Page 19 of Blue Arrow Island (Blue Arrow Island #1)

Effective knife handling starts with proper grip techniques. In this week’s classes, you’ll learn forward grip, reverse grip, and transitional holds to maximize control and prevent disarmament.

- Excerpt from a police training manual written by Ben Hollis

A branch catches on my cheek, adding another burning scratch. The droplets of sweat falling from my chin to my chest are tinged red, my shirt a disgusting swirl of blood, mud and piss.

This was the smarter move, though. Instead of taking one of the paths out of camp, I went right into the dense, untraveled jungle. The thick vegetation slows me down and the shrill chattering of monkeys makes it hard to hear anything, but the paths would have been a death sentence.

If they come after me, they’ll divide up their fours and send them each down one of the three established routes out of camp. With their speed and the possibility that they’ll be coming after me soon, I couldn’t risk it.

With luck, no one will realize I’m gone until tomorrow. I’m going to put as much distance between me and them as I can before then.

My feet are throbbing, and it’s not from running.

I dread the moment I have time to take off the soaking wet socks and shoes I’ve had on for days now.

The skin on my feet feels like it’s splitting open with every step I take, and I know I have some kind of infection.

It could be bad, and I have no way of treating it, and no way of even letting my feet get dry.

This feels like the beginning of the end. Or maybe the dark hole I just got out of was the true beginning. I’m completely alone out here, the howl of wolves closer than it’s ever been. Oh, and I’m also starving, bleeding and exhausted. The odds are against me.

I have a chance now, though. It’s time to grit my teeth and bear the pain.

Pressure builds diamonds, Dad always said. And this race I’m running for my life is the highest pressure I’ve ever faced.

A low growl sounds to my left, and I glance over. A lion—a fucking lion —has its gaze trained on me. She’s not huge, but she could easily take me if she wanted to.

Trees and brush stand between us, so she can’t pounce. I leap over a log on the ground and turn my face toward the lion again. She’s following, her head lowered.

I’ve been on the move for a few hours, and the drop in temperature tells me it’s getting close to sunset. I don’t want to be in this jungle after dark.

Though the lion may take care of me before that. The laugh that pours out of me is high-pitched and frenzied. I wish my sister could see me right now. What would she say?

She’d probably tell me to move my ass and ask why I smell like a filthy gas station urinal.

The piss scent is not doing me any favors. It’s attracting predators like the lion.

I slow to a stop, turning to check on the animal that’s stalking me. She can’t reach me because the jungle is so dense. Still, I don’t like that she’s this close to me.

Locking my eyes onto hers, I raise my arms in the air and yell out a quick, single note. I point the spear toward her and fake a lunge.

She steps back. I take a few steps toward her, holding the spear at waist level with both hands.

When she turns to leave, my shoulders sink with relief. My feet plead with me to take off my wet socks and shoes, but I force myself to ignore the pain.

I need water. I look in the bag Olin gave me, tears pooling in my eyes as I sift through its contents.

A full canteen. A blanket. A dry shirt, pants, socks, and underwear. A bar of soap. And three precious mangoes. These things are worth more to me than all the money in the world right now.

I blink, my tears falling and burning the cuts on my face from stray branches. I’m not alone out here. Olin might not be with me physically, but he’s my friend. He risked his life to give me this chance, and I’m going to repay him by surviving. If he ever needs help, I want to be there to give it.

As much as I want to find a way out of this jungle and stop for the night to rest, I can’t. I have to keep going.

I drink about half the water in the canteen and tear into one of the mangoes with my teeth, devouring it. The sugar in the fruit gives me an instant lift.

As soon as I find a safe hiding place far from Rising Tide, I’ll dry my feet and let them heal. For now, I need them to keep me moving, despite the pain.

Warm air whispers against my cheek. I try to ignore it, but a rhythmic, gentle huffing makes my eyes snap open.

My throat is like sandpaper. I swallow against the ache, easing myself back a few inches so I can see what the huge black thing is that’s practically on top of me.

Yellow eyes lock onto mine. I blink, making out a snout and pointy ears.

Shit. It’s a wolf. But I’ve never seen a wolf like this one. It’s solid black, with bright-yellow eyes, and it’s huge—I’d guess two hundred and fifty pounds.

