Read Online The Tourist Trail by John Yunker - Free Book Online Page B

silent. But her one day was passing much too quickly. She needed more time. More time with Aeneas.
    â€œI have to return to camp,” she told Doug, avoiding his eyes. “You work on the nests over by the point.”
    Walking the north line, she encountered a penguin dead in his nest. She saw the teeth marks and could tell that a culpeo fox had killed him the night before, not for food but to mark territory. Nothing more than a thrill kill. Bycatch.
    Angela looked at the female—sitting on her eggs, eggs that would be abandoned soon, and weaving her head from side to side—and felt herself beginning to cry. She held it in, surprised that she had turned so emotional. The female penguins were never single for long; males in the surrounding bushes were already eying the empty nest. But what Angela had once seen as instinctual head movements she now saw as a creature in mourning.
    In the distance, she noticed clouds of dust forming a trail, the sign of a fast-moving vehicle. She made a mental note to remind the guardafauna to post speed-limit signs. Taxis lately had become reckless, trying to squeeze in additional trips before the gate closed. But when Angela mounted the last hill before camp, she saw the source of the dust wasn’t a taxi but a speeding police car, lights flashing.
    The police car skidded to a stop at the guardafauna’s gate but only for a second as the guardafauna waved it through. Angela picked up her pace, and then she started running.
    The car was going too fast to stop for penguins, and she prayed that none was crossing the road as the car crested the hill. She lost sight of it through the brown dust, but she stayed on the road, dreading the thought of trying to rescue an injured bird, or, worse, having to put one down, which had happened last season.
    But either the police were more careful than she thought or the birds more cautious; she didn’t find any injured penguins along the way. Relief turned to fury as she saw the empty police car ahead, its blue lights echoing off tour buses and the darkening hills. Intending to teach the officers a lesson, she began practicing her faded Spanish in her head: Se ponen en peligro los pingüinos. Contacto con sus jefes.
    She pushed her way through the crowd. It took her only a moment to ascertain what had happened. There’d been a fight. A tourist, with a bleeding face and hysterical wife, required medical attention. The perpetrator had taken off into the bushes. Police had already begun scouring the colony, disregarding the warning signs and ropes. Penguins on the trail panicked and flapped about.
    Angela had a bad feeling, and as the police reviewed tourists’ camcorders, she stood close and watched. She caught a glimpse, on a tiny sun-bleached screen, of man punching man, bloody faces, dust. And one of the men wore a bright yellow jacket.
    * * *
    She found him on Beacon Hill.
    â€œWhat the hell happened out there?”
    â€œI was looking for you,” he said. “I thought you might be on the trail.”
    â€œYou assaulted a tourist?”
    â€œHe nearly stepped on a penguin, Angela. He was completely off the trail, trying to take a close-up photo. I kindly asked him to step back, but he refused. I even said please . But my recidivistic instincts got the better of me.”
    â€œYou have to leave.”
    â€œThat’s what I was coming to tell you. My ship is on its way. They’re sending a Zodiac. I’ll be gone in an hour.”
    She looked out over the water, her mind desperately trying to process everything. The chaos in the camp behind her. This man about to leave her. The anger inside, causing her hands to tremble—or was it fear? She didn’t know what she was feeling anymore.
    â€œCome with me,” he said.
    â€œWhat?” She turned to face him.
    â€œI said, come with me.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œTo the ship.”
    Angela looked into his eyes, wide with excitement,