Page 41 of Last Destination

Streaks of dirty tears streamed down Tessa’s cheeks, and she hugged me properly before releasing me and turning her attention on Ambrose. “Keep her alive, okay? Please let her know how grateful I am for her. I just... I can’t stay.” Her voice broke before she turned on her heel and marched away, uttering not a single word more.

Ambrose and I watched her disappear into the crowd before turning to each other. What did we do — could we do — now?

When the smell of roasted meat wafted toward us, my mouth salivated with hydration it didn’t have.

“Thank fuck,” Ambrose breathed the words like a prayer. “If I had to eat another avocado, I think I’d choose starvation.” He scanned the river behind us where boats were still offloading passengers. “That trip took almost six hours. She’ll be at least that long. Why don’t we grab something to eat and check out our options while we do?”

Six hours? That fever dream had taken six hours? How long had I allowed myself to cry?

Ambrose led me by the arm toward a dirt-covered cart, removing a few American bills from his pocket and passing them to the vendor. After a rapid back and forth in Spanish, Ambrose removed a few more bills, but I tuned them out. My anxious thoughts were far louder than the chaotic symphony of migrants and their relentless excited chatter as they raced toward the bus stop.

I fastened my pack tighter to my back, as if someone might steal the completely soggy and useless bag. It was overwhelming knowing we were so close to the end of this hell, yet still so far from safety.

Ambrose returned, holding two skewers of unidentifiable protein in his hands, his delicate features molded into an interesting blend of longing and disgust.

“If I die of food poisoning, this fucking better be worth it,” he grumbled before taking a small nibble of the flaking skewer. His face instantly relaxed into ecstasy, and the sexy little groan of pleasure that got stuck at the base of his throat brought my body to full attention.

When my teeth tore into the tender meat, my body nearly fell to the earth in a heap. It was barely spiced, salt, pepper, and a bit of cumin, but the flavor on my tongue was as delicious as a great fuck. I devoured mine in three bites, then swung my head back to the cart to see if he had more.

“Want another?” I turned to Ambrose. His eyes were still closed as he savored his portion, but at his nod, I stood in the short line to purchase two more.

We had little cash left. I had a few one-dollar bills and two twenties in American currency, but I wasn’t about to deprive us of our first real taste of food in weeks.

The merchant had a tiny display on a cheap cardboard shelf behind him, showcasing water, packaged peanuts, and … vodka.

Pint-sized and gleaming.

Be still, my heart.

“Where is your sister?”

My father’s first words to me in days were as harsh as a sharp slap to my cheeks when I opened the door to his rusted red Ford truck. The springs creaked with the same shrill cry as my heart.

I’d taken off on a run when I saw the vehicle waiting at the end of the long fire road. The sun was setting in the distance. My thigh blazed with heat and pain with every stride. He’d unlocked the door when I approached, the abrupt click in the quiet woods a signal of his disapproval.

I searched his eyes for any sign of compassion, any sign of worry at all I’d shown up alone covered in blood, and steeped in exhaustion, but his gaze was as stony as always. Like his soul had been cut out of his body. He’d never been the same after his last tour of duty, the exact time when we became expendable in his obsession for survival.

Choking back the sob that ached deep in my chest to be freed, I pulled myself into the dirty seat and stared forward through the windshield into the woods that had almost taken my life. They seemed much less ominous from this vantage point, the smeared glass offering a sense of safety I hadn’t felt in days.

“She’s gone, Papa.” The words squeezed from my throat, the most painful declaration I’d ever made. “We were attacked by a rabid bear.” The tears broke free, my self-control dissolving under the weight of my guilt. “She’s gone. She’s gone.” I rocked in my seat, manic with the agony of an existence without my twin.

I’m not gone, silly. I told you last night, I’m still here. Charlie’s form loomed from the dashboard, a disorienting floating head. She’d appeared the night before when, unable to make a fire, I’d been forced to make a bed under a deep pile of leaves and earth to stay warm. When I was a shivering, blubbering mess, she’d popped in to lay beside me, soothing me to sleep with a lullaby our mother used to sing.

“You’re not still here,” I blubbered aloud. “You’re gone. You’re gone, Charlie.”

My father said nothing, offered me no comfort, and engaged the engine, taking off down the road at a breakneck pace. I scrambled for my seatbelt and curled up into a ball once it was properly secure. Now out of the frigid damp air of November, my limbs took on a tingly glow, and an instant urge to sleep filled my head with cotton.

“I think — I think I have hypothermia,” I stuttered, wrapping my body closer despite the relaxing warmth that coursed through it. I gestured to my thigh, the tourniquet so encrusted with dried blood and dirt it was likely a cesspool of disease. “I need a hospital.”

“You were supposed to protect your sister,” my father snarled, the words shooting through his lips like poisoned daggers, and a rolling wave of guilt swept through me, making me cry harder.

Papa was just reinforcing what I’d known all along. I’d failed him. I’d failed Charlie.

It should have been me who was dead.

Charlie’s floating form swiveled to pierce him with a sharper glare than he could ever muster. You were supposed to protect us, you piece of shit. Don’t you dare blame her for this.

“Charlie, please,” I begged. “Don’t make losing you even harder.” To my father, I attempted eye contact through the rearview mirror, my eyes so puffy I could barely see my irises as I gazed into the cold, unmoving blackness of his.