Page 26 of Factory Controller

“I’m sorry.”

We hike up a hill, Heather panting as the grade increases. I offer her a hand and tug her past a couple of particularly daunting spots. When we reach the top, we take a moment to catch our breath.

“What happened to the drunk driver? Did he die too?”

“No.” My jaw sets hard as I recall the events which ensued after the accident.

A minute passes, during which Heather remains silent.

I could stop talking now but since I started, I may as well let it all out.

“The guy was rich, and he bought his own justice. His lawyer managed to get the breathalyzer test thrown out as evidence, and the only charge that stuck was reckless endangerment.”

“Did at least do time for that?”

I shake my head. “No. He was a first-time offender, so he got probation on the grounds he went to rehab. After that, well…I was done with the good old US of A. That’s why I came down here, climbed into the metaphorical bottle and never climbed back out.”

Our journey resumes along the bank of a small stream. I take it as a sign we’re at least walking in the right direction to reach the river.

“I wish I’d have had the option to run away to the jungle. I might have done so instead of staying in some of the awful foster homes I got stuck in before the Factory took me in.”

“I’ve heard foster care sucks.”

“That’s an understatement. I was one of the ‘lucky’ ones, who didn’t get physically or sexually abused by my foster parents or siblings. It was still awful, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

I glance over at her as we trudge beside the merry, burbling creek.

“No one helped you as a child, so now you’re determined to save other children. That’s some deep blue nobility stuff right there.”

“Oh, stop.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m an auditor. A glorified, weaponized accountant. I’m not a hero, and if I had my druthers, I’d be sitting in a Manhattan café sipping a latte while I listen to two white guys with dreads argue about which strain of kratom is the best.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You know, most heroes don’t like to admit they’re heroes.”

“I told you to stop. I’m here because I owe the Factory a favor, not because of some misguided sense of altruism. Once I’m done with this favor, I’ll be back in America, pretending not to care about the plight of the Amazonian children.”

“Ha, caught you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pretending. You said pretending not to care. So, that means you do care.”

“How much further do we have to go?”

I slow to a halt and consider the landscape. “I’m not sure. If we keep going, we’ll run into the river eventually. As far as reaching a village along the way, I don’t know.”

“Thanks for being honest this time, instead of pretending you’re not lost.”

“Um…you’re welcome?” I can’t fathom why Heather is so damn compelling. I haven’t felt the urge to get close to anyone in a very long time. Not like this. “Listen, I’m sorry we have to walk like this. It’s not what I had in mind at all.”

“It is what it is, I guess,” she says with a sigh of resignation.

I picture Heather alone during the holidays, and feel the urge to comfort her. She’s so used to misery she barely questions the why of it any longer.

“Are you familiar with this part of the forest?” she asks.

“Honestly, I’m not. Normally I wouldn’t cross the forest on foot. I’d use a boat or my plane, instead. Still, I think as long as we keep heading south, we’ll reach the Amazon, or at the very least a tributary of it.”

“Are you sure?”

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