If I stand up, this creature’s back would be at the level of my waist. It could tear a hole in me, I’d die from, in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. Fortunately, it’s just sniffing me, seeming more curious than anything.

My piss-covered clothes are like a flashing beacon.

My plan was to get rid of them before I stopped.

I remember curling up on my side on the flat surface of a rock, hidden by trees, but I didn’t mean to fall asleep.

That was when the sky was just starting to shift from black to gray in preparation for the sunrise.

From the sun’s position in the sky, I can tell it’s late morning. I must have slept for around six hours. That means I need to move fast.

Slowly, I shift into a sitting position, my back and hip aching. The throbbing pain in my feet makes me wince. I can’t use precious time looking at them now.

The wolf, a male, backs up a step as I move. He cocks his head to the side, watching as I get on one knee and then stand, holding in a cry. I take a few deep breaths, adjusting to bearing weight on my sore feet.

I made it all the way to the edge of the island. I could hear the roar of the ocean nearby when I stopped. Directions have never been my strong suit, but I think I’m close to the volcano. It’s rockier here. Before stopping, I passed through several clearings and a stream.

There was a small waterfall not too far back, and that’s where I’m heading first. I ease off the grouping of rocks, because jumping isn’t an option with my feet in such bad shape.

After peeing and finishing the last sip of water in the canteen, I get my supplies. I’m about ten yards away from the rocks when I realize the wolf is following me.

When I look at him, he stops. He doesn’t seem to want to get too close, and he’s not acting aggressively, so I ignore him.

It’s nice to be out of the jungle. At its heart, it’s a cacophony of trills, screeches and roars.

I’d have trouble hearing the Rising Tiders approaching over all that noise.

I’m planning to explore this part of the island today and find a hiding place.

If it’s secluded enough, I’ll rest and dry my feet out there.

The waterfall is small, maybe twelve feet of water rushing into a small pool at its base. It’s a perfect bathing spot. I gingerly remove my boots and socks, my swollen feet screaming at me with every motion.

My feet are white and wrinkled, patches of raw redness between my toes, weeping clear fluid. I fight tears from the burning sensation of standing on a rock in my bare feet.

Quickly, I strip off my clothes and get out my bar of soap and blanket. I don’t have time to think about pain or hunger. Every second matters.

I lather the soap into suds and wash my grimy hair first. It feels like heaven, massaging my scalp and scrubbing out all the grossness. The waterfall is the closest I’ve had to a real shower in a long time.

As I wash away the filth from my body, I get a renewed sense of hope. Everything felt hopeless when I was in my underground cell, but it wasn’t. I can’t give up, no matter what.

Washing my feet is agonizing, but I swallow the pain and get it done as fast as I can. Using the blanket, I pat them dry, then sit in the sun for a few minutes.

Thanks to the humidity, I’m already sweating. But I no longer smell like anything but the jasmine-scented soap, which is a welcome change.

The wolf is watching me from about twenty feet away, sitting patiently like he has nowhere else to be. From the looks of him, he has no trouble finding prey to keep him full. Hopefully that means he won’t turn on me if he’s hungry.

Once my feet are dry, I dress in the clean clothes Olin packed, the dry socks worth more to me than a pot of gold. It hurts to slide my feet into the new boots, but they’re dry, which I desperately need.

I fill my canteen and then use my hands to dig a hole deep enough to bury my dirty clothes and boots, not wanting to leave any signs I was here. My hands and arms are blackened with dirt by the time I’ve finished, so I wash them in the pool, pack my bag, and set back out.

If I wasn’t worried about the Rising Tiders hunting me down, this would be peaceful.

It’s so muggy I could cut the air with a knife, but the backdrop of crashing waves is nice.

Much better than the Rising Tide camp, where I’d be listening to soldiers chanting about peace, order, and prosperity while running ten-plus miles an hour to prepare themselves to kill innocent people for a greedy dictator.

The rocky terrain slows me down some, every step making my feet cry out. Though I want to walk all the way to the beach, I stay close enough to the jungle that I can take cover if I need to.

The sun’s position tells me it’s close to afternoon. I wander past a marshy field, careful not to get my feet wet. My heart leaps with excitement when I see a papaya tree, a cluster of ripening fruits just out of my reach.

