Young Writers Society

I read the note twice more. NOW SHE'S MINE. I couldn't get over it. It seemed like the melodramatic, unnecessary flourish of someone desperate, maybe whose evil endeavors were about to be discovered. In all honesty, it calmed me down a little bit. Mr. Mysterious leaving petty one-liners for his pursuers didn't exactly scream clever kidnapper, or even villain, in his case. "Now she's mine"? Pathetic. I could come up with snappier slogans. He didn't even leave it in code, the bastard. I'd seen plenty of spy and action movies; enough to know that "now she's mine" sounded more like the devil was claiming her soul than anything, and was neither original, catchy, nor smart enough to make the dialogue.

Personally, I would have went with a mysterious address or a demand, and then YOU HAVE 48 HOURS. or SHE'S DEAD: (sorry, I kill people when I'm pissed off.) MEET ME IN THE MEADOW AT SUNDOWN, OR I'LL KILL ANOTHER. Or GROW A PAIR AND FIGHT ME LIKE A REAL MAN. I'd even settle for the derogatory FUCK OFF. or the preliminary YOU'RE NEXT.. Maybe some anonymous riddle: FIND SARAH, or 1682 MK CRUISE SHIP, shit that made sense to neither him nor me, just to screw with his mind. I would go with Liam Neeson's "I have a specific set of skills...", but that was, no pun intended, already taken.

If all else failed—relative to the circumstances or not—I'd probably pull a pop-quiz. I've always wanted to do that. "Pop quiz, hotshot," I would say, "There's a bomb on a bus. Once the bus goes 50 miles an hour, the bomb is armed. If it drops below 50, it blows up. What do you do? What do you do? " Lou especially loved that line. I'd usually be Howard Payne and let him be Jack. I liked the Airport, gunman with one hostage quote more. I'd make Lou say the pop-quiz line just so I could say "Shoot the hostage." Just because it was, well, cool.

I realized I was basically just thinking of rewrites for Blue's ransom note. Shut up, Chris.

The note gave me some reassurance, anyway. I squeezed my fist shut, and the flame in the corner of the message withered to a char. I tucked the paper in my pocket. The smoke was still thick, and it was all I could do to keep from choking. The Giants hat that I had stolen from the beach had gotten lost somewhere along the way. My throat was rough and dry. My whole body was burning, or so it felt. I stumbled through the fog of the smoke, my eyes stinging and watering.

Suddenly, I arrived at the village. It appeared in front of me, fading from nowhere out of the smog. The fire was a good football field behind me now, and I gasped for breath. As I inhaled, the smoke found its way into my lungs. I coughed. I scratched my head; dried blood came off on my hand.

I forced myself to keep walking amongst the dirt-bricked houses, blinking the debris from my eyes. It was eerily gloomy and silent; gray clouds rolled in overhead, and the cobblestone walkways crumbled underneath my feet.

A short rumble of thunder sounded from the sky, and after a momentary delay, it started to rain; giant droplets falling heavily, quickly, and in great multitudes.

I looked up at the sky, throwing my arms out. "Thank you! Jesus Christ and God in Heaven, thank you." My arms fell, and the cool of the rain spread over me like a wet blanket until I was soaked to the bone. The water weighed my clothes down so they drooped over my body, and wilted my hair, but God, it felt so good.

And then, quite suddenly, I heard a clatter, shortly followed by a clanging from inside one of the cabins to my right. Alaska, I thought immediately. Maybe it's Alaska. I hoped so; that would pretty much clear my conscience for ditching her all alone in the middle of the jungle. I wondered how her leg was. I hoped it was better.

It searched between houses, until my eyes caught sight of a flickering light that seemed to be emanating from some kind of torch through one of the makeshift windows. I made my way to the window, a little warily. I bent slightly, and peeked inside. I was slightly taken aback, and I nearly jumped backwards. There was a girl's face there, unfamiliar, directly in front of the window. I kept myself composed and watched, mildly amused as she staggered back in horror. "There's someone in the window," I heard her say shakily. Her fear was strangely satisfying. I thought about thrusting my torso through the window and making man-eating zombie sounds, but figured I'd give the girl a break.

Instead, I stumbled in the doorway. Along with the new girl, my eyes found another body laying in the corner, her leg propped up on something. She half-knelt and bent into the light, squinty-eyed and curly-haired. I felt something like relief well up inside of me. Thank God she isn't dead. Alaska's pupils dilated in recognition. "Hey," I said, looking at Alaska, nodding at the other girl.

The other girl seemed to relax slightly at my greeting and at Alaska's mellow reaction. I got a good look at her. She was pale and slender, with inky black hair that dripped like chocolate syrup past her ears. Her eyes were large, round, green moons, widening like they were about to swallow me, or something. "What happened?" Alaska finally inquired, trying to stand. The new girl hurried to her side and placed an arm around her middle, helping her to her feet.

I cleared my throat; it was still screwed up from the smoke. "There's a forest fire a little bit back that way." I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder. "But in this storm, I doubt it'll last. Even if it does, we're in a good-sized clearing." Then I kind of laughed. "It's pouring buckets out there." My hands found my pockets.

"Oh," Alaska said, nodding, seeming to be thinking about my words. And then, her eyes soaking up the sight of me, "You're wet."

I smiled. "Thanks."

"Did you find her?" Alaska asked somberly.

I sobered up, scowling slightly. "Nah," I answered, fixing my glance on the torch in the far corner of the hut. "Nah, I didn't." I didn't bother mentioning that if I'd found her, she'd be with me. I didn't feel like worsening the mood. Instead, my eyes flitted to the unfamiliar face.

"Who's the new girl?"

Alaska's eyes widened, as if she'd forgotten something. "Oh," she said, biting her thumbnail and then adjusting her position against the wall. "This is Ezzie." Ezzie looked beaten up; her arms were bloody in several places.

"Hey," I offered to Ezzie. "Name's Ace. Don't matter what you call me. Ace of spades, ace of hearts, either or. I'm easy, you know."

"His name's Chris," Alaska cut in, talking to Ezzie but looking at me, like she knew something I didn't.

"Look who's playing the name game," I said, a smile teasing across my face, a little bummed out that she knew I'd been lying. It didn't exactly buy me any trust. If I wanted her to trust me, I shouldn't have lied to her in the first place, the smart and good part of me thought. I wished I could think like that more often. It'd save me a lot of trouble.

"Well, nice meeting you," I said to Ezzie when Alaska didn't respond. Her expression was one of bemused uncertainty, but she gave me a half-smile in acknowledgement, her hair flicking out of her face.

"We should probably spend the night here," Ezzie proposed. "It's raining hard, and it's not safe to walk around in the jungle at night." She looked nervous as her eyes fled to open window, and the unstable walls. And then she eyed my drenched clothing. My mind fled to the image of Summers's leg, tearing apart as his body contorted in the river current like a rag doll. It was like something hit me in the heart.

"Yeah," I agreed, swallowing my feelings, "Absolutely."

Alaska murmured something inaudible to Ezzie, and with her help, was lowered back to the ground. Ezzie went over to what I supposed was the kitchen area, and began foraging for any leftover canned food. I didn't bother telling her there probably wasn't anything to eat in there. Instead, I strolled over to Alaska and sat down beside her. I bent slightly and pulled my T-shirt over my head. I began to ring it out.

"Glad you're okay," I said to her, and meant it. She almost met my gaze before she looked away pointedly.

"You don't care," She stated simply, slowly and placidly crossing her arms. "Just like you didn't care when you left me in the jungle."

"I wouldn't be saying I care if I didn't," I told her.

"Why not?" She asked, turning towards me. "You've lied about pretty much everything else you've said to me."

I had no idea what to say to that; she was right, anyway. "I'm a dick," I said finally, my eyes narrowing and blinking. And then, "Just trust me."

She shook her head, avoiding my eyes, hugging her good knee with both arms. "I can't." I had finished squeezing the water out of my shirt. I viewed the aftermath; the giant puddle of rainwater soaking into the ground. I unraveled my shirt. It was still damp, but significantly less so. I put it back on over my head.

My hand slipped into my pocket quickly, and felt felt the crinkles of the paper inside. I promised to myself right then that I wouldn't show anybody. Showing the rest of them would just make the overall summary of things more complicated.

"How is it?" I asked her, switching the subject. I shifted closer to Alaska, looking at her leg.

"Fine," She said, wincing even as she thought about it. "It hurts, but it's fine."

I shifted to a a squatting position, one knee on the ground. "You're tough," I told her. "I've seen guys—" I shook my head, cleared my throat. "I've seen guys with stuff not even half that bad. Not even that banged up, like with a sprained ankle or a pulled hamstring, you know. And they're all babies about it." I laughed. "You oughtta see 'em, whining all the time."

She glanced at me, and held my gaze a little longer before her eyes winded down to the floor. "And what about you?" I heard sounds from the kitchen; it sounded like Ezzie was tinkering with some metal, or something. Maybe she had found something.

I arched an eyebrow. "I'm not saying I've never flopped before, but I'm not gonna come out and admit—"

"No," she interrupted. "I mean how's your head?" She leaned towards me, gently putting her hand up to my face. Her gaze settled on the gash on my temple. Her fingers brushed my hair out of the way. I sat still and didn't respond as her chin lowered, her nose centimeters from my cheek, her eyes narrowing. "Looks awful bad," she said.

I didn't say a thing, and suddenly her eyes averted, and she slowly sat back. Then I turned a bit, more towards facing her, and said in a low voice, "You know what?"

"What?" She asked softly, her big brown eyes tilting up to meet mine.

I took my hand from my pocket. "Maybe we should re-introduce ourselves. Like starting over, get what I'm sayin'?" Starting over. She chewed on the inside of her cheek at the words. I moved so my knee knocked against her hip, mostly on accident. I rubbed the back of my head; my hair was still damp.

She thought for a second, staring at my knee, and then said, a lilt to her voice, "Okay."

I waited a moment. Then I tried a charming smile. "Hi," I said, my hand reaching out into the air between us. "I'm Chris."

The corner of her mouth turned up in a smile. The shadows from the torchlight outlined her features, and her skin seemed to glow softly in a dim radiance. Then she took my hand, holding on, and said, her voice suddenly gentle, "Alaska."

"Aw, well, that's a good name," I said, keeping her hand before she pulled away.

"Chris is a boring name," she told me frankly.

"Duly noted," I said, laughing. And then something came over me; something about the way the shadow curved up her face and down the side of her neck, along her collarbone. About the way her shirt was pulled and twisted around, about the way her nose turned up at the bottom. I straightened up. I ducked my head and leaned in slow, and then pressed my lips to hers. Her entire body stiffened immediately, and for a moment, it was like kissing a wall. Her lips were wet and warm, and tasted like some kind of tropical fruit. I kissed her harder, my mouth curling around hers. Her back slowly fell against the wall, her curls and eyelashes brushing against my face, her one hand still in mine. I reached up and tried to guide her hands to around my neck, but she obviously didn't get the picture. One hand fell to my shoulder, and the other went up to my face, which was all right, I guess. My hands went to her hips, pulling her tighter to me.

I waited for her to either kiss me back (preferably—she tasted nice) or just plain out pull away (above all, doubtful). My breath hot on her face, I pulled back a little so there was just about an inch between us, and opened my eyes just enough to let her see them.

"Are you gonna kiss me back, or what?" I mumbled. I moved in closer.

We'd been flying for about an hour. My Beats blasted Vanilla Ice in my ear, and I lounged into the seat back. I scrolled through my playlist. 50 Cent, Eminem, Fetty Wap, Drake, Macklemore. Ice ice baby. I adjusted my earphones. I guess I was just a rap kind of guy.

I caught sight of the stewardess standing up the aisle. Her lipgloss shimmered when she laughed, the front of her bob curling over her part when her head fell back. Some prick was flirting with her. His leg was in the aisle, hopping up and down. His sneakers were black Addidas, low-heeled with white stripes. Mahoney had sneaks like that. He always threw them on my bedsheets, which didn't matter because we both slept on the floor anyway. I always woke up first in the morning, and gave him about a minute of angelic sleep; sprawled on the rug, snoring in his throat, his shorts riding over his knees. Then I jumped him, wrestling until he woke up and got me in a headlock. The headlock was really the only fighting tactic Mahoney knew of.

Curious, I pulled off my headphones and left them in my seat. I walked up the aisle and peered around the seat back the leg belonged to. I smiled. We'd bought adjacent seats; I guess one of us just screwed up our seat number.

"This seat taken?" I asked. Chris looked over at me, and he gave me a crooked grin. The dimple in his right cheek was like he'd been marked with a pen.

"Well, seeing that it's your seat," he responded. He reached out his arm to shake my hand. I accepted the handshake and then climbed over him to plop down in the next seat. "Haven't seen you in a while, Gehrig," he said. "Still hitting like a girl?"

The last time we'd seen each other was two weeks ago, when he'd shamed me into signing up with him to go on the tour. "Who would even want to go to Africa?" I remembered asking him. He'd shrugged me off, writing my name on the list and stealing us two ten-page packets of paperwork. He was always the instigator; I almost never was. He'd convinced me to join choir—"Just for trying out. Music is hot."—, band—"You on bass, me on snare. Drummers get the ladies, Gehrig."—and a bunch of other short-lived commitments. I didn't mind. As long as we did it together, we could make anything great.

"Yeah, you're funny, Mahoney. If I remember correctly, I was the one with a 534 batting average last season." I smirked at him, tousling his hair. He yanked on my shirt sleeve, pulled his head in close. His breath smelled like Gatorade. He nodded his head towards a girl sitting behind him.

I looked behind me at the girl. He was right, always was. Blond, taught jaw, small nose, shirt pulled tight, arms stretching over her head. I could see skin at the bottom of her stomach if I looked close enough. I felt myself smiling like an idiot, and Mahoney slapped my head back around.

Soon we were wrestling and fighting like a couple of five year olds. I punched him in the abs, and he wrapped his arm around my head. All of the sudden, the plane lurched from one side to the other. My seat was vibrating, throwing me back and forth. I gripped the armrests tightly. My teeth rattled. Suddenly, it shook to a stop. "Whoa," I joked after a second. "Was that your stomach or mine?" Chris was looking around.

And then I was jostled again, this time more violently, thrown nearly out of my seat. Something came down and smashed me in the head. I felt hands yanking on my shirt, and something warm dribbling down my face. That was the last thing I felt.

I came to life drowning.

My throat was filled with water, salty and lapping into my lungs. My left eye stung terribly, like steered was sand scraping under my eyelid. I tasted pennies and the water was thin and red around my head. It looked like blood, I realized. It couldn't be blood. Blood came from bleeders. Not like baseball, when a dribbler slipped between the second baseman and short. But people that actually bled and shit, hemophiliacs and people that bruised up and got injured real quick. I didn't have sensitive skin, but hell, we were all fragile.

My head bobbed up out of the water, and I took a deep breath, my chest choking and wheezing. It would be easier if I didn't have asthma. It wasn't a bad case, but I'd like to think it'd be easier. I tried to keep myself afloat, and I took in the scene surrounding me. I could barely see. My eyes felt like a camera lens, shaking and focusing in a rain storm. There was debris all over. A piece of metal came down into the ocean like a meteor, a tail of fire flying behind it. My mouth was still choking on the surface of the water, and gasping, I latched my arm to what looked like a plane hatch. There was a girl about twenty yards from myself, sitting atop some kind of metal.

She saw me, our eyes caught. She looked away, and picked up something that looked like a crowbar at a distance. Her arm was bloodied. She started to paddle. If I squinted, I could see land; mountains flashing under the black sky like a mere shadow. I looked behind me, seeing the flames and the hell reflected in the waves, the devil hiding under the sea, pulling out the tide. The girl was further away now, carrying herself to shore.

One of the aircraft propellers was still whirring. There was a mini explosion; it sounded distant. There was some screaming, some more screaming; Lord, I wondered who was doing it all.

I'm in the ocean. The middle of the devil's ocean. My heart was beating a mile a minute. Without warning, his voice was in my head. "Don't be such a wuss, Gehrig. It's just like going swimming."

"Chris," I said out loud, my voice raw, my heart racing faster. I jumped back into the water. I swam to the nearest body I could find. It was a boy, facedown, arms outstretched. I turned him over and gripped his chin in my palm. His complexion was gaunt and pale, gray-eyed and translucent. Expressionless, terror-less, staring. It wasn't him. "Chris," I was saying, out of breath. "Chris." Swimming to bodies, limbs aching. There were so many of them. I held their faces. I touched their cheeks. I felt the blood dried to their necks. I saw their eyes, all of them, opened wide, eyelids twitching. About to scream, almost as if they were alive, but just not quite breaking the surface of the benchmark minimum. There was no doubt that any of them were dead.

The water was cold in places, warm and frothy in others. I saw a ball cap laying face down, and yanked on it, expecting a head to be attached. It was just a ball cap. Another look at the ratty thing, and it was my ball cap, my Braves ball cap, the one Chris always teased me for. I clutched it in my hand. Chris would be at shore. He was a good swimmer, real good. He told me it wasn't a real sport, but he was good anyhow. He'll be at shore, I told myself. He'll probably be doing roll call, or bandaging up a sick dude. That was just the kind of guy he was. Only time he could sit still was when he was sleeping.

I let the waves carry me to shore. My limbs ached relentlessly. When I touched the outside corner of my eye, there was blood. I convinced myself it wasn't. Blood was for bleeders.

