To The Death

When Robyn referred to the retreat as being “ a little ways up in the mountains”, Lennox thought she meant a short drive. Twenty, maybe thirty minutes tops. She was sure they’d arrive by nightfall, have dinner, and be free to go to bed and sleep off their jet lag. But it’s almost eight-thirty now, they’ve been trekking up the damn mountain since mid-afternoon, and an end to the misery doesn’t seem to be in sight.

Lennox pauses and leans against a tree to try and catch her breath. She’s been lugging two enormous suitcases up the incline since they ditched the truck several hours ago and her arms feel like they’re going to shatter into tiny pieces. Her legs keep catching on low-lying twigs, she can feel some bug bites already starting to itch, and she’s pretty sure a spider fell down her shirt and is just staying there so it doesn’t have to make the climb, either. She’s about ready to rip someone’s balls off. Robyn, on the other hand, is the poster child for enthusiasm, smiling through the discomfort and chatting amiably about what the place is going to look like.

“Do you think they’ll have cabins? Or tents? I feel like tents would really enhance the experience.”

“Hey.” An irritated voice comes out of the darkness. “Redhead triplet girl. Shut the fuck up.”

There’s some laughter, a few shouts of agreement, and then there’s Val.

“Zacky!” Val sounds horrified by his rudeness.

“What? Tell her to stop being so fucking annoying!”

“You apologize, this instant.”

“You’re not my mother.”

“Don’t mess with me, Zachary.”

Zacky mumbles a few curse words, hurriedly apologizes, and storms ahead. Robyn turns to Kingsley and Lennox, indignant.

“Can you believe that? He was so rude!”

“Unbelieveable,” Kingsley remarks. Lennox can tell by the sound of his voice that she’s not the only one fighting off laughter.

Robyn is so affronted by the whole ordeal that she falls silent. Lennox is just beginning to enjoy the newfound peace when the NRF employees that have been leading the way come to a sudden stop. They take out flashlights, illuminating the area, and a chatter of uncertainty ripples through the group. Before anyone can really start to panic, however, a piercing battle cry echoes through the trees. People in glow-in-the-dark NRF shirts emerge from the night-cloaked foliage, chanting a name that no one can make out over all of the confusion. Then the trees directly above the group rustle, and another glowing figure swings overhead.

“Welcome, retreaters!” yells a booming voice.

Silence falls. A flashlight clicks on, and everyone’s attention zeroes in on a wiry man nestled into a tree. He’s got white-blond hair, the kind of face children climb into strange trucks to accept candy from, and enormous glasses. An oversize NRF t-shirt in neon green hangs off of his thin frame. He grins, then tucks the flashlight into his pocket and does a Tarzan-esque swing to a different tree.

“Can you all hear me?”

Everyone murmurs their assent.

“Excellent!” The man comes to a rest and lets his legs hang over a tree branch.

“Then I want to welcome you all to Nature Rediscovery: Fuerteventura!”

Someone starts applauding, and Lennox joins in only because she has the feeling she’ll be tased if she doesn’t.

“My name is Anderson Cartwright,” the man continues, “But you can call me Andy, or A.C., or whatever floats your boat. I’ll have plenty of time to get to know each and every one of you later, but for now, I’d like you to drop your bags and follow my friend Carl. Wave to the retreaters, Carl!”

A kid who looks like he literally just graduated from high school gives a nervous wave. He turns and walks briskly away. Kingsley catches Lennox’s eye.

“What are the odds of me escaping by sliding on my ass down the mountain and making a beeline for the hotel?”

Lennox glances at Robyn, who’s tossed her bags aside and is eagerly trailing after the rest of the group.

“Slim to none,” she answers with a sigh. “Come on.”

They follow the others through a thick patch of trees that eventually opens up into a clearing. Carl stands before a gleaming lake at the base of a waterfall. Small, wooden candle-holders light the path around the water and several other paths branching off in different directions. Now there’s excitement in the air, and even though she’s reluctant to succumb, it’s hard not to feel relieved.

Anderson drops out of the sky like a ninja and stands next to Carl.

“Tomorrow morning is when our time together officially begins. But to promote a mood of healing and to cleanse you all of your travel stresses, I urge you to indulge in a Liberation Swim while my employees take your bags to your lodgings.”

“Liberation?” Lennox repeats to herself, confused.

All confusion is cleared up once Carl rips his clothes off, lets out a fierce yell, and jumps into the lake, absolutely naked. There’s a second of stunned silence, before an older brunette woman screams as well and begins to join him. Suddenly everyone is shouting and stripping, and within a few minutes, the lake is full of shrieking nude people.

Lennox thinks fast and pretends to feel sick. She tells Anderson that she’s going to puke and asks for directions to the bathroom. Concern wrinkles his face as he points her down one of the paths and, thankfully, away from the Liberation Swim. She makes sure to stumble a little and make retching noises while she runs, then slows to a comfortable pace once she’s certain he’s out of earshot.

