Page 13 of Blue Arrow Island (Blue Arrow Island #1)

Awareness is the most important part of defense. Trust your instincts and always pay attention to your surroundings. When interviewed after use of force incidents, a majority of officers stated that they sensed something was wrong before the incident began.

- Excerpt from a police training manual written by Ben Hollis

Twenty-four hours later, the rain hasn’t let up. It’s a roaring sheet of nonstop hammering against the metal roof. The roof held through the worst of the wind, which came while we were both sleeping.

It was a battle for a few hours, the storm howling in its dogged effort to pull off the sheeting above us, and the roof rattling at times, but never giving in.

Rona and I are both dressed in our dry second set of clothing, our clothes from yesterday hanging by the door on makeshift rope clotheslines. They’re still dripping, everything so soaked it will take days to dry.

“So...how are you feeling?” I ask Rona.

I can’t see her in the pitch black of the windowless room, but I think she’s awake. For around twelve hours, I slept through much of the storm, but I don’t know how much she slept. We’ve just been lying on our sleeping pallets for hours, only speaking occasionally about the storm.

It takes her about thirty seconds to respond. “I don’t know. I’m okay.”

After all this time alone in the darkness with my thoughts, I’m feeling restless. I get to my feet and stretch my arms, reaching my fingertips toward the ceiling.

We usually work and sleep different shifts, so I don’t usually get to talk to Rona, especially now that I don’t work in the kitchen anymore. I test the waters.

“Weird things have been happening to me since I got here. Did you go through anything like that?”

She hums a note of amusement. “Yeah.”

I hesitate, then say, “But we aren’t supposed to talk about it, right? People here run faster than they should be able to and can pick up things they shouldn’t be strong enough to pick up. I shouldn’t have been able to run as fast as I did yesterday, and?—”

“It’s the island.”

I twist my body at the waist, first to the left and then to the right. “What does that mean, though? That the island is magic?”

“I guess so.”

“Does it bother you? Not knowing for sure?”

There’s a shuffling sound as she gets into a sitting position. “Nope. I’m just trying to stay alive. Not get beaten to death in the circle or starve to death.”

There’s a tinge of bitterness in her voice. I should just drop it, but I don’t have any other allies here. I’m not just in the dark in this room right now, but in every respect of this place. Whatever is responsible for the changes in people here—even if it is magic—it seems to be cumulative.

The fours can run the fastest and jump the highest. They’re the ones chanting “peace, order, prosperity” the loudest.

I’m worried that the slower I am at finding answers and trying to get off this island, the less I’m going to want to. I don’t want to become a loyal soldier and breeder for Whitman. I won’t.

“Has there always been a food shortage here?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been here for like...six months? I guess it’s been worse lately, but it’s all about how much fish and game the hunters can get.”

I take a deep breath before continuing. I have to trust someone, and so far, Rona is the closest thing I have to a friend here, other than Olin.

“Do you know what they do to the kids here?”

“The kids are raised together because it’s more efficient. We can’t have women sitting around with babies on their tits all day. It’s hard enough to survive here even with all the women contributing.”

I don’t understand it. Rona sounds like everyone else here. Indoctrinated. And technically, we’re all prisoners. But the Rising Tiders seem almost grateful to their captors. I don’t care what anyone says—I’ll never think this place is anything but fucked.

“But...what’s everyone training for ?” I ask. “I saw the kids in their camp and they’re a bunch of mini soldiers. It was creepy and sad. None of them were smiling or laughing. They were training like we do.”

Rona’s sigh is weary. “We don’t smile or laugh, either. Just wait. I’ve seen people brought back from the jungle in pieces after the Dust Walkers got ahold of them. Or the jaguars.”

“Do you ever think about trying to get out of here?”

She snorts derisively. “Out of here? Like out of this camp?”

“Off the island.”

“And go where?”

“Back to the mainland.”

She laughs scornfully. “Back to being beaten and raped every day? No, I don’t think about it.”

I should have realized Rona—or actually, everyone—sees life here through a lens of what their lives were like before. I hated every minute of my life locked away in Lochlan’s gated estate, but I was safe. Well, safe from everyone but him. I was well fed. I could take showers and read books.

