Page 3 of Blue Arrow Island (Blue Arrow Island #1)

It’s working. God help us all.

- Excerpt from the journal of Dr. Randall McClain

I wake with a jolt, the thick air carrying the earthy scent of decaying vegetation. Pain spikes through my head, but I shove it aside, writhing to escape my captor’s hold.

He smiles at me, amused. “Easy, tiger. You’re not in the best shape. Thought you might’ve passed out on me.”

“Put me down.”

“We’re almost home.”

“It’s not my home, asshole. It’s yours. I’m your prisoner.”

I claw at his hands, desperate. There’s a chance I can escape one person. But a whole camp of them? That’ll be much harder.

“Yeah, we’re the worst. We save people’s lives. Feed them and give them a place to stay. Monsters, aren’t we?”

The tsunami of pain in my head is crushing me beneath its weight. It’s debilitating. If I got free, I couldn’t outrun him like this. I stop struggling, hoping he means it about feeding me. I’m weak with hunger and thirst.

“Do you have any water?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’ve got a canteen in my pack.”

It’s too bad my pride isn’t ice cold and refreshing, because it’s the only thing I’ve swallowed in a while.

“I’d...really appreciate some water.”

“So you can play nice.” He stops and sets me down, removing his lasso from around my body and arching his brows in a look of warning. “Don’t. Run.”

I dip my chin in agreement. It’s all I can do to stand upright, and from the shakiness in my legs, I know I won’t be able to do that for long.

I focus on slow, deep breathing as Pax unshoulders his military green backpack and takes a beat-up stainless canteen from it.

Must. Stay. Conscious. If I pass out, I won’t know where to go when I escape my new prison.

“Drink as much as you want,” he says as he unscrews the cap, removes it and passes the canteen to me. “We have a well in camp.”

A well. A weight lifts from my shoulders as I tip the canteen up to my mouth. I was worried about finding safe water to drink here, especially when I’m already in desperate need of it. Maybe I’ll be able to find a way to take some with me when I go.

The water is a soothing balm on my aching throat. Though I know I should drink slowly to avoid getting sick, I can’t help myself. I finish the entire canteen, out of breath when I pass it back to him.

“Thanks.”

He nods, packs the canteen and reshoulders his bag.

“Hey, not sure if you caught it, but I’m Pax.” He extends a hand to me, his playful tone telling me that he knows I got it and he wants to know my name.

I hesitate before answering. “I’m Briar. And who shakes hands anymore?”

People don’t even get within twenty feet of others unless they know them well or have no choice. And then we’re all wary. The closer you get to someone, the more opportunity you’re giving them to rob you, stab you, or give you a virus that could kill you.

“Call me old-fashioned.” He shrugs and drops his hand.

I don’t object this time as he picks me up. My stomach is swirling, the water already threatening to come back up.

“How do you have a well?” I ask as he follows a narrow path through the jungle.

“It’s part of our camp. You’ll see. We’ve got a good setup. We take care of each other.”

I hold in my retort. No one takes care of anyone unless it benefits them. People used to do that, before the virus. But now it’s kill or be killed. Or sometimes, kill and be killed anyway.

He turns slightly, avoiding a tree branch that’s growing over the path at shoulder level.

The jungle is dense with trees stretching so high I can’t see the sky. Their branches form a tight canopy, only slivers of light making it through. Vines encircle thick tree trunks and branches, brightly colored flowers the only contrast to the thousands of shades of green here.

A primal howl cuts through the exuberant cawing and singing of birds, making me snap my head upright and scan the thick jungle around us.

“That’s a wolf.” I pinch my brows together, listening as the keening howl repeats.

“Yep.”

“That’s...” I shake my head, confused. “Wolves don’t live in jungles. The environment is too hot for them.”

Pax’s lips tilt up in a grin. “This place is full of surprises.”

A wolf in a jungle isn’t a surprise. It’s a scientific impossibility. Unless...

“Someone brought the wolf here.”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t me.”

My heart races with fear of what else might have been brought to this island.

Whitman exiles people here for the crimes he considers the greatest offenses to his new world order.

Speaking out against his government. Refusal to register DNA in his database.

Any form of resistance to his laws. Or in my case, using birth control because I refuse to be bred against my will like an animal.

Now you get to play a little game. The guard’s words ring in my ears as I realize what sort of twisted, cruel game he must have been talking about.

I’m going to be hunted on this island. Whitman’s troops have seeded it with predators, human and animal. They’re probably watching it play out with buckets of popcorn in their laps, cameras hidden all over to feed it to them in real time.

We’re approaching a tall rectangular archway. The wooden sign at the top of the arch has the words Rising Tide burned into it in neat black letters.

“This is your camp?”

“It’s our camp.” He says it like I had any say in coming here. “You’re a Tider now.”

I don’t argue, because the more compliant I pretend to be, the better my chances of getting out of here.

Massive green leaves spread out on the ground grab my attention. They’re close to three feet wide, some of them starting to brown at the edges. I lean forward, trying to get a better look.

“Is that...Alocasia?”

I must be wrong. There’s no way the giant elephant ear leaves scattered here are Alocasia.

“What, the leaves? No clue. They grow like crazy and we use them to keep the ground from getting muddy in some places. Just don’t pick them up or walk on them with bare feet, because?—”

“The calcium oxalate crystals can cause skin irritation,” I say softly, puzzled. “But this species is native to Asia and Australia. How far from the US are we?”

“Are you a human computer or something?”

I don’t respond. I’ve given too much away already.

I’m mentally calculating. If there was something added to the water at the prison that knocked us all out, how long could we have been on the boat to get here without anyone dying of dehydration?

