Page 50 of Blue Arrow Island
Slowly, I shift into a sitting position, my back and hip aching. The throbbing pain in my feet makes me wince. I can’t use precious time looking at them now.
The wolf, a male, backs up a step as I move. He cocks his head to the side, watching as I get on one knee and then stand, holding in a cry. I take a few deep breaths, adjusting to bearing weight on my sore feet.
I made it all the way to the edge of the island. I could hear the roar of the ocean nearby when I stopped. Directions have never been my strong suit, but I think I’m close to the volcano. It’s rockier here. Before stopping, I passed through several clearings and a stream.
There was a small waterfall not too far back, and that’s where I’m heading first. I ease off the grouping of rocks, because jumping isn’t an option with my feet in such bad shape.
After peeing and finishing the last sip of water in the canteen, I get my supplies. I’m about ten yards away from the rocks when I realize the wolf is following me.
When I look at him, he stops. He doesn’t seem to want to get too close, and he’s not acting aggressively, so I ignore him.
It’s nice to be out of the jungle. At its heart, it’s a cacophony of trills, screeches and roars. I’d have trouble hearing the Rising Tiders approaching over all that noise. I’m planning to explore this part of the island today and find a hiding place. If it’s secluded enough, I’ll rest and dry my feet out there.
The waterfall is small, maybe twelve feet of water rushing into a small pool at its base. It’s a perfect bathing spot. I gingerly remove my boots and socks, my swollen feet screaming at me with every motion.
My feet are white and wrinkled, patches of raw redness between my toes, weeping clear fluid. I fight tears from the burning sensation of standing on a rock in my bare feet.
Quickly, I strip off my clothes and get out my bar of soap and blanket. I don’t have time to think about pain or hunger. Every second matters.
I lather the soap into suds and wash my grimy hair first. It feels like heaven, massaging my scalp and scrubbing out all the grossness. The waterfall is the closest I’ve had to a real shower in a long time.
As I wash away the filth from my body, I get a renewed sense of hope. Everything felt hopeless when I was in my underground cell, but it wasn’t. I can’t give up, no matter what.
Washing my feet is agonizing, but I swallow the pain and get it done as fast as I can. Using the blanket, I pat them dry, then sit in the sun for a few minutes.
Thanks to the humidity, I’m already sweating. But I no longer smell like anything but the jasmine-scented soap, which is a welcome change.
The wolf is watching me from about twenty feet away, sitting patiently like he has nowhere else to be. From the looks of him, he has no trouble finding prey to keep him full. Hopefully that means he won’t turn on me if he’s hungry.
Once my feet are dry, I dress in the clean clothes Olin packed, the dry socks worth more to me than a pot of gold. It hurts to slide my feet into the new boots, but they’re dry, which I desperately need.
I fill my canteen and then use my hands to dig a hole deep enough to bury my dirty clothes and boots, not wanting to leave any signs I was here. My hands and arms are blackened with dirt by the time I’ve finished, so I wash them in the pool, pack my bag, and set back out.
If I wasn’t worried about the Rising Tiders hunting me down, this would be peaceful. It’s so muggy I could cut the air with a knife, but the backdrop of crashing waves is nice. Much better than the Rising Tide camp, where I’d be listening to soldiers chanting about peace, order, and prosperity while running ten-plus miles an hour to prepare themselves to kill innocent people for a greedy dictator.
The rocky terrain slows me down some, every step making my feet cry out. Though I want to walk all the way to the beach, I stay close enough to the jungle that I can take cover if I need to.
The sun’s position tells me it’s close to afternoon. I wander past a marshy field, careful not to get my feet wet. My heart leaps with excitement when I see a papaya tree, a cluster of ripening fruits just out of my reach.
With a stick, I’m able to knock several still-green fruits to the ground. I bite into one immediately, my stomach rumbling its approval.
I don’t even care that it’s not ripe. It’s food, and I desperately need it. It’s hard to stop myself from devouring a dozen of them, but I don’t want to get sick from eating too much. My stomach isn’t used to food, so I need to go slow.
I’m loading more papayas into my bag for later when a bolt of awareness zings down my spine. I freeze and listen.
Nothing. But something is telling me to run. It’s like the urges I felt to kill Virginia and screw Pax; it’s just there, taking over all my other senses, and it’s strong.
Bag in one hand and spear in the other, I race for the edge of the jungle. I’m almost there when I hear a man’s voice.
“Clear that section.”
My pulse pounds, terror racing through my veins. I hold my breath. If I run too fast, I could tip someone off that I’m here. Instead, I creep in the opposite direction of the voice, my gaze on the ground so I can watch where I step.
I figured they’d look for me. Olin said they would. But I didn’t think Pax and Virginia would send people so far. Not when the Tiders are starving and rebuilding their camp.
I’m dead if they catch me. There’s no way Virginia will just throw me back in that hole.
My best option is to take cover. If they’re combing the jungle in sections, they’ll find me if I’m not hidden.
