaves as you can find. Danny, set out our gear to dry. We’ll make a fire, have fruit for dinner and find a river in the morning.”
Cass is lying on her back in the dirt, legs coated with dried muck, eyes closed. “What do you want me to do?”
Cougar squats beside her, a hand on her heart. “Rest.”
Cass says, “We’ll do confessionals tonight.” Even injured, her work brain is still churning.
Everybody scatters to respective jobs. I break off some large leaves and cover the ground, then untie each bag and spread out the wet contents. I find a low branch, about six feet long, make sure there’re no ants or spiders crawling along it, then use my body weight to break it free. It’s perfect for hanging wet socks high above a flame.
“Danny?” Cass says.
“Just a sec.”
“No.”<
br />
I look up. Shit. “Don’t move.”
“I can’t... I’m going to...” she hisses.
“Cass. Don’t. Freaking. Move.” I recognize the snake from watching my dad’s show—arrow-shaped head, gray body with a string of black patches in the foreground bordered by gold. Fer-de-lance—an insanely poisonous viper. The snake slithers along Cass’s leg, coils by her hip, head up, tongue flicking. If I yell for my dad, will it bite her?
Slowly, I back up. This kind of snake can strike a long way.
Cass murmurs, “Don’t.”
Desperate, I glance over my shoulder, hoping to see my dad, Jupiter or Gus. No one is around.
Cass whispers, “Danny, help me!”
I look at the stick in my hand. I can’t be thinking what I’m thinking. Tears roll down Cass’s cheeks. “Oh, please, please, please, don’t move,” I whisper.
“I have to.”
If the fer-de-lance bites her, she’s dead. A little voice in my head says she’s probably already dead from her brain injury, says that if I do what I’m doing and screw it up, I’ll be toast, too. I can’t help her! I watch Cass’s fingers burrow into the dirt, preparing to push off. The snake is fixated, slightly swaying.
I CANNOT BE THINKING WHAT I’M THINKING.
I lunge forward.
24
I scream.
Cass screams.
The monkeys in the forest canopy add their cries until the air bleeds. The snake thrashes, its tail lashing through the air. I don’t know how long the stick will pin its head. If it gets free, it’s going to twist around and bite me.
A machete slices through the air. The snake’s head is decapitated but its body continues to writhe. I stare at the dead snake, at Cass, rocking, arms wrapped around her knees, at Jupiter’s open mouth, Gus’s white face. Then I turn away, vomit. There’s nothing much in my stomach but bile burns my throat. A hand rests on my back.
Jupiter says, “You’re okay.”
He’s right. I’m okay.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Cougar shouts.
I wait to hear what Cass is going to say but she’s silent. When I turn, my dad isn’t looking at her. He’s staring at me.
“Me? I... It... Cass... She wouldn’t... She was going to move!”
“Lay off,” Jupiter says.
Cougar glowers at him. “Shut the hell up.”
Gus takes a step forward. “Seriously. She saved Cass’s life!”
My dad reaches me in two strides. His hands come up fast. He’s going to hit me. He presses palms against the sides of my head, hard enough to make me wince. “She’s the walking dead,” he hisses. “You know that as well as I do.” When he pulls me into a hug, I can feel the pounding of his heart. “Don’t do anything like that again! Do you hear me?”
Behind him Cass scrambles in the dirt for the camera, pulls it from the bag. “Filming,” she says, her voice totally calm. It’s like she’s a robot. Nothing stops her from doing her job.
Cougar returns to the dead snake, its body still wriggling on the ground, and stabs the head with the tip of the machete. Holding it in front of the camera so the snake’s gleaming fangs are visible, he says, “A fer-de-lance can still bite, even after it’s been decapitated. A typical bite releases 105 milligrams of venom. Fifty is fatal for humans.” He flicks the head into the forest, then loops the machete under the still-wriggling snake’s body. “We’re having fer-de-lance for dinner. Gus, you want to learn how to skin a snake?”
“I’ll give Danny the honors.”
Once a hasty shelter is built and the fire started with leaves, twigs, Mack’s resin and pages from Jupiter’s dwindling book, Cass films while Cougar shows me how to cut the fer-de-lance from the anal opening to the neck. It’s hard to make myself touch the snake at first, but its skin is dry, not slimy, and I hold it while Cougar cuts away the snake’s connective tissue to separate the skin from the muscle so it can be easily peeled away. Once the snake is skinned, I’m more fascinated than repulsed.
“With only one eye, how’d you pin this snake?” Cougar asks. “I mean, the depth perception thing?”
“It took a few years, but my brain adjusts most of the time.”
Cougar glowers. “Most of the time is an unacceptable risk.” He shakes his head like he still can’t believe what happened. “You want to take out its guts?”
My dad cuts along the snake’s stomach and I remove the tube that holds its innards, careful not to puncture it to avoid getting snake bile on the meat. In an episode with the ballet dancer Julius Khali, he made the mistake of tearing a rattlesnake’s gut open. The excretions ruined the meat.