Six people did die, though.

Could they have hydrated us with IVs? I check my arms for bruises and don’t find any. They could have put IVs in veins we can’t see. I’m dehydrated, though, so that doesn’t track.

People can survive around three days without water. Less in high humidity because of all the sweating. How did they get us as far as Asia or Australia so quickly?

I slump with defeat. It’s not how they got us here I’m as concerned with, it’s how I’ll get back. On my own, it’s going to be near impossible.

“I can walk now.”

The water infused me with a little strength, and I want to be able to take everything in. Pax sets me down, my legs still shaky but better than before. He stays beside me, leading the way around a bend in the dense vegetation.

Long rows of what looks like housing stretch back, the front doors of both rows facing the wide path we’re walking on. There’s a second story stacked on top of the first, ladders leading up to a walkway to access the doors. Hundreds of people could be housed here.

The units are small, but they look well built, the walls made of mortared concrete blocks.

The roofs are metal sheets. Each unit has a real door with a handle.

It’s not what I was expecting. I thought there would be primitive shelters for the few people who haven’t been picked off by Whitman’s twisted game yet.

This seems too elaborate to be a game.

“How many people live here?”

Pax glances at me, then focuses ahead. “I don’t know, depends on how many we were able to save back there.”

“How many did you have before today?”

He shifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “That’s not really my area.”

“What is your area?”

A bald man with a shaggy salt-and-pepper beard approaches us from the other end of the path we’re walking on. Pax waves at him, ignoring my question.

“Hey, Noah. This is our last new arrival, Briar.”

“Commander.” Noah nods at Pax, the title he uses catching me by surprise.

Noah has dark-rimmed glasses and is wearing thick, olive-colored pants, hiking boots and a white T-shirt. He does a quick head-to-toe once-over of me.

“Hi Briar, I’m the Rising Tide medic. Can I examine you to see if you need treatment?”

No way is he examining me. Been there, done that.

“I’m fine.” I hold his gaze, trying to sound better than I feel.

“She’s dehydrated,” Pax says. “Other than that, I think she’s fine. She fought like an absolute beast on the beach.”

Noah nods, pulling a small pad of paper and a pencil from a pants pocket.

“Briar, what’s your last name?”

I hesitate. I’m already at the bottom of the deepest hole Whitman throws people in. It was either a quick death—execution—or a slow death—this. There’s no way I can make things worse for myself by telling them my name.

My real name. Every time someone called me Briar Murphy, I felt sick. I didn’t want Lochlan’s name any more than I wanted anything else about him. But here, I won’t be forced to use it.

“Hollis. Briar Hollis.”

Tears form in my eyes as I say the name my parents gave me. It makes me feel like they’re close, at least in spirit.

“Briar...Hollis.” Noah writes my name on his notepad, then looks up at Pax. “You want me to take her to the infirmary, Commander?”

“Nah, I’ll do it.”

A group of three women passes by us, all of them eyeing me curiously. They’re all wearing the same green pants, hiking boots and white T-shirts as Noah. Must be standard issue.

“I’m not sick,” I tell Pax as he resumes walking. “I don’t need to go to the infirmary.”

He catches my eye for a moment. “It’s where everyone goes when they first get here. You need food, hydration and rest.”

I can’t argue with that. My feet keep getting heavier. I could easily curl up in the middle of this dirt path and go to sleep. The oppressive heat has already soaked my clothes through with sweat.

“What happens after the infirmary? Why are any of us really here?”

“When you get cleared from the infirmary, you’ll be assigned a mentor. You’ll get a work duty assignment, clothes, boots, some soap. Then you can get a shower.”

He ignored my second question, but I’m too distracted by the mention of soap and a shower to call him on it.

“You have showers?”

His lips quirk with a grin. “Yeah, and we’ve got a couple of engineers in camp, so the water pressure’s actually not bad.”

The rows of housing end and he turns right, stopping at a door with an “Infirmary” sign. He opens the door, standing aside so I can enter first.

It’s one massive room, the subtle, sweet scent of vanilla lingering in the air from the maple planks that line the walls. The ceiling is open, the wooden beams supporting the structure’s roof visible.

There are three rows of ten beds, all made up with bright-white sheets. Three men and two women who were on the boat with me are in beds, and there are two other men I don’t recognize. Large rectangular windows along two walls of the room are propped open, allowing a slight breeze in.

I can’t believe there are actual beds. They’re calling out to me, begging me to curl up and rest. The ring of burning discomfort around my arms and midsection from the rope Pax lassoed me with is throbbing.

A pretty woman with her dark hair tied back walks over, her eyes on Pax and a palm on her slightly pregnant belly.

“Commander.” She greets him with a coy smile.

“Hi, Lana. This is Briar, our last newcomer for today.”

Lana pulls her gaze from him to me. “Let’s get you a bed and something to eat, Briar.”

I nod, numb. I’m not myself. Whether it’s from whatever the guards knocked us out with, the heat, dehydration or just plain exhaustion, I don’t know. My thoughts are muddled. A strange stab of jealousy toward Lana hits me right in the chest as she sneaks a peek at Pax while leading me to a bed.

I have to sleep. If I can’t think clearly, I’m putting myself in danger.

Lana brings me a small wooden bowl of smoked fish and a cup of water. I drink the water and eat three bites of fish, then curl up on my side, facing the door to the infirmary.

I survived the beach. I can still see the faces of some of the people who didn’t, their eyes staring blankly at the sky as their blood soaked into the sand.

The sound of Amira screaming my name still echoes in my mind. I wish I could have saved her. Even though life is a series of losses and disappointments in the hellscape that is New America, it’s been a long time since I had a friend.