Virgo's Vice Read Free

finding the cargo. He needed the bandages and painkillers and he was also thirsty.
    “Wait for me,” the guy with the glasses said, as he tread gingerly on his bare feet.
    I stare after the four of them as they head toward the others.
    “I count seven people already over there where they’re heading, plus those four and the three of us,” Trip says. “That accounts for everyone. Do you have any ideas about locating the cargo bags?”
    “I saw them being thrown out,” Mark says. “There are two of them. I tried to make a point of marking the area in my mind because I knew it would be important.” He scans the landscape. “See that rocky hill over there?”
    Trip and I both nod.
    “It was over that way, on the other side of that copse of big trees in front of it. I’m pretty sure of that.”
    I gaze in the direction he’s pointing and take in the scenery for the first time. We’re on a grassy plain that seems to go on forever, with rolling hills and clumps of trees. There are also some scraggy outcroppings of granite boulders, and that one boulder-strewn hill that sticks up like a pimple. I turn my gaze into the sky and once again I think about how blue it is.
    All around me, I hear strange bird calls, and insects that sound like crickets or cicadas, or maybe both. The air is not too humid, but Trip is right, it is getting hot out here in the sun. It smells of sunshine, crushed grass and freshly disturbed earth. There’s no sign of the herd of animals that I saw running away when I was coming down in the parachute.
    “I think you’re right,” Trip says. “They would be back that way.”
    I glance over at him. How could life have done this to me? I had been so sure he was gone, I mean, really gone—forever.
    “You coming, Lex?” Mark says.
    “Sure.” I know I don’t want to go back there where all the others are gathering. I’ll have to mix with them eventually, but the longer I can put it off the better.
    I follow Trip and Mark down a narrow trail.
    “I wish I could be sure we’re heading in the right direction,” Trip mutters, from up front.
    “Me too,” Mark says. “But we need everything that’s in the bags. The Old Man—that is, Allan Dockery—said he would only be back in three days.”
    Mark glances back at me and lowers his voice, “He’s totally dropped us in the crap,” he says. “I mean, this is crazy. There’s nobody to tell those dudes what they’re supposed to be doing. Are they all supposed to compete in this show as individuals, or will they be in teams first, like Survivor?”
    “What about leaving Jake with us?” I say, leaning down to pat him. Jake is sticking with me. Maybe it’s because I always pet him when we’re taking a break back home at the studios in Los Angeles. I love dogs and they seem to know it. Dogs are one of the reasons I’m out here. I want to get a dog of my own, but I’m not allowed pets in my one-bedroom studio apartment in Glendale.
    Mark has turned his attention back to following Trip. He doesn’t know I’ve been searching for a farm cottage forever, but whenever I found one I was too scared to do anything about it. I really, really want to move out into the country and get a dog, but the thought of living in a cottage without any neighbors on the other side of the walls scares me. A lot of things scare me and that’s why I volunteered for this gig, out here in Africa. Things have been spiraling out of control, and I had to force myself to do this, even though it’s totally out of my element.
    It’s not really my fault that I have the panic attacks. It’s his fault. Trip. After he left, my aunt took me to see a shrink. He said I have a type of PTSD, the same thing soldiers get when they’ve been in a war and been involved in things no decent human being should have to deal with. Like what I went through. I’ve spent a lot of time on the Internet studying anxiety disorders and what causes them. I didn’t need a shrink to tell me