And here I am, close to someone who knows what it feels like to regret the past, someone who’s brave enough to admit he was wrong. But can I believe him? Are his words genuine or empty?
More importantly, why does it matter to me? Nothing should—apart from our deal.
I get up and follow him.
“Diego, wait—”
He stops mid-stride, but he doesn’t turn back, surprised at something in front of him. I follow his gaze.
Ahead of us, there’s a small plane covered in overgrown vegetation, its fuselage copper with rust. Pieces of it are scattered on the jungle’s floor, along with broken crates and discarded plastic packages.
Hearing a guttural moan followed by the creaking of rope, I spin and look up.
A man is stuck, tangled between a ripped-open parachute and the branches of a tree. His face is covered with ants and maggots, with only one bulging eyeball still rapidly moving. The rest of him is no better. He’s mostly exposed bones and rotten muscle. Yet, his moss-covered hands reach for us while his half-eaten feet kick air.
Stunned by the rot and decay, I take two steps away from the tree, bumping into Diego, who steadies me. His hands linger on my arms.
I can’t take my eyes off the hanging man. I’ve never seen this level of decomposition on an infected. The jungle humidity spared nothing, consuming flesh and clothing, but not enough to extinguish his brain completely. Will this be the fate of my mother? Ever seeking new victims while rotting away? Cursed with a hunger-filled existence without being allowed to die?
“I know him,” Diego says in a hushed whisper.
He lets go of me, taking the warmth of his touch with him, and starts climbing the tree, branch by branch while holding the machete.
Eyes wide, I shake my head. “What are you doing? Get down!”
The tree isn’t that high, and the branches are thick enough to support his weight, but I’m more worried that he’s somehow going to get infected.
“Get away, Isabel. I’m cutting him loose.”
Once he’s high enough, Diego places his feet between two roots, and then grips a vine tight to steady himself before swinging the machete, cutting the parachute strings off.
The body of the pilot slides off the tree. It falls onto the ground, dispersing ants and maggots everywhere.
He thrashes for a while, struggling to raise his head. Before he can, I sink my knife into the weakened skull.
We work together to dig a grave deep enough using a small piece of the fuselage. In silence, we place the body in it, careful not to come in contact with anything but the rags he’s still wearing.
Diego says a short prayer in a low voice as I finish covering the remains with damp earth. Finally, he makes a simple wooden cross, held together by a piece of the parachute, to mark the grave.
For a long time, he looks at the patch of earth with a deep frown, broken only by a sigh or a slight shake of his head.
Only when a light drizzle begins does he turn to me and point to the plane. “We should take shelter inside.” His tone is tired.
The tail of the plane is missing, but there’s enough room in the front to keep us out of the rain. I sit on the pilot’s seat while Diego searches the crates that didn’t fall out.
Rain pitters and patters against the cabin’s window, overgrown foliage obscuring the view of the jungle. I glance at Diego, his back to me as he opens one of the crates.
I want to make amends for earlier, but I don’t know what to say exactly. He’s still mad—I can tell by his stiff back and the frowny silence directed at me. And finding that man did not help matters.
“Who was he?” I ask, sitting sideways in the seat to get a better view of what he’s doing.
Before he answers me, Diego pulls a black plastic pack out of the nearest crate. “He worked for me. This is one my smuggling planes. It disappeared on a run, almost a year ago. I thought the pilot had escaped the country with the product, but it looks like he had an accident instead.”
He rips the plastic with frustration, revealing a pack of the most expensive brand of cigarettes in Guavina. “Seems he didn’t even reach the border.” He plays with a cigarette, but he eventually tosses it out of a broken cabin window. “We weren’t close, but he deserved better than to rot here, alone. I should’ve looked for him. I just assumed the worst and abandoned him to die.”
“He wasn’t dead.”
Diego’s nostrils flare. “Even worse. He didn’t die in the crash, which means he suffered for days.”
