The van stopped in the middle of the desert, moving to the side of the road and parking there. The white sun burnt across the sky, over the many poor creatures inhabiting the vast Outback. The inside of the vehicle was beginning to heat up as well. The young camerawoman had trouble sitting straight up in her passenger seat, filming the man that guided them to this location. He spoke of a recent endeavor, the hunt for a vicious crocodile. It was not the biggest he had taken on, he made that clear many times during a short window of film, but it did leave some nasty scratches and cuts over his body. His amazing tale of adventure was overlapping with the radio that was set on low. As the man's mumbles became as quiet as the songs that played, the girl slowly moved her head away from the large, boxy contraption. The camera suddenly felt heavy. There was a certain air of relief flooding over the younger girl as she placed the heavy object on her thighs.
"Fascinating," she said with detached interest. She grazed the surface of the camera with her fingertips before switching it off. The older man looked at the girl huff in lazy exhaustion.
"Aren't you supposed to keep that camera on all the time?" He asked, always slightly puzzled by her turning off her device as soon as she got some very limited material. Her gaze was steely and a little cold.
"You put down your rifle from time to time, dontcha? I don't want it to heat up. 'Sides, it's not like you're still interesting…" she smiled jokingly, half hoping that he wouldn't bring up the fact that the past few days were nothing but interesting to her. Luckily, the assassin said nothing until Pepper stood up, stretching her arms out over her head.
"Where ya off to?" He asked, casually looking out into the open desert, as burning and beautiful as it always has been.
"I'm off to get some fresh air…" she responded, running her fingers down her tanned, guileless limbs, little white hairs spread across the smooth surface. "Maybe I'll work on my tan. I can't go back to that sickly white I came here with, now can I?"
The man nodded, responding to her question that he wouldn't be joining song by the Chordettes was still playing quietly inside the van, bursting through the radio. Mundy looked uneasy listening to it while Pepper bobbed her head to the simplistic beat.
Lollipop lollipop
Oh lolli lolli lolli…
Lollipop lollipop...
Lollipop!
She put her index finger inside the hot hollow of her mouth and swiftly brought it out with a distinctive pop. She then opened the heavy van door, hopping out of the vehicle. The door shut behind her, and only then did Mundy's lingering gaze leave her frame, and he allowed himself a long exhale.
And suddenly, his mind flooded with guilt. The fact that he did not know what triggered the flush of hotness and shame. It wasn't just the heat inside the van, it was the fever burning inside him. And it wasn't a pleasant heat that he felt; it was of a sinner spinning in hell.
And what did he do? Nothing. What did he say? Nothing. All he was aware of was that every time he spoke with the girl, every time his eyes flew the bare surface of her neck and shoulders, he would find himself calmer, at ease, feeling as if he truly belonged there. He belonged in that moment in time, with that annoying little creature, her neck, her face, her camera and all.
And it was that elation of being with her that he feared. He wasn't supposed to feel this way. Deep inside, he knew it, and that's why he sat in his driver's seat, breathing heavily as his red, cotton shirt filled with sweat. He ran the palm of his hand over his moist forehead, beads of salty liquid forming at a rapid pace. He inhaled one last time to keep calm, taking the brim of his shirt and pulling it over his head. The fabric lay on the passenger seat beside him, over the girl's camera that she left. He looked at it, feeling the temperature in his body lower itself, the sensation of guilt vanishing.
"Jesus, Mundy…" he said, his eyes darting to his pathetic reflection in the rearview mirror. "What the fuck are you doing?"
His head finally cleared. He stood up from his seat and made his way towards the small doors in his van, where he kept his ammo, magazines and a very limited stash of clothing. He opened the small door, his legs wobbling after driving for a little over four hours without a break. It was funny; on his own, he could spend days without stopping. But during those past few weeks with the girl, his energy seemed to drain out completely.
Oh well, he mused as he took another shirt from the messy heap on one of the shelves. She would be going soon. It was only a matter of days before she finished her little project. Only a matter of days before he could feel alright with himself again, and not feel the crippling guilt every time he thought of her, the possibility of her. He was doing it again; thinking of her while crumpling the shirt inside his fingers.
(The light of my life, the fire of my-)
(Stop it.)
