The Last Resort

Two weeks ago, Sam’s family had tried to kill him.

He pushed this unwelcome thought aside and took a steadying breath of sea air. The smell of salt and suntan lotion was intoxicating. So was the half-empty cocktail sweating in his hand.

“Refill, sir?”

Sam cracked open one eye. From this angle, the waiter was a blaze of white in the tropical sun.

“Why not?” he said, tossing back the melting dregs of his drink. The waiter dipped his head and disappeared through the maze of cabanas and sun-browned bodies.

That was when Sam noticed the man behind him. A lone figure propped rigidly upright amongst a sea of reclining sunbathers. A floppy gray hat cast his face into shadow, but Sam thought – with a prickle on the back of his neck – that the man seemed to be staring directly at him.

The glaring sun, the white sand, the blockading sea – in that moment, all of it made Sam feel horribly exposed.

He turned back to face the rolling waves. Squeezed his eyes shut until red spots burst behind his closed lids. This was the last place anyone would think to look for him.

And they would be looking.

A shadow fell over Sam’s face. He screamed. His fists lashed out at the attacker before his sun-blinded eyes registered the crisp white uniform of the resort staff.

The astonished waiter leapt back, flinging his tray into the air. There was a brief sparkle of glass. Then Sam’s freshly made cocktail toppled into the sand, splattering them both in frozen sludge.

Sam blinked strawberry margarita mix from his lashes, glancing behind him. The man in the gray hat had vacated his seat, but plenty of other people were staring now. His stomach gave a sickening lurch. All those eyes.

He fled from the beach.

***

By the time he reached the hotel lobby, Sam was gasping for breath. His clothes were peppered with sticky, red stains. He jammed a finger at the elevator call button, shooting a furtive glance over one shoulder. A babble of voices burst through the lobby doors as tourists floated in from the sunshine.

He punched the button again.

The crowd drifted towards the elevator like a many-headed beast, chattering and shrieking. Their brightly colored shirts created dizzying patterns as they moved.

Sam abandoned the elevators. He shoved open the door to the stairwell and tripped up the steps. Sweat trickled into his eye. As he rounded the corner to the third landing, he heard the door open again.

A second set of footsteps joined his. Sam sped up. So did they. The stairwell was filled with thundering, echoing steps. He caught a flash of movement downstairs but stumbled as he tried to get a better look. His knee cracked against the concrete floor and a jolt of pain shot through his leg. Whoever was behind him was gaining.

He pushed himself back to his feet and saw a large painted number seven on the wall up ahead. The sight made him cry out with relief.

“Wait!” A male voice echoed up the steps. Sam burst free of the stairwell. A maid shrieked and leapt back behind her cart as he raced down the carpeted hall. In a matter of seconds, he had thrust his keycard at the door and toppled into his room.

For a moment, Sam lay sprawled on the balding hotel carpet, straining to listen for approaching footsteps over the thunder of his own heartbeat. Perhaps he had just fled from an innocent person; someone returning a belonging he dropped on the beach or asking for directions. Or perhaps – Sam’s throat tightened horribly – the man following him intended to take him back to his family.

He reached a shaking arm overhead and clunked the lock into place. One thing was for certain: Sam was becoming all too familiar with narrow escapes.

***

When he left his room for breakfast the next day, Sam could have sworn he saw a face disappearing from around the end of the seventh-floor hallway. He froze with one hand still on the handle, but an insistent growl from his stomach drew him from the safety of his room and towards the smell of sizzling bacon downstairs.

Perhaps it was the mountain of delicious food on his plate, or the view of sparkling, dawn-cast waves visible through the dining room’s floor-to-ceiling windows, but Sam was starting to think that yesterday’s panic had not only been laughable, but downright unnecessary. He scooped a forkful of fluffy eggs into his mouth and admired the swaying palm trees outside. How could anything bad happen in this paradise?

The answer to his question fell into the chair opposite him. Sam nearly choked.

“Don’t cause a scene,” urged the man in a low voice. He frowned as Sam’s hand drifted to the butter knife. He could not tell if this was the same man who had been wearing the gray hat, but there was something achingly familiar about him. Those eyes. Where had he seen those eyes?

