13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
London
A loud bang startles me from my doze as Nigel barges into the airplane, his eyes wild. I raise my head as he storms the aisle and lunges right at me. I barely have enough time to lift my non-injured arm to protect myself before he grabs me by the collar and pulls me out of my seat, flinging me to the floor, where I land in a jumbled heap, lying in a cold sweat.
“You lied,” he muses, his gaze predatory as he steps over me.
I chew on the inside of my cheek until a coppery metal tang hits my mouth. I landed on my broken hand, and agonizing pain shoots through my entire arm and into my neck, causing my vision to blur. I bite my cheek harder to fight off the agony.
I’ll take it that he didn’t find the cabin.
I glare up at him, my hair falling in my face. “I didn’t lie to you. It’s well hidden; I warned you about that.”
Nigel kicks me in the ribs, quickly reminding me that I am his captive, that he is the one in control right now, and that I need to potentially watch my mouth.
“London. London. London… You’re not making yourself very useful to me right now.” The moment his boot connects with my wrist, a scream erupts from me, the sheer agony impossible to suppress .
“I will continue to torture you until you tell me where the fuck your hideout is.”
“You can go to hell, Nigel. If you haven’t found it by now, you won’t.”
He quirks his head and kneels so he’s somewhat at eye level with me.
The madness inside him is apparent in his eyes.
He’s gone. Any part of him that was good, pure, or innocent has disappeared.
“No, London,” he says darkly, “but you can.”
The light reflects off the blade he’s holding, which flashes for a second before he presses the dull blade of the ice skate against my neck. I scramble for a second before my body goes limp beneath him and my eyes roll back in my head. He is on top of me, pressing his knee into my chest and crushing my lungs. Tears well up in my eyes from the sheer amount of pain I’m in.
Ezra stands behind him, and my vision is blurred, but I can tell he’s doing nothing to stop Nigel. In a last desperate attempt, I seek Ezra’s eyes, giving him a silent plea as all the blood rushes to my head.
Nigel positions himself between us. “This skate is sharp, London. It was Micah’s first spear he made from his hockey gear. Poetic, isn’t it?” He leans down, his spit hitting my cheek. “If I press down even an inch harder, I will sever the artery in your neck, and you will die. Is that what you want?”
I can’t respond because I can’t breathe.
“And if you don’t know where the hell that cabin is, then I doubt your usefulness to me.”
“Just fucking tell us, London.” Ezra’s voice is distant, like he’s speaking through a tunnel. Distant but desperate. Surviving seems to have taken priority for him. “Don’t make this harder on yourself.”
Ezra and I were sitting in glorious silence for the past few hours, and he didn’t put his hands on me once. He even tossed dried food at me, saying nothing, of course, but the gesture told me enough. He’s not a monster; he’s just hungry.
At least he’s not a monster yet .
And that little piece of food sufficed to stop the gnawing feeling in my stomach.
My heart beats so fast now, and I close my eyes, waiting for Nigel to end it. His face is not the last thing I want to see.
“Stop it, man. You’re killing her. She’s the only leverage we have,” Ezra finally says. “If you kill her, we’ll never find him.”
Nothing… I feel nothing as Nigel presses that skate into my neck, crushing me, mutilating me.
No fear, no pain.
I’m numb.
Because I think I’m already dead inside, immune to Nigel’s blind rage.
And then… it ends. Nigel releases the pressure on me, removing the blade from my throat. My body convulses as I suck in a breath, choking on it. My vision returns, but I don’t dare to move. I keep my eyes closed, my cheek lying in the pool of dried blood beneath me.
Ezra pulls me up, and I crawl back into my seat and face them. Nigel composes himself and stands with his arms crossed. His smile comes straight from hell.
“Good point,” he says, wiping the blood off the blade on his shirt.
My blood.
I place my hand on my neck… A trickle of blood seeps onto my fingers. So meticulous not to have killed me. A small drop of that blood rolls down my neck and drips to the ground beneath me.
“Looks like you get to live today, London,” he says, observing me as I watch the crimson stain the seat.