My knees finally sank into the sand, heavy and dragging me down. I got to my feet, trying to run, soaking wet and dirtied with sand. "Chris!" I yelled, feeling somewhat stupid as I did so. What kind of self-respecting guy can't go twenty minutes without his best friend? He was fine.

I found the girl I'd seen earlier. She looked lost, gazing vacantly around, like she was looking for something to do. Her hair was blowing in the wind, thin arms intertwined. I grabbed her by the shoulders.

She looked startled, terrified even. "You seen a guy around here?" I asked.

After I let go of her, she was silent, spacey. And then, a little out of it, "A guy?" I realized I could have been more specific.

My muscles were cramped and shaking from the water. My shirt was ripped. My cap was a little off-center from where I'd put it on my head. "Yeah," I replied. "Tall, swoopy hair, football jacket...I don't know..." What would girls notice? "Real dreamy?" I added, a hint of sarcasm to my voice.

"No," she said, shaking her head, looking forlorn. "Sorry."

My eyes wandered around. I realized I was lost. There was a jungle with what looked like a million trees. I hadn't seen it before; it was as unfamiliar as the beach, as the ocean that was being tossed around my the storm. It wasn't chaotic. There was no haphazard disquiet, with people running around, crying and screaming. No boys inching along without limbs, moaning and grabbing at ankles, begging for help. No heroes shouldering medical supplies, picking up sad and mousy girls. No physical bleeding.

It was just a distant cry from the ocean, a pillar of smoke extending into the sky. Every once in a while, a survivor would wash up on shore, falling to their knees, face wet. Then they would lope up onto the beach, glancing around uncertainly. It was a pathetic kind of accumulation; the scatter-plotted crowd of kids growing at first in groups of two or three per five minutes, and then one every ten.

There was a certain silence about it all. People stopped coming in with the tide; instead it was only the dead ones, floating facedown and arms spread to the side. But we didn't stop watching. It was cold, pale, quiet.

My feet walked to a rock on the edge of the ocean where the tide came in, burning from the sand, thighs aching from treading so much water. I sat down, took off my shoes. When Chris turned up, we could figure it out. When he turned up, I'd tell him I still had my cap, ask him if I needed stitches in my eye. He'd tell me he was dumb and wouldn't know. He would grab my face, real rough with his hand, look real close at it, and then pat the side of my head, telling me to suck it up.

My eye burned up. I heard his voice in my head, fisting his glove and calling out to me across the field from short. "Can't catch all the balls hit your way, Gehrig! Can't catch 'em all!"

I sat with my head hung, and waited for him to come.

"How is it?" His voice rang in her head, and as much as she tried to, she couldn't block it out. For some reason, she was still upset with him for lying about his name. And pretty much everything else.

"Fine," she said, simple enough, "It hurts, but it's fine."

Chris shifted, with one of his knees touching the ground, "You're tough," Alaska wanted to move away. "I've seen guys—" She continues to stare at him as he shakes his head, then clears his throat, "I've seen guys with stuff not even half that bad. Not even that banged up, like with a sprained ankle or a pulled hamstring, you know. And they're all babies about it." She silently wonders why he lets out a laugh. "You oughtta see 'em, whining all the time."

The wound on his head weaved it's way into her mind, and Alaska glanced up at him-- deciding to hold his gaze, until the ground started calling her name and she looked back at it, "And what about you?"

Alaska almost jumped at the sounds radiating from the kitchen area. Ezzie had gotten a lot better within a couple of hours, but she still worried Alaska-- mostly because Alaska didn't want her to accidentally fall, or something...and hurt the baby. It was crazy to think about, kind of. Although, back in her home town, once a girl reached the age of 14, her parents would marry her off to a man over 30 and she would spend the rest of her life with him, being forced to have at least 3 children-- 3 because it represented the symbols of her tribe, which was outdated. Nobody did what they did anymore. At least, not any towns near her old one. Alaska was glad they moved away when they did, otherwise, she'd be married to a man named Duvan, with kids that she wasn't old enough to have.

"I'm not saying I've never flopped before, but I'm not gonna come out and admit—"

His voice came out of nowhere, and it took a moment for Alaska to register that he'd misunderstood. "No," she cut him off, "I mean how's your head?" She didn't want to, but she leaned closer to him, and put a hand to his face to get a good look at the wound. Her eyes found the gash, and she tentatively brushed his hair away from it to get a better look.

"Looks awful bad," she said.


"No," Not seriously. She stares at him, determined to convince him to let her tag along. Not that he had much say in whether she could or not. She'd go either way. But it'd be easier if he agreed with her going. "I wanna help. I can just use this," She holds the makeshift crutch up, and balances on her one leg, "Besides, it doesn't hurt that awful bad."

That awful bad. Was that right? She was sure she said that right. He laughed. Nevermind, she didn't.

"Yeah, it doesn't hurt that 'awful bad', but it's gonna hurt worse if you go running around in the jungle, Texas," He says after his little laugh.

Alaska thought of the way her mother and father used to look at each other-- the love, compassion, longing, all of it...fused together. Alaska never understood relationships. She didn't know what they were built on. Love? Nonsense. Faith? Doubtful. Trust? She wasn't sure.

Then again, she'd never been in a relationship, so she wouldn't know.

When he didn't say anything, Alaska averted her eyes, focusing on the small plank of wood that was chipping around the edges, laying about a foot away from Chris.

"You know what?" His voice was low, quiet, smooth.

"What?" Alaska's voice was too soft for her liking, but for some reason, she felt obligated to look up at him, meet his eyes...meet his tone?

From her peripheral vision, she could see him pull his hand out of his pocket, "Maybe we should re-introduce ourselves. Like starting over, get what I'm sayin'?" Wait, what? Alaska almost laughed, for some reason-- this boy, the one who lied to her, wanted to start over. With her. He moved his knee and, oddly, bumped against her hip, which didn't seem to bother her as much as it should've.

Continuing to stare at his knee, she finally decided that maybe this wasn't as weird as it seemed, "Okay."

After a moment, he smiled that weird smile he did sometimes, and said, "Hi," His arm stretched across the distance between them, "I'm Chris."

Her lips started curling. She was confused. And nervous. Why was she nervous? She took his hand, held on, and managed to say, "Alaska."

"Aw, well, that's a good name," He said, his smile working it's way into his words. Alaska wondered if she should let go of his hand. He didn't make any movement to. She waited.

"Chris is a boring name," she stated blandly, hoping that didn't come off as rude after saying it. She then asked herself why she would care if it was rude.

"Duly noted," He said with a laugh.

And then...well, something weird happened, that made Alaska's insides warm up and feel as though they were melting together. He stared at her, his eyes outlining her silhouette. He looked as though he were in deep thought, and she got the feeling that he was. He continued to stare at her, and...it didn't bother her. Why didn't it bother her? About five minutes ago, she wanted to be as far away from him as she could be. But can you guess what happened next?

She couldn't.

Chris leaned down, as if dodging a ball being thrown towards him, and pressed his lips against her own. Alaska's body immediately went into panic mode. She stiffened, confusion coursing through her. Kiss. He just stole her first kiss. She couldn't help but notice how soft his lips were, though they tasted like salt. His lips pushed against hers harder, and she didn't know what to do. Without noticing, she leaned backwards until the wall caught her, and she tried to ignore the feeling that was now overtaking her confusion-- want. Longing. Her emotions were acting up. Without pulling away, Chris' hand lifted hers up, and moved it-- as if he were trying to get it to go somewhere. She didn't understand where. She didn't know what was going on. And for some reason, she kept thinking about how she enjoyed this. Not wanting to pull away, oddly, she let her hand fall over his broad shoulder, and cupped his face. His warm hands slid around her hips, causing her cheeks to burn, and he pulled her closer-- tighter. Was this how couples felt?

No.

...yes?

Alaska didn't want the answer to that question, suddenly.

She still didn't know what to do. He seemed to be waiting for her to move, do something-- kiss back? Alaska thought it was a bad idea at first.

"Someday, Bing, you'll unda'stan that not evvy person has'ta be alone," Her Grandmother smiled down at her, and plucked another bone out of the brew. "Som'uv us? We don' love 'dem. But we make up for it wif' da' love we have for ottas'. Find som'un who accepts ya', baby, who loves ya'. Don' let this place trap ya' wif' som'un you don' know. Don' let ya'self feel awful bad b'cause you don' wanna say sum'thin."

Alaska didn't understand what this meant, at the age of 9, but a twinge of feelings went out to the boy in front of her. And maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he just was desperate, so he threw himself at her.

Or maybe she should stop acting so oblivious, and step up.

Chris pulled away just the slightest, and she locked eyes with him-- his chocolate orbs penetrated her thoughts, stole her breath, consumed her wishes.

"Are you gonna kiss me back, or what?" He mumbled, her cheek pinching up a bit as he said this, showing off his dimple. His face seemed to float closer to hers, and she almost shivered as his hot breath blew across her face.

Alaska's heart raced as she stared at him, and as it hit her, finally, she realized why he was lifting her hand up. She snaked her arms up, around his neck, and caught a glimpse of a smile before she closed the rest of the space between them.

This time, it was better. Their lips worked together furiously, and she felt the urge to pull him closer, hold him tighter, kiss him harder. She still didn't completely understand this, but as they continued, her feelings began to unravel. She was angry because they'd ventured into the forest to search for a girl she didn't even know. Mostly because it was pointless, when they could be searching for others. Help. Yet, another part of her felt as though she was angry because...well, because nobody would do that for her. If she were the girl they were looking for, they wouldn't be wasting their time. And, well-

Someone cleared their throat.

Alaska, reluctantly, pulled her face away from his, and realized that Ezzie was staring at them, with something in her hand.

Her face heated up, and she stared at their position. How long had they been like this?

Alaska didn't want to move, because this was strangely comfortable, but she unraveled herself, and could feel her whole body surging with adrenaline.

Her first kiss. Second kiss. It was weird to think about. Alaska glanced at Chris, before she raked a hand through her hair and managed to say, "Find something useful?"

Ezra Dexter | Group A

Feeling relief, I leaned down to help Alaska, but she pulled me close and suggested that I go to find something to eat. Excusing myself from the room, I began digging around the various items, accidentally clanging pots and pans together. I searched the cabinets, the old, rotting cardboard boxes in the corner, reminded vaguely of a time when my living conditions had once been similar. I even trailed through the cold rain and searched the other huts. Nothing.

After a while, I was starting to lose hope in finding food. I turned to leave the small room I was in and spotted a small board on the floor, loose. Prying it up, I saw a big, beat up, and very dirty can. Snatching it before I could read the label, I bolted back to the hut Alaska and that other guy were in. I paused inside the doorway to catch my breath, then rounded the corner.

At the sight before me, I froze. They were joined at the mouth, kissing like their lives depended on it. I cleared my throat, feeling like an intruder.

Alaska and Chris pulled away, and I noticed their flushed expressions. I smiled a little inside, but maintained my demeanor outside. The Jamaican girl smoothed her hair with her hand, and then locked eyes with me. "Find anything useful?"

I held up the damaged can. "Pork Brains in Milk Gravy." I offered the can to Chris, who looked at it.

"Gnarly." He said, shifting it around in his hand. "Pork Brains."

Alaska shrugged, "I've had worse." She said as he passed the can to her.

I opened my mouth to speak, but my stomach growled at that moment. "-I guess that means we're eating it."

Chris began to lift the tab to open the can, and I was hit with a foul smell.

As hungry as I was, I refused to eat the brains, and excused myself once more. Outside, I leaned against the cool wall, the rain coming to a soft drizzle, then dying out completely, leaving the sky clear, with no indicator that it was just storming terribly. I breathed in the fresh air and rubbed a circle on my tummy.

"It's okay," I whispered. "We won't eat it, okay?"

After a few moments of that, I returned to the hut, and noticed that Alaska and Chris were holding hands, and that the can of brains was empty.

I smiled, sat down across from them on the floor, and watched them make goo-goo eyes at each other. Eventually, I found myself drifting to sleep.

---

I woke up to a blinding light.

Alaska and Chris were whispering to each other, and I heard "Saph" and "going back" and "the others" mentioned. I sat up and stretched, and they looked over at me. I waved, then we sat there quietly.

After a moment of silence, I cleared my throat, "You guys are cute and everything, and it's not, um, my place to say anything, because I know you're both older than me, and probably know more, but I don't want you to do, um, anything... Too drastic..."

"What do you mean?" Chris turned his eyes onto me.

"Um..."

Alaska bit her lip. "Ezzie, we're not stupid, I have good morals."

I smiled, "Okay, good..."

Chris looked confused, "Texas, what is she talking about?"

I smiled softly. "Nothing, I just wanted to make sure... But hey, it stopped raining. You guys want to take me back to these others you mentioned?"

Alaska looked at Chris for confirmation, and then the two stood. I followed suit, and trailed behind them as they led me through the trees once more. I made small talk, as to not feel like a third wheel, but that really didn't help.

"Hey, Chris...?"

He looked over his shoulder at me, "What's up, Short-stack?"

Ignoring the jab at my height, I stepped over a log. "I was wondering if you'd seen a guy, about this tall," I held my hand up to how tall Elvis was, "And he has blonde hair and gray eyes...?"

Chris shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. Is he your boyfriend?"

I nodded, but kept my emotions down. "I know he's still out there, somewhere. I would know if he was, um, dead."

The two winced at the word, and I apologized. Not knowing where the hell to go, I didn't want to lose them, so I followed them the rest of the way to the beach in silence. As we approached an opening in the trees, my eyes were met with multiple people milling around, helping other kids who were injured, lying down, or just trying to find a sense of purpose.

"Is there, um, a first aid kit?" I asked Chris as we approached a few kids lying on make-shift gurneys. "I'm trained in first aid."

He shrugs, then mutters something about having to go. Alaska waves to me, and follows him. I turn to a kid laying down, and stare at the bandage across his abdomen, the stark red blood seeping through cloth.

I had a lot of work to do.
---

As I was sewing close some gash on a girl's side, Chris and Alaska came back, with a few more people in tow.

"Christ, Mahoney. You lose one girl, who has a badass knife and amazing skills, and bring back a fucking pixie with a needle and thread."

I locked eyes with the boy who had said it, or at least tried to. He was wearing shades. "Excuse me?"

He scoffed, "I said you're useless."

The insult jabbed at me wasn't going to bother me, "Listen, you find someone else with extensive training in the medical field here. Find someone who can help you mend broken bones, deal with infection, and knows about a large variety of plants and what you can eat or not. Find someone who can stitch you up when your dumb ass cuts yourself open because you don't know how to use a fucking knife. Fick dich, arschkopf. If you don't want my help, then you can catch malaria and die before coming to ask me for help."

He chuckled nervously, "No, I was just saying that we don't need you-"

I shook my head, "That isn't what you said, man. Listen, before I slice up the sides of your mouth and smash your cheap ass sunglasses, and make you regret speaking to me and calling me a goddamn Pixie , apologize, tell me I'm the best thing to happen to this whole Lord of the Goddamn Flies mockery, and then leave."

He muttered a quick "sorry" and scurried away. I felt bad afterward, I wasn't really going to hurt him, and I didn't think I was that intimidating, but really, who just feels the urge to insult someone they didn't even know? It's ridiculous. People are so rude these days.

Chris hid a smile behind his hand, an Alaska didn't even hide her laughter. "What?" I asked, shrugging. "He called me a Pixie."

Jackie | Group B

Her laughter filled my ears, and I couldn't help but close my eyes and listen to the heavenly sound. Chelsea turned back towards me, and pursed her lips after the laughing fit passed.

"Okay," She says, and I open my eyes again, glad to be met with the sight of an angel in sweats. "That's absolutely crazy."

I twisted my shirt around in my fist, continuing to stare at the girl I'd become so accustomed to over the months, "You've heard crazier, though."

"I'm with crazier," the girl giggled, and leaned forward. I caught her lips with my own, and ignored the stares from the kids next to us-- they'd been talking about us since we'd sat down. After pulling away, she continued to fall forward until her forehead landed on my chest, and I slipped my arms around her. "I can't wait until we get back in town."

"Me, t-"

My voice was cut off by the abrupt sounds of metal on metal, and the screeching sound of a million robots being crushed at once. Chelsea pulled away, and glanced around.

"What-?" She paused, and not even a minute later, the flight attendant announced over the intercom that they were having problems with turbulence, but everything would be fine and all the passengers needed to make sure they were buckled in.

Her green orbs flicked over to me, concern heating up her face, "Please tell me this isn't happening."

The kids around us continued to chatter away, as if nothing had happened, and I watched the window across from me as I buckled myself.

"This is happening," I mumble, and wait until she's buckled to grab her hand. "Fuck."

"That's exactly what I didn't want you to tell me," Chelsea complains, and squeezes my hand hard-- not that it bothered me. I'd experienced more pain than that.

"Do it," The thick, husky voice growled, shoving the scrawny girl into the shadowed room, "Otherwise, back to the box."

"P-please, just let me see-"

I blink away the memory, deciding that this wasn't the time to relive my past.

Before I could even say anything, the plane lurched forward, and Chelsea let a scream escape her lips.

Nope. Fuck the seat belts. I yanked it off of me which, accidentally, meant that I had snapped the belt.

