Page 37

‘Carly! Scott!’

Where the hell had they gone?

And how had she managed to lose them?

She’d only been gone a few minutes to relieve herself, and her progress was so slow that she’d hardly covered any distance – but now there was no sign of them. They wouldn’t have gone off anywhere without her, surely? Not with Scott’s twisted ankle and Carly so worried about them losing each other.

She stood still; waited, then called their names again. Still nothing – no reply. Only the calls of the birds, the insistent croaking of frogs.

She’d not gone far from where Scott was sitting on the tree trunk, resting his ankle, to find a spot to go to the loo.

She’d found somewhere close to the water’s edge that gave her some privacy, and allowed her to clean herself up afterwards.

It took her no more than five minutes to trace back the path she’d just walked.

But now she was back at the same place, right where she’d just left them – she was sure this was it – but there was no one there. She stood on the spot, looking all around for any sign of the two of them.

Damn. She must have taken a wrong turn – but how? She’d barely gone twenty metres, and that was in almost a straight line.

In her mind she saw again an image of the water, just as she had a moment ago while down by the stream – of Naya, tumbling in where the current was at its strongest. Had she done enough to try and find her?

Had she looked hard enough? Mira knew she’d searched up and down every part of the water and bank that she could see – and there was no sign of Naya other than her bag.

But perhaps she should have carried on looking?

A part of Mira was clinging desperately to the hope that it was somehow a good sign, the fact they hadn’t come across her – that perhaps that meant that Naya had been able to claw herself out of the water somehow. But another part – more realistic, maybe – knew the chances of that were slim.

Grief welled in her chest. Poor, poor Naya, and the tiny human growing inside of her. So young, so much ahead of her. She and her unborn baby had so much to live for.

And Mira had so much to live for too. She could barely believe now that there’d been a time she’d been ready to give up on life.

Not that she’d actively wanted to die, but even that she’d just been living in a kind of passive acceptance – she couldn’t make sense of it.

Now that she’d got so close to losing her life – now that she’d had to find the strength and resilience to keep herself alive, keep herself moving – she couldn’t imagine how she’d been ready to let life go.

She’d never give up on life again. When she got home – if I get home, please God – she would claw her way back to better health, to more time with Ezra, with every fibre of her being.

If that meant brutal rounds of chemo, more hospital trips, more second and third and fourth opinions – like her friends wanted, and Ezra; like all of them wanted – then so be it.

An extra week, an extra day, an hour even, of life would make that pain worthwhile.

A squawking toucan just behind her brought Mira back to her surroundings; she realized she’d been turning in circles in the same spot now for several minutes, calling the others’ names. There was no trace of them. Had the two of them walked off and left her behind?

It was starting to look increasingly that way.

Unless one, or both of them, have been lying to me? Was this part of a plan – to separate her from them, to leave her, weak and defenceless, in the wilderness? Were Scott or Carly hiding something bigger – could either of them have been responsible for what happened to Hannah?

But how could they? How is that even possible?

No, she was becoming paranoid. She must simply be in the wrong place.

It was so easy to get lost here; everything looked the same.

Mira was about to start walking again, to head back to the stream and move a little further along, try the next gap in the trees, when she saw them: the two rucksacks lying on the ground, on the other side of the tree stump.

My bag. Naya’s bag. Her heart gave a little surge of hope, foolish hope, that somehow Naya had found her way back and was about to emerge from the trees right now – but of course, no, she remembered: she had put Naya’s bag here after she’d dragged it from the water.

She’d left the bags right in this spot when she’d rushed off to help Scott after he’d fallen. Then she’d forgotten all about them.

That meant she was in the right place. And Scott had been sitting here only minutes ago.

So where the hell is he now?

Mira clearly wasn’t going to solve the mystery of wherever the two of them had gone, but she was determined to try one last time to find Naya, and then to get out of this rainforest. Opening Naya’s bag, tipping its contents – a few drops left in a water bottle, the first aid kit, nothing much else – into her own backpack, she set off again towards the stream.

She was close – so close – to getting away from the trees, had taken her first steps back towards the water, when she heard it.