Do I want to live?
Even if he hasn’t killed me, I will still have a scar from what he just did, leaving more permanent marks on me. I wrap my hand around my neck to stop the stinging pain. But I can breathe, and at least, I have a new source of pain to focus on so I can ignore the ones in my heart and hand.
Nigel steps back. “Time to go. Get up,” he says abruptly.
My head whips up, and my eyes narrow .
Go? Go where? I just assumed this was where they were living.
I laugh again… I can’t walk. I can barely breathe, so I just laugh silently to myself.
The wind howls around me.
“What if he comes after her today and follows us?” Ezra asks. “This is the most obvious place to look for her.”
“He won’t,” Nigel quips. “Not if he found Naomi. Last I saw, she was waiting for him at the lake site. I doubt he will leave her to die. He will have to choose between Naomi and London, and then our dear London will finally see what kind of person he is and, hopefully, make the right decision.”
Ezra curls his lips at the mention of Naomi. I can’t put my finger on what happened between them exactly—if Naomi left by herself or if they had planned this to lure us out of pure desperation.
Nigel rolls his eyes at Ezra’s emotional response to her. “Relax. I’m sure your dear girlfriend is doing just fine.” This does nothing to calm Ezra down. He’s vibrating, pulsating in anger like he would whenever Micah used Naomi to taunt him.
I pull myself to my knees as Nigel walks away, prepping for us to leave the airplane. His words hit me then as I wonder just what kind of state they left Naomi in. And if Micah would really choose Naomi over me.
The fact that he isn’t here right now answers my question and also explains why it took him so long to come back to me when he had promised he would only be gone for a few hours.
Nigel pushes the airplane door open and heads outside while Ezra helps me to my feet. “Move,” he orders.
Begrudgingly, I follow, keeping my face emotionless, not allowing myself to feel.
The sun settles in the sky. That hint of smoke still teases the air, and Nigel looks at me with a sly smirk as he passes me. “Let’s go home, shall we? Ladies first.”
A sick feeling pools in my stomach. Ezra ignores me and trails behind, knowing I don’t have the energy to run away from him. I stare into the dead forest. One small step at a time, my feet connect with stone, and we head north. Something tells me that, no matter what, this is the beginning of the end, and the airplane was a sanctuary compared to where I’m going.
Every bone and muscle screams at me as I follow the two boys through the barren wilderness.
One evil, one stupid—both desperate.
We walk in silence through the charred skeleton trees, the barren land discomposed by the destruction that occurred here. The island this far north is dangerous. Much more so than the airplane or the lusher forest Micah and I briefly called home.
I drag myself forward, now wishing Ezra would carry me. My skin is on fire as I try to keep up, burning up with a fever from the scrapes and pulled flesh on my hand. My body has endured too much.
It’s starting to break down.
Withering away.
Beat by beat, my heart is slowing.
A rhythmic buzz teases the air, and I can’t quite put my finger on what it is…
Ezra pauses to take a sip of water, the very last of it, before filling up his bottle with melted snow pooling on the ground. It’s skanky water we have no business drinking. Even now, Micah’s deep voice is in the back of my mind, lecturing me.
If you have the choice between drinking or not drinking water, drink it. You will one hundred percent die if you don’t, okay? London! Baby, it’s important that you pay attention to this; it might save your life one day.
All the words of wisdom Micah shared with me all winter, relaying all his expertise about surviving out here. Preparing me for when he wouldn’t be here to take care of me, as if he knew this would happen eventually. My mouth salivates at the thought of drinking, and my heart breaks at the thought of him.
Nigel snatches the bottle from Ezra’s hand before he can give me any as a powerful gust of wind blows through, and clean air is replaced by the putrid smell of decaying flesh, now thick on my tongue.
The severed souls that haunt us.
The air is suddenly thicker, the stench revolting, and the buzzing hovers in the air like an apocalypse. Completely unnerving, given what’s near us.
Flies. Maggots. Insects feasting.
Nigel is already puking before we register the mountain of bodies next to us.