Chelsea stares at me, her eyes wide, "What the fuck are you doing? You just broke-"

And we started spiraling downwards. Screams filled my ears, and the only thing I could think about doing was keeping Chelsea safe.

I desperately searched for her eyes, and finally ripped the safety belt off of her before screaming, "Hold onto me! And don't you dare let go, okay?"

Her bright greens eyes were brimmed with tears, and, because we weren't strapped it, we were flung to the side.

I could feel tears escaping from my eyes, because I couldn't do this again, I couldn't go through another traumatic event, I couldn't let Chelsea get hurt, I just...I couldn't. I swallowed hard, and focused my eyes on the girl next to me, with her light brown hair slapping her in the face every second it could, her eyes wide with fear, her hand holding onto mine for dear life. I had to do what was best for her, not me.

As the door from the emergency exit flew off, I tried my best not to get closer-- yet. Where we were, students were crowded up against us, and the space we were standing in wasn't big enough. And the only other way was by the emergency exit, that was sucking out anything that came close to it.

Chelsea used her other hand to grab onto the railing on the ceiling behind her, and I took one last look at her before releasing her hand, saying, "I love you," and squeezing out of the tiny space I'd been standing in.

"Jackie!" Her voice was the last thing I heard, before wind going over 200 mph plucked me from the emergency exit.

*********************

I thought I was dead.

I'd opened my eyes to a sinful sky, black with demons, and the sounds of the ocean hitting itself. My body was plastered to a piece of shrapnel, except it was over 15 feet wide, and 7 feet long.

The pain didn't hit me until I attempted to sit up, to which I noticed the piece of metal sticking out of my left arm. Wincing, I took in my surroundings. Other pieces of metal bobbed around me, and the bodies of innocent students I'd seen yesterday morning floating along beside me.

I wasn't as freaked out as I should've been.

Though, the panic hit me in a wave as the image of a screaming Chelsea drowned out the rest of my thoughts.

"Chelsea?" My voice was hoarse. I couldn't hear anything over the roaring of the waves. "Chelsea!"

Nothing. Nobody. Bodies guided themselves around the piece of metal I was floating on, one even getting stuck to the siding of the metal.

Across from me, a lever from the plane glided next to me, and it took all I had not to fall off of the shrapnel trying to get that thing.

After succeeding, I managed to turn myself around and, glancing around again, I, thankfully, locked eyes with someone...who wasn't dead. He was floating on something, with blood matted to his face-- we were about, I don't know, 15-20 feet away from each other? Something like that. I wasn't good at guesstimating.

I glanced away from him, deciding that he could find his own way to shore, which was probably a little bitchy and mean, but I had my own problems. I picked up the level, and started to paddle away from the bodies and piece of metal breaking the surface every other minute. The land was closer now.

Forcing myself not to look back for the boy, I continued to paddle, even with metal sticking out of my arm and, finally, reached the deserted beach. With the light of the fearsome moon, I navigated my way up the slope that the sand had been bended to form, and collapsed against the warm sand.

From where I was sitting, I could hear them-- sudden screams that had followed a loud Bang! and crying waves, begging to bury the corpses of the ones who weren't strong enough.

The outline of the boy from the water looked as though he were playing leap frog by himself, and I could hear the faint sounds of, "Miss, miss!"

Although, I was almost certain I was hearing wrong.

I watched as the boy floated upstream, until finally, his body lined the shore, and he crawled onto the forgiving sand. He got to his feet, and attempted to do something, but he was moving slow. Water slung off of him, and sand caked his jeans. His face was still bloody, and I wondered how he could even see.

"Chris!" Chris. Not miss. But it was certain that he surely missed this Chris. I mentally kicked myself for that.

I wanted to help him, kind of. But I didn't help people, or things. I fucked everything up. I stood up, anyways, and glanced around-- waiting. Waiting for what? Him? I wasn't entirely sure.

The wind blew, and it was only then that I realized that I was freezing, wet, and terrified. Not only for myself, of course. For everyone that was on that plane. For my family. For my golden retriever, Fletcher. For Chelsea.

Suddenly, hands were on me.

His calloused hands ripped through the bare girls tangled hair, and he tightened his fists before throwing her across the room.

Her body hit the wall with a sickening crack, and her body went limp.

"-guy around here?" His voice cut in, though I didn't know what he was talking about. Who was this? Where was I?

Nobody. Nowhere.

His cold fingers slipped away, and after getting over my state of shock, mostly from his touching me and triggering another memory, I said, "A guy?"

A guy. I've seen many guys-- here, that is. Unfortunately, they were all dead. I decided not to say that.

"Yeah," he pauses, and I glance at his ripped shirt, before blinking and glancing away, "Tall, swoopy hair, football jacket...I don't know..."

I thought he was done. I didn't like talking to guys. They were repulsing, twisted, freaks of nature.

After a moment, he continues with, "Real dreamy?"

I wanted to punch him.

"No," I stick with, shaking my head, "Sorry."

He left then, and I was glad. I didn't care what he was doing. I hoped he left here. Got lost. I don't know.

After I could barely see anything, and the bodies of some alive, but mostly dead, students washed up on shore, I decided to get up, and scout out something. Anything. Chelsea?

Barren trees lined the coast, and I had to push through thickets of bushes and wiry trees and I walked, and walked, and I fucking walked until the soft whispers of someone disgraced my ears.

"I didn't really know what to say, it was just-" The voice stopped, and I realized that I'd stepped on something-- a stick. Of course I did.

That's how the girl always died in the movies, which Chelsea thought was hilarious. She'd joke about-- no. I couldn't think about her. At least, not now.

Stepping out of the shadows, finally realizing how sore my entire body was, I caught a glimpse of a mop of dirty blonde hair, and a limp body. I hoped that person was sleeping.

"Hello?" I frown, and take another step, "I'm...I'm Jackie. I've, um...been trying to find my girlfriend, and, well, I need your help."

The blonde mop stood, and I scurried forward at the first sound, relieved to know that I wasn't talking to myself.

"We're not alone, Sara," the voice, distinctly male, exclaimed. "Do you hear her? She's trying to find her girlfriend. Dad would never approve of that, you know?"

"Who's Sara?" I ask, as I pick my way through the thorn bushes and large sticks.

When the guy didn't reply, I stepped into the clearing, and there he was-- tall. His arms bulged out, as if the muscle he had were was too big to be contained by his short sleeve. He seemed to be almost as tall as the tree next to him, though I knew that was a exaggeration. He was just tall. Maybe a foot taller than me?

I glanced at the girl on the ground, and realized, without any doubt, that she wasn't sleeping. Her head lolled to one side, and the bluish-green tint to her skin told me that she hadn't been alive for awhile. So how long had he been talking to her?

"Hi," I manage to say, ignoring the putrid smell traveling my way.

Suddenly, he stopped doing what he was doing-- which I couldn't make out in the dim lighting. He glanced around, and said, "Ezra Dexter. She's...have you seen my Ezzie? I can't go anywhere until I find her."

"N-" I cut myself off, and come up with a bad plan. Ezra. Who was this Ezra? Probably his girlfriend. He said he wouldn't go anywhere without her. "I know where she is."

No, I didn't. What was I doing? How could I do this to someone?

"You've done worse," A small voice in the back of my head whispered.

She trembled, as the blade in her hand clattered to the ground. The man on the ground was demolished, and blood was splattered across the floor and walls.

"Free," she whimpered, a smile spreading across her sunken cheeks, "I'm free."

"You know where my Ezzie is?" His eyes brightened, and he turned to Sara, "She knows where Ezra is, Sara! Can you believe it?"

It still disturbed me that he spoke to the dead girl. I turned away, and said, "You have to help me find Chelsea first, though. Then I'll take you to...Ezzie," then started walking. By the way the underbrush started crunching behind me, I knew he was following.

How was I going to do this? I was getting his hopes up. I needed to find Chelsea, not some girl that was probably dead. Shit, no, that was awful. How could I think something like that?

"Stop feeling bad for yourself, Jannali," the voice growled, "You're just as bad as Na-"

I clear my throat, and sidestep a log that could've swallowed me.

"Tell me about her," I say after a moment, and glance behind me. "So I know we're talking about the same girl."

Elvis | Group B

I knew she was dead, I wasn't crazy. Sure, I was crazy enough to keep talking to her, but Sara had been my only companion for...actually, now that I thought about it, I had no idea how long we had been out there. How long ago had the plane went down? It couldn't have been more than a week, could it? No, my body wasn't starving yet. Ravenous for sure, but I wasn't starving.

"You know, when my dad first told me that...I didn't really know what to say, it was just-" I heard a snap of a twig and froze, knowing someone, or rather something was approaching. Not taking any chances, I stayed still on the ground where I had been laying, too exhausted to get up. I had managed my way into the woods to keep away from any predators that may have been lurking, dragging Sara with me, unable to leave her behind to be found and picked off of by any animal that may come across her.

"Hello?" A feminine voice called.

My ears perked up. Another human? Another living person??

"I'm...I'm Jackie." The voice continued, "I've, um...been trying to find my girlfriend, and, well, I need your help."

I stood carefully, using my left, unburned arm to push myself off the ground, my legs a little wobbly from exhaustion and not being used.

"We're not alone, Sara," I smiled, looking back down at her, "Do you hear her? She's trying to find her girlfriend. Dad would never approve of that, you know?"

"Who's Sara?" the girl asked, coming forward.

I looked at Sara, her skin tinted blue with the appearance of rubber, and I realized that maybe I was crazy for talking to her all this time after all. How long had she even been dead? Without this woman I never would have made it, I wouldn't have...I took a deep breath, looking down at my arms. I was covered in her blood, dried to my skin, caked on over my burns and clinging to my clothes.

Squatting down beside her, I reached into one of the pockets of her skirt. Nothing. I checked the other, and felt the familiar texture of leather. Pulling out a slender wallet, I stood back up and opened it, searching for - there it is. Her ID. Sara Marie McAllister, 32 years old, black hair and green eyes, from Seattle, Washington. Shoving the wallet into the back pocket of my jeans, I made myself a promise - when I got out of here I was going to find her family.

"Hi," the girl said quietly, drawing my gaze towards her small frame. I squinted, taking in her small frame and beautiful features, then began to look around her. If she was here, then there must be others.

"Ezra Dexter. She's...have you seen my Ezzie? I can't go anywhere until I find her."

"N-" she stopped in her tracks, looking me up and down, and then seemed to decidedly say, "I know where she is."

I couldn't contain myself! My Ezzie, my beautiful Ezra, the love of my life and mother of my child, she was alive! "You know where my Ezzie is?"

I turned quickly to Sara, forgetting, beaming a smile, "She knows where Ezra is, Sara! Can you believe it?"

"You have to help me find Chelsea first, though. Then I'll take you to...Ezzie," with that she began to walk away, and I found myself with a new surge of energy to allow me to follow her. No, not energy, adrenaline. I needed to find Ezra.

I followed her in silence for a while, feeling myself limp a little bit, grimacing when I remembered the burns I now bore on the right half of my body, only to have my thoughts interrupted when the girl cleared her throat.

"Tell me about her," she said, looking back at me with her dark eyes, "So I know we're talking about the same girl."

She almost seemed...sad.

Shaking my head, I ignored it. Of course she was sad, we were stuck God knows where and she doesn't know where her girlfriend is. If anyone can understand that it's me.

"Ezra? Well she..." I smiled to myself, thinking of the way her hair falls over her face, the way she blows it out of her face when she's annoyed, the way her nose crinkles when she yells at me and the way her eyes shine when she laughs, that shy smile she has when she's around people she doesn't know..."She's perfect. A lot of people don't see it because she acts tough and is argumentative, but she's not really like that. She's just been hurt, you know? She has a jaded past, so it just takes a little bit of time to actually get to know her. But oh, God, once you do...she's perfect."

The girl stopped for a second, staring at the ground, and I was finally able to catch up, my breathing ragged, the burned skin feeling tight. I could hear myself panting, each breathe ripping through my parched, dry throat.

"Hey," I interrupted, attempting to lick my lips for the millionth time even though I knew there was no saliva, "What's your name? Jackie, right?"

Her eyes flashed to me and she blinked a few times, almost as if blinking back a memory, and she answered slowly, "Yes."

"Elvis. Do you happen to know where-" I swallowed, hard, my tongue heavy, "Water is? I've been at sea for..." I blinked, trying to think, "Since the plane went down, and..." I clutched my arm, cradling the now scarred flesh that had been exposed when the fire burned my clothes from my very body, "And I need help with this, but only after we find Ezzie and your girlfriend, we have to find them first, but water..." I swallowed again, "I know I'm dehydrated, and I know humans can't last long without it. I need water, please."

I could feel myself growing disoriented again, could hear it in my voice. I couldn't even keep a single thought going, I was becoming tired, my eyelids heavy. I'd exerted so much energy, energy that, having been stranded for God knows how many days, I didn't have.

Looking back at Jackie, I noticed something I hadn't before - a large piece of metal sticking from her arm.

"Jackie...we need help first."

Chris |Group A

Ezzie left the room suddenly, rushing out of the cabin. I looked at the dented can in my hand, spewing putrid fumes. I scrunched up my nose. Pork brains. Maniacal. I didn't care how hungry I was. It wasn't going in my mouth.

Alaska's eyes were burning into my face, and she kept shifting around uncomfortably. The corner of my mouth lifted up in a goofy smile. "It's okay, hot stuff. You don't have to tell me I'm a good kisser." Her face went pink, and her expression contorted as she realized she had no words.

"I wasn't gonna," she stammered finally, running her hand through her hair and then hastily averting her gaze. And then, quickly, in a desperate attempt to change the subject, "Are you gonna eat that?" She jabbed a finger at the can. I looked at it.

"Not unless you dare me," I countered, grinning. I tossed it up and then caught it. "I thought we were talking about kissing?" This made her blush. I flashed her a charming, puppy-eyed look. Her face fell, her eyes squinting up, her mouth folding into an uncomfortable smile she tried desperately to suppress. I nudged her arm, my head leaning in so close our faces brushed together. "I'm just joshing you," I whispered. And then, louder, "But that pig head, or whatever, that's about to get punted outta here like a football. No joking about that. And believe me, I'm a football player, for Chrissake. I'm always hungry. Feel that." I grabbed her hand and shoved it under my shirt, so her cold palm was splayed out on my stomach. My stomach growled. "See?"

Her fingers curled, her fingertips brushing against my stomach. She took the can from me with her other hand. "I'm kind of hungry," she said quietly. "You think I should try it?"

"I double dare you," I drawled, my lips falling slightly agape, leaning a little closer. Our shirts wrinkled together, her hand tight in mine between us.

"Yeah?" She asked.

"Hell yeah," I said, softer. She looked inside the can, her eyes glinting. I was still looking at her, waiting for her to look back again.

"There's not much in here," Alaska said, avoiding my eyes. "It's just a bunch of liquids." A little frustrated, I rolled my eyes and looked inside. To her credit, it was pretty empty. Frowning and letting my shoulders fall, I took her hand from my stomach and was smoothing my shirt when Ezzie returned.

She sat down and began to make herself comfortable, pulling some kind of small tarp over her thin body. Sleep sounded like the second best thing that could happen to me right then, so I lowered myself down onto my back, staring for a second up at the ceiling. Watch it collapse on me in the middle of the night. Alaska's eyes were trained on me in the dark. I was about to turn over when she crawled up next to my arm. She closed her eyes and nestled her head against my shoulder. It reminded me of a movie date, the way she did it. I let her, and leaned my head back against the wall, willing myself to fall asleep.

~~

In the morning, groggy, we made our way back to the beach. It was significantly easier to remember the route now; it being the second time I'd had to walk it back and forth. I found myself wondering if any of the other pairs that had set out yesterday had found any sign of Blue. My fingers played with the charred corners of the note in my pocket.

We were walking through the forest, not fast enough for my liking. I almost missed the beach. I missed Rian; I was worried about her. I even missed my goalie, Mayburn. And God, I realized, I miss her too.

Blue. I couldn't believe I actually missed her. Somehow the concept of missing Rian or P.J. was just an unconditional feeling, nothing nostalgic or even meaningful at all, really just an obvious necessity. Rian was my sister, and P.J. was a guy, and they were just placeholders for me. I missed Rian because she was my sister. I missed P.J. because he was my rock of a soccer goalie.

But somehow, missing Blue was different. I just missed her. Her untangled hair and our bad jokes, her accent and her face in my neck and the innocent blush, and above all, how she looked at me like she was in love with me. I wanted to see her, looking at me, half like she was afraid of me and half like all she wanted was to go for pizza with a dipshit jock like me. Nobody had ever looked at me exactly like that before.

Alaska walked directly behind me, still using a crutch, but it seemed like her leg was more stable today. Whenever there was a thick layer of underbrush or a fallen tree, I'd gently take her arm and help her through. "Watch yourself," I would say. "I got you." Ezzie trailed behind us, taking awkward steps, attempting to make small talk at whatever opportunity possible. Alaska still appeared to be star-struck from that kiss last night. She chewed on her lip, and kept glancing at me, keeping tabs on the distance between us.

Finally, I slowed when there was sand crumbling beneath my feet. We emerged into the hot sun, and were met with the sight of kids bustling around. A few were eating the berries Blue and Summers had picked from the bushed adjacent to the village. Some were washing their clothes; others just seemed to be running around the place for no reason. Squinting into the sunlight, I ruffled my hair, looking up into the sky, and then out into the ocean. No planes, no boats.

