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Where am I going after that? It’s hard to tell.
The drive from Panama to Costa Rica takes me close to ten hours. I camp in one of the National Parks. To everyone, I’m just another hiker backpacking through Central America. Not some guy who might kill an innocent family and return to a drug lord.
Is that what I’m going to do?
I try to sleep, but I toss and turn all night. The few times I’m able to close my eyes, I see her, the girl of my dreams. Did she die when the Zs were attacked?
Is she the key to recovering my memory, or is she just a figment of my imagination?
It doesn’t matter. The next morning, I leave the campsite.
When I arriveat the farm, there are no fences or guards around. It’s just crops, silos, and a house. My gut clenches. Deep down, I know this isn’t right. I shouldn’t be pushing anyone out of their home or killing them. I grab my automatic gun, hang it on my shoulder, and climb out of the vehicle.
An older man approaches me. He must be in his late fifties or early sixties. He’s tall, thin, and not afraid of me. “May I help you?”
I tilt my head toward the house. “Who owns this land?”
He narrows his gaze. “We’re a sustainable farm and don’t sell to big corporations.”
I scoff. “That’s not what I asked. Our corporation only wants your land, and we have an offer for you.”
He gives me a disappointed look. “How much are they paying you to do this job?”
I frown. He’s supposed to beg for his life, shake, and even pee his pants, knowing I can execute him just for not doing what I say.
“We can negotiate,” he insists.
I’m startled by his boldness. “Excuse me?”
“Someone promised you money to push us away or kill us. I’ll triple the pay if you turn around and leave us alone.”
Here’s the kicker. My father has never given me money. Not unless I need it for a trip like this one. I don’t get paid for anything. He just provides me with food. The clothes I own were bought with Derek’s money before he left. I should take his offer and leave, but then my father will send his crew and kill everyone here.
I take a second glance at the old man and swallow. He doesn’t deserve to die because of an entitled asshole, but I can’t help him.
“Something tells me your employer doesn’t pay you enough to do this job.”
“Listen, old man. I need you to get out. I would hate to kill you or any of your family because you can’t—”
“What did you used to do before you came to work for these men?” He studies me. “Were you in the Army, or was it the Navy?”
This man is supposed to shake and beg me for his life. He’s supposed to leave, not ask me questions or make me offers. I should threaten him, point my gun at him. But instead, I say, “I can’t remember.”
“I bet you were a good person, but life pushed you in the wrong direction.” I stare at him, wondering how he came up with that conclusion.
“How old are you? Twenty-five?”
I shrug because, at this point, I have no fucking idea of how old I am or who I’m supposed to be.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
And fuck, I’m disarmed by his kindness. “Just leave. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Instead, why don’t you let me help you get away from this bad situation, son?”
I scoff. “If I do, I’ll have to keep running the rest of my life.”
He nods. “That’s a possibility, but there are multiple options.”
