by Nina Revoyr
He directed them down the trail until they reached the campsite, and when he saw this, the color came up in his cheeks; it was as if he’d found that someone had not only broken into his house but had taken up residence there. He gripped his rifle so hard that his knuckles grew white. “Motherfuckers,” he said. Then he turned to the others and pointed his rifle. “Stay there.”
He went to José’s duffel bags and pulled out the contents—clothes, shoes, an extra blanket, and a one-eyed teddy bear. God, José was just a child, Gwen thought again. A scared kid who didn’t want to be here. A.J. opened up the bins and searched through them, pulling out boxes of crackers and cans of soup. The dog, who now smelled awful, rushed over to stick her nose in an open bin; A.J. threw a plastic food container that hit her squarely on the back and sent her slinking off again. Then he went over to the stove, which Gwen thought now might not even be for cooking, but for something related to the plants. A.J. looked at all of this, then turned the table heavily on its side. He picked up a shovel and started to beat the stove with it, striking it over and over again. He did this one-armed, swung the shovel like an ax, still holding the rifle in his other hand. He seemed to be doing this more to express his anger than to destroy the equipment, since he couldn’t do much damage one-handed. The sound of metal on metal made Gwen wince.
“I can’t believe the balls of these people! Right under our fucking noses. Right in our national forest!”
Had Gwen not been in the situation she was in, she would have found this amusing, a drug grower and Confederate sympathizer and God knew what else, sounding like a ranger for the National Park Service.
Now he took the shovel and started smashing up the rest of the camp—bins, the tarp and tent, the cooking equipment. He swore with each impact, cursing the Mexicans, the dead boy on the ledge above them, pausing only to pocket a bar of soap he found in one of the bins and to pick up his glasses, which had fallen off during a particularly violent swing.
In the midst of this Gwen heard Tracy say, “We’ve got to do something. He’s going to kill us.”
“I don’t know,” Todd replied. “Maybe we can reason with him.”
Gwen had had enough of this. “Todd,” she said, using the tone she’d use with an unreasonable teenager, “Tracy’s right. He’s going to kill us. And he can’t let us go after what we’ve seen and heard.”
“We’ve got to move quick,” Oscar added. “His brother’s coming.”
“Hey!” A.J. yelled. “You be quiet over there. No talking, no plotting, no crying for Mommy. Just shut up and do what I say.” He dropped the shovel and came back over to them. “Come to think of it, we need to get rid of your stuff too. Let’s start with your maps and compass. And your GPS.”
Tracy glared at him, but when he lifted the gun, she produced the maps and compass. He gestured for her to drop the plastic compass and then smashed it with his foot. He did the same with Oscar’s GPS. Then he pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit the corner of the topo map, which blackened and curled and then vanished into nothingness. He repeated this process with the map of the Lost Canyon trail; the part that didn’t burn was a soggy mush. He then made them empty their pockets, which produced a knife out of Oscar’s front pocket and a Leatherman out of Todd’s.
A.J. approached them and patted them all down. Gwen endured the rough feel of his hand on her body, touching her at the hips and stomach, giving her ass a squeeze for good measure. “You’re a pretty one, for a darky,” he said. “And not too skinny either.” She felt dirty and invaded and terrified, and curled into herself when he was done.
Something blared loudly, an alarm or a phone, and it took Gwen a moment to realize that it couldn’t have been José’s. A.J. reached into his backpack and pulled out a satellite phone. “Iridium,” he said. “Best choice for the backcountry.” He took a few steps away from them but kept his rifle against his hip. “Gary!” he said cheerfully. “We were just talking about you!”
He listened to the reply.
“Yes, all four of them. The Mexican kid’s gone off to a better place. But we’re still here, and we’re about to go pick some plants.” He listened again and said, “All right. I’ll keep everyone entertained until then.”
He hung up and clipped the phone to his belt. “That was Gary, my brother. He says hi, and he looks forward to joining the party. But work before play, right? So let’s go tear up some plants before it gets too dark.”