She chuckles to herself.

“Liberation Swim? There’s no fucking way in hell.”

The walk to the bathroom is pleasant. Despite what the tortuous journey up the mountain might imply about the retreat, the site is rather enjoyable. A cool breeze is blowing, rustling the zillions of exotic trees lining the paths. Modest but comfortable-looking cabins are randomly arranged along the way. Lennox manages to sneak past the luggage-carrying employees and find the bathroom without being detected as a resistor. The bathrooms are unisex, housed in a giant wooden building that smells like the inside of a sauna. A row of sinks lines the back wall, while a row of bathroom stalls lines the right side and a row of showers lines the other. She strolls over to a shining metal sink and splashes cold water on her face, then decides that a shower probably wouldn’t hurt.

While she waits for the water to heat up a bit, she thinks she hears someone humming to themselves. She attributes it to her jet-lag and lack of sufficient food, undresses, and steps under the water. The stall only comes up to about her neck, which makes her uncomfortable, but there’s no one around, so she tells herself not to worry about it. She closes her eyes and relaxes and the water hits her full in the face. It’s around that time that the humming noise returns.

“What the—”

It definitely exists, this time. She blinks water out of her eyes and does a quick scan of the room, seeing nothing that should cause worry. Then she notices that the shower head in the stall next to hers is on, and before she can wonder why she didn’t see that earlier, a face pops up across from hers. Lennox screams and drops to the floor, heart pounding. First of all, she wasn’t expecting that. And second of all, that guy is really fucking attractive.

“Shit!” he says. “Sorry! I wasn’t trying to scare you; I didn’t think anyone else was here.”

“It’s perfectly fine!” Her voice comes out high and breathy, and she hates herself for it.

“Um, are you hurt?”

“No.”

There’s a pause. Then he says, “…Are you hiding from me?”, and she can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“Maybe.”

“I can still see you, you know. If I really wanted to look, I could.”

“Well, don’t.”

The guy chuckles. “I’m not looking, I promise.”

After a minute, Lennox decides that he sounds sincere, and slowly stands back up. The guy’s looking at her, one eyebrow raised. He’s got black hair cut close to his impossibly appealing face, green eyes that don’t look like they should be allowed to exist, and a number of interesting piercings.

“Why are you out here all by yourself?” he asks.

Lennox moves hair out of her face, self-conscious of the way it looks when it’s wet, and tries to remember how to speak.

“Um…Liberation Swimming isn’t really my thing.”

“Why? I mean, you’re naked right now…”

Lennox tries not to blush. He’s really cute, and cute guys always make her act like an idiot. Plus, she’s kind of afraid of guys, which is why she remains never-been-kissed at age twenty-three, when most people she knows are already married.

“I don’t want to be here,” she says eventually. “My sister’s being a psycho maniac and stalking her favorite band. I’m just here to make sure she doesn’t get killed and baked into doughnuts at the hotel or something.”

“Ah, so you’re related to annoying redhead triplet girl.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Good news: you don’t seem half as annoying as she is.”

Lennox laughs despite her discomfort. “Thanks.”

“What’s your name?”

“Lennox. Lennox Park.”

He sticks out his hand. “Zack Baker. But almost everyone calls me Zacky.”

She’s shocked for a moment. This is the Zacky that Matt was complaining about earlier? The covered-up one who seemed so rude? Her previous impressions don’t fit with this new, smiling, very aesthetically-pleasing version. She shakes his hand, suddenly hyperaware of how awkward it is talking to someone while in the shower.

“Sorry, I’m all wet.”

He grins. “Yeah, I tend to have that effect on girls.”

This time she does blush, and considers smacking her face into the wood until her head is nothing but a bloody stump. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Think before you talk, idiot!

“How are you so nice?”

Does that even make grammatical sense? Oh my god. I hate myself.

“What do you mean?”

“You just seemed like you were in a bad mood earlier.”

“I was. But now…” he leans down, disappearing for a moment, and straightens up with a bottle of what is clearly liquor. “I’m good.”

Lennox opens her mouth to ask him how the hell he found booze when they haven’t even seen a hint of any food or drink and is interrupted by an angry voice booming into the room.

“Zacky! Where the fuck did you go? I swear, if you snuck off and got on a plane to Italy or something, I’ll kick your fucking ass.”

Zacky rolls his eyes. In an instant, he’s back to the grumpy expression he wore earlier in the day.

“I gotta go,” he says, turning off the water. Within seconds, he’s across the room, settling into a fluffy, white robe from a stack Lennox didn’t see before and abandoning his liquor.

“You should definitely go join that Liberation Swim, though,” he advises her, smirking over his shoulder as he leaves. “It’s not like you have anything to worry about.”