My heart sank. Ezzie looked around the sandy expanse, looking unimpressed. Yup, I thought, Welcome to square one, sweetheart.

"Is there, um, a first aid kit?" Ezzie inquired. We were standing next to the Medical Station. She played with her fingers, her eyes passing over the injured kids laying on gurneys we'd made out of luggage bags and tarps from the plane. "I'm trained in first aid," she continued.

Needing to get out of these clothes, I mumbled, "Yup, inside. I'm out." Then I strolled to where I'd seen a few piles of sorted clothes. I picked through until I found a plain white T-shirt in my size. I slung it over my shoulder, and then knelt by the ocean. I pulled my shirt over my head, tossing it on the ground behind me. Then I splashed water on my face and scrubbed it in my hair, my nose dripping. The water was cold, but it was a heavenly kind of coolness. I washed away the caked sand and the dried blood. When I was finished, I slipped on the new shirt, which stuck to my torso where the water bled through.

When I turned around, I jumped. Alaska was standing right behind me, looking meek. She pushed a curl from her face.

"Christ," I said, "you scared me."

She slowly folded her arms. "Sorry," she said. "I just wanted to, you know—" Talk, I dreaded, "—ask you a question."

"Go ahead," I offered, relieved. Question-asking was more straightforward than talking. I tousled my soaked hair with my hand.

She cleared her throat, and then asked, "Why did you kiss me?"

I laughed, until I realized she wasn't smiling. She looked confused. "You don't expect me to come up with something off the top of my head, do you?" I asked. And then, "Listen, I gotta run, babe. I got work to do."

Her eyes kind of widened, and she opened her mouth with a quick, "Wait!". I flashed her a quick smile and an exhilarated eye glint before I jogged away. When I'd ran a hundred yards or so down the beach, I began raking through names and faces in my mind, trying to remember anybody that had been in the search unit from yesterday.

I surveyed the camp. Kids looked unkempt and dirty, and there were a significant number of tepees built from bamboo logs and tarps. I guessed that P.J. had initiated the construction work; he had seemed determined to form some kind of shelter. It looked like people had already claimed their stakes, crowding their respective housing complexes with their luggage bags. Homey, I thought.

Luckily, all of my stuff still seemed intact. It lay exactly where I'd left it; squeezed between the bulging roots of a tree. I sank to the ground, yanking my duffel bag from its place. I stopped, and then for the first time, I unzipped my bag. Its contents spilled into the sand. T-shirts and athletic shorts, gum packages, a few energy bars, two oranges (somehow oranges always ended up in with my stuff), Cologne, mouth spray, toothpaste. And then—sweet Jesus—my blue cherry Gatorade fell out of my bag. I twisted off the cap and chugged it, having forgotten I'd even brought it. It was warm, but God, it was delicious. I closed my eyes, and made myself put the cap back on. Then I tore open a protein bar and ravenously ate it in its entirety. I popped a piece of gum in my mouth. I sprayed some cologne.

And then I felt a lot better.

I almost thought I was dreaming when my eyes found one of the kids dragging something black and furry behind him on the ground. A few more of the kids were beginning to rally around him. I squinted and blinked. The thing—the animal—had blood dripping from its flank and its neck. It was roughly the size of a small person, and had cat-like features.

"Didn't think of that, did you?"

I whipped my head around. A tall boy stood there, crossing his arms. His blonde hair was styled and short, his sunglasses perched on top of his head. He looked smug. "Didn't think we could hunt, did you?"

"Who the hell are you?" I asked, standing up. I was taller than him, but only by a little.

"Mark," he said. "My name's Mark. Not that you would care." The sun beat down on us, and he squinted.

"You're right," I told him. "I don't really give a damn." I piled my things back into my bag, and began to walk off in the other direction, my duffel slung across my shoulders. I didn't want anybody stealing my stuff.

"Popular vote decides who gets the meat," Mark called after me. "Everybody's hungry. Maybe there just won't end up being enough for you, Mahoney." I stopped in my tracks, suddenly remembering him from the crowd of people that had decided to go on the hike to find Blue. I turned my head to the side.

"What else did you find yesterday?" I asked him, less spitefully. I kept walking. Mark began to follow me.

"Nothing," he said, calming down slightly. "There's nothing out there, man. I think you've lost your search party. If you wanna find your dead girlfriend, you're gonna have to find her yourself." Rage suddenly boiled in my stomach, and I spun around and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

"She's out there," I seethed, "She's alive."

Mark looked surprised, and then royally pissed as he shoved my fists away. "Put those away," he told me. "We're all in the same boat, dude."

"I don't see any boat," I growled, averting my glare. We had arrived at the Medical Station, where Ezzie was patching up some of the injured people. I had figured they were as good as dead. Mark set eyes on Ezzie, and then on her stitching job.

"Christ, Mahoney," he piped up. "You lose one girl, who has a badass knife and amazing skills, and bring back a fucking pixie with a needle and thread."

Ezzie's head slowly turned, and then fixed her eyes on Mark, appalled, clutching the needle she'd been using. "Excuse me?"

He scoffed, "I said you're useless."

"Listen," Ezzie said, her voice razor-sharp. "You find someone else with extensive training in the medical field here. Find someone who can help you mend broken bones, deal with infection, and knows about a large variety of plants and what you can eat or not. Find someone who can stitch you up when your dumb ass cuts yourself open because you don't know how to use a fucking knife. Fick dich, arschkopf. If you don't want my help, then you can catch malaria and die before coming to ask me for help."

Holy shit. I had no idea what half the things she was saying were, but I was finding myself starting to like this girl.

He chuckled nervously, "No, I was just saying that we don't need you-"

She shook her head furiously. "That isn't what you said, man. Listen, before I slice up the sides of your mouth and smash your cheap ass sunglasses, and make you regret speaking to me and calling me a goddamn Pixie , apologize, tell me I'm the best thing to happen to this whole Lord of the Goddamn Flies mockery, and then leave."

Mark put his hands up in surrender. "Sorry." Then he slowly faded from the scene.

I started to laugh so hard my stomach ached, and I heard bubbly laughter start up suddenly from beside me. My eyes met with a head of black curly hair, and curved brown shoulders. I had no idea how long Alaska had been standing there.

"What?" Ezzie asked, shrugging. "He called me a Pixie."

"And I don't know what arschkopf means," I said, "but I'm guessing it's not angel." Alaska began to titter with laughter again, and I smiled widely as Ezzie kind of grinned subtly, not being able to help it. "I like you," I told her, and my bubblegum tasted like heaven in my mouth. Alaska was watching me chew it, my jaw clenching and unclenching. I glanced at her back, shot her a smile and a wink. She tucked her hair behind her ear.

"You're jealous of my gum, aren't you?" I asked Alaska.

Looking flustered, she tried to be sarcastic. "You got me."

"I bet I could nail your middle name on a wild guess."

"Okay," She encouraged, blushing.

"Purple," I guessed, after a small time in which I pretended to entertain several possibilities.

"You got me," she stuttered through her laughter. God, I liked it when girls laughed. It was a beautiful thing.

My smile faded, my stomach beginning to ache a strange kind of ache. I rubbed the back of my neck. "I'll be right back," I said, and walked away, my hands sheltered in my pockets. I ducked past the tree line and between the thicket of birch trees. It was getting slightly dim; the kind of dimness in the evening where the sun is an orange glow and everything is a mixture of shadow and true form. I walked deeper into the jungle. I went to the bathroom, mostly as an excuse for my walk. As I was zipping my jeans, I heard a distant noise.

It was the sound of human movement; particularly placed steps and the occasional broken twig underfoot. I heard branches cracking, leaves parting. I stood up straighter. The noise stopped. It could be an animal, I tried to convince myself. Then I saw a glimpse of yellow light between the branches. Someone from camp couldn't have wandered off this far, I thought. My mind went to the brute that had left the note. I was about to duck for cover when a silhouette appeared about twenty yards from me. I squinted. "Hey," I called dumbly. "Who's th—"

The silhouette stepped into the light, and what I saw cut off my words. My eyes slowly made out the contour of a girl's body form, wispy brown hair, and God awfully beautiful blue eyes.

"Blue?" I asked, my whole body feeling like jello.

"Chris," she breathed, and I swore it was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard in my life.

Alaska | Group A

"If you wanna find your dead girlfriend, you're gonna have to find her yourself."

The words of the boy from earlier echoed through my ears, and I remember waiting, anticipating Chris denying the 'girlfriend' comment. If he had a girlfriend, he wouldn't have kissed me. He wouldn't have teased me about being kissed by him.

His jaw worked up and down, chewing on gum that I wasn't sure how he'd gotten.

"You're jealous of my gum, aren't you?" He asked, and I could feel my face heating up.

Why would I be? "You got me."

He paused, then, as if remembering something important. His face contorted with what looked like painful memories resurfacing, and I almost felt guilty, though I did nothing.

"I'll be right back," He said after a moment, with his hands shoved in his pockets, as I'd noticed they'd been there a lot. Hiding something? Probably. Not my business, though.

This was my chance. I could get an answer out of him, finally, since he had not given me one yet.

I started after him, surprised when he didn't notice me. I was going to call out to him, but it seemed too soon-- plus, my voice felt like it'd been caught in a net. If I tried to talk, it wouldn't budge for a couple of seconds, and I'd sound pathetic.

Trudging after him, I soon lost the back of his head. The shadows crept along with me, strolled by my side, mocked my movements-- I felt a shiver crawl up my spine. I was rescued from my growing discomfort as his voice jolted me back.

"Hey," I thought he was directing that towards me, but after realizing that he couldn't see me, nor could I see him, my shoulders slumped in both relief and, what, disappointment? "Who's th-"

-ere?

It was quiet for a moment, and I stumbled forward until I could see him. Staring at something. Looking like a deer in headlights. I actually never understood that saying. Back in Jamaica, the headlights were more afraid of the deer than the deer of the headlights.

"-ue?" I was snapped out of my thoughts at this, and was confused at first.

The crunching of the leaves under the sticks I used to walk did it's best to consume my thoughts, and I felt almost relieved. My brain was working overtime.

"Chris!" An unfamiliar voice drowned out the crunching, and I sped up as much as I possible could.

I broke into a clearing, and the two people came into view. The tall, lean, muscular figure that I'd come to know as Chris...and a girl. She was small, kind of, with brown hair and...I don't know, an animal? A cat-like looking animal perched on a log next to her, chattering quietly. I'd seen something like that back in Jamaica, a couple of times.

"Blue," Chris' voice breathed, and I frowned. Blue. What kind of name was that? "I-I can't believe..."

His voice trailed off, and I watched as he enveloped her in a hug. A hug that wasn't awkward. A hug that...that was almost as compassionate as the ones Ma and Pa used to give to each other.

I felt my mind crawl away. It didn't take much for someone to realize that these two people cared a lot about each other.

It didn't take much to realize that this was the girl who'd been missing.

A weird, uncomfortable, and unfamilar feeling swept through me, scratched at my throat, twisted my intestines together, stabbed me in leg with a blade as sharp as my brothers attitude. What was this?

Nothing. It wasn't anything. I felt as if I were intruding on a private moment.

Couples hugged. Kissed. Held hands. Spent time together. Talked. I'd done all of those with Chris, except, well...I hadn't hugged him. Not that I wanted to. Because we weren't a couple.

Right?

Wrong. Right. No. Yes. I don't know. I glanced back at the two, and they were close now, talking, whispering, close. Why didn't I like that?

Because a guy that I thought I hated kissed me, and made me feel special? Because this guy was now with the girl who-

I shake my head. How dare I think that we had something? Anything? Who did I think I was? This was the Chris. The one Jackie always called a 'player' and 'asshole'. The one who...who had pretty brown eyes, and an amazing smile. The guy who pretended he was in a football game in the middle of the woods, to make me feel better. To make himself feel better.

The guy who manipulated me. Kissed me. Let me sleep on him the night before.

"You can find love, baby girl. You can even let love find you. But don't let evil disguise itself as love, because then...well, then you won't want to find love again."

Mom was originally from America, actually, but she moved to Jamaica when she turned 18. She'd caught onto the accent, but she was still very fluent and exceptional with the English accent, which could be understood easier.

I chuckled, and turned away. The comforting sound of crunching leaves took over my thoughts again, as I started heading back over to the beach. Love. I didn't need it. I don't need it. Not that I was anywhere close to getting it.

I wondered, for half a second, if I was being too loud. If the two people could hear me. But then the bright smiles of my family members, back in my home town, clouded my mind, and I realized that I had love. It just wasn't the kind of love that left you feeling lost, useless, or even more broken than you already felt. It made you feel accepted, happy, and indivudually cared for.

Maybe I was assuming too much. Maybe this girl wasn't what I thought she was to him. But maybe she was. And maybe I'd been ignorant to let him make me think I was special.

Or maybe I should be focusing on much more important things. Like Jackie, Chelsea, everything that had happened in the past week. Instead of this stupid, useless drama that I'd built up in my own mind.

Maybe there was nothing with us to begin with. Maybe I should stop it. Maybe I shouldn't be so naive.

Maybe I used the word 'maybe' too much.

But maybe-- long branches struck my face as I hurried forward, and I blinked in surprise. Voices flurried behind me, and I wasn't sure if they were directed towards each other or someone/thing else. I took in my surroundings, and what I saw...well, it surely did surprise me.

Bushes freckled the sacred grounds around me, and feather-like leaves lined the edging of the shrubs.

"Faleb!" Mothers voice beckoned the small girl inside, as the cursed water began to rise, threatening to devour her fragile body at any second. "Faleb, come, child!"

The feather plants, as she'd named them, danced with the wind, and waved at her as she turned to walk away. The storm in the sky screamed at her, and Paynt, her younger brother, sat on the front porch, about twenty feet away, at his mothers feet.

"I got dese'," The girl, Faleb, called as she grinned at her mother, "See, ma?"

"Balm oil," I grin, and shake my head. Balm oil was several oils used for physical healing, spiritual healing, or other purposes as part of an obeah ritual back in Jamaica. We would use it often, at home, because my mom was the village's spiritual healer-- or, well, Kumina-- though, she was sometimes considered a myal. Except, when not used to address someone, it's cumina, which is actually an indigenous Jamaican cultural form comprising religion, dance, and music based on African traditions, so it's not exactly what mom is-- um, was. Anyways, it is known for lively worship, spirit possession, healing rituals, and steelpans (which are basically drums) based music, but Paynt was the pannist, steel pan musician, when Ma had a customer. It calmed them-- the pounding of the wood on metal. I didn't understand how.

The loud, metallic ringing filled my ears, wafting from my childhood memories. I started plucking leaves from the bushes, and humming an old tune my Baba used to sing to my brother and I.

Though it was getting darker, in the woods, it felt soothing to be doing this, like when I was younger. I kept expecting my mothers voice to yell out for me, though the only sound that reached my ears were the crunching of leaves, chattering animals, and the soft whistle of the strangled wind.

Glancing up, the gleaming of the angry sun beat down, and warned whoever was listening that it wouldn't be able to hold itself up for much longer. Through the rays of sunlight, soft, olive green plumps of fruit-looking shapes bundled close together, and another smile crept across my lips.

Kenepa. They were ovoid fruit that were normally ripe during the Summer, and they usually tasted slightly bitter. But they were good. Deciding that, yes, I was good enough to climb up there and get some, I threw my crutches aside, and began scaling the tree- ignoring the burning pain searing through my leg. Maybe I wasn't good enough to be doing this.

Maybe I shouldn't bring the 'maybe's back.

Continuing to climb up, I finally, after Jah knows how long, I reached a thick branch with a bundle of the almost putrid smelling fruits. With a deep breath, I stretch my arm out, and grasp the fruit-- the outside has tight, thin but rigid skins. I pull it towards me, and what looks like thicket breaks off of the branch easily. There's at least seven there, moping downwards, and I smirk with satisfaction. Tearing one open, I survey the insides. The skin is the tart, tangy, or sweet pulp of the fruit covering a large seed. The pulp is usually cream or orange colored, and that's what this one looked like.

It didn't take long for me to empty out the pulp and eat it. I hadn't realized how hungry I'd been. After eating two more, I tossed the rest down, and tore a couple more bundles off of the branch before throwing them out of the tree with the others, and lifting myself out of the sitting position.

I don't exactly recall what happened next, or how it happened, but the last thing I felt was my sticky fingers attempting to grab ahold of something, anything...the leaves slapping me, the wind screaming in my ears, and somebody yelling.

Was I yelling? I had to be, right? Nobody was around me. Right?

Maybe I shouldn't have done this...right?

Mark McSugar

Of course I helped them, I was a cool guy. Cool guys don't sit at the back while the main shit happens at the front. So, I dragged them out, I carried them, I even stitched a guy's leg at one point.

"What's your name?" they kept asking me. "Who is this guy?" I heard them talk about me. Sure, they didn't know my name, but they cared enough to ask, so yeah, they could see me alright.

If there was one thing I hated, it was wasting time. I entered the black wreckage as many times as I could before it burned out. While everybody just stared at it, I extracted as many supplies as I was able.

When I got tired, I sat down on the sand, it was nighttime already. I placed my hand on my head – how did I not have brain damage with dents like that? I leaned back, and then I felt it: I had been wearing a backpack the whole time! It was grey and green, pretty hefty, too. After taking it off and throwing it with the rest of the supplies, I flopped on the beach once more, used to the pain of falling.