Most people don’t have such comfortable everyday lives in the post-virus world. And though I dreamed of escaping his home and returning to scraping by in the shadows, not everyone wants that kind of life.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I say.

“It happened to everyone. Women and men. I got sent here for grabbing a guard’s gun and shooting him in the leg with it, and you know what? It’s the best thing that’s happened to me since the virus came. Rape isn’t allowed, and now I can fight and defend myself.”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “That makes total sense.”

We sit in silence for a minute before she says, “Do you know why Olin doesn’t talk?”

“No.”

“Because he can’t. He’s been here for like two years and he’s still a one.

Probably always will be, because he wouldn’t stop asking questions about this place.

Pax cut his tongue out for it. The only thing saving you from that is that you’re pretty and Pax wants to fuck you. That won’t keep you safe forever.”

A horrified chill runs through me. Poor Olin.

“Don’t bring up conversations like this with me again,” Rona says. “And if you want to live, don’t bring them up with anyone else, either.”

I respond automatically, my mind still stuck on the image of Pax cutting off Olin’s tongue.

I didn’t want to think he was capable of something like that, but that was naive of me.

I know better. Those in power don’t use it to make things better for everyone.

They use it to make things better for themselves.

“I understand. Thank you for looking out for me.”

She doesn’t respond. I sit down and let my head rest against the concrete wall, feeling more alone than ever as I listen to rainfall beating on the roof.

The next day, a four knocks on our door and tells us everyone is meeting up in the dining shelter.

It’s still raining when I step onto the walkway, but the wind has died down. Beside me, Rona sighs heavily.

“Kitchen’s got to be trashed.”

The camp is still flooded, the buildings across from ours standing in a few inches of water. A tree fell onto one of the buildings, its roof mostly gone. Branches, boards, clothes, and other debris are scattered in the water over the dirt path, drifting lazily.

We follow the line of people from the housing block to the shelter, everyone quiet as we wade through ankle-deep water.

The concrete housing blocks are intact, but pretty much everything else is destroyed. The kitchen is missing most of its roof and one wall. The meat prep area is gone, as are the body parts that were on the table.

A few of the picnic-style tables from the dining area are in the kitchen now, one of them upside down and others scattered in pieces. It looks like Mother Nature reached a mighty hand down from the sky and twisted everything into a mangled heap.

More than a hundred people huddle into the shelter. Pax and Virginia stand on tall wooden boxes that are usually used for jumping over during training, Pax putting his hands out to quiet the talking.

“Our camp sustained a lot of damage from the hurricane,” Virginia says. “Does anyone know of anyone who’s missing?”

I scan the crowd, finding Olin and Billy. When my eyes land on Marcelle, she scowls back at me. I guess we’re both disappointed to see that the other survived, then.

There are murmurs, but no one mentions any missing people.

“Good,” Virginia continues. “We weren’t expecting this storm, and there’s a lot of cleanup to do.

We’re starting now. Pax will post a list with work assignments here in the dining area.

We know there’s flooding in the main-level housing, so upper-level people, you’ll be getting some temporary roommates. ”

Our room is already tight, but at least it’s just temporary.

“I see this as an opportunity,” Virginia says.

“You know what I’m always saying about training for field conditions.

We have to be prepared for anything. Food will be very limited while we rebuild.

As always, we prioritize the children and the pregnant women.

The two of us get the same rations all of you do. I know it’s tough, but so are we.”

There’s a low rumble of voices that seems to be split between frustration and agreement.

Pax takes over.

“We’re not like anyone else,” he says, surveying the faces in the crowd. “We’re Rising Tiders. We’re stronger. We’re more resilient. We can endure what others can’t, and that’s why we’ll outlast all of them.”

There’s another rumble, this one almost all agreement.

“Now let’s kick some ass, Rising Tide!” Pax raises a fist in the air. “Peace. Unity. Prosperity!”

The crowd responds with energy. “Peace, unity, prosperity!”

Their enthusiasm continues to blow my mind. I suppose there’s unity here, but peace is questionable. And prosperity? Not so much.

I go along, though, my conversation with Rona still replaying in my head.