All thirty-two of them are piled near each other or on top of one another, and in the early evening light, some of their eyes are still open as we walk by.
Their bodies are still decaying, frozen in time from that fateful night. The colder weather must have partially preserved the bodies, or at least, the remnants that were picked at by vultures and rodents before the snow fell and the temperatures dropped. A few of them have been pulled away and torn apart by animals, rotting where they rest… what’s left of them anyway.
“Keep moving,” Nigel gripes, still gagging from the sight and smell of those dead bodies melting into the earth. I hope he dies from that tainted water. Karma at its best. Once again, this shows me how sick he is because he led me right here. He must have forgotten they were so close.
Inside, I’m screaming, but I don’t dare laugh. The utter disdain on his face tells me he will kill me if I do. Then I will be converted into a pile of bones.
I shudder as I stare at these poor dead souls, none of whom I really knew. Surviving instead of them fills me with a deep sense of guilt. Each was an athlete, a cheerleader, or a leader in the community and school. They will be deeply missed by their community, but I won’t be. I was barely a blip in my father’s life before this school year started .
They are faceless now… The only identifiers are what’s left of their Armani suits and the fabric of their blue cheerleading outfits. I can’t help but gape at them, and Nigel, who has recovered from his vomiting, smirks at my reaction. All the blood rushes from my face, and Ezra merely stands a few feet away, scowling.
“Oh, suck it up. It’s not like you haven’t seen this before,” he says to Ezra.
“Dude, have some fucking respect,” Ezra barks. “You might not have given a shit about them, but these were my fucking friends.” I smile because it’s nice to see the old Ezra again—the one who hated Nigel. I miss the days when they loathed each other and Ezra had a backbone. I was completely unnerved when they became inseparable, back before that fateful night when this island became truly divided.
Nigel scoffs and keeps walking past the cemetery as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. He actually starts whistling to himself as he glides ahead, and Ezra shakes his head.
I finally make eye contact with Ezra, though he doesn’t give me any hint of emotion other than the blank stare he’s been giving me for the two days I’ve been with him. His face is entirely unreadable, and I wonder if he—among others on this island, including myself—is simply shutting off his emotions to cope with the stark realities that we live in. That would explain Ezra’s sudden lack of interest in Naomi and how he became a shell of the alpha athlete I knew only months before.
I need to find a way to reawaken the essence of his true self, and Maison holds the key to that. I can sense that he genuinely cares, not necessarily about me, but about the people in his life. The mere mention of Maison brings him to life. Maison seems to have that effect on everyone, even in death—except for Micah, who seems to want to erase him from existence.
My eyes glance down to Ezra’s hand as I walk, and I’m immediately reminded that it might not be so easy when I see his thumb twitching—sticking out from the four scarred nubs where his fingers used to be .
I watch him, even as he turns his head back to keep an eye on me, and I wonder how he survived that, how he’s coping with the loss of his fingers, and how he and Nigel survived this deep freeze, if not on the airplane.
Most importantly, why does Ezra have this strange loyalty to Nigel?
I guess it’s not like he’d be welcomed by the others, so perhaps he has no other choice. This island is truly divided, and I have no idea whose side I’m actually on.
My heart sinks thinking of Micah with Naomi and how quickly things have changed. She’s now the one wearing my clothes, eating my food, and sleeping in my spot, all the while plotting to steal from Micah by wrapping her lips around him. Or, perhaps, he was her goal this entire time. If she’s the reason why he hasn’t come after me, I will never speak to him again.
That’s unforgivable.
We finally pass the bodies and head north along the tundra. Slowly, we start to veer west. To my relief, we begin a descent into the lower terrains, where the land is lusher and the number of death pits reduced. The clear sky is now an inky black as dusk settles upon us, and I’m not sure how long they expect to keep going. We must be close to wherever they are taking me.
Nigel is ahead, and I wonder if I could push him into one of the open pits in the earth if I were fast enough. He would fall into oblivion, and no one would miss him.
I’d be doing this world a favor.
Nigel abruptly stops in front of one of these said death pits. “We’re here,” he says sweetly, turning around to look at me.