"You alright, dude?" some girl asked, my vision was so blurred, I couldn't tell who she was.

"Yeah, I'm just tired, we all are," I uttered. "We should all crash," I said, but she didn't laugh. I slowly shut my eyes and allowed the noises to fade away.

* * *

"It was pretty easy," the guy in front of me said. "They do checks before it takes off, so it has to happen after it's in the air. It wasn't that difficult, all I did was get the fuel to burn faster than it should. The burn spreads to the tank, and boom." I got interested, so I leaned forward to listen better. If I had a mirror in front of me, I could have seen myself squint and wince, all to better perceive the words from the seat before me. "I'd say we've got less than ten minutes."

"Wait, you're fucking serious!?" a whispering voice spoke.

"Of course I'm fucking serious, you know I don't joke."

"But, why..?" the whisper asked after a pause.

"Why!?" the guy spoke without worry of getting heard "Because for four years we've been invisible. Because for four years they tormented us, for four years they made us feel like the lowest shit! And they don't even remember it, it was just a game to them. When we were the best students everybody asked for our homework, but then looked the other way when they saw us in the street. Get hurt to save a drowning dog? Get shot to save a couple of people? Nobody gives a shit. I'm the best player, I should have been captain!"

"Shit, that's fucked-up. You've gotta stop it, I don't wanna die!"

"There's no stopping it now, but you don't have to die with the rest of the scum. Here, it's a parachute, come with me. You have been an OK friend, so you can live."

"I won't let you do this."

"Come on, give it back," the guy pleaded. "It's time."

"No."

"Give it back man, there's no time for games, come on."

"Attention, ladies and gentlemen…" Yeah, it was the fucking plane again... But this time it was different. I was in control. I looked out the window at the exploding wing, then at the frightened faces of the passengers. It was as if everything and nothing was happening at the same time.

The explosion was slow, the ball of fire expanded sluggishly, the metal wing bent at a decelerating rate. Still, it was pretty fucking terrifying.

I looked in front of me, and there was no seat, only the plane wall, a scratched, yellow wall with a large mirror screwed into it. I gazed into the silvery reflection – I held a parachute in my arms, it was grey and green in colour. Then the flames overtook us all over again.


* * *

I opened my eyes, I was on the beach once more. It was daytime, the sun high up, the people looked more composed. The crash did fuck with my brain after all. "I wouldn't do this, under any circumstances… would I?" I whispered.

There was only one way to find out. I leapt to my feet and dashed for the pile of supplies. The survivors had dived into it like vultures, opening bags and backpacks like they were early Christmas presents. It took me a moment to locate the backpack I had thrown the previous night – some kid had grabbed it, ready to scavenge it for even the smallest crumbs of food.

"That's mine," I casually said, trying not to sound desperate.

"I saw it first," the boy stubbornly stepped back.

"Listen here, kid," I said as my heart accelerated. "I don’t give a shit if you were born in it. Give it to me right now, or I'll slap you so hard your dead teacher is gonna feel it."

He lowered his head and offered me the backpack.

"Douche," some girl said and gave me a stern look. But it was worth it. I snatched it and ran away into the forest. I made sure nobody was following, then leaned against a large tree.

With one swift, eager motion, I popped the backpack open. It was a parachute.
My legs could hold me no more, I breathed heavily as I sat down. I did this? I was responsible? But… I was popular, everybody knew me, didn't they?

How could I forget my whole person? How could I forget who I was? And, being invisible? That wasn't even a good reason to blow up a plane, and I'm such a fucking loser that I couldn't even do that right!

I had dents in my skull, but I wasn't stupid. There was at least one person who knew what I had done. They could have been dead, but they could just as easily have survived. I had to find out.


* * *

I talked with everyone the following day, none of them even recognized me, let alone freak out in my presence. Only after I had spoken with the last person did I feel safe and less frightened.

This head injury really messed with my head. I was a jerk more than just a couple of times. I felt bad immediately after, but it would have been stupid to apologize every single time I spoke, so I just went with it.

It wasn't long before someone went to search for the plane's radio. I would have gone with them, but they never told me. The past was catching up.

So, I did the only sensible thing I could do: I waited. They got back with little delay, but I was ready. During a great commotion and fuss, I sneaked to the radio and chewed a couple of wires out. Even if they got batteries, which this radio lacked, they wouldn't have been able to use it. I was safe.

Saph

Carlisle grunts as he drops down onto the branch below him. He tip-toes across and crouches down as I climb down onto the same branch, legs trembling. For some reason, this is scarier without Fossa with me, and Tenrec chittering on my shoulder. I’d decided to leave him behind today in case I fell out of the tree. I wouldn’t want him to get hurt.

“Here,” Carlisle offers me his hand.

I take it and he lifts me up and lowers me onto the next branch. Instantly, I crouch down and grab a hold of the small branches and leaves around me to stay balanced as Carlisle climbs down to crouch beside me.

“Why are you still wearing that?” He asks, eyes trained on my neck, more specifically the yellow piece of fabric around it.

Shrugging, I give him a measuring look. “I dunno,” I can’t help the challenging note in my voice. “I like it I guess.”

He shrugs and stands up. “Okay,” he says. He moves across on the branch and drops down through a patch of leaves. I can’t help the small squeal that escapes my lips as he disappears. I hold my breath and wait a few seconds, listening as he hits the ground.

“Jump down!” He calls up.

“I hate you!” I scream as I copy his movement and step through the patch of leaves. I fall into his arms and he puts me down onto my feet. I drop to the leafy ground to regain my breathing, heart rate and composure. “Yep, I hate you.”

Carlisle chuckles. “You jumped, so you clearly trust me,” he jibes.

I jump to my feet and glare at him. “Whatever,” I snap. “I’ll be back here in five hours.”

“You don’t have to be,” he arcs a brown eyebrow.

“I’ll be back here in five hours,” I repeat. “You have to be here to help me climb back up.”

He smirks. “Alright,” he leans against the trunk of a nearby tree. “You know, you’ve gotten braver over the past couple of days,” he says.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he nods, giving me a half smile. He has this strange look in his eyes whenever he looks at me. It’s a mixture of guilt, relief, and something I can’t quite place. I wonder what it could be. Was he really close friends with my father? Or did my father do something really bad, and he doesn’t want to tell me? “Now go have your bath, and stop staring at me like you’re trying to figure out life’s mysteries.”

“Arsehole,” I hiss, and spin around to walk away.

Finding my pond, I go to the toilet and have a nice bath. As I lay on the rocks waiting for my hair and clothes to dry, I stare up at the tree tops and let my mind wander. I think about what Carlisle said. Have I really gotten braver? And in a shorter time than when my psychologist was working with me? Maybe it’s because Carlisle doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile. Or maybe it’s because I know he won’t hurt me, and I trust him more. He is right, I do trust him.

My mind turns to Chris suddenly. I trust Chris, I think. I mean, he’s my first real friend since the move to America. And it feels so great to finally have a friend that I can joke around with. Even though it was short lived. That thought makes my heart twist in my chest, and tears burn my eyes. I wipe at my face, frowning. Am I … crying? Why would I cry? Do I really miss Chris that much?

No longer wanting to dwell on that thought, because the way my heart skips a beat unnerves me, I sit up and check my clothes. Dry, and warm! I pull them on with a relish and comb my fingers through my damp hair. I wince and hiss every time I come across a tangle, and tug until it’s gone. When my hair is reasonably neat, I turn around and spot Fossa sniffing in the leaves. She looks up at me and yips, before trotting off. With a huge smile on my face, I follow her.

We walk through the undergrowth of the jungle for a while, and I wonder if Fossa is taking me anywhere in particular. As I walk, I create a path for myself. It’s faint, but I’ll be able to recognise it. I marvel at the colours around me, from the plants to the animals. I love this jungle so much. It’s so beautiful, so tranquil. I could stay here forever, I wouldn’t care if no rescue boats or planes come.

Fossa suddenly stops and lifts her nose in the air. I pause behind her, wondering what she’s smelt. She sniffs a couple of times before turning to look at me and carry on with her light steps. I follow her, ears peeled for any strange sounds. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, and give Fossa an envious look. I wish I had senses as good as her, then navigating through forests and jungles would be so much easier.

I hear crunching and shuffling and pauses. Fossa has climbed up a branch and has disappeared from sight. Frowning, I follow her and nearly trip over a fallen branch. I right myself and move through some shrubbery.

“Hey!” A voice calls. “Who’s th –?”

I stop in my tracks, eyes widening. Chris stares back at me, relief and shock clear in his eyes.

“Blue?” He asks, as though he can’t believe his eyes.

“Chris,” I breathe, warmth flooding my body.

“Blue, I-I can’t believe this,” he stutters.

He rushes forward and I grin wide as he flings his arms out to hug me. The momentum sweeps me off my feet and we fall backwards, landing in the leaves on the jungle floor. I laugh as I try to regain my breathing, lungs straining from the lack of air. Chris pushes himself up onto his elbows and stares down at me, a smile slowly growing on his face.

“You know what the funny thing is,” he says, “I actually missed you.”

“Really?” I blink in surprise. “I did too, but I took that as because we’re friends.”

Something passes across his eyes. “We are?” He asks.

A blush creeps up my cheeks, unbidden. Carlisle’s words come back, and I wish I hadn’t remembered them.

“I bet your Idiot Friend is your lover, and you miss him.”

“Are we?” I ask.

Chris stares at me, his smile slowly fading. He lowers his face and his eyes flutter closed as his lips brush very gently across mine. I start in surprise and he quickly pulls away. There is something different in his eyes, something I thought I’d never see there. For the first time since I met Chris, I see uncertainty in his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have –” he begins.

“Chris,” I cut him off, voice light and breathy.

A sly grin spreads across his face and he lowers his head again to kiss me. It’s awkward and I don’t know where to put my hands, because I’ve never kissed someone before, so I let Chris take control. The kiss is brief, and when he pulls away, we’re both grinning like crazy, foreheads pressed together.

“I really did miss you, Blue,” he says.

“I know, I missed you too,” I lift my hands and place them on his cheeks. His skin is so soft, and I love how he closes his eyes as I run my fingers over his cheekbones.

“Where were you?” Chris asks, and instantly the magic moment we shared shatters. “There was this note, I thought you’d been kidnapped.”

I look away and let out a shaky breath. “I was, and he was really mean to me, but then we started talking –”

“He?” Chris growls.

I move my hands to his chest and push lightly against it. He sits up and leans back, pulling me with him.

“His name is Carlisle. But he’s okay,” I tell Chris. “He knew my father.”

Chris looks at me with confusion. “Your father?” He asks.

I let out another shaky breath and take Chris’s hand in mine to calm myself. “I never knew my father. He died when I was really little, out at sea. Carlisle is a skipper,” Chris gives me an odd look. “A boat captain. So was my dad.”

“And they were … friends?” Chris asks.

I bite my lip. “I don’t know,” I furrow my brow. “Carlisle didn’t really say. But he knew my dad quite well. We’re exchanging stories so I can walk around down here for five hours. Although Carlisle has given me free range now. I can leave the tree whenever I want.”

“You were in a tree?” Chris barks. “What kind of idiot would put you in a tree? What if you’d fallen out and hurt yourself?”

“Chris, the tree is huge, and Carlisle made a wall of vines around the branches so I couldn’t … uhm, escape. But I’m free to roam around the jungle now, which is how I’m here now,” I smile softly at him.

“Come back to the beach with me, then,” Chris tugs on my hand.

I bite my lip. “Chris … I can’t. I can’t be around all those people. I missed you so much, but I can’t be around those people. I have social anxiety, and it’s r-really bad,” I pause after my stutter. “You can come with me if you want?”

Chris stares at me for a while, chewing on his bottom lip. He takes a deep breath, and opens his mouth to speak.

“Blue, I –”

"Blue, I–" I pushed my tongue into the side of my cheek. I scratched the back of my head, then leaned in a little closer. "Yeah," I breathed resignedly, "Yeah, I'm coming." I stumbled closer to her. Looking relieved that I hadn't decided to send her back off to where she came from alone, she smiled, her blue eyes glinting in the darkness, bracing my arm with her other hand that wasn't already in mine.

Plans began to formulate in my head, quickly. In the back of my mind, my memory reached back to this movie with a giant elephant that Rian liked as a kid, where the weather went real funky and houses just fell from the sky, already built. Those were like my plans. I was telling her what she wanted to hear. That was something I was good at, telling people what they wanted to hear to get what I wanted. Not my most desirable trait, I could admit. But I could play the good guy, and say things like "I shouldn't have kissed you" even when I knew fair and square I goddamn well should have.

"We should wait till morning," I told her. "It's not safe to be running around the jungle at night." I lowered my voice, gazing into her eyes. "And we both know that, don't we."

She shook her head defiantly. "I know right where it is."

"I don't give a damn," I said.

She was still shaking her head, looking worried. "I only have five hours. Less now."

"I don't give a damn," I repeated. Five hours? What kind of kidnapper gives her five hours to go wherever? I backed away from her, and began to walk in the other direction, back towards the beach.

"Chris?" She said, sounding slightly wary of her surroundings, when I was out of sight.

After a pause, I said, "You better catch up, angel. Train's leaving." Then I continued walking, making sure to stomp over a bunch of underbrush to give her some indicator of where I was for when she decided she couldn't go back to that damn tree without me. I walked for what felt like ten minutes. I listened for Blue to be running up behind me, but there was nothing.

Then I began to hear something else. What is it with this jungle making me hear things? It didn't take long for my ears to place the sound. Screaming. My heart started thumping as I tried to locate where it was coming from. The girl's screams intensified, and I jogged towards my left. "Where are you?" I called, yelled rather, through my hands. As I ran, the shrieking was louder, until it felt like it was originating from directly above me. And then, as quickly as it began, it was gone, followed by a hollow thump.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark silhouette moving on the ground. At first I approached slowly. When I got closer, I made out a head of dark curly hair. "Laska?" I jogged to her side. She was laying on the ground, whimpering slightly. There were tears in the corners of her eyes. They sparkled when the moonlight caught them. She inhaled deeply through her nose. It looked like she couldn't get up. "Hey," I asked, "What happened?" I squatted down beside her.

Her eyelids blinked rapidly, focusing in on my face. "The wind—" She swallowed. "It got knocked out of me. I was—I just fell from up there, and—" She took a deep breath, turning away from me. She tried to get up.

"I have no clue what the hell you're saying, but I think you better let me help you," I mumbled, laughing, trying to get ahold of her arms. "I'm pretty good at carrying people, you know. Must be these guns," I ranted, looking down at my bicep. "I carried my friend all the way from the stadium on Grantmore to the hospital on West Main once. Had a nasty tumble with a lineman. Ten stitches, right here." I pointed to my forehead. I was talking absolute nonsense.

Alaska seemed to calm down a bit. I tried to get one arm underneath her legs, and one around her shoulders. "No," she said quickly, gripping my arm tightly, "I don't want your help."

She sounded a little mad. Something about the way she said it made me back off. I put my hands up in mock surrender and took a step back. She got her elbow under her, and winced as she got to her feet. She stumbled suddenly, and her leg nearly collapsed beneath her. I caught her under her elbow, quickly supporting her by putting my arm around her waist. "Hey," I said, "It's all right." She kept her head down, looking embarrassed and in pain. "Here," I offered, "Let's get you back to the beach, what do you think?"

~~

As it turned out, that girl Ezzie was a real stud at being a medic. She had Alaska's leg wrapped ASAP. I told her; I said, all sincere, "Ez, you're a real stud," but she just kind of snorted and then bent down to ask Alaska if she was okay. Alaska had settled down into one of the make-shift gurneys, and despite my height, I had to keep craning my neck to see her as Ezzie hustled around her bed. I could only catch a glimpse of one or two body parts at a time. Her T-shirt pulled over her shoulder. A long leg, muscles taught. Her eyes shifting under her brown eyelids and black lashes, her pink lips shifting as her cheek flinched.

"Hey," Ezzie said, trying to get my attention. "Um..." She walked up to me, her arms crossed, and then said softly, "Maybe you should, you know, leave. In the hospital, they make you wait in the waiting room. And since we don't have one of those, outside the tent will do just fine."

"Whatever you say, doc," I agreed, giving her a mock salute. Alaska didn't seem too intent on talking to me anyway. She wouldn't look me in the eye, and whenever I called her name, her eyes closed. I knew she was pretending to sleep. It was easy to tell, anyway. If you wanted to really fake a nap, you had to set your breathing just right, where your chest rose up and down and you feigned a good snore every once in a while.

Instead, I ducked out of the tent. Right when I emerged, I ran straight into somebody, hands bracing themselves gently against my stomach. I wiped my eyes, looking down to see Blue. Partial relief flooded me. "Are you okay?" She asked.

I wiped my mouth. "Yup." I didn't tell her about Alaska. I didn't want to. "C'mon," I said, put an arm tightly around her shoulders. "We should get goin'."

She blinked. "What? I thought you said we should wait till morning?" She glanced around nervously, shrinking under my arm, cringing in the firelight. Her eyes darted to a group of people standing a ways down the beach.

"Change of plans," I said, pulling her towards the jungle, and past the tree line. "Let's get this party started."

