Page 127 of Blue Arrow Island
It’s basic, the cursor on a blank search bar blinking at me. I type in my mom’s name first.
A photo of her loads, bringing tears to my eyes. I run my fingertips over the screen, overjoyed to even be seeing a picture of her. It’s been so long since I saw her smile.
Lucinda K. Hollis: DECEASED
That’s the only information it has on her. In my heart, I knew she was gone, but it’s still a stab in the gut to read the impersonal, all-caps declaration.
“She’s beautiful,” Marcus says, smoothing a hand over my hair. “You look like her.”
I wipe a tear from my cheek. “Thank you.”
I type in my dad’s name next.
Benjamin R. Hollis: DECEASED
There’s another stab. My dad isn’t smiling in his photo. It’s his all-business expression. That’s not what I picture when I think of him. I remember him laughing as he tried to do the TikTok dances Mae taught him. His face always softened with affection when he looked at our mom, like she was the only woman in the world.
“I miss them.”
He squeezes my shoulders as I type in my sister’s name.
Maven J. Hollis: Northeast quadrant
My heart stops as I reread the words and look at the photo. Her hair falls just below her chin, shorter than I’ve ever seen it. Her face is leaner. This is an older, more reserved Mae than I knew. Her expression is close to a smile, but not quite.
“Is this real?” I choke on the words as I look up at Marcus. “Is my sister alive?”
“Hopefully. She was as of the update.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, sobbing. I hadn’t even hoped she made it. Even with all communications offline after the virus from a darkened power grid and disabled cell towers, I thought my family would find a way to contact me if they were alive.
Mae is alive, and I might as well be on another planet. I can’t get to her. It hurts deeper than anything else could.
“We have to find that flower.” I swipe the tears from my cheeks, resolved. “And then I have to find my sister.”
PART THREE
36
You’ve heard of catfishing? Certain orchids are so perfectly able to mimic female wasps that they can fool male wasps into trying to mate with them. The males then, inadvertently, pollinate the flower. So if you see a wasp on Tinder, swipe left.
- Excerpt from the Introduction to Plant Biology course taught by Dr. Lucinda Hollis
Seven cells were carved into a hillside that faces the ocean when the Dust Walkers’ camp was built. Three of them are large enough to hold many people; the other four were designed for just one each. The cells are all empty, except for one of the smaller ones.
I’m walking alone down the path that descends to the cells, the lapping of ocean waves providing a peaceful backdrop. It’s the morning of the fourth day since we found McClain, and it’s my third day in a row of bringing him breakfast.
Marcus protested me coming on the first day, but I reminded him that solitude isn’t a punishment for a man who’s been alone for more than a year and a half.
“Oatmeal and toast today,” I announce, sliding the dish through the small opening at the bottom of the metal bars.
The reinforced steel cell seems like overkill for the slight man inside. I don’t know if McClain is trying to starve himself to death or if he’s ill, but he doesn’t look well.
I sit down on the ground, setting my own bowl of oatmeal beside me. McClain keeps his gaze focused on the ocean’s waves and doesn’t make a move toward his breakfast.
“Have you ever heard of flamboyant flame trees?” I ask him.
He shakes his head in answer.