I narrow my eyes in confusion, straining to see any sign of movement or life.
Just darkness and ice.
He pushes me, and I fall into that darkness, landing with a maddening thud .
“Fuck,” I cry out as I land hard and a sharp pain snakes up my hand, the wind stolen from my lungs. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to will away the pain. As I regain my senses, I turn my head around, standing on all fours—almost catlike—to get my bearings.
It’s not a deep hole, but it’s deep enough that I can’t get out on my own, which was likely the point of throwing me in here. This was well-planned. It seems that everything they are plotting is connected to their belief that I am essential to their survival. A crumpled blanket lies frozen and wet inside the pit, with extra sweaters nearby.
Planned indeed.
“You can’t just leave me here,” I scream at them, mustering any energy I have left. “I’ll die tonight.” The cold alone will kill me if not an animal or the lack of water or food. As the temperature starts decreasing sharply, goosebumps rise on my skin. It’s a stark contrast to the day’s earlier teasing warmth from the sun.
It’s even colder down here.
It’s Nigel who answers me. “This is where you get to stay. It’s your new home, London, so settle in. We’ll be back.”
I shuffle myself up and scramble to the side, trying to climb despite my lame arm. “How long do you plan to keep me like this?” I scream. We are so deep in the wilderness. Micah will never find me—if he’s even looking.
Nigel’s stalky silhouette looms above me, and he shrugs. “Maybe forever, or perhaps, until you decide you’d like to cooperate. You don’t seem like you want to work with me, London, and that insults me. We used to be such a team.”
Me. Not us. And here I thought he and Ezra were aligned.
I bite back a snarled response. He completely used me at the time, and I easily fell for his lies. However, perhaps I should thank him. After all, he’s the reason I fell so deeply for the twins, and my bone-crushing love for them was worth it.
Nigel disappears, and Ezra slides into my field of vision.
He hesitates, just for a second.
But a second is all I need.
“I can help you,” I say calmly, almost in a whisper, hoping Nigel doesn’t overhear. “Instead of just leaving me here to die, I could help you hunt, help you find food. You know Micah taught me a lot about trapping animals.” I pause, waiting for him to respond, but he remains quiet and still as a statue.
His eyes stay locked on mine, his face torn between conflicting emotions, which urges me to continue. “Otherwise, you’ll die. Both of you will wither away and fucking rot. I’m the best chance you have, Ezra.”
His only chance since, clearly, Naomi is not in the picture any longer.
“You don’t know that,” Ezra says, running his hands through his hair. “You don’t know anything.”
I slap the side of the pit with my good hand. “Bullshit. You ate all your food. You’re beyond desperate right now—I can tell by how thin you are. Ezra, I can help you go back to the others. You don’t need him.”
He shakes his head. “No, fuck that. You need to experience what we all went through this winter, London. You have no idea.” He seems to be battling with himself—a part of him wants to help me, I know it.
I shut my eyes. “Please, Ezra. Don’t let him do this.” Chills run through my body, and not because of the ice in the air. My injured hand is infected. It burns and oozes from where the wire scraped my bones. My nightmare is playing out, and I’ve seen firsthand what can happen.
I truly don’t know if I will survive the night. The only other nights I slept outside in the elements like this were when Maison or Micah were with me, at least.
“Ezra,” I plead again, and he pauses for a moment as if wanting to say something meaningful.
“I can’t help you, London. I’m sorry,” he says before disappearing, leaving me in this dark hole alone with my misery.
“Please don’t do this,” I shout once more out of pure desperation, grasping my hair and pulling it. “Please, please, please.” My screams are reduced to shallow whispers, swallowed by the silence around me. I don’t know what’s worse: the vast emptiness of the Alaskan wilderness or the inky stone walls crushing every ounce of hope out of me.
The air embodies death.
The wind doesn’t rustle the trees in this place; there are no trees. No waves crashing, no calming sound of the creek.
Just frightening silence as I lie in the unsettling quiet, grasping my throat, sliding my thumb over the tiny cut. The realization of how narrowly I escaped death hits me like a punch to the gut.
