Hostage Zero

“Nothing’s funny,” Charlie said. “That’s just the same thing that everybody says. But nobody ever leaves. Not the way they want to, anyway.”

“Why not?”

Charlie gave him a glance, but kept stripping leaves. “You’d better keep plucking. That whip hurts like shit.” He craned his neck to see if they were being watched. “They don’t leave because there’s no place to go. You walked in here, right? You see any places to escape to?”

“I could go to the police.”

This time, Charlie laughed in earnest. “Don’t bother-they’ll be here. They come all the time. And don’t bother looking all hopeful like that. Helping you will be the last thing they’re about. They come here to get paid by the bosses, sample the product a little, and then do the village girls down the hill. This is like Rain Forest Disneyland. A damn amusement park. You go lookin’ for police, they’ll just grab you and bring you back. Then you get to have a serious talk with Victor and his toys. Trust me. You’re not going anywhere. It’s better if you get used to being here.”

The knot of fear returned, churning Evan’s stomach. “How long have you been here?”

Charlie shrugged. “I have no idea. I was ten when my parents were killed in a robbery in Bogota. I shuffled around to orphanages and stuff for a while, and then I ended up here. That was a long time ago. I really don’t know. It’s not like we celebrate holidays. No birthdays, no Christmases. And the weather never changes. How can you know? How old are you? We’re about the same size.”

“Thirteen,” Evan said.

Charlie stopped and gave him a look. Color had drained from his face. “Thirteen? Really?”

Evan nodded.

“You small for your age?”

“Not really.” As soon as he said it, Evan wondered if he should have lied.

Charlie looked away. He didn’t do or say anything for a long time. Maybe a minute. When he went back to work, he kept his back turned.

Evan felt like shit. If Charlie had really spent three years of his life out here, doing this, how could he keep going? Could he really not have known how long it’d been? Evan shouldn’t have said anything.

“Why is your English so good?” he asked.

“My parents were American,” Charlie said. His voice was softer, huskier. “Victor likes me to keep up with English for when people like you come.”

The knot tightened in his stomach. “People like me?”

Charlie let it go.

“What do you mean, people like me?”

Charlie shook his head. “Forget I said anything.”

“A little late for that.”

Charlie stopped working again and looked him in the eye. “They can get a lot of money for American kids who look like you.”

Evan didn’t get it. Maybe he didn’t want to get it. “What do I look like?”

“Find a mirror, you don’t know.”

Evan shoved him, knocking Charlie off balance, but not enough to make him fall. “Tell me, goddammit!”

Retribution came swiftly and out of nowhere. Charlie landed an open-handed slap just in front of Evan’s ear, reeling him into the bush he was plucking.

Charlie stepped forward and stared down. His eyes glistened red, and they were wet. He seemed breathless. He shouted, “You’re white, you stupid fuck! You’re white, and you look like a girl. People pay real money for boys who look like girls. Are you following me?”

Evan stayed on the ground, waiting to see what came next. For the longest time, Charlie just stood there in a fighting stance, one foot slightly in front of the other, his hands up and ready to box. But then something drained out of him, and his shoulders sagged as he dropped his hands. “Remember you asked,” he said softly. Then he went back to work.

Evan raised himself to his haunches, and then he stood, brushing himself off. “I’m sorry I pushed you,” he mumbled.

Charlie’s hands never stopped their work on the branches. He turned and said, “And I’m sorry you can’t fight worth a shit.” The broad smile sold it as a joke, and a friendship was born.

A burst of machine-gun fire made Evan jump a foot and dive to the ground.

Charlie saw it happen and then started laughing enough to make himself choke. “They’re not shooting at you,” he said. He adjusted his slung bag of leaves to a better spot on his shoulder.

“What were they shooting at, then?”

“Nobody,” Charlie said. He started walking. “Come on. It’s dinnertime.”

Filled, the bag that Charlie pulled along behind him was huge and heavy. It trailed behind him by a good six feet, and it dragged enough to make him lean heavily into each step to keep it going.

“Do you need help?” Evan asked.

“No, thanks. Victor wouldn’t like it. You’ll get your own soon enough.”

Evan stayed with Charlie as he dragged the bag to the crest of the hill, and then down to the compound. As they got closer, the aroma of dinner mixed with the stink of the gasoline and the rotten-egg smell to form a mixture that soured the thought of eating anything. They took the bag to the edge of the big building in the center, where a line of workers formed in front of a rusty scale that looked like one you’d see in a doctor’s office, but much bigger.