“Your beard’s gone,” Sam said numbly. The man’s face split into a grin.

“So’s yours. Funny how different we look without them.” Hector scratched his stubbly chin. “I wasn’t sure it was really you at first.”

“So it was you? You were the one chasing me up the stairs? And watching from the hall?”

Hector frowned. “Don’t know what you mean.” He leaned forward, his face growing pale. “Are you saying the Divine Children followed you here, Sam?”

“Yes!” he yelped, and several heads turned. “Yes – you did!”

Hector waved him down. “Don’t be ridiculous. They want me just as bad as they want you. I left.”

There was a pause. Sam was distantly aware of a white shape approaching the table and topping off their glasses. Hector thanked the waiter, but all the while his eyes bored into Sam’s. He squeezed Sam’s forearm.

“Please,” he whispered. “You have to believe me. I had no idea you were here.”

“But…” Sam’s thoughts moved sluggishly. His mind seemed to have filled with concrete. “But the odds of both of us being here…of both of us escaping alive…”

Hector chuckled, giving Sam’s arm a shake.

“You inspired me! All that talk of getting off the compound and setting sail for somewhere warm and sunny. How often did we talk about Barbados?”

The color drained from Sam’s face. Had he been that obvious? Yes, he had daydreamed with Hector before, remembered trusting him enough to share these illicit ideas, away from the ears of the Leader. But Barbados? He could not ever recall mentioning a specific place.

“How did you get away?” Sam asked.

“You know what it’s like,” Hector shrugged. “Getting away’s easy – it’s the staying alive part that’s tough.” He was turning the saltshaker idly with one finger, pushing it this way, then that. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about going to the police. Telling the whole world about Ezra and the screwy stuff he made us do. What he talks people into. Then I wonder if it would just make everything worse.”

Sam nodded sadly. It was not the first time he had contemplated the idea.

“If you got him arrested, it would be a death sentence,” he said quietly. “They can’t lock everyone up. And you know they’d do anything for the Leader.”

Hector’s eyes were downcast, but Sam saw they had filled with tears.

“Sorry,” he grunted, pawing at his face. “It’s just…nice. Talking to someone who knows what it’s like. What we’ve been through.”

Sam couldn’t help it. He smiled at the thin, shaken man before him, feeling slightly guilty about his previous suspicions. Hector had always been kind to him.

“Listen,” Hector said, clearing his throat and blinking. “Tomorrow’s my last day here. I finally got a hold of my sister. The one in Santa Fe? She says I can stay with her until I figure out my next move.”

“That’s great,” Sam said. “A fresh start.”

He nodded. “How would you like to join me for a hike up to the waterfall tomorrow? They had a group meet for it outside the hotel this morning, but…” he shifted. “It’s hard, you know, being around other people. I haven’t spoken to anyone outside the Divine Children for four years.”

Sam’s smile felt suddenly stiff. “I’d love to,” he lied. He liked Hector; he truly did – but the thought of being around another ex-member was about as appealing as sticking the butter knife into his eye.

“Oh, thank you, Sam! Thank you,” Hector beamed. “What’s your room number? I’ll swing by around nine.”

Reluctantly, Sam relayed the room number while a waiter collected his abandoned breakfast. He had hardly touched his plate. As Hector waved a cheery farewell, Sam’s plastered-on grin faded. He glanced around to check no one was looking, then slipped the butter knife up his sleeve.

* * *

Sam slept fitfully that night, convinced that he could hear footsteps pacing outside his room. Once or twice, he thought he saw a shadow linger over the crack between door and floor. The yellow light of the hallway was drowned out by some lurking presence.

He slept with the handle of the butter knife clenched in his fist. His eyes lingered on the door, widening every time he heard movement.

Someone was waiting out there.

* * *

“It’s only a couple miles up to the falls. You sure you don’t want coffee first? Sorry, but you look terrible.”