Even though I’ve thought about death more than I care to admit over the past couple of days, the human spirit has an innate will to live. That is why Nigel, the miserable creature that he is, is still alive. Given the choice, the instinct for self-preservation compels most individuals to choose life, even in the most dire of circumstances, only considering the latter when life doesn’t seem like the best choice anymore.
I’m getting close to that point…
Once in a while, through the sounds of my chattering teeth, I hear the earth crack, as if these stone walls might come tumbling down. Eventually, I wrap my hands around my knees and shiver, holding on to one sliver of hope: Ezra apologized to me… He’s never once apologized for anything, and that is what is keeping me from drowning in panic.
Too tired to keep my head up, I plant my face against the ground and shudder as the cold pool of slush nearby trickles into my mouth and nose. My bones are chilled to their very core. If I’m lucky, I will suffocate in this slushy snow.
I keep mouthing the word please as if that will make any difference. Micah needs to come for me; I’ll die otherwise. However, I know he won’t. He won’t find me here because, even with his tracking skills, this cave is too well-hidden.
I start to numb my senses, disregarding my wet hair and soaked clothes. My vision blends into the darkness, but my mind is solely focused on the thought that Micah might be with her. It’s a painfully vivid image, one I’ve unfortunately witnessed before.
I let out one more sob before my eyes close from utter exhaustion, resting my head against the cold stone wall. “Micah, where are you? Please find me.” Even after all I’ve been through, saying his name comforts me, and begging is natural at this point.
At least an hour goes by, then another. I refuse to sleep, worried I might never wake up if I do. Eventually, the laughter returns, low at first but there all the same. I begin to pull my hair, willing it to stop, knowing this is a sign of my growing insanity. I pull it hard, then start to scratch my arm, digging my fingers into my flesh to keep myself awake. I only manage to stay alert by observing how my breath seems to slither and shine as if frozen in the moonlight peeking through the clouds. I shift my gaze upward, and my heart stops when a flash of green blooms from the dark inky sky above me and dances through the night.
The laughter eases, and my mouth momentarily gapes. Tears sting my eyes as I remember that fateful first night I spent with Maison, and I’m able to stall my descent into delirium and calm my painful breathing by focusing on that memory.
Hope. A sign. My lifeline.
The whispers ebb and flow, and time seems to stand still. I’m not asleep, though I’m certainly not awake. My stomach is like liquid clay, and the pain is excruciating.
I close my eyes and sway back and forth. I wish Maison would come to me as he did the last time I was held captive like this.
When Micah held me captive.
Maison doesn’t appear… but the laughter returns.
Nigel’s laugh… and it takes me a few seconds to realize I am not actually hallucinating.
“What the fuck do you want, Nigel?” I ask him, feeling his evil presence lingering above. He’s alone. “Where’s Ezra?”
He clicks his tongue. “Ezra doesn’t trust you, London.”
I scoff, the sound echoing over the rocks, my feeble attempt at hiding the cracks in my spirit. He’s breaking me. “Just kill me, Nigel. I know you want to.”
Anything is better than staying here like this.
“Oh, I plan to. I’m going to starve you, London. But before I’m done with you, you will feel true hunger, and you’ll know what it was like for the rest of us this winter while you hid in your glamorous life.”
I shudder at the thought. He would do that, too. His hatred for me, as unwarranted as it is, runs deep. Our emotions are so heightened that his true self shines through, as it does for all of us.
Who am I when stripped to the bare minimum?
I haven’t stopped to think about that. My existential crisis is short-lived when Nigel kicks rocks down on my head. I bite the inside of my cheek and place my arms above my head to stop them from cracking my skull.
“You had the same amount of food as we did,” I remind him, happy I still have some sense of wit. “So, what’s the real reason why you’re doing this?”
He snickers and kicks one more large rock, barely missing my head. “Because I can, London. Do I need any more reasons than that?”
He finally stops and chuckles to himself, and I let him humiliate me, not even trying to move.