In his daze he failed to notice a small pile of assorted items fall off the shelf. He released a groan as he saw the mess of magazines and clothes, not because of the mess that he had to clean, but because he failed to notice that the pile was about to topple over. He was losing his touch. Damn this lovely girl.
The shirt he picked out was thrown behind his back, onto the bed. He would tend to it later. Meanwhile, he rummaged through the pile, taking one shirt and folding it lazily, taking one magazine and flipping through it before putting it aside. He was barely half a minute into doing so when he noticed a small string. His brow narrowed as he slid it on the tip of his middle finger. He cautiously raised it up, just until he saw the small crocodile teeth hanging from it. They dangled in front of his face, bemused by the blast from the past. It was a necklace; a necklace that originally belonged to his sweet Caroline.
The corners of his mouth twitched upwards as soon as he thought of her. His sweet, precious Caroline… before she broke his heart and left him a miserable shadow of a once proud man. That little trinket brought back memories that hit him faster than a speeding freight train. He gave it to her into two weeks of knowing her, promising that she was the love of his life. He was so young then, so foolish. Not much older than Pepper is now, he noted. It was back when he believed in love, when he believed in happy endings.
She was so cheerful, that Caroline. She had a way of getting what she wanted; she knew her way around a rifle. She was the best hunter Mundy had ever seen, excluding himself. Her presence was a breath of fresh air, spot of bright light through the thick clouds after a storm. It was her absence that broke him, that made his wall crumble around him. It imprisoned him, leaving him assured that he would never find happiness with another person again. He was not bothered by this. Over a decade of being completely on his own, he found out that there were a lot of things he could do alone. Not every joy had to be divided into a small group of people.
This is why he was terrified of his contentment he was experiencing now.
He held the necklace tightly, grabbing the tooth and allowing the string to fall over his knuckles. The sun shined from the window and across his fingers, marking them with long, even streaks. He had almost forgotten about this little trinket. And there he was, wondering.
He once made a promise to a man, a complete stranger he came across one Christmas Eve. During small talk, the necklace was mentioned, and the back-story behind it was out in the open as well. Mundy said that the necklace would no longer represent a symbol of love, but rather a symbol of lenience. He vowed to toss that silly thing to the first person he found tolerable. The first person he didn't truly hate at first sight would receive it, and it would be able to do whatever it wanted with it.
The promise he made to himself was there, hazy and distant, but present nonetheless.
He stood up and walked out into the hot air that surrounded the camper van. He glared at the bright blue sky from behind his aviators. He stood still for a couple of moments, shirtless, the necklace in hand. It was as though and invisible force dragged him out in the open, without him resisting it or agreeing with it.
There was no wind blowing that day, and the air was stale and heavy. The hot dirt burnt his feet as he stood outside, facing away from the long, narrow road.
"Hey, Vic!"
Pepper called out, and almost immediately he faced her. She was lying on a thin towel, raising up one of her long, browned legs. The skin seemed to shine against the surface of the sun. They weren't covered, seeing that the girl was wearing a pair of short denim shorts, complete with an oversized shirt that she tied in a knot, exposing the small bulge of her stomach. Few buttons were undone, just enough to show the area under the neck without presenting too much. Thick sunglasses were put over her eyes, covering most of her round face. One of the lenses, the left one, was covered by a strand of bright red hair. The rest of the locks were tamed, put behind in a ponytail that fell lazily over her back.
And as he watched the little brown-limbed doe, Mundy could only think of Caroline, her tendency to leave whatever she was doing and go outside for the sole purpose to catch some more sun. She was amazing in those little puerile ways. Mundy blinked once to get Caroline's image away from him.
"Hey," the girl began, ticking her finger towards the item tucked in the marksman's hand; "what's that?"
The man coughed once, shaking his head to clear his vision. Gingerly he brought the necklace upwards, allowing the girl to see it properly. On the spot, he made up a short cockamamie story of its origin. The girl listened with detached interest. At one point, he even noticed that the girl was not even looking his way.
"Are you alright, Sheila?" He asked, seeing that his words barely went into her head as he spoke. "Something wrong?"
"Nothing!" She said, her eyes running back to his face. She smiled sheepishly, trying to sound earnest. "Absolutely nothing."
"Anyway," Mundy began, taking a step towards the girl; "I figured these would look better on you than they would on me." His finger ran over the exquisite ivory teeth.