Sam shook his head, blinking blearily as he and Hector approached the trailhead. The balmy morning air was filled with the cries of tropical birds. He felt slightly nauseous.

Hector carried a black backpack with him. With a furtive glance, he stooped down and fished out a waterbottle.

No one else seemed to be out on the trail. Hector did most of the talking, with Sam tossing in the occasional perfunctory response. The trees around them grew taller and denser. Mysterious snapping and crunching noises could be heard just beyond the path. Probably an animal, according to Hector.

The further they moved along the trail, the more Sam realized how isolated they were. He studied Hector’s lean frame. Who would win in a fight?

Another crunching noise – louder than any they had heard before – made them both stop.

“Did you hear that?” Hector squinted at the dense wall of vegetation curling over them from either side.

Sam nodded jerkily. “I heard it back there too.” He pointed to where the path disappeared around the corner.

Hector frowned. Something wasn’t right here.

“Maybe…” Sam fought to keep his voice from shaking. “Maybe we should head back to the hotel.”

Hector blinked. “You want to go back?” His face fell. “Sam, brother, you really don’t trust me?”

Sam opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Hector’s words from breakfast were echoing in his head. It’s the staying alive part that’s tough. When he spoke at last, his voice sounded much calmer than he felt.

“What are the odds of us meeting here? Two recent ex-cult members just happen to meet on a faraway island? At the same resort?” Hector looked close to tears again. “I want to trust you,” Sam continued. “I do. But think what you’re asking me to believe. If those people ever find me, they promised to kill me!”

“To kill us,” Hector corrected, a snap in his voice. He shook his head and turned back in the direction of the hotel, thumping Sam’s shoulder as he marched past. “I don’t need this. I’ve always trusted you, but clearly you don’t think I deserve the—what is that?”

Another snapping crunch sounded from the trees.

With an exasperated sigh, Hector stomped through the brush towards the noise.

“I don’t think you should…” But Hector waved off his feeble protests before disappearing into the shadows completely. Sam heard the crack of branches and rustle of leaves underfoot. After about a minute, he could hear nothing but the whisper of wind through the trees.

“Hector?” he called softly. He shuffled towards the edge of the trail, stepping as lightly as one would across a thinly frozen lake. How far had Hector gone? He scanned the shadowy wildness beyond but saw no sign of anyone. Was he crouching out of sight, hoping to lure Sam in after him? He felt a phantom gaze brush his skin.

“Hector!” he called, louder this time. “I’m going to go for help.”

If this was some kind of trap, he was not falling for it. And if Hector was sprawled on the ground with a snapped ankle…well, Sam was sure the resort staff could send someone up here within the hour.

He had turned his back to the spot in the trees through which Hector had vanished. He was not aware he was running until he had almost rounded the corner. His feet slapped loudly against the packed earth. No bird cries punctuated the air. Everything seemed to have retreated around him, as if they knew he had been chosen as prey.

There was a shout behind him.

Sam spun around. Hector tore through the trees, bloodstained and wild-eyed. Ratty clumps of leaves papered the open wounds on his face and limbs. He took a few limping steps towards Sam, waving his arms.

“Get out of here, Sam! They’re here! They’re here!” The rest of his words were drowned in a wet muffle. A pair of arms had wrapped around Hector’s face and pulled him backwards. He screamed and fell to the ground. Something cracked.

Sam did not linger. A panicked whine was burbling from his throat, filling his head. He had recognized those bright white sleeves, though they were now stained in Hector’s blood. He was sprinting as fast as he could. The ground was a blur. His foot caught on a something hard. He tumbled forward in a tangle of limbs.

His head bounced – once! twice! – over the hard earth and his vision doubled.

With a groan, Sam rolled onto his side, face pressed to the warm earth. Vaguely, he detected a man in white racing towards him. A hungry grin transformed his face into something beastlike.

The man slowed to a stop and crouched over Sam’s prone body. His jaw bore a subtle shadow of facial hair, though it had recently been concealed beneath a long, thick beard. His eyes burned above that feral smile.

“Hello, Sam,” said the waiter calmly. “What are the odds of bumping into you here?”

***