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“Salem the Tree Slayer does have a pretty cool ring to it.” I laugh.
“You can mock me now, but I know one day you’ll have to eat your words.”
“Them’s fighting words, missy.”
She drops into a fighter’s stance—one leg back for balance, both hands in front, covering her face.
I stand up and smirk. “So, the student thinks she has surpassed the master, does she?”
“If this is your way to get me to call you master, you can just forget it right now.”
I chuckle at that before picking up my pack beside the large rock where I left it. “Actually, I think I’m going to switch it up today. I’m going hunting. Zig here is going to see how your newly acquired fighting skills are coming along.”
She looks a little nervous now. It’s been me teaching her how to fight, almost exclusively, but that’s the whole point. She has started recognizing my patterns, so she can predict my moves. She won’t have that advantage in a real fight, which is why I want her to spend a little time with Zig to see how she fares.
“You got the flare gun?” Zig asks me.
“Yes, Dad. Now you kids have fun and try not to kill each other.”
Zig shakes his head at me as he stands and faces Salem. “All right, little one, show me what you’ve got.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she complains as I walk away with a smile on my face.
“I think I’ll survive,” Zig replies drolly as I push through the trees and leave them to it.
I take a deep breath and take a second to myself. It really is beautiful out here, but Zig is right. We can’t live like this forever. It’s time to come up with a plan B.
Instead of sticking to our usual path, I take a different one. Zig might not approve, not with us being a couple of hours from the plane, but his words about needing to scout are running through my mind. I follow the compass and head north, keeping my ears open for anything out of place. So far, the only thing out of place here is me.
The trees are so densely packed that the canopy is doing an awesome job of protecting me from the sun’s rays, but the heat today is brutal. Thankfully, I can smell the rain in the air. I think after living here for as long as we have, we’ve become in tune with it all.
Something shuffles in the distance, making me pause to listen. I draw my gun and wait. A few minutes later, my patience is rewarded with the loud caw of a bird. I wait until I have him in my sights before pulling the trigger. He makes another laughing noise before everything goes quiet, and I lose sight of him. I can’t tell if I hit him, so I trudge in that direction to investigate, keeping my gun up and ready.
I don’t know how long I walk, but eventually, I realize that I’m not finished with the feathered beast. Even worse, I haven’t spotted another one since I’ve been here. Looks like today is just going to be a fruit day.
Spotting a log in a small clearing just in front of me, I sit on the end of it and pull my water bottle from my bag, drinking half of it in a few gulps. I look around the clearing and see another log facing this one. They look as if they were put here on purpose, so people could sit on them and talk. I guess Mother Nature has a way of doing things like that.
I stand and stretch, deciding I’ve had enough excitement for one day, when I notice a gap in the trees I didn’t spot before. I walk toward it and feel my heartbeat pick up because, as I get closer, I realize it’s a path. And for there to be a path, there are usually people.
I palm my gun and hold it down so I don’t accidentally fire the damn thing. I’ve never done something like that in my life, but with how erratic my heart is beating right now, it would be just my luck. I move closer, slipping into the trees to walk parallel to the path. I follow it for about half a mile when I see them in the distance.
Houses.
Well, crude versions of them, at least. More like huts. But holy shit, with the excitement pouring through me, you’d think I just stumbled into Santa’s Village and found where all the toys are made. I debate with myself about whether I should turn around and grab Zig, but decide that while I’m here, it makes sense to do a little recon.
Wishing I had my favorite knife with me, I curse silently when I have to make do with the smaller stiletto. It will do in a pinch, but it’s not my favorite. It’s a little too light for me, which affects my throwing accuracy. I creep through the trees and come out behind the hut closest to me.
It’s rudimentary in design, circular with a thatched roof and glassless windows, but it’s large and provides protection from the relentless rain and unforgiving sunshine. I peer in the window and see a bed, a table, and a couple of chairs. There are animal hides covering the floor and bed and another above the window, which most likely drops down and acts as a drape to keep the elements out.
I move from hut to hut and see that they are all basically the same. Some have more than one bed, and one has a child-sized bed in the corner as well as a box of toys that look like they’ve seen better days.
As I go, I’m drawn to this one hut in particular. I walk around the side of it and pause when I hear voices. I can’t understand them at all. I move a little closer, careful to keep myself hidden, and see two men—older, in their late sixties early seventies—sitting in chairs outside the house, smoking something that even from here makes my eyes water. Both are wearing pants and nothing else, their aging bodies on display in a way we don’t usually find back home.
I leave them and keep moving, spotting a few more people. Some male, some female, all dressed in basic pants or dresses, and each of them easily in their sixties or above. It’s the strangest thing.
I know nothing about Mayan culture, so I have no clue if villages like this are common. If younger hunters and fertile females are housed somewhere else, or if it’s simply a protection thing. Hopefully, Zig will know. I retrace my steps, glancing in the window of one of the small houses as I pass, and pause when I see something I recognize.
The radio transmitter and receiver from our plane.