"You… you want me to wear it?"
"May I?" He asked, stretching out the necklace to her.
Pepper puckered her lips at the gesture he made, stretching out the string. She then formed her lips into a cheerful smile and nodded hastily. She turned away from him, moving her hair out of his way. The man kneeled behind her, able to smell the earthiness of her skin. He gently threw the necklace over her head, slowly bringing the ends of it into a small knot. As he tied it, his fingers brushed against the downy hairs at the back of her neck. For a moment, he only saw Caroline's neck, soft and as white as snow. If he didn't discipline himself, he would have run his lips into it, caressing the tender skin over the smooth line and up to her chin. But he reminded himself to maintain his level of formidable self-control.
The necklace was placed on her, the crocodile tooth ornaments fell over her collar bones. She turned to him, fingering the smooth surface. She looked into his eyes, steely and icy-blue.
He thought that giving it away would be like giving up all the thoughts he had of the possibility of love. If the trinket no longer belonged to him, he would have nothing to be reminded of. But there she was, this creature. She was so lovely and so frighteningly young. And for a split second, reality changed. He was no longer Victor Mundy, the head hunter that frequently shaved off a couple of years off his original age, lived in a van and despised all human contact. For a mere moment, he was Vic, and adventurous and callow teen, who borrowed a van from his best mate and was now on a hunting trip with a charming, brown-limbed girl.
So short a second it was, and it managed to ruin his life.
"How do I look?" She asked, batting her eyelashes.
"You look… enchanting," he said.
"Thanks, Mundy."
It truly is amazing what our id can do to us, overpowering our super-ego. During that second of bewilderment, the man cupped the girl's firm face in his hands, lifting it up. His heart began racing, his body was becoming hot. Her fingers ran through his unkempt hair but he had become numb to her touch with eagerness. Her mouth opened slightly as she leaned her head to the side. He was just about to do the same, to clash into her sweet little lips, when a voice stopped him.
(This is wrong.)
Three words. And suddenly he was the grumpy old pervert again, holding an innocent girl half his age. Suddenly, that feeling of self-disgust was back. All because of those three words, his sanity's last plea that came in rushing like a horde of elephants.
(This is wrong!)
The girl was still awaiting her kiss, her eye opened while Mundy kneeled by her, grains of sand attacking his knees. He had a forlorn expression. She gazed up at him in puzzlement.
"I can't," he finally said, standing up and walking back to the van. The girl watched his back, covering her stomach and bringing her knees closer to her body. She felt exposed, filthy. Mundy saw her, curled up and pitiful. He spoke once more, with a heavy heart.
"You're a great kid, Sheila. But you're still just a kid."
The van door closed with a slam. That should have been the end of that.
Except it wasn't.
He lay on the cold floor, reliving those three weeks he had spent with her. He remembered every word, every movement, every embrace shared. Every kiss and every small tear of hers came rushing in. And he often forgot that the girl was a being of her own, a woman of flesh and blood, and not just a perfect replica of a love lost. He regretted it. All those moments spent with her were rushing back to kill him.
As blood trickled down the corner of his mouth, and while his eyes finally focused on his surroundings, a thought crept over his mind as clear and bright as a star.
He should have left her to die. He had a choice between her life and his freedom, and he regretted picking the former.
This was the first thought dedicated to her that did not make him completely ill. He regretted nothing.
The Engineer stood over his body, glaring daggers at his flesh while Irene wept, hiding her face behind her hands. She spoke of the tape she received, a long roll of film that made her very being shatter. Hot tears rushed through her fingers as she spoke quickly, her weeps intermitted by sobs.
"And then it was gone!" She said to nobody in particular, her lips tightening and trying to restrain a gush of emotion. "It just… vanished into thin air. I thought I was crazy. I thought I made it all up… and now he's here."
Her misty eyes fell on the marksman's frame, and he slowly moved to pick himself up. The Engineer beat him to it, picking him by the collar. The tall man's body felt limp and lifeless. The Texan growled. A part of him wanted to strike him again, but there was no more use. The punches did not make him any less livid, and the Sniper was already beaten badly, his head lulled and his eyes rolled back. Whenever the Australian opened his mouth to speak, a croak came out but nothing with it. And what was he going to say, anyway?
I'm sorry I defiled your perfect little angel. I'm sorry she enjoyed it.