Was he serious? Tear up plants on a day when they’d hiked seven or eight miles with heavy packs, crossed a fast-moving river, run into one scary guy with a gun only to end up in the hands of another? Gwen was tired, bone tired, and she was hungry. And on top of that her bladder was full.
“I have to pee,” she said aloud.
“So . . . pee!” said A.J.
“I’ll just go off over there.” She gestured toward the woods.
“You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here in my sight.”
She couldn’t believe this. Oscar was standing next to her, and she saw the expression of horror on his face.
“I won’t run, I promise. I’d just feel better if I could go over there.”
“Well, I wouldn’t,” A.J. said, lifting his rifle a few inches. “And it’s really all about me, you understand? It’s all about the man with the gun. So why don’t you just stay here, where I can see you.”
And so she stayed close, and the others all looked away, and they might have closed in around her except that A.J. stepped up nearly level with them so he could see better. Even though she turned away so she was facing him sideways, she still felt terribly exposed, felt his eyes as she undid her pants and shoved them down and squatted, the cool air a shock against her skin. She was shamed by her nakedness, shamed by the sound of the piss hitting the ground. She felt something taken from her, his greedy appraisal, and she thought she might be sick. She didn’t want to look down and acknowledge her embarrassment, so instead she stared up between the trees. The sky was a darkening blue, open and free; she wished she could be drawn up into it.
When she was done, she stood quickly and pulled her pants up. Oscar touched her on the shoulder protectively.
“That was very entertaining,” A.J. said. “Thank you. A heck of a view. Maybe you and me, we can spend some time together later.”
“Don’t even try it, you bastard,” Oscar said.
“Watch it,” A.J. warned.
“You talk shit about her, and now this?”
“I’m an equal-opportunity guy when it comes to females,” A.J. said. “Besides, the darker the berry—”
“Fuck you.”
“Shut up,” A.J. said, shoving the rifle into Oscar’s belly. Then: “Anyone else need to pee? . . . All right, one more thing I’ve got to take care of and then we’ll go.” He looped a rope around the dog’s collar and led her to the edge of the creek. With the rifle still in one hand, he used the other to pick her up by the collar and flip her on her back in the water. She yelped and cried and struggled but he yelled, “Shut up!” and held her down with his boot, gun still pointed at them. Now he pulled out the bar of soap from the camp and turned her on her side, soaping up her fur where she’d rolled in the carcass. He stepped down so hard he might have crushed her ribs, but the dog lay passive and quiet, eyes wide open in fear and distress. When he was finished, he lifted his foot and removed the rope and the dog leapt up to the shore, shaking the water off, staying away from A.J. Her tail was so far between her legs that the tip of it touched her chest.
A.J. directed them up the trail. For a few moments there was no sound except their shoes breaking twigs and the panting of the dog, who slithered between them. Then A.J.’s voice rang out loudly.
“We’re off to see the Wizard,” he sang, “the Wonderful Wizard of Oz!”
Gwen felt the hair rise on the back of her neck.
“What’s wrong with you guys? You don’t like music? What a bunch of party poopers.”
When they got to
the edge of the garden, A.J. tied the dog to a tree and led them between the rows. “Okay. What you’re going to do is tear the plants out. Grab them as close to the ground as you can, so the roots come out with them . . . All right, go on, get working now. And no smoking on the job, ha ha!”
They all looked at him, at the plants, at each other.
“Good thing it’s still so early in the season. A month later, and they’d be taller than you. Now go on!”
Finally Todd, with an expression that Gwen couldn’t read, took a few steps forward, bent over, and pulled up a plant. She was furious at him, unaccountably. Did he think cooperating would help? And she felt guilty for her anger—he was in the same mess that they were. And then she felt annoyed again, annoyed at the guilt, annoyed at her confusion of feeling.
“Good man,” said A.J. “Now, the rest of you, do what he’s doing.”
Oscar sighed and stepped forward, and when Gwen saw this, she gave up and did the same. Tracy glared at A.J., not moving, until he leveled the rifle to her chest.
“Go on, Jap,” he said.