“He was infected, so I don’t think he was in pain. They don’t feel it. And even if you had found him, it would’ve been too late.”
His expression softens as he runs his fingers through his wet hair. “I suppose you’re right. Nobody knew about the cure back then either.”
“No. Nobody knew.” Not even Liam, although he had hope. “Even now, all most people can do is kill anyone who’s infected. Family, friends. Doesn’t matter. It’s just too risky to keep them alive.”
Diego sits next to me on the co-pilot seat. Our knees bump together. “And yet, you stayed with your mother. Kept her close, when anyone else would’ve given up. Meanwhile, I was more worried about my profit margin than my son. I guess I understand why you see me as the bad guy.”
He says all of that with a self-deprecating smile, but there’s an edge of bitterness to it.
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but you thought it. And I can’t blame you.” Diego licks his lips, and then wrinkles his nose. “In the past, I wouldn’t have given a rat’s ass about your opinion, either. I was pretty arrogant.”
I can’t help it—I flash him a smile. “More than now, you mean?”
“Oh, yeah. But getting knifed during a soccer match shrank my head considerably. That, a nasty divorce, and a hasty retreat into the uncivilized jungle … Well, the ego withers as the list of mistakes grows.”
“Everyone has that list.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Yours can’t be longer than mine.”
“I don’t know; it might be.” I sigh. “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean … I shouldn’t have judged you.”
I fumble with my hands, unsure how to explain myself, how to admit out loud how similar we are. I was comfortable with the moral wall I had built between us—having it crumble would mean getting too close.
So, instead, I say, “It’s just that … it’s hard to forget the things I heard about the Vargas cartel. But you seem different from those stories. You’re …” I point at him, but I don’t elaborate, giving him time for a comeback.
Diego’s smile broadens. “What? Dashingly handsome and a great guy?”
“Not a violent psychopath.” I don’t show it, but I’m relieved he took the bait.
“Low bar there, Isabel.” He shrugs with a smile. “But I’ll accept your apology … if you’ll tell me something about you. Seems unfair that I’m an open book, while you stay a mystery.”
I bite my lip. “You already know enough. Not sure why you would want to know anything else.”
“Well, for starters, because I’ve never seen someone so tight-lipped about their past,” he says with an amused smile, sliding closer, his knees between mine.
To gain some breathing space, I slide back on the seat, bumping slightly against the control panel. “I told you plenty about Bonita.”
“I don’t care about Bonita right now. I want to know more about you.”
I swallow, and then clear my throat. “I’m just … me. Grew up in Rio Alto, father died while I was young … and that’s it. It was just my mother and me, trying to make a living.”
“How did she get sick?”
“A neighbor was bitten, and she took him to the hospital. I wasn’t … I wasn’t home when it happened.” I swallow, trying to bury the guilt threatening to surface. “She stayed there with him to help out because there was no medical staff left. No one explained to her how to protect herself. When one of the patients bit
her, she didn’t tell anyone. She just left. By the time I found out, the city was in chaos, and the Army was coming.”
“Were you two close?”
It’s hard to believe I’m talking to Diego Vargas, of all people, about my past. With a life like his, it seems ridiculous he would be interested in mine. But here we are.
“Close? No. Not all. We fought all the time.”
“Why? What did you do?”
“It wasn’t just me. She had her share of screw-ups. Once, she broke three fingers on my right hand. Of course, she only wanted to slap my face for calling her an old hag, but I raised my hand to block it, and snap. I was twelve.”
“Ouch.”
I shrug. “I deserved it. She spent a month’s worth of food money to pay my bail because I was caught smoking and painting penises on the statue of Simon Bolivar. But he deserved it. Bolivar was a dick.”
Diego chuckles. “Somehow, I’m not surprised you engaged in vandalism in your youth. I’m also thinking you didn’t learn your lesson after that.”