She doesn’t know if he’s saying that to be nice or if he lied and actually knows that she has nothing to worry about, but she freaks out nonetheless and it takes a good twenty minutes for her to compose herself enough to leave the bathroom. Instead of opting for the robe like Zacky did, she sticks with her clothes, and sets off, determined to find her cabin and change into something clean.

+++

“I don’t need to be babysat, Brian. It’s not like I’m suicidal or anything. I just wanted a shower,” Zacky says irritably as he and Brian head back to the hub of civilization.

“You can’t just sneak off like that. Not in the middle of the jungle. The least you could do is text someone and tell them where you’re going.”

“Okay, fine, Mom.”

Brian rolls his eyes. Then the awkwardness of annoyance diminishes. They grin and spend the rest of the walk debating the existence of Anderson’s sanity. Just as everyone else is finishing up their naked swim, they make it back to the group.

Anderson, who surprisingly didn’t join in on the festivities and is as dry as he was before, addresses the wet-skinned people and informs them that dinner is now being served in the main pavilion. Additional NRF employees appear, leading the way to the food. As the others are drying off and getting dressed, Zacky and Brian hurry over to the food and start piling their plates high. There’s a surprising amount of food for a retreat that touts a separation from technology, but Zacky’s too hungry to care, so he doesn’t worry about it and makes sure to grab some more alcohol.

By the time they’ve chosen their nourishment, the large wooded structure serving as the eating area is crowded with people. Zacky turns around from a sink-sized dish of pasta salad and assesses the seating arrangements. He spots Brian saving seats for Val and the rest of the band at a table on the far end of the pavilion, and he knows he should sit with them, but instead he picks a table at random and decides to take his chances.

About halfway through his steak kabobs, he’s joined on one side by a tiny woman with strawberry-blonde hair curled closed to her head and hazel eyes so enormous they look like they’re preparing to take over her face. She introduces herself as Suzanne Cromwell, tells him that she’s a vegan travel reporter, and digs into a plate of salad topped with various nuts. Shortly after, they’re joined by a bald guy whose muscles are more threatening than Matt’s. He immediately starts bitching about how much it sucks to be Miley Cyrus’s bodyguard, which, he informs them in between mouthfuls of risotto, was his job before his wife made him quit and take some vacation time to de-stress. Zacky listens and tries to participate in the conversations around him as much as possible, but eventually he gets bored and his taste buds get tired of being pleased, so he zones out and lets his mind wander.

It goes straight to that girl he met in the showers. Lennox, he recalls. He also recalls the wet shine of her pitch black hair and the tempting toasted-milk color of her skin. One corner of his mouth tugs up in a smile as he sips absentmindedly on his beer. She was so awkward it was almost adorable—a total virgin. A virgin if he ever met one. Knowing that he can probably get her into bed by the end of the week, he puts her on his mental to-do list. He’s just finished with this cerebral cataloguing when a woman with long waves of milk-chocolate hair slides into the empty seat next to him. The scent of some girly drink washes over him and practically doubles his inebriation.

“I’m Camille,” the woman slurs. She laces her arms around his neck and licks his ear. “You’re a cutie.”

“Thanks.” Downing the last of his beer, Zacky lets his eyes roam over her body and is pleased to see curves in all the right places and a welcome insufficiency of proper clothing. “You’re pretty damn cute yourself.”

To say that Camille is pleased would be an understatement. She practically drags him from the pavilion and down the path to a shadowed area behind the bathrooms, shoves him against the side of the building, and blocks his airway with her tongue. Zacky responds with equal enthusiasm, and soon they’re fucking against the building like desperate squirrels.

It’s not all that great. She’s hot and all—with thighs of steel that she uses to ride him like a fucking cowgirl princess—and he reminds himself that bad sex is better than no sex, but she’s nowhere near as tight as the girls he’s used to, and it takes some serious fantasizing about past conquests for him to even enjoy himself. When it’s over, she thanks him with a sloppy kiss and stumbles back toward the pavilion. Zacky wonders briefly how the hell she gets a tampon to work—it was like a fucking pillowcase in there.

Zacky sets off to find his cabin, shaking his alcohol-addled head. It takes him a bit to remember which path leads to the cabins, but at last he discovers the correct way and heads in that direction. He tries to make the journey more enjoyable by attempting to walk in a straight line and bursting into laughter when he can’t. He’s almost in tears when he hears a low moan from somewhere nearby. Something rustles the trees, and he tells himself that it’s probably just Camille; that she’s already found someone else to sleep with. As he reaches the cabins, he hears a few twigs snapping, but ignores it and goes about poking his head in each cabin door to look for his bags.

Five cabins later, he recognizes his luggage and lets out a loud whoop. He moves farther inside to investigate the lodgings.

As his footsteps proceed toward the back of his cabin, the bushes next to where he’d been standing rustle. There is an anguished sigh. Wind blows through the area, and a piece of decaying skin lands on the ground, its sickly pallor eerily illuminated by the light of the moon.