Page 6 of Blue Arrow Island
- Excerpt from the journal of Dr. Randall McClain
I wake with a jolt, the thick air carrying the earthy scent of decaying vegetation. Pain spikes through my head, but I shove it aside, writhing to escape my captor’s hold.
He smiles at me, amused. “Easy, tiger. You’re not in the best shape. Thought you might’ve passed out on me.”
“Put me down.”
“We’re almost home.”
“It’s not my home, asshole. It’s yours. I’m your prisoner.”
I claw at his hands, desperate. There’s a chance I can escape one person. But a whole camp of them? That’ll be much harder.
“Yeah, we’re the worst. We save people’s lives. Feed them and give them a place to stay. Monsters, aren’t we?”
The tsunami of pain in my head is crushing me beneath its weight. It’s debilitating. If I got free, I couldn’t outrun him likethis. I stop struggling, hoping he means it about feeding me. I’m weak with hunger and thirst.
“Do you have any water?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’ve got a canteen in my pack.”
It’s too bad my pride isn’t ice cold and refreshing, because it’s the only thing I’ve swallowed in a while.
“I’d...really appreciate some water.”
“So youcanplay nice.” He stops and sets me down, removing his lasso from around my body and arching his brows in a look of warning. “Don’t. Run.”
I dip my chin in agreement. It’s all I can do to stand upright, and from the shakiness in my legs, I know I won’t be able to do that for long.
I focus on slow, deep breathing as Pax unshoulders his military green backpack and takes a beat-up stainless canteen from it.
Must. Stay. Conscious. If I pass out, I won’t know where to go when I escape my new prison.
“Drink as much as you want,” he says as he unscrews the cap, removes it and passes the canteen to me. “We have a well in camp.”
A well. A weight lifts from my shoulders as I tip the canteen up to my mouth. I was worried about finding safe water to drink here, especially when I’m already in desperate need of it. Maybe I’ll be able to find a way to take some with me when I go.
The water is a soothing balm on my aching throat. Though I know I should drink slowly to avoid getting sick, I can’t help myself. I finish the entire canteen, out of breath when I pass it back to him.
“Thanks.”
He nods, packs the canteen and reshoulders his bag.
“Hey, not sure if you caught it, but I’m Pax.” He extends a hand to me, his playful tone telling me that heknowsI got it and he wants to know my name.
I hesitate before answering. “I’m Briar. And who shakes hands anymore?”
People don’t even get within twenty feet of others unless they know them well or have no choice. And then we’re all wary. The closer you get to someone, the more opportunity you’re giving them to rob you, stab you, or give you a virus that could kill you.
“Call me old-fashioned.” He shrugs and drops his hand.
I don’t object this time as he picks me up. My stomach is swirling, the water already threatening to come back up.
“How do you have a well?” I ask as he follows a narrow path through the jungle.
“It’s part of our camp. You’ll see. We’ve got a good setup. We take care of each other.”
I hold in my retort. No one takes care of anyone unless it benefits them. People used to do that, before the virus. But now it’s kill or be killed. Or sometimes, kill and be killed anyway.