“No. Not by a long shot. Petty vandalism was just a start. The more I fought with my mother, the more nights I spent breaking windows, stealing stuff, and fighting on the streets. There were times I didn’t see her for weeks. Eventually, I would lose all my money and crawl back to her. She would give me an earful, but there would always be a plate of rice and beans waiting for me …”
My nervousness around Diego slowly fades away as I tell him about my past. It helps that he doesn’t seem to be judging me.
“She was a woman of few words, and it took me too long to understand that she loved me. She didn’t show it with pretty words, but with actions. Small gestures I took for granted. I never got the chance to make things right. I was a terrible daughter. Just terrible. I didn’t appreciate a single thing she did for me until it was too late.”
“It isn’t too late, you know.” He sighs and closes his eyes for a second. “When Rico told me Alex was dead, I felt just as guilty as you. All of a sudden, all those times I told myself I was going to make it up to him were lies, and it was too late. But it isn’t. Because we’re still here, and we’re still fighting.”
Head down to avoid his gaze and hide my watery eyes, I say something I never imagined I would say to anyone. “I’m tired of fighting. I’ve been fighting every single day since my mother was bitten. Sometimes, she looks at me, and it’s as if she’s still inside, conscious. And then, it’s gone. It’s like she keeps dying over and over again right in front of me. And I’m just so tired of it. I can’t stand it anymore.”
Ashamed of my outburst, I stare out the window while gulping to swallow back tears.
Diego reaches for my chin and gently turns my face, so I meet his eyes. “I know the guilt you’re carrying. I’m carrying it too, but we’re closer than ever to healing those wounds. You can’t give up. Your mother will get better, and I’ll get my son back.”
“I want to believe you, but…”
He takes my hands into his own with a bright smile. “Then believe it because now that we’re working together, we can both can get what we want. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. The way I see it, it was destiny for us to meet.”
We gaze into each other eyes for a moment. He stares at me like a leading man in a telenovela, with a smoldering look I never imagined receiving from anyone on this side of a TV screen.
I can’t help it … I laugh.
After a second, he laughs too. And that sound—not the words or the looks—that melodic sound is what warms my cheeks.
“Was that a line from a telenovela?”
“Okay, yes, that was cheesy. I admit it.” He chuckles, placing a hand on the back of his neck.
I shake my head. “Did that ever work on other women?”
“I don’t know. I have never used that line on other women.” For effect, he places a hand on his heart. “Only on you.”
At that, I can only shake my head while suppressing a smile. “Okay, that’s enough, Don Juan. Let’s stop.”
His lips quirk upward in a teasing smile I have grown quite attached to if I’m honest with myself. “Why? Don’t tell me you can’t handle a little flirting?”
I snort. “A little? Since we’ve met, all you do is flirt.”
“Well, it’s the only way I can get you to smile.” His voice is dangerously husky, his breath tickling my lips.
Once again, he reaches for my chin, closing the distance I tried to keep between us. “And you deserve to smile more.”
His dark eyes travel over my face as if wanting to memorize every inch of it. He then slowly, carefully, touches my lower lip with his thumb, teasing me to open my mouth. My heart beats way too fast, allowing warmth to spread over my cheeks and betraying my brain’s rational attempts at staying calm. I hold my breath, trying desperately to keep my eyes from seeking his lips, now so close to mine.
Diego tilts his head slightly, preparing for the strike. As he smoothly leans forward, all manners of thoughts run in my mind. Thoughts that involve tongues and the abs he displayed earlier. And hands. Hands everywhere.
But Diego surprises me with a soft, gentle kiss, the sweetness of it melting away any resistance I had left. His lips tease mine with a promise of more if I would only relax. So I do, letting out a gasp. Happy at this reaction, Diego laughs a little before diving in for a second kiss. He eagerly spreads my lips apart and the plane, the jungle, everything disappears in the rush of our kiss. His hands travel from my neck to my cheeks, cupping my head as I let him explore my mouth freely with his tongue. He closes his eyes first, but I give in completely soon after.
