Alex Archer - Sacrifice

“The jungle, a week. I’ve been in country for about two months. Getting ready for this assignment.”

“It’s a big one?” she asked.

Vic nodded. “The biggest, I guess you could say.”

“Are Abu Sayyaf really so bad that they warrant an American sniper stalking them through the jungle?”

Vic swallowed a gulp of his dinner and washed it down with a swig of water from his canteen. He set his spoon down and looked at Annja. “I don’t ask a lot of questions. My job is pretty simple. It suits me. I could never handle a complicated lifestyle, you know? That’s just who I am,” he said.

“No shame in it,” Annja replied.

“Of course not. How many people you know go through their lives trying to be something they’re not? Christ, society puts all these labels on everyone, you know? If you’re not married with kids by the time you’re thirty, you’re some kind of failure. My question is, according to who? Do I really give a rat’s ass about what the people are doing next door in their four bedroom two-and-a-half-bath Colonial on a half-acre parcel with the minivan and sedan in the garage?”

“Do you?” Annja asked.

“Not one freaking bit.” Vic looked up. “This is my home. This is my life. Things get easier once you’re honest with yourself about what makes you tick. It’s just a matter of being able to look into a mirror and not be terrified at what’s staring you back in the face.”

Annja sucked another strand of spaghetti into her mouth. “A lot of people, they wouldn’t be able to do that.”

“Sure. They can’t.”

“But you can.”

“I don’t ask questions above my pay grade. I’ve found that if I just do my job, everyone’s happier. Most of all me.”

“So you don’t know what Abu Sayyaf have planned?”

Vic frowned. “You don’t give up very easily, do you?”

“I’ve been told I’m a bit stubborn,” she said.

“That’s a fair assessment.” Vic ate another bite of his dinner. “So, who are you anyway? There’s something about you that seems familiar. But I can’t quite place it.”

Annja smirked. “I look like Sasquatch right now and you think I’m familiar to you somehow?”

Vic shook his head. “It’s not the look. It’s the mannerisms.”

“I’m a journalist of sorts. I work for a show called Chasing History’s Monsters. ”

“Yeah, okay. I remember that now.” He frowned.

Annja held up her hand. “No, I’m not that host.”

Vic nodded. “You don’t look the type who would lose her top on a televised show.”

“I’m not.”

“Good. At least that means I’m not being saddled with an idiot,” he said.

Annja laughed. “I’ll remember that.”

Vic finished his dinner and Annja watched him wrap everything up, stuff it back into the cardboard box and then put that into his pack.

Annja did the same and then handed it to Vic. In exchange, he handed her a quart-sized plastic storage bag.

Annja held it up. “What’s this for?”

“Number two.”

“Excuse me?”

Vic stood up. “Look, I know this isn’t exactly going to be your idea of a dream date, but there’s a simple rule I live and survive by—leave no sign.”

“You mentioned that already,” Annja said, realizing where the conversation was going.

Vic nodded. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t just apply to dinner. It applies to everything. You have to crap, you do it in that bag I just handed you. Then you tie a knot in it and bring it back to me.”

“I never figured you for a collector,” Annja said.

Vic sighed. “It goes in the bag along with everything else. We can’t leave anything behind. If you take a dump out here, the animals will know about it and the bugs will swarm all over it. A tracker will see and hear all that activity and know he’s on the right trail.”

“What about if I have to pee?”

“Well, we’re a bit short on jerry cans, which is what we’d normally use—”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m absolutely serious. On a normal op, we’d patrol in with empties and on the way out, we’d haul our full cans with us.”

“Great life you got there, Vic,” Annja said with a chuckle.

Vic pointed out into the jungle. “As I was saying, if you have to go, walk out about ten yards—no more or you’ll get lost—and find a dead log. Pee under that and then cover it up with the same dead log. It’s not a great method, but it will minimize bug activity.”

Annja sighed. “All right.”

Vic frowned. “There’s one more thing.”

“Do I want to know?” she asked.

“We don’t have any toilet paper.”

Annja looked at him. “Are you kidding?”

“Nope.”

“How—?”

“If you really need to—”

“If I really need to? What the hell kind of statement is that?”

Vic shook his head. “Like I said, this isn’t home, Annja. You’d be surprised what you can do without out here in the bush. If you really need to, use a leaf and make sure you put that in the bag, too.”

“A leaf.”

“Preferably one that doesn’t have bugs or fungus on it. You don’t want to deal with that.”

“A leaf,” Annja said. She was used to primitive life on archaeological digs, but this was pretty extreme.

Vic smiled. “Jungle living isn’t too bad, believe it or not. But you do have to make certain sacrifices. Once you do, you’ll find it’s much easier to get by. You might even grow to like it out here.”

“Fat chance of that,” Annja muttered.

“Well, it is an acquired taste.”

“I don’t think I want to acquire it at all. I just want to survive long enough to get the hell out of here and go home.”

Vic nodded. “Simple enough request. Let’s see if we can make it happen.”

Annja sighed. “All right.”

Vic waved the flashlight over his hole. “There, now, see the ants have moved on already.”

“Where did they go?”

Vic shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t really care, either. As long as they’re not in the hole with us, that’s all that matters.”

“We’re sleeping in there?”

“’Fraid so.”

“But I thought we had to get off the ground. Won’t the bugs gets us?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“A few bug bites are always preferable to the other alternative.”

“Which is what?”

Vic looked at her. “Being captured and beheaded by your Abu Sayyaf buddies.”

Annja slept fitfully.

Throughout the night, she had to contend with an airborne armada of mosquitoes that seemed all too willing to brave the gauntlet of mosquito repellent that Vic had caked them both in for a shot at some of Annja’s blood. She grew tired of swatting at the incessant buzzers and eventually figured out that if she tried to remain as motionless as possible under the cover of the hidey-hole, she was better off.

She glanced over at Vic as the hours passed. He seemed to be resting quite well in contrast to Annja’s situation. She chalked it up to his being more used to operating in this type of environment than she was. Plus, he had the advantage of layers of camo cream and mosquito repellent on his skin. Any of the bloodsuckers trying to pierce that might end up with a broken proboscis.

Annja watched his eyelids flutter, indicating he was deeply asleep. She’d asked earlier if maybe they should take turns sleeping while the other stood watch, but Vic had disagreed. According to him, there was little chance they’d be stalked at night. And in the morning, they had to move at first light if they hoped to stay ahead of their pursuers. Better, he said, to get as much rest as possible and then be ready to go.