Page 36 of Blue Arrow Island
“We’re not like anyone else,” he says, surveying the faces in the crowd. “We’re Rising Tiders. We’re stronger. We’re moreresilient. We can endure what others can’t, and that’s why we’ll outlast all of them.”
There’s another rumble, this one almost all agreement.
“Now let’s kick some ass, Rising Tide!” Pax raises a fist in the air. “Peace. Unity. Prosperity!”
The crowd responds with energy. “Peace, unity, prosperity!”
Their enthusiasm continues to blow my mind. I suppose there’s unity here, but peace is questionable. And prosperity? Not so much.
I go along, though, my conversation with Rona still replaying in my head.
12
The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.
– Jack London
There’s a desert plant called flower of stone that can survive the harshest of conditions. Known as a resurrection plant,Selaginella lepidophyllafolds in on itself during dry periods, looking like a brown ball of dead leaves. It can remain like that for years without water, and then when it gets hydrated again, it opens up, turns green and thrives.
My time on the island so far has been like the flower of stone’s dormancy. I’ve been conserving resources and waiting for better conditions to arrive.
And now they have. The hurricane created chaos, and that’s exactly what I needed. I hope to use the upheaval and uncertainty to gather information and start making a plan.
I thought about Rona’s advice to keep my head down and go along. I can’t, though. I suspect staying on this island meansslowly giving up control of my mind. If my choices are to stay in Rising Tide and become a soldier-breeding four or die trying to escape, that’s an easy decision.
Pax went to the children’s camp with Virginia, and he left me a list of tasks to work on while he’s gone. It’s rare for me to be unsupervised, and I plan to make the most of it.
Before I tackle the list, I take the balled-up T-shirt I filled with greens to Billy in the kitchen.
What’s left of it, anyway. The destroyed contents of the cooking area have already been removed, and a crew is working on tearing down what’s left of the walls. They’re rebuilding the kitchen as a log structure, thick tree trunks already being hauled into camp and stripped of their bark.
“Hey, Billy.”
Standing at the end of a picnic table that was dragged out of the jungle, he nods to me. A massive cast-iron stew pot sits on the table in front of him. He’s slicing up something that looks like a root to add to it.
“I found this right outside the training perimeter.” I open the shirt and dump the wilted greens onto the table. “I tasted it myself this morning and I’m not sick.”
He furrows his brow, skeptical. “How much of it did you eat?”
“About half a cup. It could still make me sick. But?—”
“Get it out of here,” he says briskly. “I know you mean well, but I can’t risk it.”
There’s not even enough food for the pregnant women. The fish and game sheltered during the storm, and they haven’t returned. Not that there’s much left anyway. The dull ache in my stomach has been there for days and there’s a hollowness in everyone’s cheeks.
At least I tried.
“Okay.” I pile the leaves back onto the shirt.
“You doin’ okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m okay. You?”
He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “We’re hanging in there.”
Rona, Olin, and two other kitchen workers are peeling unripe coconuts and papayas on upside-down barrels nearby. I try to make eye contact with Rona so I can wave at her, but she keeps her gaze down.
Olin smiles at me, my heart clenching as I think about what Rona told me. I smile back, wishing I could get some time alone with him.
