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‘Guys? Hello – can you hear me? Is anyone there?’

Her voice was barely a whisper. She was too hoarse, throaty, from all her coughing and retching in the water, no doubt. She sounded weak – about as weak as she felt. She wished she had something to drink, and her first aid kit.

She turned to face the water, edged a tiny bit closer.

Maybe her bag was floating somewhere nearby?

If she had it, she could do a rough job of patching up her thigh – clean it up a bit, at least, if anything from her kit had survived.

The bag it lived in was supposed to be waterproof – finding it had to be worth a shot.

But she spotted nothing; and now that she thought back, she remembered feeling the bag being tugged off her back only seconds after she’d fallen in the stream, snagged by the branch of a fallen tree, perhaps.

It was long gone, and it looked like anyone who might be able to help her was long gone too. Instead, she was trapped in a jungle, most likely with a murderer on the loose. I’m defenceless . I’m going to die out here, alone.

And then a new thought, a soft whisper at the edge of her consciousness, as if it was coming from somewhere outside of herself: follow the water.

Naya’s knowledge of wilderness survival was, admittedly, not the greatest – she’d barely even watched any of those endurance reality shows on TV – but there was one thing she did know.

If you got lost in a jungle – in any kind of wilderness – water would help you navigate.

Isn’t that what Carly had said too? And she seemed to know about surviving in the rainforest. Streams would lead to rivers, which would lead eventually to the sea – and almost always, long before that, they led to people – to villages, small towns, cities even. To civilization – to hope.

But how long would that take her – how far would she have to keep walking to reach a village, with her leg hurting so badly, with her loss of blood, the lack of water?

Even resting here on the ground, there were still surges of searing hot pain rushing up and down her leg.

Was there another way, a route that could return her more reliably to the Hideaway?

She assessed her options: what if she tried to use the sun to navigate?

They’d given that a go earlier, of course, but it hadn’t got them very far – it was too hard to track its movement when the trees were so high, blocking it from view.

By the edge of the stream, though, out from the interior of the jungle, she had clearer sight of it.

She looked upwards; it must be getting towards midday now, and the sun was high in the sky, straight ahead of where Naya was sitting. She watched it for a few minutes, her eyes focused on its movements in the sky. Yes; she was sure it had tracked ever so slightly to the right.

Rises in the east, sets in the west. So, to her right, that was west. Straight ahead must be south. She felt a fizz of excitement in her belly; of hope. She’d worked that out quickly enough; perhaps this was worth a try. But...

Putain . I have no idea how far along the river I am – or which bank I’m on.

She closed her eyes, tried to bring to mind an image of the map.

How large was the stream? Was it running parallel to Hannah’s house, or perpendicular to it?

Think, Naya. Or was there, in fact, more than one body of water drawn on that map – a river, and then some smaller lines, a couple of streams perhaps – and how was she supposed to know which one this was?

No; this would be pure guesswork. Just sticking with the stream was much safer – it would lead to something other than pure jungle – and if it took her straight to the Hideaway, then so much the better.

She would follow the water as long and as far as it would take her; that would be her way out of here.

She felt such relief at the idea of limping into a village somewhere, asking some local to borrow their phone, getting to a hospital, calling for help.

.. Yet, at the thought of leaving the others behind, there was also a snag of guilt.

The idea of abandoning Carly and Scott and Mira out here, potentially with a killer on the loose, didn’t sit right with her.

But her inner voice was screaming at her.

I have to think of myself and the baby inside me.

It’s not just about me right now, remember?

Her intuition had rarely failed her before; she had to listen to it now.

Hauling herself up to standing, wincing through the hot, stabbing pain in her thigh, Naya looked down and felt a surge of relief that her waterproof jacket was long enough to reach her upper thighs.

It struck her as absurd that she should care, in her current situation, about whether or not anyone saw her in her underwear, and yet the idea of it still embarrassed her. She knew she would simply feel more comfortable with something covering her; less vulnerable somehow.

Perhaps it was the thought of Scott seeing her like this, if she stumbled across him.

Something broiled in the pit of her stomach; she hated the idea of looking like such a state in his presence.

She wanted him to think of her as attractive, sure, but it was more than that; she didn’t want to seem weak in front of him.

Like someone who needed help, or protection.

She’d been through enough with men who’d acted like she could rely on them, like they wanted to commit to her, to take care of her – but she always ended up worse off because of them.

He wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t be certain, not yet, but Scott didn’t seem like the sort of man who’d try to reel her in, make her think he was someone she could trust – and then, out of the blue, drop her, let her down, abandon her.

He didn’t seem like someone who’d be capable of being dishonest about who he really was or what he really wanted from her.

Unlike Mathieu, who had made her so many empty promises; told her that it would be different this time, if she’d just give him another chance.

That he would change; he’d stop disappearing for hours, sometimes days at a time; he’d stop staying out drinking until four in the morning, coming home smelling of cigarette smoke and stale beer.

That he’d do more to help her, spend more time with his own damn children, rather than staying in bed all weekend sleeping off his hangover.

And unlike Ben.

The thought resonated uncomfortably in her mind. She couldn’t shake it, this feeling that he was another one of them: a dishonest man, a faker. Someone not to be trusted.

Ben was probably just like Mathieu, wasn’t he? Another useless, disappointing guy. If she was right about who he was, Naya would bet anything that Ben had let Hannah down, the way Mathieu had let Naya down.

With that thought came a jolt of iron-hot rage.

These men . How dare they – how fucking dare they?

Worming their way into women’s lives, slither by slither; probably promising them goodness knows what.

Then revealing their true, toxic and destructive colours, leaving nothing but pain and heartache in their wake.

Yes, she was glad Ben was gone, alone, most likely lost to the wilderness. It was no less than he deserved.

But it wasn’t what she deserved. Naya and her children and her unborn baby deserved a good life, a happy one. She needed to live. She needed to fight for herself, and for them.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, decided to give her voice one more try.

‘Hello? Is anyone there?’ She was still so hoarse, her throat so ragged and sore that her voice was little more than a half-hearted croak.

The sound would barely travel into the trees – and it would have no hope of reaching anyone over the shrieks of the rainforest’s animals.

There was nothing else for it. She needed to move. Being up on her feet had felt bearable so far, even on her wounded leg, but she wasn’t sure how she’d cope with walking. Gingerly, setting out with her good leg, she took one step and then another.

‘Ouch!’ A hot knife of pain sliced through her again. She blew air out of her mouth, clasped and unclasped her fingers. The pain subsided. She could do this – she had to.

She stepped forward again; and then again.

The pain throbbed and then eased. Throbbed and then eased.

She kept going. She was finding her rhythm now; striding along the water’s edge, pushing forward, managing somehow to put thoughts of the pain in her leg to one side, thoughts of her weakness, her hunger.

Adrenaline was a magical thing, she thought.

It could compel you to keep going even when you had nothing left.

Naya kept her gaze focused on the stream as she moved, but her eyes darted in and out of the trees at the edge of the water that led back into the jungle, just in case she saw one of the others there.

But there was nothing; there was no one. Just the calls of the birds in the trees and the insects in the air; all oblivious to her fear, and pain, and the cold shock of these past two days. She was alone; no one was coming to rescue her, to help her in her time of need.

So, this time, she was going to save herself.