A snap of branches, a crunching of leaves, only a little way behind her, off somewhere to the right.

Thank God – that must be one of the others.

She turned towards the source of the sound, tried to see who was there.

‘Carly? Is that you?’

There was no reply, but the crunches carried on. They seemed to be coming from a different place now, still behind her, but to the left – whoever this was, they were moving.

Mira shook her head, tried to make sense of what she was hearing.

Was she losing her mind? Had her senses fully given up on her now, after so long without water, without proper food in her failing body?

Was it the damp, overbearing heat, the relentless humidity, the cacophony of jungle sounds that were so deafening – had all of it come together in one maddening maelstrom that meant she was no longer able to tell what was real and what was a figment of her traumatized mind?

She stayed glued to the spot, forcing her body not to move, trying to quiet down the booming beat of her heart, so loud now in her ears that she was sure whoever – whatever – was circling her could hear it too.

She was being irrational, surely? This was likely just one of the jungle’s creatures – a sloth or a coati – or one of the group – Carly or Scott or even Ben, perhaps?

Or maybe it was Paola or Luisa – yes, that could be it! The helicopter hadn’t managed to find them earlier, so perhaps they’d come themselves, on foot – or even brought the search party with them. Was help finally here?

‘Hello?’ she called out. ‘I’m over here! Who is it – and where are you?’

Another snap, a crack of branches. Closer now. But no answer. A spike of adrenaline hit Mira behind her ribcage.

‘Carly? Scott?’

If it’s rescuers, or one of the others... why didn’t they shout back when I called?

A rustle of leaves behind her – or was it in front of her?

She tried to tune her ears into the sound, tracing where exactly the movement was coming from – but she couldn’t home in on it properly, not with the squawks and cries of the rainforest’s creatures reverberating across her eardrums like a poorly tuned orchestra.

Where are you?

Snap. Rustle.

Silence.

Her instinct to flee took over then, and she whirled around on the spot, her feet grasping for something solid on the damp, soft earth beneath her, and then she was running as best she could, wildly, straight ahead, and she was slipping and sliding on the jungle’s mulchy floor, panting with every movement.

And now, she was sure of it, Mira could make out footsteps behind her – someone was pounding the ground now, pushing through leaves and vines, perhaps only metres away.

Who was it – and why were they running after her?

But those questions didn’t matter right now; all that mattered was her survival.

Whoever it was, Mira knew she couldn’t outrun them, not for long – any second now, her body would give up and she’d collapse on the ground; it was a miracle she was able to run for this long.

Her best chance was to try to outwit them – to turn sharply, keep twisting and turning, pushing through small gaps and cracks that her body was mercifully small enough for, and pray they wouldn’t be able to track her down.

She stopped suddenly, hid behind a tree trunk, tried to still her shaking limbs.

She waited, forced herself to hold her nerve even as she felt something crawling along the back of her neck – oh God, what was it?

Was there even anything there, or was she imagining it?

In her mind’s eye, she saw one of the large worms she’d stepped over on the jungle floor writhing its way over her bare flesh.

She resisted the urge to move, to retch.

Staying still for a moment was her best shot at losing whoever was on her tail.

The footsteps and shaking branches approached, got louder. Mira shrank into the tree, tried to make her body as small as possible – her petite stature was just about the only thing she had going for her when it came to survival, but at least it was something.

They were approaching now. They were almost in front of her. Through the dense foliage, Mira could make out a human outline, but no more than that.

And then, a different noise: a grunt of frustration, of rage, coming from whoever was following her. It was guttural; not obviously male or female – inhuman, even, though she knew it was a person who’d made the sound. She could make out their silhouette through the branches of the trees.

Whoever that is, they’re angry.

On instinct, Mira grabbed wildly for something – anything – she could use to defend herself if her pursuer found her. There was nothing.

Snap.

Closer now – almost in front of her.

Then all her courage failed her, and, as if they were acting on pure instinct, without her brain’s command, her feet began to move again, and she was running, stumbling and slipping on the wet earth, all the while cursing herself and the people who were out in this hellscape with her; any and all of them were the enemy now, and she could trust no one. No one except herself.