It was no longer pain he felt at that moment. The sensation could have only been defined as relief. A man was being punished for a thing he wronged years ago, and it felt necessary.
The Texan, meanwhile, was not as calm. His body shook and his iron grip tightened around his collar. The hands refused to crawl up to the marksman's neck, for now.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" He let the words slither through his mouth. All the insults, all the yells of pure rage were spent in the past few moments. Irritated by the Australian, he tossed him on the floor. The Sniper fell on his side and rolled on his stomach, holding his sore shoulder and groaning in pain.
"Get up!" The Texan demanded, kicking him in the back forcefully. "Get the fuck up you bastard!"
The Sniper propped himself on his hands, barely keeping his head up. Soon his weight shifted on his extremities and he was able to stand on his feet, as stable as a table standing on one leg. The images flashed around the room, the images of the Engineer's fuming expression, the Spy's disapproving frown that flickered towards him as he consoled Irene, and the lady of the house who would occasionally wipe her tears away only to show a look of hate and schadenfreude.
The man couldn't even stand up straight before the Engineer punched him in the jaw once again. This sent the man back a couple of feet, but he managed to keep his balance. The tinkerer stayed in front of him, exposing his teeth and clenching his fists. One could hear the blood pulsating in his veins.
"And I'm hearing about this now?!" He began, his voice loud and piercing. "All those fucking years… and now you have the courtesy to tell me?!"
The Sniper breathed heavily, his hand placed on his gut that felt oddly out of place.
"Look…Dell…"
"I mean, what-!" The Engineer clasped his head in between the palms of his hands, flinging his body sideways. "What in God's name were you even thinking?! Do you normally do this, go around driving in that disgusting van of yours and abusing young, innocent girls?!"
"I didn't want it to happen, I swear!"
"Well too bad! Too fucking bad! Well it did happen, and you can't even be decent enough to come clean about it!"
"Dell, please…" the Sniper said, barely having enough strength to keep himself up on his feet, let alone argue with the furious man. "If I could go back and correct one thing-"
"You can't!"
"I know. Just-" He swallowed some saliva; the foamy liquid seemed to stick to his dry throat, closing it up. "I can't… I can't tell you how much I regret it. I never wanted to hurt the girl. I would never, it was just…"
His eyes were locked on the Texan, standing where he was and eagerly expecting a statement. The Australian closed his eyes, already knowing that there was no way to make this situation worse than it already was.
"…it just happened."
For a second, the Engineer stood completely still. Then he guffawed, only once. He tossed his hands up; the furious Texan vanished just for a moment.
"Just happened," he repeated, craning his body to the side before looking at the marksman again. "Just happened- I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!"
He ran to him, the sharpshooter had enough time only to flinch, not even shielding himself for he knew that he fully deserved this beating. But then, the only thing that stood in between the two men was a masked figure, holding the Texan by the forearms and pushing him back.
"That's enough!" He insisted.
"Let me go!" The Texan cried, trying to free himself. Irene, meanwhile, stood up and watched the action.
"Dell, this is not the-!"
The Spy was punched. The blow made his head roll back, but he managed to stand his ground and pry the Texan away from the rigid Sniper.
"Don't touch me!" Dell bellowed, fuming and foaming at the mouth. "Get off me you idiot!"
"Dell, stop it! This is not the time or place for this!"
"The man molested my baby girl!"
"It wasn't like that!" The Sniper began, hopelessly trying to defend himself. The Engineer tried to charge at him once more with a cry of fury. He was successfully held back by the Spy.
"Whatever he did, it was long before the Infected became an issue!" The Spy stated, not too loudly but clearly. His words rung through the base. "In case you've forgotten, there are millions of those things around us, and we cannot risk losing a sniper! Our group is in disarray as it is! We do not need this!" He slowly moved his head closer to the Texan, and his next words were the force that stopped the inertia of his anger.
"It would not be worth it."
The Texan suddenly stopped. The red, stiff expression was gone, as his body filled with a feeling of emptiness. He waited until the Spy released him, and then he moved. He did not walk towards the Sniper. He walked to the side, straight past Irene. She stretched out her arm, trying to console her husband, but retracted it with haste as it came just inches away from his shoulder.
Dell looked into the tips of his boots, mumbling to himself.
