Free The Night Marchers and Other Strange Tales by Daniel Braum Page B

line of muscle and cords from her neck to where it disappears under her t-shirt. Her smooth skin is perfectly tan.  
    David is still talking, but I’m not listening. Alexa yawns and stretches. Her shirt rides up revealing the coffee colored skin of her flat stomach. She wades back to shore. In a few minutes I will follow. 
    **** 
    A humid wind blows through the thatched roof of the tiny cabin. The murmur of lapping waves serenades us.  
    Alexa is staring out the open window. Johnnie chose a great vantage point of the beach for his cabins—a little rise nestled at the edge of the jungle. I gently press my hand in the small of her back to move her away. 
    She arches reflexively. I take a deep breath, stifling my desire. I haven’t double-checked all the wards yet. 
    “You gonna stay?” she whispers. 
    “I gotta check on everyone.” 
    “You’re always checking on everyone. Stay with me, just this once.” 
    “I’ll be back. I promise.” 
    “Hurry.” 
    I check the wards I set around the four cabins. Muffled cries and groans from Alejandro and Rita’s cabin join the night sounds. In the dark of the night, when we are alone in each other’s arms, Alexa talks about the life we are going to have in Columbia. A villa. A ranch. Lazy days in the sun. It helps me believe that I’m special, that this is special and going to last, though I know it won’t. It can’t.  
    I imagine her cool, slender hands moving over my arms, to my shoulders. I check the last ward and hurry back to her cabin. I quietly slip through the door. 
    The room glows orange from the smoldering end of a mosquito coil. Alexa’s in a long tank top, staring out the window again. Geckos skitter on the walls, feasting on tiny spiders and nocturnal ants. 
    “Hi,” I whisper. 
    “Hi,” she whispers back. The back of her tank is wet from her hair. “Shower was nice, but cold,” she says. 
    “Sorry I missed it.” 
    She’s quiet. Been waiting up for me. 
    “What are you thinking of?” I ask. I expect her to turn, say something soft and breathy with passion in her eyes, kiss me as if breath depended on it, and slip out of her clothes. 
    “The Indian at the bar,” she says. “He made me sad. He was so out of it. The others were calling him El-Capi-tan.” 
    She never ceases to surprise me. “What does that mean?” I ask. 
    “I don’t know. But they laughed it up.” 
    “Maybe they’re the fools, you ever think?” 
    “Of course they are,” she says quickly, “but he was probably just running away—drinking down his sorrows.” 
    Like me. I’d love to run away with her. Live the life I never had.  
    “Maybe he was laughing at us,” I say. “Maybe he just came out of the jungle to have some guaro, spin to the beat, and look at pretty gringas like you.” 
    She thinks about it for a second. “No, he was just lost and they were just being mean.” She looks away. “Everyone wants to make a side trip out to the island,” she says, her sadness apparently purged by voicing it.  
    “You know we have to keep heading south.” 
    “You always stick to the plan?” 
    “Always,” I say. “But for you, anything.” 
    “Are there really no mosquitoes on the island?” she asks.  
    “Really,” I say. “Only a lot of crabs and monkeys.” 
    “You wouldn’t lie to me,” she says playfully. 
    “Never,” I say. But I would. I have a hundred times already. To keep her safe. To keep my distance. 
    “Let’s go,” she says, her voice dipping low with an excited tremble that drives me crazy. “Just us. It’ll be so good.” 
    “Not now,” I say. Too dangerous. Gotta stay with the wards.  
    She frowns. Did I snap at her? 
    “Tomorrow, silly,” she says with a slight laugh, but she meant now. I can tell. I laugh with her, relieved I haven’t shaken her good mood. But when this is all over and the sun and good food and gentle wind are gone, she’ll tire of me, realize my nervousness doesn’t come