So she stepped forward too, and soon all four of them were tearing up plants, spaced a few feet away from each other. A.J. leaned against a tree trunk and pointed his rifle toward them.
“This used to be our country.” He turned on a big flashlight so they could see in the growing dark. “Fifteen, twenty years ago, when I was a kid, it was all white people up here, or mostly white, and the Mexicans knew their place. But then things started to change. They invaded this business like they’ve done everything else. They’ve come into here, Sequoia, Humboldt, Mendocino. And that’s only California. Some homegrown traitors have even gone into business with them!” With the rifle still under one arm, he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. “But not us,” he said, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. “We had to take a stand. We want our country back. We want to restore my people to their proper place as the head of everything—and send the rest of you fuckers back where you came from.”
He took a drag from his cigarette and glanced at the dog, who looked at him uncertainly, then lowered her head. “The cartel killed a buddy of mine last December when he stumbled onto one of their gardens. Now we’ve killed one of theirs.” He whistled. “This is a shitload of money here, boy. Whew! They’re going to be pissed! But you know, if the fucking US government would only legalize drugs, it would drive all these bastards out of business. We could grow our crops openly and not have to sneak around.”
Gwen heard his rants but only half-listened. Her whole body hurt. The muscles in her legs were tight; her toes felt raw. And her back was pierced through with pain every time she bent over. She felt a growing panic as the night came on, as the forest closed in around them.
They worked for what seemed like a very long time, A.J. allowing them periodic breaks to eat the almonds and peanuts he’d taken from the camp, to have a gulp or two of water. Gwen’s back hurt even worse now, and her hands were raw from handling the plants. A.J. kept the light on them, and the moon was bright, so they were able to see despite the darkness. Time seemed both to expand and hold still, and Gwen had no idea what hour it was. She felt A.J. turn his eyes on her periodically; once he winked at her and leered. She shuddered and avoided looking at him.
She thought vaguely of the strangeness of what she was doing, how the fields in these mountains connected with the violence in Mexico, the murderous rivalries between gangs in LA. She knew people who smoked, of course, but had never tried herself. She had seen what drugs did to too many kids in South LA—robbed them of their senses, and futures.
Finally, Tracy stood up straight and said, “I have to take a piss.”
“Well, go on. But stay right here in my sight.”
Tracy took a few steps through the garden and A.J. followed, stopping about ten feet from her and not far from Oscar. The dog lifted her head and looked up. Todd was to the left of them, and Gwen not far behind. She saw Tracy stop a couple of feet from a tree. Then Tracy pointed suddenly and yelled, “Shit! Watch out!” and they all looked up to see what was there. A.J. looked too, and Tracy slipped behind the tree.
“Hey!” A.J. yelled, too late. He made for the tree but Todd cut to his left and A.J. dropped the light and swung toward him. Then Tracy flashed out between the trees and A.J. raised the gun to shoot, but Oscar came up behind him and struck him with a branch, bringing the full force of the wood against his skull. A.J.’s glasses flew off and he dropped the rifle and crumpled to the ground, and Tracy rushed over and kicked the gun away. A.J. lay there groaning and Oscar hit him again—in his midsection, his shoulders, his head. Finally he was still. Todd bent over and took the phone and José’s handgun from his waistband, and Tracy gave him another kick. She knelt and pressed two fingers to A.J.’s neck.
“Still breathing.”
“But at least he’s out,” Todd said.
They both looked over at Oscar. “Hey, great job,” said Todd, giving him a fist-bump. His newfound respect was evident in his voice.
“You too,” Oscar replied. “Both of you.”
“How the hell did you know to do that?” Gwen asked. She picked up the flashlight and aimed it between them, creating a circle of light.
“I didn’t know,” Tracy said. “We just did it.”
“When you slipped behind that tree,” Todd said, “shit, I didn’t know what we were going to do.”
“That was crazy!” Gwen said this admiringly, not knowing whether Tracy had been brave or stupid. Was there a difference? she wondered.
“I figured you guys would step up,” Tracy said. She stood and clapped both Oscar and Todd on the back. “You took care of business!”