"I loved that girl. I remember the first time she came home, from the hospital. She was… the size of a loaf of bread," he said, a sad chuckle leaving the back of his throat. The three listened to him intently.
"She… she stretched out her arm and grabbed my finger… and I found myself wondering… How can something so small be so remarkable?... And then…" he sniffed once, putting his hands inside his pants pockets and bobbing down his head. "And then she-…she just became this amazing little creature. The best thing that ever happened to me. I woke up in the middle of the night to see if she was breathing, I couldn't bear the thought of losing her. I fed her, I drove her in my car on those nights when she couldn't sleep. When she was older, I taught her to ride her bike. I never let her drive too far away from me… Just a block, maybe two."
The Sniper's shameful gaze flicked from Dell to Irene. That was the first time that he saw a tear flowing down her cheek, a sincere tear of pure love mixed together with pain and heartbreak.
"And then," Dell continued; "I remember when she woke up, crying. I ran into her room and sat on her bed. And then I'd put my arms around her," he mimicked the motion, crossing his arms over his chest and putting the palms on his heavy shoulders. "I'd rock her, tell her-…tell her everything's gonna be okay. No matter what happened, Daddy was there to keep her safe. She was my little angel, the little diva running around the living room, singing Maria and trying on Irene's dresses." He chuckled one more time, but the sound felt like a dagger to the heart. "And then… she left. She left, and she didn't need her Daddy anymore. And now this."
His arm flailed at the marksman's direction. He did not budge. Slowly, the Texan looked up into the ceiling, holding still for a couple of moments before shaking his head.
"It's like… it's like my baby's gone." He turned to the side, looking at his wife. She lifted her chin up, eager to hear him.
"I'm sorry I ever doubted you, Irene. I'm sorry you had to go through that hell. And I'm sorry you're reliving it again."
His wife gave a curt nod, internally grateful for his apology, no matter how insignificant it might have sounded.
He wanted to say more, but found himself leaving the room. His sigh was hollow and seemed to drag on for hours. The Spy moved out of the Sniper's way, excusing himself to Irene and walking out on the balcony, desperate for a cigarette that he did not have. Irene nodded in his direction and looked at the Australian.
Finally, it was just the two of them.
"Irene…" The Sniper started, wringing his hands.
"Get out."
The man was baffled by the command, delivered without a hint of vulnerability. His head ticked to the side.
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, it will take more than an excuse, Mundy." She walked to him, glaring. "What you did was disgusting. Disgusting and vile. And I had to witness the whole thing. Mundy, you are a pervert. A pervert and a pedophile."
"Irene, I'm- AGH!"
The woman grabbed his neck, pushing him down until he was on his knees, clawing at her hand. Her eyes had gone completely white as she frowned; the intense rage was so extreme that beads of sweat appeared over her furrowed brow. The marksman was beginning to lose precious air.
"I have waited many years to do this. I dreamed of killing you, destroying you for butchering my daughter like that! If I waited another day, I wouldn't even be speaking to you right now. I would be holding your head under an axe, striking your back before I finally chopped your head off in an act of mercy! You would not live to see another dawn, Mundy."
Her head came closer to his face, already pale and shivering. Droplets of blood fell on her hand.
"I will never forgive you for this. You are lucky we need a good sniper, otherwise I would throw you on the floor and stomp on your spine! I would beat you so hard that you would piss blood! I would rip your fucking head off and shit down your neck!"
Her grip loosened with no warning. The man fell, gasping and holding his bruised flesh. The woman stood above him with the posture of an Amazon warrior. Her voice was now hard and determined, compared to the shrill, angry cries of graphic promises.
"But I will let you off. This time. I want you out of this house. You can go live in that filthy van of yours, you can sleep outside in the rain. If you set one foot inside this house… I will destroy you."
The last words were stressed and dragged out. The man managed to get up, his vision hazy and his legs disobedient, walking him to the side. Irene clenched her fists, trying to cool down the urge to hit him, to knock him off his feet and break his spine. Instead, she pointed towards the door.
"Now get out of my house, you fucking piece of shit. And if you ever…EVER!... talk to Sarah again, I will cut your fucking dick off."
With that fair warning, the man scurried outside. The door slammed behind him with a furious yell, followed by the shattering of windows.
"PERVERT!"