"And in first place, with 119 points, Ursula Nunez of _, _!"
Ursula bowed, then walked over to the podium, black and green ponytail swishing out of her baseball cap. She shook the announcer's hand and received her medal, then looked out at the softly applauding crowd. She saw her dad, with his ridiculous mustache, hat and full suit making him look like a discount mariachi. Then her mom, cheering and hollering and holding up a banner with Ursula's name flanked by bullseyes. Then her brother Erik, who had miraculously torn himself away from his phone long enough to clap.
Ursula blinked. Winning usually felt good. Seeing her family proud of her usually felt better. So why did she just feel numb?
Ursula sat at the dinner table, palm pressed tightly against her forehead. "Do we have to do this now? I was gonna head out in 10 minutes."
Her parents sat across from her, making it clear it would be a 2v1. Her father made the opening move.
"Mija." Here we go. "Your mother and I just want to make sure you have a plan. For your future."
A classic play.
"Dad. Are we really gonna do this again?"
"We were understanding when you said you didn't want to go to college right away. We were supportive when you got competitive in shooting. But you can't do this forever."
"The hell I can. There's active Olympic contenders older than you."
"Alright. Have you actually started looking into applying for that?"
Ursula was stunned for about half a second, which was half a second too long. Her mom tagged in.
"Mija. We want you to be happy. But we also want you to take your life seriously. Whatever you decide to do, commit to it. That's all we're saying."
"No, it's not. You always have more to say. Let's hear it, Dad."
He sighed. "Your mom and I worked hard our whole lives so we could give you and your brother a better opportunity."
Ursula dropped her head to the table. "Not this again. Every single time we get to this conversation, you always talk about this. How it's every generation's job to lift the next one up, and how much you sacrificed, and how damn much you expect of me. Where does it end? If Erik and I are doctors and engineers are you gonna push our kids to be astronauts and CEOs? I can't take this pressure anymore, I just can't."
Her mom tried to intervene, too little, too late, as the tears started coming. "Ursula. We just want you to realize how much we care about you."
"I am so sick of these expectations. I don't want to be the disappointment. I know how much you've sacrificed for us and I don't feel worthy of it, I don't feel like I deserve it. I can't carry the damn weight of Mexico's hopes and dreams all by myself!" She stopped to blow her nose.
"No one's saying that. But you need to realize the opportunity you've been given-"
"I get it, okay? You guys worked so hard to get here and I'm clearly ungrateful and undeserving of this so just send me back to fucking Mexico and bring someone else back in my place. The only reason I even try at all is because if I didn't you'd just transfer all the pressure to Erik and if I'm an adult and I can't handle it then how is he supposed to he's only fourteen oh god-"
Ursula degenerated into deep sobs. She had lost again. Her mom and dad hugged her tightly. They said "it's okay, it's okay", but Ursula was sick to her stomach now.
It's not okay, she knew. They'd hug, and reassure her that they loved her (which to be fair, they did), and then everything would be tranquil for a few days, maybe weeks if she was lucky. Then they'd inevitably fall right back into the same frying pan.
Ursula had a hard time sleeping that night.
The very next morning, there was a knock on the door. The knocking continued with no signs of stopping. Ursula rubbed her eyes, then stuck her handgun behind her back and jumped down the stairs in her sweatpants and hoodie to look through the peephole.
An older man in a stiff suit, bearing an uncanny resemblance to that one agent guy from the Avengers, stood in the doorway. Ursula opened the door slightly.
"Miss Ursula Nunez?"
Ursula brushed her frizzy, untamed hair over her ear. "Who's asking?"
"My name is Matthew Logan; I'm with Solomon's Crop Protection. I'd like to offer you a job with us."
Ursula unlatched the chain and opened the door.
"Must be some job if you came all the way to my house. Do you want to sit down? I can get you coffee, or water if you want."
The man sat down at the dinner table. "Water is fine."
Ursula poured a glass of water, then set it and a bottle of Gatorade on the table and joined the man. "So, Mr. Logan. What kind of job is this?"
"I'm sure you're aware of the feral pig problem in this state. Our company partners with several large farms in the area to protect vital crops, and we have an opening for someone of your skill." Logan produced a folder from his briefcase and set it on the table. Ursula opened it and began to read.
"Hmm." She cocked her head.
"Is there a problem?"
"What's the catch? I mean, there's gotta be one. You didn't just come to my house and offer me the job because you felt like it."
Logan smiled. "Yes, it's unorthodox. But we want only the best of the best working our security, protecting our product. And if that means we hand-pick, well, so be it."
Unfortunately for Logan, Ursula had too many self-worth issues for flattery to be very effective. Still, she flipped the page over and almost choked upon seeing the salary.
"That's, uh, not a typo there, is it?"
"Nope."
Ursula gulped. "Fuck it. When do I start?"
Ursula stretched her arms straight up in the air, then bent her neck to the right until a satisfying pop rang out. Then to the left. Pop.
"You know I hate the sound when you do that." Her coworker set down his can of Red Bull and began lacing his boots.
"I do. But it feels really good so whatever." Ursula adjusted the brim of her baseball cap. "You really gotta try it one of these days, Dylan. I'll even do it for you if you want."
"No chance in hell I'm letting your hands anywhere near my neck."
Ursula popped open the Tupperware container she had brought. "Oh come on. Don't you trust me?"
Dylan put his fist to his chin, exaggerating. "Hmmmm. No," he said jokingly.
Ursula dug into the enchiladas in the container. "Why you gotta hurt me like that? Next time we shoot a hog I'm not bringing you any of my mom's carnitas."
"Damn. You got a point there. Even though we haven't even seen a hog in like 3 weeks, sadly."
Ursula paused between gulping down tortilla and meat. "I'm just glad we still get paid even when there's nothing to shoot."
"Yeah, otherwise we'd be broke by now."
Ursula pushed the container towards Dylan. "Oh man. Tia Marisol really outdid herself this time. You want some?"
"Dammit, I just ate."
Ursula mock sighed. "You can't go on eating PB&J sandwiches forever, gringo. Seriously though, you and Jessica come over one of these weekends and my mom and I will forcefeed some culture into you."
Dylan shrugged. "Maybe. But your mom scares me."
"I'd call you a wimp but she scares me too."
A blue light on the wall blipped.
Ursula jumped to her feet. "Fucking finally! Let's go."
The dusk was settling in as Ursula stood on lookout.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are." She pulled out her radio. "There's a weird hole in the east fence but I haven't seen anything."
"What's weird about it?"
Ursula squinted. "The fence just collapsed here; all the chain links are just lying on the ground broken. Something that pushed through wouldn't break them all individually like this. You seeing anything over there?"
"Nope. Wait, I think there's something over in the corn. I'm gonna go check it out."
Ursula adjusted her cap and started jogging the same way, catching up with Dylan.
"Well, where'd it go?"
Dylan called out. "It made a loud screech then went that way through the cornfields. Weird tracks, too, I don't think it's a hog."
The pair followed the trail of collapsed cornstalks, rifles drawn. The trail ended at a wooden fence that was falling apart before their eyes. Ursula squinted and raised her rifle. "You see it?" she whispered? Dylan looked up and gasped.
A nearly transparent, shimmering shape writhed and twisted around the fence, fading in and out of visibility. Ursula could make out three reptilian heads folding in and out of the vague outline, and a line of spines that intersected itself.
"It's a fucking Cerberus ghost chupacabra," she hissed.