She seemed perplexed, but glad, and said, "This way." I let my arm fall to my side, and told her that if I tripped in the dark, it'd be all her fault. "You're agile," she said, and then added, blushing, "Quarterback." I flashed her a cheeky smile that I didn't know if she caught in the darkness.

As we began walking, I jogged over to a nearby tree, tipped on its side. Next to it, there was a messy pile of fallen branches. I chose one the length of my arm. "What are you doing?" Blue asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I asked, my mouth agape, spinning the branch around in my hand.

"Wielding a light saber?" She asked. "Swinging a baseball bat?"

The corner of my mouth turned up, my eyes narrowing. "You gotta work on your charades, sweetie." I reached my hand out, touching my fingers to the inside of her palm. She grabbed my fingers, her face flushed. Luckily, this severed the conversation quickly, she seemingly forgot about the fact that I was holding a giant tree branch in my hand. As we were walking, I fell back slightly, letting her lead the way. I reached into my pocket, pulling out the knife.

"Can I see the knife?" Summers finally asked me, breaking the silence. I took it out of my pocket and tossed it to him. He caught it with his left hand and began to examine it.

"Lefty?" I asked him.

"Ambidextrous," he said, playing with the knife.

I kind of laughed. Summers glanced up at me. "That's not a word," I said.

"Yeah," Summers said, looking at me like I had three heads, all on fire. "It is. When you're right-handed and left-handed."

"Oh," I said, scratching my head. "Sounds like one of those things doctors say. Like," I put on a deep and measure voice, "He broke his left femur and ambidextrous."

"You ever break your ambidextrous?" Summers asked.

"Once," I told him. "Six years old. Tricycle accident."

"Damn tricycles," Summers chided.

I guess Summers must have given it back to me; another of those events that just didn't stick in my memory. I tried not to think about it, and started to methodically carve the knife around the tip of the wood, shaving of the bark that peeled at the edges, going with the grain. I broke the bottom end of the branch off, and then continued chiseling. It would make for a good spear. I cut faster and harder, walking a little slower, just to make sure I didn't lose any time. My energy came from my imagination of the moment where I did away with that son of a bitch. From where I hit him over the head, stabbed him in the gut, watching as he bled to death, before I looked him in the eye and said, "Now she's mine." It wasn't exactly a comforting thought, but it fueled my fire, sharpened my concentration.

We'd been walking for a good, long while when Blue looked back at me, squinting, her silhouette barely visible in the pitch black of the forest. "Chris? What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing," I mumbled, shaving away.

"I can't see you," She said. "It's dark." I wondered where that damn flashlight I had seen her carrying went.

"How long until we get there?" I asked, switching the subject. She fell for it. Classic trick.

"Only a little farther. Maybe a m-minute or s-so." She swallowed, her head down. She waited for me to catch up. I placed a finger atop the tip of my spear. Sharp enough. It wasn't perfect, but it was satisfactory. I figured this was the best it was going to get. Blue's fingers tangled in her hair. "Chris, maybe this isn't such a g-good idea. I mean, he doesn't know you're c-c-coming, and—"

I abruptly leaned my head in until we were breathing the same air, our noses brushing together. "Well then he can just—" I tilted my head. "—suck—" I let my lips brush against hers. "—my—"

She gave me a quick kiss on the lips, and then sheepishly shrank away. "I know," She stammered, smiling slightly.

Then we heard a rustling of leaves, a disturbance of the underbrush. Blue's smile faded. I heard a deep voice coming from behind a thicket of bamboo straight ahead. "Saph?" It called, a tall outline of a man parting through the underbrush. Go, I told myself. Do it now. My muscles tensed, my instincts kicking in. The knife fell from my hand, and I charged forward, spear positioned like a baseball bat in my hand. I heard a little yelp in Blue's throat, and I swung for the fences, as hard as I could. The stick collided with his head, yielding a satisfying crack.

For a moment the man was startled, his hand cupped to the side of his face. Somehow, to my surprise, he stayed on his feet. He was much bigger than I expected or remembered, his shoulders wide and his chest barrel-like. It didn't take long for him to recuperate. I went to swing at him again, my arm muscles taught and my gaze focused. Blue's "Chris, no!" echoing in my ears. But before I connected with his head again, he reached out and caught the end of the branch with his meaty hand. We were tugging blindly in the darkness, kneeing and jostling against one another.

The spear flew from our hands, and suddenly, I felt a tremendous blow to my jaw. For a second, my mind went blank, and there were lights behind my eyes. I didn't hit the ground, but instead was caught by the front of my shirt, and then by my shoulder. He pinned my arm behind my back, and I began to feel my shoulder ripping from its socket. Feeling my consciousness start to fade, I heard a rumbling voice say in my ear, "You thought you could get away with it, couldn't you?" There was a crude laugh.

"Screw you," My voice strained.

There was grunt of irritation. I felt my shoulder pop out of my socket, excruciating pain stabbing into my arm, and then I was out.

It felt like only minutes later when I regained consciousness.

I cried out in pain, hot pain searing through my body. Light blinded my eyes. It took me a moment to realize where it was coming from; a flashlight gripped in the hand of a large brutish figure with a scruffy beard. I took note of my surroundings. Shadows draped around the spotlight of the LED. I was in the same place I had been laying when I'd fallen. The man was yelling at Blue. Noticing my cry of pain (not my most noble moment), Blue came rushing over to my side. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the spear laying on the ground about ten feet away from me, poking out from underneath a bush.

"Are you okay? Chris, what were you thinking?" She lowered her voice to a whisper, "You know, he's not that bad, but if you get him angry..." She trailed off. Suddenly, I was bitter, angry. I did it for you, I wanted to say, even though I knew I did most of it for me. I didn't look at Blue. I couldn't move my arm; it hurt like absolute hell. Well, I tried to move it; I reached around my body and tugged on my injured shoulder. I felt the indent where my arm disconnected. I gritted my teeth, groaning.

I had dislocated my thumb once, my sophomore year of high school. I had a guy named Jenkins pop it back in, but for about an hour it looked like someone had dug a canal in my hand just where my thumb was supposed to be attached. It was uncomfortable, but nowhere near as painful as this.

"Which is your throwing arm?" The man finally spoke with something close to ruefulness, eyeing my shoulder. He rubbed his chin.

"I'm ambidextrous," I drawled sarcastically. "That's when you're right-handed and left-handed."

I watched the tall man and Blue share a murderous glance. I wondered why I was even here, if Blue and Uncle Bill were just going to have a nice old conversation about her daddy while the soldier sat there in anguish. Well soldier up, soldier, I thought, rage coursing through me, refusing to look at her, the pain overwhelming me. For a moment I thought I should have just stayed at the beach, maybe enjoyed a sip of two more of Gatorade, peeled one of those goddamn oranges, maybe sat on the edge of Alaska's bed, watching her close her eyes and try to fake me out, even if I couldn't be fooled.

Instead, I dismissed the thoughts from my head, and trained my eyes on the weapon. Then, suddenly, I pulled myself to my feet, my detached arm hanging low at my side. Blue immediately stood as well. I glared at the man, a glare of pure fury and disgust, and began to walk towards him.

"Chris," Blue said, about to grab my arm but then stopping, unsure of where to grab as to not injure me any further. I ignored her.

"What do you want?" I asked the man, stopping short about a foot or so from crashing into him, my voice low.

The man looked down slightly at me, his face crinkling. He looked to be over forty at the very least. "I don't know what you're talking about," He said, a certain assertiveness to his voice.

I raised my voice, my hands shaking for some strange reason. "You just know her dad?" I stood taller, raising my voice even further. "Her dad, her, a girl who fell from the sky because of a damn plane crash. On this shithole island in the middle of nowhere? You expect me to believe that bullshit?"

"I don't expect you to believe it," He said, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble. "You especially. Someone as narrow-minded, as dumb and ignorant as yourself couldn't begin to believe in anything so interconnected with fate."

"Just stop," Blue said, standing in between us, facing me, her hands on my chest. I batted them away with my good arm, staring at the man over her shoulder.

"What does that make you?" I asked. "A talking jackass?"

He didn't laugh at me, but frowned deeper. "I haven't done anything to hurt her. You trying to kill me helps nothing."

"Well I'd say I'd feel a lot better if you were dead," I said, my tone escalating.

He pointed at me indignantly, raising his own voice. "You don't have even an idea of who I am. I think you'd change your mind about wishing me dead if you realized that I'm only here to help, Chris." I felt a surge of resentment at the flicker of recognition in his eyes. I thought back to all of those hours spent yelling Blue's name through my hands and traversing the underbrush. Maybe she had heard me screaming for her, and even in her five hours of free time, she never had the decency to come looking for me; instead she tromped back through the forest to the old man who'd never done anything for her like I had, and begged for his acceptance. Acceptance that I'd given her without requiring suffering or even respect. Maybe she'd even told him about me, describing me like a dream that she had wistful recollection of, that she had half a mind to relive but never did. My anger grew, and I hated her for a sheer moment, hated her for doing all the things I always did; manipulation and rejection, manipulation and rejection; That's my job, I thought, That's my thing, and I guess I had never known how it actually felt until that moment.

It's his fault, I thought, burning my eyes into the man. "I'm gonna kill you," I told him menacingly. "I swear to God, I'll do it."

"I haven't harmed you, or anyone else." Summers's body flooded my head, his lifeless eyes and his shredded leg. A man like him, bawling his eyes out and then clutching at the front my shirt. I still felt his cold, wet fingers clawing at my neck. "Thanks for trying," he told me, his whole body shaking.

"Shut up," I said, my voice trembling, my hands shaking.

"I kept her because I needed to protect her," he said louder, his arms straightening, his neck extending.

"Why?" I roared. "Why the hell do you—"

"Because she's my daughter!" He screamed over me. "Because she's my daughter."

My eyes widened, my heart stopping mid-beat, and hell, I didn't expect that one.

No one talked to me.

I sat on the rock anchored in the sand until it felt like my ass was connected. I gazed out at the ocean, eyes searching for a glimpse of anything hopeful, anything that looked like it could be him. It wasn't all nothing; there were some things. A metal hatch, drifting until it crossed paths with floating baggage. Fleshy bodies bobbing up and down in the current so that they looked alive at first, at least until the stink of death reached you and their necks swung their limp heads in every which direction, and they didn't seem to care.

There weren't many survivors; maybe twenty at most. They congregated in groups of two or three. I could hear them bustling around me, trying to appear busy or at least convince themselves they had some type of purpose. A few of them cast a glance or two my way, but didn't make any effort to initiate any sort of conversation. I didn't blame them. I didn't feel like talking, either. I'd feel like talking when I had my damn best friend back.

Minutes blended into hours. My back started to cramp until it felt like my spine was compressing. I stood up just as the sun was starting to set, sweating deep pinks and reds across the horizon. I always noticed those things, the things like sunset and sunrise, and how tall the trees are and stuff like that. My mom used to tell me I had appreciation for nature. "You're a good egg, Louis," She'd say, lighting a cigarette. "You see the good in everything and everybody. Not like your mama. She's one bad girl." She'd laughed, a little cackle, showing her gold front tooth, and had shaken her head. "Bad, bad, bad."

I didn't bother dusting off my jeans. I just wandered to the shoreline, and then back to the tree line. I wrung out my hat and fit it over my head. If Chris were here, I knew we'd do something funny, something optimistic, probably of his device.

"Listen to me," I said aloud to myself. "If Chris was here this, if Chris was here that." I picked up a stone, throwing it so hard downwards that water flew into my face. "Fuck Chris, fuck everybody," I said louder, pelting stones into the water, rage and helplessness boiling inside of me. "Fuck me!" I yelled. Water sprayed up everywhere, I kicked and splashed with my feet until my pants were soaked. "Fuck me!"

My eyes were wet when I noticed the boy standing next to me. He looked taken aback, his curly hair sticking out in all directions, his concert band shirt ripped on the sleeve. "What're you lookin' at?" I asked.

"What're you doing?" The boy asked in reply. His white as white could be. I always joked with Chris that he was a good old white American boy, and he'd try to do what he called his black-guy impression. "Nope," I'd say, "You're the whitest white boy in white boy history."

Spotting a suitcase that had washed up on the sand, I clamped my fingers around the handle, shaking it out. "I'm buildin' a raft," I said. "My best friend went and got himself dead, so, I gotta get back and tell his mama." I looked away, taking a swipe at my watery eye.

"Shouldn't we just wait for rescue?" He asked, squinting at the sky. I stared at him until he met my eye. If rescue was coming, it would have been here by now. After a second, the boy said, "You know what, good idea. I think I saw somebody checking an ax at the airport. I'll find it and then we can get going." He was about to turn away, before he swiveled his curly head over his shoulder. "Oh yeah, what's your name?" He yelled.

"Lou," I said.

"I'm Kameron," he told me before he jogged away.

The wind began to blow, and a breeze swept over the beach. It was already too dark to begin any kind of work tonight, so I sat myself down on my rock. I opened the suitcase that I'd grabbed. Somehow the act of stealing didn't really occur to me. Maybe it did, and all I could think of was Johnny or Susie having a good old time with my Gameboy and my eighty dollar Nikes.

I found nothing much inside, only a few outfits that looked like they belonged to a guy, and standard toiletries which consisted of nothing more than a toothbrush, deodorant, and aftershave. Not even toothpaste. What're you gonna do, brush your teeth with aftershave? What a stupid loser. I shook my head, and pulled a hoodie I'd found over my shoulders.

"Goodnight, loser," he said, tapping my shoulder with his fist. I reached over and ruffled his hair, shoving his head away from mine before settling down into my pillow. I dozed off almost immediately to the sounds of the giant humming heater jammed under my window and the family across the street that liked to throw empty Coke bottles at the cars parked by the junkyard.

Sometimes I wondered why Chris even wanted to come over. His house was big comparatively, and furnished substantially. He always had Gatorade and sandwich meat in the fridge, and his parents (despite their frequent quarrels) had always seemed relatively normal to me. I would have rather went to his house, and I told him, but he always said he liked my place better. He told me that he didn't have a PlayStation, and that my house was closer to the fields.

I never thought anything of it. He had never lied to me before, and I managed to convince myself that maybe my resentment towards where I lived just amounted to having lived there my whole life. But I always worried about things, especially at that age. I worried that Chris would be hungry (before we were old enough to make a Stewarts run), I worried that he'd be cold (the heater didn't do much in the winter; the window had to be open so the temperatures kind of just cancelled each other out), and most of all, I worried that he'd be ashamed of me.

But he never was.

It seemed like minutes later when I jolted awake. Beneath the shades, my window flashed a bizarre shade of red. There were siren sounds, the same ones there had been when Mama had taken me to the station the day after Dad died. I could hear deep and muffled voices outside. I stood up groggily, walking curiously to the window. I pulled the chain next to the shades so I could see between the slats. My breath caught as I saw the black and white hood of a police vehicle. A door slammed. I saw the backside of an officer. There was a gun in his belt.

I turned and rushed to where Chris was fast asleep on the floor. I shook him awake, whispering loudly. "Chris, wake up! Something's goin' on!" He groaned, but wiped his eyes in the darkness and stood up. I grabbed his arm and dragged him to the window. We almost tripped over my PS3. I peeked through the slats until Chris threw the blinds over our backs like a superhero cape. We watched as the cop banged on the front door, his hand on the butt of the gun in his belt.

Panic flared in my chest. What if something happened to Mama the way it did to Dad?

Our shoulders were pressed firmly together, and our faces struggled to position themselves in order to see what was happening. "What's going on?" Chris asked me. A woman's screaming voice sounded from downstairs; I couldn't hear what she was saying. Mama. Instead of answering Chris, I tore myself away from the window and sprinted out of my room. I heard another door slam, more screaming. But when I burst into the entry of the stairwell, everything became fainter, a mere whisper.

Sleep came eventually, but with much difficulty. Not because of the nightmares; I was never one to have them. But because of my killer stomachache; my heart that twisted painfully and sank down into my stomach. The sand felt bumpy and uncomfortable. I couldn't seem to forget about the foreignness of the island; the predators that could be lurking in the jungle, ready to eat me. The possibilities weighed on me; about food, about rescue, about water, about the bodies that were in the ocean, and most of all, the bodies that weren't. Finally, my eyes drooped and I drifted off.

By morning, my body was cramped and achey. When I woke, I didn't waste any time. My eyes still adjusting to the bright sunlight blaring down onto my face and shoulders, I walked into the jungle, taking awkward steps, intimidated by the dark and thick canopy above me and the dense underbrush. I wondered if I got stuck in here, if anybody would come looking for me. In thinking about this, I nearly put my foot down on top of something black and slithery. I jumped. The snake skirted away from me. "Freaky," I muttered.

I caught sight of a pile of dead branches and a fallen tree. I didn't think the wood would be sturdy enough for a raft, at least not the dead branches, but I decided to collect it anyway. It might be good firewood. As I was trying to lift the branches, my muscles straining, a group of people walking through the forest almost scared the living daylights out of me. I dropped the branches, and then began grouping them in my hands again.

The people started walking my way. One of them looked like a Navy Seal, and the other one was the girl from yesterday. "Hey," I managed to call to them, getting up the guts to ask. Both of them looked my way. I addressed the ripped blonde guy, waiting for him to come a little closer. "You seen a guy? Brown hair, football jacket, tall." The girl, short and of some other ethnicity, had angular features and what looked like a tattoo on her arm. She said something under her breath.