A few agonizing seconds go by before I finally say, “Where have you been hiding, Nigel? Aren’t you tired of your miserable existence yet?” I’m egging him on, but I have nothing left, and me egging him on makes him weak. He’s emotional, just like me, and he usually gives me information when I push him. The astute journalist is just as stupid as I am. I’ve outwitted him several times on this island. I just need to stay strong.
“You’re fucking looking at it.” He takes a heavy breath. “Have you ever seen someone die of dehydration?” he muses as if he is looking at the dancing lights above us, too .
He pauses as if I am actually going to answer him.
“Your blood will thicken. Your organs will shut down one by one. You’ll shit yourself and hallucinate. I’ve heard dying of thirst is a terrible way to die. Even your brain cells will start to shrink. Your stomach will eat itself, and your veins will dry up.”
I wonder if that is why he is the way he is. His brain cells have morphed so much that he has become a shell of who he once was. That’s why he has become a predator, a murderer—utterly psychotic.
“Nighty night, London.”
Psycho. He’s lost his damn mind.
I sit stiff as a board, my back pressed against the rock, hoping that he somehow falls into one of these pits on his way back to whatever dreadful hole he calls home. I let out an uncontrollable sob when he finally shuffles away.
It’s a calm night, the moon now completely hidden within the shadows of the clouds. I can hear the snowfall as it hits the earth, though, as still as the night itself. With each flake hitting my face, I feel a chill as a short storm blows through this already miserable night. As if it could get any worse.
I’m not sure how much time goes by. Every time I drift off, my head hangs to the side, waking me up only so I can whip it back up. Alerting myself once again.
I guess I want to live, after all.
I listen to the sounds around me to bring myself some comfort. Just like I did with Micah. I used to listen to the snow, and he would tease me about it and say it was impossible for the human ear to hear a snowflake fall to the ground. I argued that it wasn’t a single snowflake but a million snowflakes falling at once. How could you not hear it?
He would smile at me like I was an idiot, but then he would explain all the sounds of the forest. Describe every bird’s call. Make me listen while he annoyingly told me what insects each bird eats. He would go on about it for an hour while I secretly listened to the snow and pretended to care. But really, I would stare at him, so happy he was showing me a part of himself that I knew he never showed anyone else.
Another whisper hits the air.
Another voice.
“London.” I whip my eyes open but can’t see anything, just shadow, darkness, and spring snow. A ghost, probably of one of the fallen. I’m no doubt hallucinating the tall figure standing before me—the Grim Reaper finally coming to claim me. Either that, or it’s Nigel again, and I’m not sure which one is worse.
“Get away from me.” I scramble back and kick at him, my foot connecting with flesh.
“Fuck you! That hurt.”
Ezra!
I take a moment to decipher if it’s really him, not trusting myself anymore. I blink a few times, and he puts his hand on my arm to settle me. “What are you doing?” I ask him.
“I came to get you.”
I sniffle and wipe the wetness dripping off my nose. “Why?”
“Because you’re useless to me if you die of hypothermia. You’re coming with me.”
I cock my head at him. “Does Nigel know you’re doing this?”
“No, and he won’t… Not yet, anyway. Get up. He’ll be gone until morning.”
I have so many questions, but I don’t linger. He helps me up, and as my knees weaken and my hand throbs, I fall into his arms.
I stare up at the dark outline of the steep rock wall in front of me. He jumped right in here and landed straight on his feet. That’s something I could imagine Micah doing. It must be an athlete thing. I forgot how good of an athlete Ezra was, too.
He crouches on all fours. “Stand on my back and pull yourself up.”
My eyes widen, but I don’t argue. I stand on his back, and as unsteady as I am, he is a firm anchor beneath me. I can barely reach the top, but it’s enough to grip the rock with my good hand. I need to use both hands, but I don’t think I can. The pain is immeasurable.
“Shit,” I cry out as I fall behind him, landing right on my tailbone. “My hand… I can’t.”
He grinds his teeth together and shakes his head in frustration. “Fuck, fine. Come here.”
