Page 12 of Blue Arrow Island (Blue Arrow Island #1)

Though they lack nervous systems, plants have sophisticated survival mechanisms that have evolved over millions of years.

Olive trees can roll their leaves in to minimize their exposure to the sun when facing drought conditions.

They can also quickly close the stomate (pores) on their leaves during dry periods, limiting water loss to help them survive.

- Excerpt from a lecture given by Dr. Lucinda Hollis in her Plant Evolution course

My left foot sinks into the mud, sending me sliding so hard I nearly fall, my arms flailing at my sides for balance. I can’t fall. Can’t twist an ankle. Can’t lose my way.

I’ve been running on the path back to Rising Tide for more than an hour. I don’t know if I’m being followed. My legs still feel strong, but the adrenaline is wearing off. And then there’s the rain.

A few minutes into my run back, I started feeling droplets breaking through the canopy. The cool sprinkles on my sweating face felt good. But soon, it became a torrent. I can’t make out much in front of me, because the rain is falling so hard and it’s gotten darker.

There’s also wind, which alarms me more than the heavy rainfall. This jungle is dense and I’m so deep in it that wind shouldn’t be able to get through.

I can’t think about the tropical storm raging outside this jungle, though. All my focus has to stay on getting out of here. Making it back to Rising Tide.

It’s the devil I know.

I need time to think about the robotic soldier children, the thoughts I’m having that aren’t my own, and the Dust Walkers. I don’t have that luxury now, though.

You’ve got more in the tank than you think.

My dad used to say that when Maven and I started dragging on training runs. I try to remember the sound of his voice saying those words as I run. He’s not here, but he’s still with me. I want to make him proud, and that means I can’t quit.

I slide in the mud again, and this time I land on my hands and knees. I push myself up carefully and keep moving.

Water gushes down the sides of the trail, the rain getting heavier. Hair that has escaped my ponytail is plastered to my face, a section of it in my eyes. I shove it aside with a frustrated groan.

I’m running, my head down so I can keep my eyes on the mud path. For a guy who’s supposed to be fearless, Pax left me in the dust without a second thought.

That’s a thought for later. Run, Briar.

More than two hours in, the path is so flooded I’m splashing through water. The front of one of my boots catches on something and I’m thrown. My head hits something hard, my teeth rattling from the impact.

Pain blossoms inside my head. I can’t get a full breath. Instinctively, I reach behind my head to see what I hit. A tree.

I curl up, turning my face toward the ground to get a break from the rain. With every shallow breath, I get a nose full of earthy soil and decaying leaves.

I’m not dying here. Not in this jungle, not on this island. Every day since the virus has been hard in one way or another. And so damn lonely.

My parents begged me to stay on the small island where my summer botany internship was being hosted when the virus hit, to minimize my chances of getting it. Then the electrical grid and cell towers went down.

It took me more than a month to get to their house, and when I did, it had been ransacked by looters. The virus killed almost everyone, and I know my parents and sister are most likely included in the death toll.

But not knowing for sure, or how, or when, or if they were together—those are the things that haunt me. I didn’t just lose my family but also the only people in the world I could trust.

Friends who were part of the research project turned on me, and on each other. If not for the small revolver my father insisted I keep with me at all times, I never would have made it back to the mainland.

I have to be close to Rising Tide. Bracing my hand against the tree, I turn and get to my knees, a wave of anger hitting me out of nowhere.

This island might be sentient. The scientist in me can’t believe I’m even having the thought. But there are no scientific explanations for thoughts that aren’t my own popping into my head, or children who can jump twelve feet into the air.

Somehow, this island may be inside me. Inside everyone here. It may have an agenda, and if it does, it’s not good for any of us. But it can’t have me. I’m not rolling over and letting this place mindfuck me.

I don’t have my family, but I have everything my parents taught me. I have a bond with my sister that can’t be undone by anyone—or anything.

Biting off a groan, I rise to my feet. My head aches and I can hardly see through the thick sheets of rain. The inches of water pooled at my feet shouldn’t have been able to accumulate in a matter of two hours, but on this island, there are no rules.

I put my head down and keep going. As long as I’m not running into trees, I’m still on the path. And as long as I keep moving, I’ll get there.

A gust of wind slams into my chest as I leave the jungle, sweeping my feet out from under me.

“Briar!”

Pax reaches down to help me up, his hair blowing in every direction and water trails running down his bare chest.

“Take shelter in your room!” He’s yelling, and it’s still hard to hear him over the howling wind and pouring rain. “There’s a hurricane coming!”

I nod and head toward the room I share with Rona, my boots sloshing through standing water that almost reaches my ankles.

Hardly anyone is out at camp. I pass a few fours running with backpacks full of supplies, but no one else. A rectangular section of metal roofing just misses slamming into me as it blows past.

I need to get into the room soon. Staying out in this is too dangerous.

Clutching onto the handrail, I climb the stairs to our second-level room. A hunger pain punches me in the gut. Billy, Olin and Rona would normally be working in the kitchen now, but they’re probably all holed up in their rooms like everyone else.

The housing is built from mortared concrete blocks, so it should be a safe place to ride out a hurricane. And hopefully, a dry one. I really want to get out of my soaking wet clothes and boots.

My room key is still safely stashed inside my bra. I get it out, stumbling from the force of the wind. It’s hard to see, but I manage to get the key into the keyhole.

I swing the door open, my eyes scanning the dark room for Rona.

She’s not here.

I huff in aggravation. Of course she’s not here. Not getting electrocuted or shot with an arrow back at the waterfall are the only things that have gone right today.