“Good job,” Cougar says.
“Thanks. Julius Khali. Nevada.”
He gives me a strange look, then nods before looking up at the camera. “Like father, like daughter.”
I’m made of helium. I get why my dad was so furious. I risked getting bitten, too. But what would he have done if he’d been in my position?
It starts to rain. Everyone washes off the mud caked on our skin, then we huddle beneath our small shelter and wait for the snake to cook. It’s hard to believe, but the smell makes me salivate. I get the first piece. People always joke that snake tastes like chicken. It does.
“Time for confessionals,” Cass says, her voice slurring a bit. “You’re first, Jupiter. What’s your biggest fear?”
Jupiter shakes his head. “I’m too tired to play.”
Cass snorts. “Baby. You’re up, Gus.”
Gus licks his fingers. “Before tonight, I’d say eating a snake.”
“Bullshit,” Cass says. “We’re lost in the fucking Amazon. What’s your biggest fear? Hit me with it, actor boy.”
She sounds drunk. “Dad, I think—”
Cougar holds up one hand. His eyes spark in the firelight. “This is what my show is about, Danny, digging deep, facing your fears, coming out of every situation victorious in body and spirit. Right, Gus?”
Gus hesitates. “I guess... I guess that I’m afraid of not being there for my brothers. My mom, she tries, but she’s just not... She can’t carry the emotional or financial responsibility of three sons.”
Cougar says, “She has four sons.” He grips Gus’s shoulder. “She’s damn lucky to have you.”
Gus shifts so Cougar’s hand falls away. Jupiter takes the camera, turns it on Cass. “Biggest fear?”
Cass pinches her cheeks like she’s trying to get some color in them. “Hmm, biggest fear. When I was a kid, it was not getting invited to prom.”
Cougar chuckles. “I doubt that ever happened.”
“I wasn’t exactly popular. My brother took me every year.”
“That’s embarrassing as hell, but not exactly a fear. C’mon, Cass,” he pushes. “Let’s show ’em how it’s done.”
She looks down, plays with the edge of a leaf. “That I’m unlovable.” She holds up her left hand. “That no one will ever put a ring on it. That I’ll be cursed because of the abortion I had at twenty-three, and never be able to have a baby. That in the City of Dreams, mine won’t come true. I’ll end up in a ground-floor apartment with nine cats. I hate cats—”
“Whoa,” Cougar says, grabbing her hand, kissing the palm. “You’re going off the rails. Come back, babe. You’re a beauty. Your personal tagline is: Strong. Smart. Independent.”
Cass blinks back tears. “Give me my damn camera,” she says to Jupiter. “It’s Danny’s turn.” She looks up from the lens. “Don’t you dare say snakes. You’re full of shit, acting all shy and scared when you’re a one-eyed warrior. So what really scares Danger Danielle Warren?”
A memory rises to the surface. Music pounds so loud the floor vibrates. My cheeks hurt from grinning at Trix as we dance with abandon beneath the flickering of strobe lights. My classmates circle us. We’re that good. Then
I see they’re flapping their arms like wings, pecking their heads side to side, shouting “Pigeon.” I run out of the gym, hide in a classroom. If Cougar had seen those kids, watched me run away? My heart wrenches.
“Danny?” Cass prods.
“I don’t know.”
Cougar says, “Come on, buddy. I’d like to know, what scares my daughter?”
“Disappointing you.” Holy shit. The truth just slipped out. Now those two words hang in the air. My dad doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything.
“You killed a freaking fer-de-lance today, saved Cass’s life,” Jupiter says. “That’s pretty far from disappointing.”
“Sure,” Cougar says. “Well, technically, I killed it. Not sure what Danny would’ve done if I hadn’t come along. Eventually that viper, mad as hell, would’ve wriggled free, probably bitten them both. The venom would’ve stopped their blood from clotting, led to infection, gangrene, amputation at best, an excruciating death at worst.”
It’s like scoring a goal, then realizing it’s against your own team. I stare at the dirt so no one can see the tears pooling and wish that just one freaking time Cougar could give me credit. He reaches for my hand, tugs until I meet his gaze.
“You’re learning,” he says. “And it’s hard not to be proud of a kid whose instinct is to help.”
The moment is confusing, like getting kissed on one cheek and slapped on the other. “Um. Thanks.”
“Okay, Cougar, bigesh fear?” Cass asks, her slurring worse.
Cougar says, “It’s not snakes. Or bears, though that grizzly in Canada definitely got my attention—nine feet tall standing on his back legs. Let me think. Okay. When Danny was eight or so, my biggest fear was that she was going to be a sociopath.”
I laugh. “Excuse me?”
“Whenever I visited and Commander Sam allowed me to take you on a tame adventure, I noticed you had a bizarre habit. Each time you found a dead animal, you’d creep up to it, hang your head over the carcass and take a deep breath, holding it until your face turned red. It didn’t seem to matter if it was a butterfly, squirrel, bird or even a fish!”
The Speed of Falling Objects Page 14