With a stick, I’m able to knock several still-green fruits to the ground. I bite into one immediately, my stomach rumbling its approval.

I don’t even care that it’s not ripe. It’s food, and I desperately need it. It’s hard to stop myself from devouring a dozen of them, but I don’t want to get sick from eating too much. My stomach isn’t used to food, so I need to go slow.

I’m loading more papayas into my bag for later when a bolt of awareness zings down my spine. I freeze and listen.

Nothing. But something is telling me to run. It’s like the urges I felt to kill Virginia and screw Pax; it’s just there, taking over all my other senses, and it’s strong.

Bag in one hand and spear in the other, I race for the edge of the jungle. I’m almost there when I hear a man’s voice.

“Clear that section.”

My pulse pounds, terror racing through my veins. I hold my breath. If I run too fast, I could tip someone off that I’m here. Instead, I creep in the opposite direction of the voice, my gaze on the ground so I can watch where I step.

I figured they’d look for me. Olin said they would. But I didn’t think Pax and Virginia would send people so far. Not when the Tiders are starving and rebuilding their camp.

I’m dead if they catch me. There’s no way Virginia will just throw me back in that hole.

My best option is to take cover. If they’re combing the jungle in sections, they’ll find me if I’m not hidden.

There’s a big rock formation about a hundred feet away. Every step I take toward it, I worry I’m going to get a spear in my back.

Finally, I reach the massive rocks, which have moss and small vegetation growing in their cracks. At its tallest point, the formation is about twenty feet tall, only a few cracks of sunlight breaking through the canopy of trees to illuminate it.

The sense of alarm hits me again, this time like a punch in the stomach.

Go.

I run my hand over the rocks, my stomach dropping with panic. There’s no hiding place here.

Racing to the other side, I find a thick wall of vines, bright-orange blooms giving off a heavy, sweet scent.

Maybe I can hide behind them. It’s the best option I have right now. I slide behind the curtain of twining green branches and leaves at one side, being gentle so I don’t destroy my cover.

I keep walking, my palm out in search of solid rock. But after a few seconds, a damp, earthy smell fills my nostrils and I realize I’m entering a cave.

The path turns into a decline, cooler air washing over my skin. I breathe a sigh of relief as I continue down, small rocks crunching beneath my boots.

Trickling water sounds from deeper inside the cave. It’s completely dark in here, but somehow I can sense the space around me and I know I’m not about to walk into anything.

I descend about a hundred feet and then the ground levels out again. A single crack of light filters into the space, allowing me to see dim outlines.

Squinting, I creep closer to a flat rock at about my waist level.

My breath catches in my throat when I see what’s on it.

There’s a sheathed knife, the craftsmanship on the leather case like nothing I’ve seen on this island.

Beside the knife, there’s a big bowl turned upside down and.

..I run my fingers over the surface of the other item, which is so dark it blends into the rock. It’s a flint for starting fires.

I swipe the knife and turn, looking over one shoulder and then the other. My heart hammers, fear gripping me by the throat. Is someone about to lunge at me? I wouldn’t even see them coming.

Close your eyes. Use your other senses.

I release a slow breath and look down, shuttering my eyelids. It’s not as scary as I thought it would be. There’s the faint trickle of water. The musty smell of bat dung floats through the air and welcome cool air takes the sting from the scratches on my face.

I don’t know how I’m aware of this, but somehow, I know that if there was someone else in here with me, I’d be able to feel them moving. The cave is still, and with every second that passes, my heartbeat slows.

Unsnapping the knife sheath, I pull the weapon from its case. When I’ve moved the bowl and flint to the ground, I sit on the smooth, cold rock and put the knife beside me.

Just knowing I have a weapon makes me breathe easier. I reach down and untie my boots, pressing my lips into a thin line. It’s going to hurt, but I have to do it.

Gingerly, I slide each boot off, then make quick work of the socks. Tiny needles stab my feet. They’re dry, though. And I should be safe here.

Unless the cave’s occupant returns. I wrap my hand around the knife’s hilt, the solid feel of it grounding me. I need to stay awake and alert, but now that the adrenaline has worn off, fatigue is calling out to me.

I can’t give in. I can rest here, but I can’t sleep.