Page 47 of Blue Arrow Island
“I’m sending the buckets down. I’m sorry it took me so long to get back.”
At least he’s here. He comes once or twice a day, bringing me a bucket of water to drink and a bucket to pee in.
I’m exhausted. I only sleep for short stretches down here. The water at the bottom of the hole has finally receded into the ground, so I’m not sitting in water anymore. I’m still soaking wet, though, the humidity not allowing any part of me to get completely dry.
Marcelle occupies my thoughts. I run through how I can attack her in the circle. If my mind stays intact, I can beat her. That’s a bigif, though. The longer I’m down here, the more thoughts of killing Virginia and fucking Pax flood my head. I don’t want power, and I don’t want to be on this island, but I’ve started fantasizing about killing her and taking over as Pax’s co-commander.
I’m losing control of my mind. It’s getting worse, and as someone who believes in science, I have to follow the evidence. I’m eventually going to lose the battle I’m having with myself. What started as an occasional urge or thought has now become a powerful mental refrain that’s getting harder and harder to fight.
I’d rather be dead than lead this camp on its twisted mission. And dead or alive, I’m beaten. Whitman and Lochlan will have won. That’s the hardest pill to swallow—knowing I’ll never get to make them answer to my blade for what they’ve done.
The buckets arrive and I untie them from the rope Pax used to lower them. Then I tie on the two buckets I already had, one of which is empty and one which is a third full of pee.
It’s a really ungraceful situation, trying to pee in a bucket when you’re in a muddy hole and it’s dark. I can smell myself, and I’d give just about anything for a toothbrush and some toothpaste.
“You hanging in there?” Pax asks.
Like I have a choice. I could be breaking down mentally and he’d walk away and go about his day. Seeing who Pax really is when I need his help makes me loathe whatever power is making me want to screw him in every possible position.
“Doing fantastic,” I deadpan, looking up at him. “Some guys opened the cover and pissed all over me last night; that was fun.”
He shakes his head. “That shouldn’t happen. I’ll look into it.”
“It’s been three days. I need to get out of here if I’m going to have a chance in the circle. Can’t you please let me out of here?”
I despise this woman who’s begging a man for help. It’s against everything I am. But this place is a different kind of hell, and I’d say anything to get out. I’m losing myself, and the process may be over by the time I’m allowed to climb up the ladder. I don’t want my final days of my mind still being partly mine to be spent in a dank, dark prison.
If it comes to ending my life to avoid becoming a robot soldier breeder, I want to let nature do it. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it down here. I’ll eat some poisonous berries and curl up beneath a tree or free-fall from a tall cliff and let my last sensation be the wind caressing my face as I plunge to a quick end.
“I can’t.” Pax’s grimace is apologetic.
I scream inside, wanting to tell him he’s an impotent little bitch who isn’t a co-commander at all. He’s under Virginia’sthumb. She makes the decisions and somehow makes him feel like he has power when he actually has none.
Silent tears slide down my cheeks. I sit down and pull my knees to my chest, resting my forehead on my knees and wrapping my arms around my legs.
Where was I? I was classifying the rose, and I stopped on...family. I scoff inwardly, longing for even ten seconds with my own family. Just to look at them one more time. To draw strength from my dad’s hand on my shoulder or my mom’s contagious laugh.
It’s just me, though. I’m alone. The hole darkens as Pax flips the door closed, confirming my solitude with a light thud.
So, roses. Family: rosaceae. Genus: Rosa. Species: various.
A few hours later, I can feel my racing pulse in my temples as I listen to the commotion above me. People started yelling about five minutes ago, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.
The voices are frenzied, sounding rushed. If there’s another hurricane coming and they leave me down here, I won’t survive. Even with the extra endurance this fucked-up island gives me, I won’t be able to tread water for days.
I don’t want to drown. My instincts are screaming at me to claw my way out of this hole. If the walls were dirt, I’d already have dug enough footholds to get out. The smooth metal walls taunt me, reminding me I can’t outthink monsters who imprison people for questioning them.
“The boat’s coming!”
My spine straightens as I make out a woman’s words. She has to mean a fresh batch of prisoners for Rising Tide and the Dust Walkers to fight over.
Panic claws its way up my throat. If Pax dies on the beach, I’m dead, too. I’ll die of thirst, which is a horrible way to go.
I force myself to breathe deeply, quelling the terror that’s threatening to take hold of me. Throwing up, which I’m close to doing, would dehydrate me at a time I can’t afford to be depleted.
Do something, Briar. Don’t just sit here. Do something.
“Let me out!” I yell, standing up. “I can help you!”