He wraps his hands around my knees and hoists me up. I’m higher this time, and he positions himself underneath me. I’m able to get a steady footing on his shoulders and a better grip to, hopefully, pull myself up.
Ezra moves faster. He isn’t nice about it as he crouches and hurls me up over the rock, where I slam into the slimy ground.
“Fuck,” I yell at him. “Do you have to be so rough?”
I’m still on the ground as he pulls himself up effortlessly, even with his lame hand. A commonality we apparently have.
He grabs my elbow and leads me through the dark. “Come on, my shelter’s this way.”
His shelter? So they do live here, in the most hellish part of the island.
This should be interesting.
We walk for a bit through the gnarled trees. I follow him, clinging to his arm so the branches of those trees don’t reach down and eat me.
Smoke… a thick, dense smoke fills the air.
More than a campfire—this looks like a forest fire. I can taste the ash.
“There’s a fire nearby.” It’s not a question. Something surely isn’t right, and this landscape seems ripe for fires.
“Yeah, the smoke came in an hour ago. The moon is red.”
I glance up and see the blood-red moon, full and bright above us. It looks like it bears the mark of the devil. I shudder, thinking about what that could mean given how clear it was earlier.
Ezra leads me into the night, and I lean into him as he helps me take every step. He sighs and, eventually, pulls me into his arms as he navigates in the dark .
I instantly warm up, and I hate that I like it. I so desperately wish it was Micah warming me, but Ezra Schwartz is better than nothing.
We finally come upon another small death hole, and my stomach drops when I see a faint glow. He pauses in front of it, and I peer down, still in his arms. Red embers radiate from inside. A few feet away, a tiny hole is dug into the earth, with the only tarp we have on this island expertly placed inside it. Apparently, his shelter is in a death hole. The same as my prison, but this one is much nicer. I peer down again. It’s not as deep as the hole I was in, and he has blankets—lots of them—piled up. No roof per se, but a natural dip in the earth creates a small cave deep within, and the tarp would do the trick to shelter from the elements.
I’m actually impressed. This is a fantastic place to hide and would have provided exceptional insulation during the deep freeze. I’m sure Nigel has his lair somewhere nearby, too. All the pieces start to fit together in my mind, especially how they are still breathing.
“Is this where you live now?” I ask him.
“Yeah, it’s better than that fucking lake site and the shithole shelter Micah made us. I’m covered from the elements, and I can have a fire without the fucking thing burning down.”
I chuckle because the way he says it tells me he knows from experience.
I look around for Nigel, for any spark of human life other than the two of us.
“Where is he?” I ask cautiously. Saying his name out loud causes my body to have a visceral reaction.
“He’s close.”
I don’t push my luck to ask where or how far, grateful I get to sleep on something much more comfortable than the bedrock I was forced to lie on for the past few hours. The thick pile of clothes and blankets he used to construct a bed will do just fine.
He twitches his head, his beady eyes taking me in. “Get in.”
He’s sharing his bed with me, and I don’t know what to make of it. I hop down and sit cross-legged on the bed as he joins me. He fusses beside me, blowing on the embers so they heat but don’t flame. It’s enough to provide a comforting warmth in the tiny cave, and it casts a pleasant glow of calming, flickering light. As I watch him, he reminds me of Micah, not settling until the very last minute. Focused, brooding, and stronger than I gave him credit for.
He survived some serious shit, and as much as I hate him or am supposed to hate him, right now, I am grateful for him. Dare I say, I’m seeing, just a teensy bit, of what Naomi sees in him.
A kernel.
He sits beside me, sprawling his long legs out in front of him and finally relaxing, as if my presence here makes him super uncomfortable. I am stiff, too, like I don’t really know whether I should lie down or not. He did, after all, kidnap me and keep me in captivity for two days, and he was the one who knocked me out.
“I’m not making a fire tonight, so settle in,” he finally grunts. He looks stressed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. I hesitate, secretly worried that he will choke me in my sleep, that this is some sort of ruse to get me to trust him.
This sad version of Ezra is… interesting.
