Vacations from Hell

“We won’t stop, Baba. This is the future. In the hundred and thirty years since the village stopped the sacrifice, things have only gotten worse. It’s time to start again. Our generation will have everything.”



The tavern keeper grabbed hold of Mariana’s wrist, but she broke his grip easily. “Uncle Sada, you can’t stop us. You should thank us, instead. We are saving the village,” Mariana insisted.



“You will curse us all,” he answered back in English, surprising me.



The old-timers rushed them then, but there weren’t enough of them, and they weren’t strong enough to stop what was happening. The younger ones held them back easily. “Now we go to the lake,” Mariana said.



The group pushed us through the village, the old-timers following, pleading. We left them standing on the other side of the wall. They looked worried, like parents sending their kids off to prom instead of cold-blooded ritualistic murder.



Dovka pulled us after her into the forest. If we slowed, she gave the rope around our waists a sharp tug, and we’d stumble into one another. Fighting back was out of the question. The night was warm and oppressive. It pushed its hands against our lungs, made us sweat as we trudged through the forest in a clump. Somebody started singing. The Stones. “Sympathy for the Devil.”



“Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name…”



There were a few giggles, like this was a fraternity prank, a bunch of kids on their way to outsmart their friends in some goofy one-upmanship. I even tried to tell myself that—anything to rationalize what was happening. But then I’d remember the razor at John’s throat, and the terror would come over me again. The singing got louder, and Vasul shushed them. John’s lifeless body was slung over Vasul’s shoulder. We carried on in silence, the lanterns lighting the way. The lake with its top hat of fog came into view. Dovka stuffed our pockets and shirts with heavy stones and pushed us into the cold, black water.



“Go out farther,” Mariana called, holding a gun on us. We stumbled backward until only our heads were visible. “That’s good. Now we wait.”



“I’ll n-never sit in the student union studying,” Isabel stammered through tears. “Never go to a frat party or date an Irish boy named Declan.”



“Guys named Declan are all ass**les,” I tried to joke, but it came out hollow.



Baz had stopped praying. In the four years we’d been friends, he’d never been so quiet, so still.



Vasul and his friends laid John’s body on the ground.



“Why are we waiting?” one of the guys asked. “Let’s get this done.”



“We’ve made the offering. It’s up to The One to accept it,” Mariana said with finality.



In the distance I could hear the old-timers singing the old songs, skeletal melodies with nothing to disguise the despair. Dirges. My grandmother said that when her father had succumbed to the dysentery in the camp, her mother sang until her voice was ragged. Like that was the only thing left to her.



The night pressed on. The cold water numbed us, and Isabel’s teeth chattered. I tried to move my fingers just to keep the circulation going, anything to keep from losing feeling or falling asleep and going under. At first, I counted silently, trying to keep my mind from going to dark places, but when I reached two thousand eighty-three, I couldn’t remember what came next, and that scared me so bad I stopped.



After a while Dovka got bored and started a conversation about remixes. Somebody chewed gum, offered the pack to the others. A girl slapped at a bug on her arm, flicked it off. It was all so ordinary. Just a to-do list that included murder. And I wondered what had happened, what flipped that switch in the human brain that allowed people to rationalize atrocities, whether it was racism or terrorism or genocide or drowning people you’d shared wine with, their pockets heavy with stones you picked up yourself and put there.



Under the water I felt Isabel grasping my hand, and I was glad for the feel of it. Seemed the only thing I could be sure of right now. “S-sorry I p-put that Celine Dion ringtone on your phone that time,” she said.



“That was you?”



“Yeah.”



“You suck.”



“Yeah.” She bit off her laugh when it became a cry.



Suddenly Mariana stood at attention, motioned to the others. “It’s happening,”



The fog thickened and there was a strong smell, like sulfur, that made me feel as if I were choking. Bubbles appeared on the surface of the lake, and it was noticeably warmer. Uncomfortable, like a sauna. The mud beneath our feet seemed to give way a bit. Baz was in only neck deep, but Isabel’s mouth dropped below the waterline, and I wasn’t far behind her. She snapped her head back, trying desperately to keep her nose free, and Baz and I pushed against her as best we could to keep her upright. But it was hard with our hands tied behind our backs. Isabel panicked and nearly brought us down with her thrashing.