"No," The guy said, and then, somewhat forlornly, "I haven't seen anybody."

I looked down, mumbling. "Well, you see a guy named Chris, you say somethin'." The boy nodded, and I gripped the branches tighter, more convinced that Chris had went and got himself dead than ever.

I began to creep down the stairs. I felt hot breath on the back of my neck. I didn't turn around, hearing him whisper, "I'm right here," in my ear, and then, in his secret-agent voice, "Coast is clear." It wasn't even funny, but he still did it. Our socks shuffling on the carpeted steps, we swung ourselves around the railing and made our way into the living room.

"Ma," I said, and then a little louder, "Ma!" I stepped on a popcorn kernel. It crunched under my foot, a whole bowl of it tipped on its side and dispersed across the living room floor. There was a layer of smoke suspended in the air.

"I got the kitchen," Chris said, and I headed into the bedroom, hardly hearing him.

"Ma!" I yelled. "Ma, you here?" My feet took me past the unmade bed and into the bathroom. The dirty tile was chipped at the edges, the wallpaper yellowing and ripping at the corners. I looked into the sink seeing a bug crawling in the drain, and then the plastic wrapped heroin stuck between the HOT and COLD labels on the faucet. The wad of drugs sat there in front of me, wrapped like a present. "Not every gift is a blessing," She'd said to me, lounging on the recliner by the window, her bandana tied tight around her hair.

It suddenly felt as if something was lodged in my chest between my ribs. I ran out of her room and back into the kitchen where Chris was. "She's not here," I told him, my throat closing up.

"You sure? I mean, she could be—"

"She's gone," I said, my heart squeezing in my rib cage. I could feel tears coming, burning under my eyelids.

The sound of tires squealing on pavement came from outside. Chris and I shared a look, and then we took off sprinting for the front door, throwing it open, and jogging outside in our socks. We saw it then, the rear end of the police vehicle, speeding down the road. "Ma!" I screamed, and took off behind the car. My legs carried me as fast as they could as the car gained ground, my mother disappearing in the distance. And I was crying, my legs weak and still pumping, bolting to the end of the street, screaming mad hell.

Suddenly, I was tackled from behind, arms hugging me around the middle, the momentum plowing us both to the ground. I tasted tears in my mouth, and my knee stung terribly. I cried like a baby as I saw the car pull out of sight, Chris's arm pinning back my shoulders, his other arms curled around my face so tight I thought he'd break it, whispering, "It's okay, Louis, alright? You can live with me till things work out, okay? It's okay, Lou. You can come live with me till things work out. Things'll work out. C'mon. It's okay. It's okay."

Trying to fix things right then and there like he does, as my heart imploded and my whole face went numb.

"I'm Elvis," The boy said. "This is, uh, Jackie. We're...we're looking for people, too." Jackie's eyes lit up a bit, and she started describing the exact image of a girl to me; a girl I had obviously never seen or probably even heard of in my life. But I kept eye contact, paying attention, because she lost her best friend just like I did. I guess I felt like I owed it to her.

"I'll keep my eyes out," I told her.

Saph


I stare at Chris, lying on the ground, his arm at an awkward angle. I should try to pop it back in. I should at least do something for him. But I can’t, because rage takes over me and I turn on Carlisle. He’s standing there all tall and proud, like he thinks he did a good thing by knocking out my friend. Well, I’ll give you something to feel, you piece of shit.

“That,” I indicate Chris’s prone form, “was unacceptable.”

Carlisle looks at me in surprise. “Saph, he came at me with a spear,” he growls. “Which, by the way, I’m surprised he had considering nothing gets by you.”

A small jab of guilt hits me, but I quickly brush it off. “It was dark,” I hiss. “I couldn’t see him.”

“Yes, that helps your defence quite a lot,” Carlisle says bitterly.

“You arsehole, you dislocated his arm!” I scream.

“Saph, I can fix it,” Carlisle shakes his head. “I’ve been here for fifteen years, I think I know a thing or two about –”

I growl and run at him. I catch him by surprise and manage to punch him in the jaw and chest before he grabs me and pushes me away. I stumble backwards a couple of steps and just stand there, glaring at him.

“Saph, that was unacceptable,” Carlisle snaps.

“No, you’re not allowed to say that to me,” I growl.

“Yes I bloody can,” he retorts. His accent gets thicker when he’s angry.

“No you can’t, and you shouldn’t have knocked out Chris!” I scream back.

“Saph, listen to me! He came running at me with a god damn spear, and you’re defending him? What is wrong with you?” Carlisle yells.

“He’s not as strong as you!” I cry. I feel a wave of protection wash over me. For Chris. “You’re not allowed to hurt him.”

“Not allowed …” Carlisle straightens and walks up to me, his balk towering over me easily. “Saph, I can do whatever the hell I want, you do not own me and you are not the boss of me. I was defending myself because this loon came at me with a spear he fucking whittled himself, most like! And you’re going to stand here and defend him when he attacked me first! Listen to what you’re saying, Saph! And if you think that I’m going to grant him immunity just because you –”

A cry of pain cuts off Carlisle’s rant and I spin around to see Chris moving around in the leaves. I rush over to him and drop down beside him, wondering if I should help him sit up or make him stay lying down. He has a glazed over look in his eyes, and my chest tightens. He must really be in pain.

“Are you okay?” I touch his shoulder gently. No response. “Chris, what are you thinking?” He looks at me and I feel relief wash through me. “You know, he’s not that bad, but if you get him angry …” I trail off when Chris glares at me. He looks away and reaches up to touch his shoulder. He groans in pain and I move back as he tried to sit up.

“Which is your throwing arm?” Carlisle asks, more amusement in his voice than anything, even if he does have the decency to sound bad. I cast a glare at him anyway.

“I’m ambidextrous,” Chris drawls, a smirk on his lips as he looks at Carlisle. “That’s when you’re right-handed and left-handed.”

I glance at Carlisle to see him clench his jaw and narrow his eyes. I can imagine a snarky reply dancing on the tip of his tongue, and I hold back a chuckle. I turn back to Chris to see him struggling to his feet. I jump up beside him and lean a little towards him in case he needs support. But the look in his eyes says he’d rather grab a handful of fishhooks. He starts toward Carlisle, that look of pure rage still on his face.

“Chris,” I reach out to grab his arm, but I don’t want to hurt him.

“What do you want?” Chris asks as he stops just before Carlisle, a dangerous note in his voice.

Carlisle stares down at him, a mixture of amusement and irritation on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says calmly, almost sarcastically.

He glances at me, and I narrow my eyes. Watch it, they say.

Chris grits his teeth. “You just know her dad?” He straightens a little, his voice getting stronger. “Her dad, her, a girl who fell from the sky because of a damn plane crash,” Chris indicates the jungle around us. “On this shithole island in the middle of nowhere? You expect me to believe that bullshit?”

Carlisle narrows his eyes. “I don’t expect you to believe it,” he growls out. “You especially. Someone as narrow-minded, as dumb and ignorant as yourself couldn’t begin to believe in anything as interconnected as fate.”

I march over to stand between them, giving Carlisle a glare before turning to Chris. I put my hands on his chest to stop him from moving forward. “Just stop,” I say softly to him. He pushes my hands away and continues to glare at Carlisle.

“What does that make you?” He asks. “A talking jackass?”

Carlisle grits his teeth and frowns at Chris. “I haven’t done anything to hurt her,” he says, and I think of the first two days when I was in the tree. And when I tried to escape. And how he called me Little Pig. I beg to differ. “You trying to kill me helps nothing.”

“Well I’d say I’d feel a lot better if you were dead,” Chris growls.

Carlisle raises a hand and points accusingly at Chris. “You don’t have even an idea of who I am. I think you’d change your mind about wishing me dead if you realised that I’m only here to help, Chris,” Carlisle roars.

Chris stands there in silence for a moment, heaving and glaring at Carlisle. I stare at him, concern in my eyes. He glances at me for a second, and the rage I see there cuts deep. Does Chris hate me now? I don’t understand what I could have done to deserve his hate, but it looks like he does. His look softens a little, and I feel hope blossom in my chest. But his eyes show his hurt, and I look away, ashamed of whatever it is I could have done.

“I’m going to kill you,” Chris says in a low, menacing voice. “I swear to God, I’ll do it.”

“I haven’t harmed you, or anyone else!” Carlisle snarls. And again I look at him. But he has. He hurt me, and he hurt Chris. And probably Summers too. My breath hitches in my throat at the memory.

“Shut up!” Chris hisses in a trembling voice. Was he thinking of Summers too?

“I kept her because I needed to protect her,” Carlisle raises his voice as he gives Chris a challenging stare.

“Why?” Chris roars. “Why the hell do you –”

“Because she’s my daughter!” Carlisle roars. “Because she’s my daughter!”

Everything stops. My heart stops, my lungs stop, my mind stops. Silence. Dead silence meets his words. Even Chris looks shocked. But I guess that makes sense. I guess that explains it. Why he had that expression when I told him my last name. Why he’s been giving me these odd looks. Why he’s been so nice. But he lied to me. He said he knew my father. Why didn’t he say he is my father?

Suddenly I’m running. My feet carry me away from Chris and Carlisle. I can hear them yelling after me, and then starting to bicker. How can Carlisle be my father? He can’t be! Mum said he died, the man that knocked on our door said he was dead! He can’t be; he has to be lying. But then, it would make so much sense. And his eyes are blue, like mine. And though Mum never spoke about him, there was always the hint that he wasn’t Australian, and Mum was way too racist for my father to have been any other ethnicity than Caucasian.

When I can’t run any further, I collapse against a tree to catch my breath back. My lungs stings from the need for air, and I cough and sob from the pain. I drop to my hands and knees and crawl under a bush. A moment later Fossa joins me, and curls up around me, keeping me warm. I close my eyes and sob quietly as I wait to black out.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunlight filters through the leaves and hits my eyes. I scrunch up my nose and feel something course and prickly go into my nostrils. I sneeze and quickly sit up, eyes wide open. I look down to see Fossa curled through my arms and legs. She lifts her head a little to give me a confused look before lying back down. I stare at her for a moment before untangling myself from her furry body, and stand up, brushing myself down. My hair is a tangled mess, my clothes are dishevelled, and I smell like dirt. Actually, smelling like dirt is quite nice. I like this new smell.

Taking a couple of steps back, I stretch and yawn. As I wipe at my face, I hear the sound of twigs crackling. I spin around to see Chris leaning against a tree, watching me, a soft smile on his face. I stare at him for a moment in silence before narrowing my eyes, taking a step away from him.

“What do you want?” I growl. “Are you here to yell at me now? Tell me you hate me? Or did he send you to get me?”

“If by ‘he’ you mean your father, then no. But he did find you,” Chris straightens and rubs the back of his neck, giving me a sheepish smile. “I thought it’d be best if I spoke to you first.”

“Well I don’t want to,” I snap. “I d-don’t want to.”

“Blue –”

“N-n-no,” I stammer, and take another step back.

“Don’t make me chase you,” he growls, but I catch the sly upturn of his lips as he says it.

I growl and turn around. I race off into the jungle, and Chris follows close behind. I wonder why he isn’t in pain. Maybe Carlisle put his arm back into place. I shake my head and clear my mind. No, don’t think about that. I focus on running, my legs moving faster, toes bouncing over the ground as I sprint. I notice a clearing and –

Something hits me from behind and I go flying. I hit the ground and roll, but before I can jump up, Chris comes into view and straddles my chest. He glares down at me, but the glare seems half-hearted. I wriggle and writhe under him, trying to get away. When I realise he’s too heavy for me to lift, I give up and stare up at him in defeat.

“Done?” He asks.

I nod.

He doesn’t move. “Good. Now, this is what’s happening. You’re coming with me back to your little tree house. We’re going to sit down and be adults –”

“Which we’re not,” I snap.

“And talk this all out,” Chris gives me a warning look. “Understood.”

“Bite me,” I snarl.

“Is that an invitation?” He winks at me as he leans down, our faces closer now. “Because it sounds like one.”

My face starts to heat up. “If you bite me, I’ll bite you back,” Chris smirks. “But it won’t be nice.”

“You take the fun out of everything, Blue,” Chris leans closer.

My breath hitches. “Well I can’t help it, you’re just so …” I trail off, trying to find a word.

“So …?” Chris raises an eyebrow.

I shrug. “Can’t think of anything,” I admit.

“Well, I’d like to point out that this is exactly how we were yesterday. And you know what happened yesterday?” Chris’s lips are so close to mine now.

Heat creeps up my cheeks as I stare at him, eyes wide. I want him to kiss me right now, but with the way he’s looking at me, that teasing sparkle in his eyes, I don’t think he will. Or maybe he’s challenging me, waiting for me to do it? Frustration builds up in my chest and I narrow my eyes.

“No?” Chris chuckles. “Would you like me to remind you? I can if you want, it’s very easy. All I have to do is –”

I lift my head just that little bit and our lips touch. Chris reacts instantly, his hands going to the back of my head to lift it up. My hands end up resting lightly on his chest. Once again, I let Chris guide my lips, and I close my eyes at the feeling. His lips are very soft, and warm. The kiss starts to get heated, and almost out of control, but Chris pulls back, his breathing a little ragged, matching my own. He stares at me, brown eyes shining, as he smiles.

“Not too bad for a first timer, Blue,” he teases.

“Well … yeah, shut up,” I retort. Why is it difficult for me to think?

Chris laughs and leans back. He stands up and helps me to my feet. But instead of walking away, Chris pulls me into a hug. It isn’t a tight, ‘I don’t want to let you go’ hug, or a ‘I don’t know if I should be hugging you, this is really awkward’ hug. It’s comfortable, relaxed, his arms folding around me, pulling me close, his chin resting on top of my head as he holds me flush against him.

“I was really worried about you, Blue,” Chris murmurs.

Tears prick my eyes. I bury my face into his collarbone and let them fall. Chris pulls away and looks down at me. He has a very uncomfortable look on his face, like he doesn’t know what to do with me now that I’m crying. I look up at him and then quickly look away.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” I stammer.

Chris hugs me again, only this one is tighter and more possessive. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “Blue, why do you stammer?”

I take a deep breath. “I have Social Anxiety Disorder,” I tell him, voice shaky. “I couldn’t be near people for a while without freaking out. I don’t like people. It’s my mother’s fault, too. She took me to a mental hospital, where they put all the proper bat-shit crazies, and left me there. So I’m … you know, a proper freak.”

“I don’t think you’re a freak, Blue,” Chris pulls me back to stare into my eyes. “You’re weird, but that’s what I love about you. And your hair,” he smiles, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I don’t know why, but I really like your hair when it’s all tangled.”

“I like your eyes,” I smile at him. “And your lips.”

“Do you?” Chris leans down, and I let him kiss me lightly. “Alright, we should probably get back to the tree, Carlisle won’t be too happy that I’ve kept you so long.”

Chris takes my hand, and I focus on how warm it is, and how rough it is against my hand, as he leads me through the jungle. I don’t think of anything but the feel of his hand. Nothing else. Just Chris, and he’s holding my hand, and he kissed me, and I’m back with him. I should be happy. Yet all I feel is dread. Gods help me.

There was so much blood, so many wounds to fix. So many people coming to the tent after I went off on sunglasses guy. I felt bad, because I didn't think he was that big of a dick, and I'm mad at myself for getting so angry as to screeching at him in german, but after I had cooled down and started bandaging people with whatever I could find, I noticed him across the beach, sitting in the sand with his head in his hands.

Part of me felt really sorry, because I could feel the sand seeping into my beat-up Chucks so I knew it was a pain on his ass. But I also had many people to attend to.

Becky had shrapnel in her arm, and we needed to remove it and cleanse the area and try to deal with whatever infections might have taken hold of her.

After that, Andrea and Gillian suggested that I stitched up some open wounds.

So I did. I busied myself with guts and gore and blood and bone, ignoring the rest of my issues, ignoring my want to lead people (even though I was not a leader) and find my Elvis, and whoever else could possibly be alive from that crash, maybe even that Saph girl.

To be honest, I didn't mind blood. I actually enjoyed fixing people. I think I saw about 15 people before the other person in the tent made me leave.

"Really, thank you for all of your help- you've done some things that we couldn't have been able to..." The boy was referring to the way I viciously re-broke another kid's arm in order to let it set properly. Then I made him a split out of strips of his own shirt and some rather thick sticks and told him not to move it unless he wanted to do it again. "But you need to rest, take a nap, get some food. I heard that some kids caught an animal. Go see if you can get some meat."

I sighed, 'kicked out of my own element, great.' I quickly padded across the beach to grab a new shirt and something to eat. I managed to grab a handful of berries and a huge black t-shirt, which proclaimed some random slang. I tried not to think of Elvis while I picked at the berries.

After they were gone, I sat for a few minutes staring at my purple stained fingertips.



He pulled my fingers to his lips, kissing each one softly.

"Ezra," he spoke, his voice calling my attention to his dazzling eyes. "My father isn't going to approve of a relationship before I go away-"

I scoffed, "Do you really give a shit about what your father has to say?"

He bit his lip, dropping his eyes to our hands. Of course he did.

"I-" I cleared my throat. "Well, I suppose he's disapprove more if he had a bastard grandchild, wouldn't he?"