Our tongues meet and clash together, a different kind of sparring, one much more enjoyable than our past fights. His skin feels warm against my own, inviting me to get closer, to touch him. Shivers run down my spine as he moves his hand down and under my shirt to feel my right breast, squeezing it as I let out a moan. Heat spreads all over my body, reaching places that shouldn’t be hot right now.
This is getting out of control.
Panicking, I push him away. He blinks, surprised, but respects the distance I placed between us. My heart is pounding. I clear my throat and try to get up, fast and sudden, bumping my head against the plane’s ceiling. There’s nowhere to go, but the jolt breaks the spell between us.
“Look … I …” My eyes are doing loops to avoid looking directly at him. “I’m not here for … We’re not … I can’t do this.”
Diego hangs his head down, shakes it, and then looks at me with a soft smile. “Why not? What’s the harm in it?”
I clear my throat, suddenly angry at the nonchalant tone of his question. “I … I don’t do casual. I don’t have sex with random guys in the middle of the jungle … I’m not like that.”
“So, I’m just a random guy then?” He raises an eyebrow. “Me? Diego Vargas. Some random guy. That’s … I don’t know how to react to that.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant, but, clearly, you don’t know what I meant with that kiss.” He sighs. “For the record, I don’t do casual either. I married my first girlfriend. It was a bad decision in retrospect, but I was serious about her. And right now? I’m serious about this… about what we could have together.”
I gulp, heart pounding against my chest. Flirting, I can take, but this? I’m not ready for this.
Oblivious to my internal panic, Diego keeps talking, “Isabel, we’re good together; we both care about our families. We know what it takes to protect our loved ones. Something tells me I can trust you with my life … with my son’s life. It has been a while since I could say that about anyone. I feel … a connection. And I think you feel it too. Am I wrong?”
This conversation has gone to places I’m not ready to face. Not now. Not ever. Not after Bonita. Not after Liam. I’m done hurting others and myself. Getting close is too much pain, too much guilt. I’m afraid that if I let myself fall for Diego, I’ll have to face the same choice I did with Li
am. And I can’t do that again.
Racing heartbeat aside, I steady my voice enough to give Diego my answer as clear as I can.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way, Diego. I shouldn’t have … kissed you back. I’m sorry. We have a deal. That’s it. I’m here for my mother and nothing else.”
He nods curtly, sucking in his lower lip. “Right. I see.”
I wince at the disappointment on his face, but I had no choice. It’s better to stop this now before it’s too late.
The rain has now turned into a full-blown thunderstorm. I hug myself for warmth as cold drops of water slip between the cracks of the fuselage, along with the wind. Meanwhile, Diego gets up from the seat and finds a corner to rest by himself while we wait for the rain to pass.
Silence falls between us.
Everything we do after that is in complete silence—one that chokes me from the inside. Diego turns cold and distant, focusing solely on the trip. We make our way back to the boat after the rain stops. His paddling is brisk, and he doesn’t bother to ask me if I want to rest. He doesn’t bother to ask me anything whatsoever. We eat in silence. We row in silence.
Sometimes, I want to say something, explain myself. Other times, frustration takes over. I don’t owe him anything, and his cold shoulder just proves he’s not trustworthy.
But mostly, I feel unbearably lonely without his smiles. As much as I want to deny it, I can still feel his kiss on my lips, his hands on my body. Without Diego’s warmth, I have only my own regrets and fears to keep me company. Regrets and fears that I’ll soon have to face again.
We’re close to Bonita now. And to Liam.
Seven Months Ago
Bonita Island
Liam
I had a professor once who told a class full of rich, Ibiza-tanned students, “A doctor who hasn’t seen a war at least once can’t practice real medicine.” He was the type of professor who fired up a classroom on purpose, knowing that between the heated discussion of ethical obligations and fat paychecks, someone would become inspired to follow in his footsteps—if only to spite their parents or break off a suffocating engagement with a sweet, but boring girl without looking like a jerk.
Deadly Hearts: A Post Apocalyptic Romance Novel Page 8