Todd examined the satellite phone, and Gwen felt a surge of hope. Maybe it was as simple as calling someone; maybe they’d be able to connect to the outside world.
“I don’t know how to work this,” Todd said. He fumbled with the buttons and Tracy looked over his arm.
“It’s password protected,” she said.
No one spoke, but Gwen saw her own despair reflected in the others’ faces.
There was movement on the ground and they all jumped. A.J. twitched and Tracy kicked him hard—in the side, in the head. His lifted shirt revealed a few inches of stomach, and his flesh there was shockingly pale. A bit of blood streamed down from his temple. But he stayed out.
“What are we going to do with him?” Oscar asked.
“I don’t think there’s any choice,” Tracy said. “We have to kill him.”
“We have to what?” Gwen said. Her heart was beating out of her chest. “What are you talking about, Tracy? That’s crazy!”
“Is it?” Tracy’s features were clear and sharp-looking by the light of the flashlight. She stroked her chin as if the question was merely academic, but she looked like she was enjoying herself. “Think about it. He’s already killed a man. And from the way he shot that rifle, it probably wasn’t the first. He thinks we all deserve to die—and now we know about his business. There’s no reason to believe he would have let us live.”
“But still,” Todd said, “all we’ve done is show up in the wrong place at the wrong time. If we kill him, it’s a whole different story.”
“Exactly,” Gwen agreed. “We don’t want that on our hands. José’s death is on his hands. We had nothing to do with it.”
“But who’s to say that anyone will believe that?” Tracy argued. “The kid is dead, and there’s no way to prove who did it. Look,” she said, leaning toward them, “right now, the main issue here isn’t who gets blamed for the kid’s death. The issue is us getting out alive. We need to get the hell out of here before A.J.’s brother shows up. Not to mention the kid’s people. And we need to fix it so this piece of shit can’t follow us.”
“Agreed,” Todd said. “But we can do that without killing him.”
“I’m not so sure we can.”
“This is crazy, Tracy,” Todd said, echoing Gwen. “You’re fucking batshit crazy.
We can’t do this. I can’t do it. I’ve got a family to go back to, children, a job. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, I can’t be any part of it.”
“You’re already part of it,” said Tracy. She gestured at the man on the ground, and then up toward the slope, where somewhere José’s body lay. “Everything has already changed.”
They let this sit, averting their eyes. Gwen felt a chill go up her spine, an opening into another kind of fear. They’d gotten past the immediate danger, two direct threats to their lives. But the fact was, they were out in the wilderness completely on their own. The phone was useless, and there was no other way to reach out for help. No one—at least no one good—was coming for them.
Now Tracy turned to Oscar, and the shadows from the flashlight made her cheeks look smooth and hollow, her entire face more angled and wolflike. “Oscar, what do you think?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “My mind says you’re right. But my gut . . .”
“Look, there’s plenty we can do to incapacitate him,” Todd said.
“Like what?”
“We could tie him up and put duct tape over his mouth.”
“But then he could die out here,” Tracy said, with a tone of interested pleasure. “So what would be the difference? Why not just kill him now and get it over with?”
“Stop,” Gwen said. “Just stop.” Her head felt like it was about to burst. “I can’t believe we’re standing here talking about killing a person. Debating it like we’re talking about which trail to take. Tracy, we can’t do that. It’s not even an option. We’ve got to figure out something else.”
They were all looking at her quietly. Gwen was sure that Tracy was going to overrule her. But something shifted in Tracy’s face now and she looked human again.
“All right, Gwen,” she said. “We’ll figure something out.”
They dragged A.J. over to a tree, the two men holding onto his shoulders, Tracy and Gwen each taking a leg. They emptied his pockets, recovering Oscar’s knife and Todd’s Leatherman, plus a worn Swiss Army knife and some matches. Tracy covered his mouth with duct tape. They leaned him back against a tree in a sitting position, his chin falling onto his chest. Then they double-tied him—first binding his wrists together behind the tree and then wrapping his upper body with rope. Tracy and Todd both knew complicated knots to secure both sets of bindings.