He senses my nervous energy. “I’m not going to hurt you, London. At least, not right now, so go to sleep.” I might have been feisty earlier, but being with these guys has certainly broken my spirit and humbled me. My looks have little effect on Ezra and Nigel, unlike Micah and Maison, who started swooning the moment they laid eyes on me.
“Why are you suddenly being so nice to me?” I ask him, feeling brave. Shifting to get more comfortable, I enjoy the heat from the embers on my skin. I lie down, using my arm as a pillow, my injured one cradled against me.
His sad eyes shutter. “I don’t think you would have lived through the night, despite what Nigel thinks. And… I don’t want to be fucking alone, and I don’t want to spend time with him. Since you’re here right now, you’re kind of my only option.”
I can’t help but look at him—how tired he looks, how ravaged he is, and how hard it must have been to admit that to me.
“But don’t fucking test me,” he snaps as if sensing how nice he’s being. He finally lays his head back. He hands me a bottle of water, and I accept it, although I inspect it before drinking. “It’s fine. It’s from melted snow. It’s clean; I’ve been drinking it and haven’t gotten sick.”
I take a swig and drink down the entire thing. Instantly, I feel better.
Water. Always drink the water.
Until it melts to nothing.
“You have no clean source of water here,” I point out. “You know you can’t last much longer in this place. Once the snow melts, you have to go back. You can’t hide from Micah forever.”
He answers with a grumbling stomach.
Awkwardly, he lies down beside me, close enough to provide a blanket of warmth, but far enough to be appropriate given the circumstances.
“Get some sleep. We’re hunting tomorrow.”
I huff. “I can barely move, Ezra. My hand is…”
He reaches for it, and I wince. He slowly unwraps the bandage and inspects it, shaking his head. “He did this to you, didn’t he?”
I don’t respond. I don’t want him to know what Micah did to me. I’ve been trying to downplay it since it happened. I hoped he wouldn’t care enough to look.
He grabs what’s left of the clean water and washes the scrapes and the bits of hanging skin. I haven’t wanted to see how bad it is, but the discoloration says enough.
The swelling, the bruising, the cuts… It’s bad.
He wraps it back up without asking any more questions.
He knows… He senses how toxic Micah and I are.
I wipe the sweat dripping from my forehead. “I need to eat, Ezra. Please, can I have something? ”
A pause, and his entire body goes rigid. “There is no more food, London. It’s gone… all of it.
My breath hitches. I knew they were low, but out? Completely?
I blow out a breath. “Is that why Naomi left?” She was clearly here; her mark is all over this place. The two of them spent the winter in this very spot. Surviving, relying on each other, easing their pain, loss, and suffering, just like Micah and I did. Yet, both decided to leave us…
His mouth curls. “She said she was going to see what she could find and come right back. We both knew the others wouldn’t welcome me back, so we couldn’t go together. We knew I’d ruin any chance we’d have of living. So she left, and she never came back… so fuck her.”
Traitorous bitch.
“I’m sorry, Ezra. You didn’t deserve to be abandoned like that.”
He scoffs. “So, if you want to eat, you have to help me hunt. There is no fucking choice. Either that, or you die.”
He must have something… anything.
“If you want me to have any fucking strength to hunt, I need something now…”
I can imagine his eyes rolling. “Fucking chicks, man,” he mutters but hands me a piece of dried meat he had hidden.
I knew it.
He pulls a blanket over him and rolls over in the other direction. “This is the last of it. There is no more fucking food, London.”
I take a small bite and savor the taste, swallowing it slowly.
He’s wrong… It’s not the last of it. I know exactly where more food is—a whole pile of it. Am I capable of betraying Micah by telling Ezra where the cabin is? Micah seems to have no problem betraying me.
“Ezra, I…”
“Go the fuck to sleep before I throw you back in that hole. And if you fucking snore or do any more of that weird laughing shit, I’m going to gag you.”
With a dismissive scoff, I roll in the opposite direction, avoiding any further conversation. With a sense of contentment, I drift off to sleep and am grateful for the companionship that banishes the echoes of laughter that have plagued me for countless nights.