His eyes snapped back up. "What are you saying?"

I looked down, at our hands, and untangled our fingers. With a soft, sad smile, I took his hands and placed them on my stomach. Tears stung at my eyes, and I blinked a few times before I could see clearly again. "Elvis..." I looked up at him through my lashes.

He swallowed and I felt his fingers prodding at my skin, feeling for anything.

"I'm pregnant," I finally said, watching his face for anything- disgust, anger, rejection? But I was surprised to see happiness and surprise.

"I'm gonna be a dad?" He asked quietly, wrapping his arms around me, drawing me closer. "Ezzie, we're going to have a baby." He told me this, as if he were a cancer patient learning that they had found a cure.

I nodded, crying, blinking as tears rolled down my face. "Yeah, baby. We're gonna be parents."

He smiled, and then seemed to remember something. "Ezzie, you're 16."

I nod once, "But I'll be 17 soon... It's not that bad."

He seems to sigh, but doesn't let go of me. I reach a hand up and toy with the few strands of hair in his face. "Ezra..."

"Hm?"

"I..." He trails off and I glance at him briefly. "I don't..."

After a moment of silence, he puts his chin on top of my head. He begins to sing softly, and while he's pitchy and not that good of a singer, I love his voice all the same.

"Wise men say only fools rush in
But I can't help falling in love with you."

I rest my hands on his shoulders, feeling the sinewy muscles beneath my fingers. Once again, Elvis captures my fingertips and kisses them.

"Ezra." His voice is so full of authority that I can't help but look at the man before me. "I want to marry you."

I choked a on his words. "M.. Marry?" I repeat, looking up into his crystal clear eyes. Thick lashes frame beautiful gray orbs, and even though he's told me time and time again that they're girly, I love them all the same.

He nods. "Would you want to marry me?"

I'm stunned into silence. Finally, I muster up the words, "I love you, Elvis Presley Morgan."

He smiles, "That's a yes, then? Good." He picks me up in a bone crushing hug and swings me around. I feel tears stream down my face. "I love you, Ezra Marie Dexter."



Snapping back into reality, I scrub my fingers on my new shirt and swallow the few gulps of water I had managed to get from someone at the supply pile.

I don't care what the guy at the tent says, I'm going back in there. I've got to help people.

-
Eventually, I managed to get him to let me stay. I actually just growled at him when he told me that I was still on break, then lightly offered to rearrange his vertebrae, and he just offered a weak smile to me before continuing on with his business.

I'm not a bully. I care about people. Just don't try to stop me from fixing them, and you'll be good.

There weren't many people left with injuries that I could care for, since I had worked on cleaning and bandaging up most of the wounds from the crash before lunch. I was glad for the thick leaves covering the top of the 'tent', because I would be sporting a very bad sunburn by now without it.

I glanced at the kid helping me, his face tinged red from the heat. "What's your name?" I ask, wrapping strips of cloth into a tight bundle.

"Eddie," he mumbled, gathering our meager supply of tools. We had accumulated three pairs of scissors, a pocket knife, a sewing kit, and tweezers from different bags. I was curious as to how they were allowed on the plane in the first place. "I'm going to wash these, I'll be right back."

I nodded and sat back to rearrange the little bottles of various liquids from the first aid kit. I heard someone come into the tent behind me. "Just a sec, okay?" I said, finishing up.

"Ezzie," a deep voice said, and I turned around to see Chris holding up Alaska.

I immediately snatched the roll of cloth I had just finished and motioned for him to set her down on one of the surfaces. "What the hell happened?"

He seemed to lose his tough guy act for a second, gaping, searching for words. Eventually, he gives up, and shrugs.

I smacked my forehead, and then my friend's for good measure. "Dummkopf!"

After examining her leg, I concluded that she had just landed hard on it- not hard enough to break her bone, but I could already see a bruise forming.

"A contusion," I muttered loud enough for Alaska to heal, and began wrapping her leg in a bandage. After wrapping her leg up and placing a few pills in her hand from our meager supply (looted from the first aid kit), I looked at Chris, who glanced at me, smirked, and said in an even voice, "Ez, you're a real stud," then returned to craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the dark girl in front of me. I glanced back down at Alaska and quietly asked how she was.

She flicked her eyes up at me, a pained expression briefly crossing her face. "Emotionally or physically? Because both are shit," she chuckled darkly, before closing her eyes again.

I left her on the table, telling her to get some rest. I approached Chris, crossing my arms over themselves, hugging my own body.

"Hey," I started, unsure of what to say. I swallowed and looked him over, his clean shirt, worried face. "Um..." I bit my lip softly, "Maybe you should, you know, leave. In the hospital, they make you wait in the waiting room. And since we don't have one of those, outside the tent will do just fine."

"Whatever you say, doc," he saluted me like a dork and glanced at Alaska, then left. I returned to Alaska.

"What's the deal?" I asked, resting on the edge of her cot. She didn't open her eyes, but spoke in a low, hard voice.

"Don't let evil disguise itself as love, because then you won't want to find love again." She muttered it, moving her arm and scrubbing her hands across her face, wiping tears away with her palm. "Ma told me that, she said not to let it capture me when it turns out to not be real love... Don't let it drag me down."

I nodded, even though she couldn't see me, "Hey, Al, it's okay, you know... Chris is a douche bag, Ding Dong Dickhead, you know?"

She cracked a small smile and giggled, "Ding Dong Dickhead? I like it." And after a moment of silence, her smile cracked again. "What did he even want from me? Why did he do that?"

I didn't know. "I don't know."

Alaska sighed, staring up. "I don't want a relationship ever again."

I snorted. "You say that..."

"I really don't, Ezra! I don't want to deal with loving someone if that's what always happens when something doesn't work out- I don't even think love exists. True love, anyways."

I shook my head, shooting her a hard glare. "True love exists above all things- I know that for a fact."

She laughed darkly. "You mean Elvis? Who's to say that he's not dead- sharks nibbling on his bloated, dead body? Or maybe he's still alive, but avoiding you? What if he doesn't want that kid in you? Considering the small possibility it survives." She spat venom at me, vying for my anger, but I didn't let those hurtful things bother me. However, I did clutch my stomach, glaring back.

"You don't know anything, Alaska. I understand you're hurt, but trying to hurt me is not okay... I know Elvis loves me, because he's saved me too many times to count. And I've given him nothing but my support, my care. When he gets hurt, I fix him. When I fall down, he picks me up. Give and take," I softened my eyes at her, "you might not be ready yet, but you will be. You'll find someone great, and you'll fall in love, and realize how wrong you are."

She looked at her hands, clenching her fists. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

I shook my head, "hey, it's okay."

She nodded, "I'm going to rest."

It was my turn to nod, and so I did. "I'm going to get water and food. Are you hungry?"

She didn't respond, so I assumed she wasn't. Exiting the tent, I went and got more water before turning and scanning the beach. People were milling about, some eating hunks of meat, drinking from bowls of water. I locked my eyes on a smallish figure sitting alone on the sand.

"Hey," I said, sitting on the sand next to him. "I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier."

He glanced at my briefly. "I'm sorry for insulting you."

I shrugged, "It's okay. I'm Ezra."

"Mark." He wasn't very chatty. "I have a headache."

"I have medicine in the tent- and if we run out, I'm sure we can find some herbs and roots like passionflower- those help..."

He was probably ignoring me, but I didn't care. "I can get some for you-" I began to stand up, and he followed.

I led him to the tent where I shook some medicine into his hand. His eyes lingered over Alaska's form. "What's the matter with her?"

"Fell out of a tree," I replied, yawning.

"Mahoney's other girlfriend," he remarked, looking back at me.

"No," I replied, "she isn't. Her name's Alaska. She needs more friends, talk to her." I smiled, "And tell Eddie when he gets back that I'm in the jungle, looking for medicinal plants."

With that, I left the two in the tent and started picking my way through the thick foliage.

She shook her head in disbelief, the man (her goddamn father, apparently) tightening his face in recognition of his own words. Blue's face reddened in the light, tears forming under her eyes. Her chin quivered, like a little girl, and she sprinted away, leaves drifting to the ground in her wake.

I didn't even have half a mind to go after her.

A stab of pain shot through my arm, and for a second I saw stars. I didn't even notice I was falling until I was propped upright by large hands. He was basically carrying me, his arm around my back, when he said, his face merely a blurred outline to my eyes, "I'm going to pop it back in, all right?" It took me a moment to register. Then I began to shake my head weakly.

"No," I slurred, eyes fluttering. He braced one hand on my shoulder, the other hand gripping my wrist. "No, wait—" All of the sudden, it felt as if a knife was plunged into my shoulder, a loud snap resounding in my ears. I felt myself yell in anguish, and I nearly passed out, my head lolling backwards. Then, besides the pain I felt something like relief. I couldn't move my shoulder without screaming like a baby, but at least it felt like all of the pieces were back in place again.

I exhaled, cradling my elbow, as if my shoulder could fall out again at any second. The man stepped back, letting me go, returning to the shadows behind the flashlight. "Would you quit shining that thing in my eyes?" I said, squinting.

"I think a thank you might be in order," he said.

"What, for dislocating my shoulder? In your dreams, Loki."

He sighed, casting a worried look towards where Blue had disappeared only a moment ago. He no longer seemed angry. "It's Carlisle, actually."

"That's a town," I said dumbly, still a little woozy. "In New York." Instead of answering me, he began to walk away from me, his burly frame nearly disappearing behind a few trees. He's like Thor on steroids, I thought. "Hey," I called after him, "where the hell are you going?"

"To find Saph," he said, pushing branches out of his way. Maybe he really is her old man, I thought for the first time. I would've been surprised, but alongside the mutant monkeys and the weird-ass horse, it wasn't like it was the craziest thing that had happened since we'd crashed on the island.

The pain in my arm subsiding to a dull ache, I decided to follow Thor into the jungle. If I didn't, I would have to wait until he returned to ask for a tour back to the beach. I had no recollection of the path Blue and I came on. So we tromped through the underbrush in silence, him in front and me in back. I immediately wished I'd brought my spear, in case anything took a turn for the worst. I figured forgetting to bring my weapon was a side-effect of my stupidity.

It wasn't long until we came across her body, curled up on the ground, eyes closed. Thor bent down, brushed a strand of hair out of her face. In looking at her, some of my anger dissipated. Left was a feeling of resignation. She didn't want to go back to the beach; she wouldn't want to, especially now. All she wanted was to stay here in the jungle with the man standing over her, regardless of whether he was her father or not.

After a few minutes of casting wistful glances at Blue, Thor stood up, leaving her asleep on the ground. He turned to me, nothing of the previous anger and disdain lingering in his eyes. Instead there was a weary thoughtfulness, a look of something close to my own resignation. "Stay with her for the night," he told me. "Protect her."

Something inside of me acted up. A bemused expression spread across my face. Before I could say anything, he continued. "I would stay, but I doubt that I'm the first person she wants to see when she awakes." He began to walk in the direction we came.

I blurted after him, slightly exasperated and incredulous at his gall to demand anything of me, "Then what do you want me to do, Captain?"

"Bring her back to me," he said, and then he was gone. Although what I really wanted was to do the exact opposite of whatever that guy told me, I knew I couldn't just leave Blue all alone in the jungle. So I sat down against a tree across from where she lay, watching her eyebrows furrow and her pretty hair press against her tear-stricken cheeks until I fell asleep.

It was easy to convince her to come back with me in the morning. She was defiant at first, but it only took a small while of teasing her; a little kiss and some half-hearted persuasion to get her to come along. I tugged her along by the hand, fingers laced loosely with hers; we walked through the jungle for a good fifteen minutes. Every once in a while our elbows would jostle, and I'd look back at her, her big blue eyes and pretty face, and she'd just smile furtively.

"I gotta take a break," I told her. I sat down on a nearby fallen log, and pretended to be out of breath.

"We're only about a minute away," she said, looking confused. "It's right through this thicket here." She peered around the corner.

"Well, I gotta take a leak," I said, standing up. She kind of smiled at me.

"Okay," she said. I stepped forwards and took her face in my hands roughly, my hand snaking up into her hair, and planting a kiss on her nose. The I let go, catching a glimpse of her blush before I stomped off into the forest.

I got a good distance away before I turned and began to walk in the direction of the beach. I didn't feel bad for leaving her. She had her dad; that's all she wanted. I needed to be back at the beach; where society didn't just discontinue in my absence. Additionally, part of my despite towards Blue still remained; If she didn't want to come back to me in the first place, then it doesn't matter whether I leave her or not. It was a dumb and spiteful thought, but giving her a touch of what she'd given me did make me feel a bit better. In most respects, though, I had entirely forgiven her. I didn't much like holding grudges. It was mostly the logic that drove me back to the beach, and partially the desire to make sure Alaska was okay.

I didn't know why I cared, but I did. Something about her sensitivity, her decency, her naive gullibility; it drew me to her. I felt like I had to fulfill some role as her protector. I didn't want her to be scared, to be sad. I felt some urge to make her feel better, to make her see me as something other, something better, than the guy I was.

Something other than the guy I was. I had never once wanted that before. I had always been okay with who I was. It had felt perfectly satisfying to me, to watch as I manipulated the world and watched the actions and emotions play out of the people I interacted with, as if I was directing a play that I, myself had the lead role in. I had never felt as if I became the person I was acting to be like. It was an omniscient experience; I never really cared what people thought about me, because I was only playing the part.

But suddenly it was different. I ran a hand through my hair and then pushed these thoughts out of my head as I broke through the tree line and onto the sand.

As I stepped from the dankness of the canopy and into the sunlight, I heard a blood-curdling scream. My senses awakened and I looked around, my heart speeding up. There was another scream, and as I walked further out onto the sand, the screams turned into muddled words. "Help!" I heard a girl's voice scream, "What the hell are you doing? Somebody help me!"

There were more voices screaming now, belonging to others. As I made my way down the beach, a group of people came into view, and then something moving quickly across the ground, sand spraying into the air. As I approached, I became privy to the entire scene. There was a girl stumbling backwards, tripping and falling to the ground. A boy, thin and lanky, fell atop her. My eyes caught sight of something in his hand that glinted in the sunlight; I quickly recognized it as a blade. A long, serrated knife.

"Help!" the girl screeched. She put her hands up to shield her face. A crowd of about five people that had just noticed the commotion were yelling at the boy.

"Get away from her!" A girl yelled frantically. One boy from the group of bystanders tried to rush in and separate him from the girl that was being attacked. He bent to drag the boy from the girl's body, but the butt of the knife's hilt came back with the boy's hand to jab the other boy in the eye. He clutched his eye and fell to the ground, letting out a cry of pain.

"Somebody help me!" I girl shrieked, her brown hair flying in and out of her face as she struggled to push the boy away. The boy on top of her brought the dagger behind his head, and suddenly, he struck. "Somebody help m—" Her scream was severed as the knife impaled her face, her jugular. The boy kept stabbing her, and blood was spurting in all directions. My heart jumped, my legs stiff, my eyes widening. I broke into a sprint and dove head first towards the attacker, tackling him to the ground. The knife flew from his hand, and stuck into the sand bank. His right hand broke free and clawed at my face, connecting with my cheek. His nails ripped through my skin and I tasted blood.

I dug my knees into the ground, and was socking him in the face, sand flying up in every direction. Then my hands tightened around his throat. His pale, freckled face was bloodied, his lip split, his eyes an icy blue. "Grab the knife!" I yelled, tears in my eyes. Everybody in the crowd looked about to vomit or bawl their eyes out; touching that knife looked like the last thing anybody wanted to do. "Jesus Christ, grab the damn knife!!" I hollered. After a second, a boy stepped in front of the knife and picked it up. Crimson blood dripped off the end.

I got my arm tightly around the killer's neck, as tight as it could get. He choked slightly. I didn't let up, dragging him to the nearest redwood. "Get me some rope," I commanded through my gritted teeth, addressing the boy who had picked up the knife. The boy jogged to the nearest teepee and untangled a giant bungee cord from the tarp. After some simple instruction, a few guys helped him tie the murderer to the tree. The boy didn't resist; he seemed injured badly and unable to retaliate.

I stared at him for a long while. He spit blood onto the ground by my feet. His eyes were cloudy, unfazed, reduced to slits. "He just attacked her for no reason," I heard as I made my way to her body. "His name was Gabriel. He always seemed okay to me."

When I got to her body, there was a girl kneeling about ten feet away, crying her eyes out. "She was my sister," she hiccuped, wailing, her hands pressed over her face. There was nothing fake about that kind of crying; it was the kind of sobbing that made you hurt inside and not able to catch your breath. The kind where she couldn't extract enough oxygen from her lungs, raw sounds pouring from her mouth. Her breath caught and her elbows fell to the ground, her knees curling up under her. My breath snagged inside of my throat, and I stood there for a moment, my hands in my pockets, staring at the dead girl's body, not knowing what her face was supposed to look like.

I left after awhile.

I passed the guy whose eye was swelling up from the shadow of that knife hilt. He was talking to some guy named Eddie. I walked past them, and suddenly everything in my chest hurt. At some point, I got to a place a ways along the shore where my legs weakened and I sat down next to the water, my knees bent. I let my face fall into my hands, and then I started to cry, tears rolling off my cheeks and stinging in the cuts on my face. The images ran through my head like a movie. Summers. Some girl's pretty little sister.

And I cried like a goddamn baby.