I step inside, taking shelter while I think about it. She could be sheltering in someone else’s room. I don’t think she’d be looking for me, because she knew I was with Pax.

As much as I want to close the door behind me and strip off my soaking wet clothes, I can’t do it. I lock the door back up and head toward the stairs, cupping a hand over my eyes so I can see through the downpour.

It’s getting heavier. I hold on to the railing as I go down the stairs, knowing time is critical. Soon this hurricane will be uprooting trees and killing anyone who dares get in its way.

Several pieces of debris fly past; only luck helps me avoid them. I can hardly see anything.

Putting my head down, I splash through the water at a jog.

When I reach the kitchen, I find the main door unlocked. I step into the deserted room. The wooden window covers have been latched closed, the strong winds making them rattle.

“Rona?”

Running a hand over my hair, I sluice water to the floor.

“Is anyone here?” I call.

The kitchen is neat and clean, everything in its place. It looks like they had time to plan an evacuation. I go to the door that leads out to the meat prep area, a gust of wind taking hold of it as soon as I open it.

It takes all my strength to close it. Then I lean my back against it, wind from one of the shelter’s three open sides pelting my face. I don’t see Rona, and I don’t know where else to look.

I can’t just blindly search the camp. I have to go to the room and hope Rona is safe somewhere else.

The meat prep table is situated against the wall, and I glance over it out of habit. The table is enclosed on its ends with little wooden walls, so the meat on it isn’t gutting pummeled by the wind.

I guess they didn’t have time to finish cleaning the meat before evacuating. I’m so hungry I consider grabbing a piece of raw meat.

When I reach toward the table, my heart falls into my stomach. There’s a big toe lying there, the nail yellowed.

A human big toe. I recoil, gasping in horror. When I scan the entire table, I see three smaller toes, all severed from a foot. The “meat” on the table is unmistakably a human leg. A thin one.

My stomach pitches with a wave of nausea. I know the people here are starving, but this is beyond indecency. It’s gruesome and so fucking...cold. Humans are supposed to be better than this.

I shake my head, and the sight of another foot beneath the table catches my eye. This foot has a dark boot on it. I bend, terrified of what I’m going to find.

Rona is sitting under the table, her back to the wall and her knees pulled to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. Her eyes are empty, like her mind is somewhere her body isn’t.

“Rona?” I get to my knees, rain pelting the side of my face like a hundred tiny needles.

She just stares at me blankly. I’ve seen people like this before, sometimes after witnessing something traumatic. And unfortunately, I don’t have enough time to just wait for her to be ready to talk.

“Rona, we have to go. There’s a hurricane. It’s going to get worse.” I make sure she can see my hand as I slowly extend it to her. “Take my hand and we’ll go together.”

“Briar.” She says my name like it’s been a long time since we saw each other.

“Yes, it’s me. We need to go back to our room now. Right now.”

She sighs heavily, her shoulders sinking. “This isn’t a life.”

Shit. This is a really bad time for an existential crisis. “Listen to me, this is important. We have to get back to our room. Now, Rona. And then we can talk. I know it’s hard here, but you’re strong.”

Her eyes remain vacant. “I’m not. I...” She closes her eyes.

“Yes, you are strong,” I yell, hoping to get through to her. “You’re strong and you matter. Please, come with me.”

“Just go.” She lets her head fall back against the wall. “I’m not worth it.”

“Yes, you?—”

She narrows her eyes. “I ate some of it! Do you know what they do to people who steal extra food here? They exile them to the jungle. It’s all there was left and Billy told me not to think about what it is while I prep it, and I...” Tears flood her eyes.

This fucking place. The apocalypse wasn’t bad enough for Whitman, apparently. He pounced on it, making people into something they shouldn’t be. Forcing them to make choices they shouldn’t have to make.

“Rona, you’re starving. We’re all starving. You have to build a box in your mind and put this in there.”

Her lower lip quivers. “I can’t do it anymore, Briar. Just go. Leave me.”

A gust of wind knocks me to the side. I catch myself and land on my hand. I’m running out of time.

“I don’t want to die!” I yell at her. “I’m not ready! And I’m not leaving you, so you can either come with me or we’ll both die here. It’s your choice.”

She grimaces. “No! Leave! I don’t want your help.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

A piece of wood flies through the air and I quickly cover my head with my arms to avoid being hit. It makes contact with my arm and I cry out.

“Fuck! Fine!” Rona storms out from under the meat table.

Blood trickles down my arm as we run out of the shelter, holding on to each other for support.

We run, our arms locked together. The water comes up past our ankles, and it’s sloshing around like an angry ocean of waves.

“Hurry!” I call out.

We make it to the stairs, both of us grabbing on to the railing with both hands and forcing our way up one step at a time, the wind battering us.

I didn’t make it this far to only make it this far.

Rona’s hands cling to the back of my shirt as I fight my way to the door and get the key out. I block the wind with my body, getting it in quickly and opening the door.

The door whips open and slams against the wall. Rona and I both grab it and push, but it’s not enough. It barely moves.

I wedge myself between the back of the door and the wall, using my whole body to push on the door. Rona does the same, both of us straining from the effort.

Finally, it closes. I hold it shut while Rona flips the horizontal metal security bar into place and latches it.

Suddenly, it’s quiet. Water pours off of us, pooling on the wooden floorboards.

I drop into a sitting position. I can’t move anymore. I can’t even think. So I just sit, waiting for my heart to slow to its regular pace for the first time in several hours.