Chapter Twenty-Four
The moment the sun starts to lighten in the sky, I burn anything green I can get my hands on.
Piles of fresh leaves. Branches I rip off trees.
Whole bushes I uproot from the ground, until a thick stream of cloying smoke rises so high in the air that it seems to merge with the highest clouds overhead.
The fire doubles, then triples, until it’s pressing against the confines of its stone circle.
Hallucinations be damned.
Creepy assholes in the trees be damned.
Someone’s going to find us today if it kills me.
Jackson watches me like I’ve lost my damn mind, and honestly, I might have. He tries to get me to sit, to drink water, to go find something to eat, but I don’t stop. I’ll eat once we’re rescued.
“Would you please, for the love of god, sit down?” he asks for the fourth time. “It’s a thousand degrees, and if you don’t stop, you’re going to pass out.”
I wave him off. “Later. I’m busy.”
He steps in my way and knocks the branch I’m about to throw on top of the fire out of my hands. “If you go get a drink of water, I’ll give you my car.”
I snort. “I have my own car.”
“You can have two cars.”
The concern on his face crumbles my resolve a bit.
For so many years, I would have killed to have him look at me like that.
To care about what I do, or where I go, or how I’m taking care of myself.
I drag his forehead down to meet mine and smile.
“I don’t need two cars. I need us to all get home safely.
Preferably within the next twelve hours. ”
He presses his lips to my forehead and sighs. “Lofty goal.”
I pull away. “My favorite kind.”
He rolls his eyes and backs away, dramatically lifting his hands. “Fine, I surrender. At least let me help with the brush.”
“I’ve got this. But if you can find any more fruit, I’ll give you my car.”
He gives me a mock salute and wanders down the right side of the beach.
I check on Emmy. I had to unearth her from the deflating raft last night, and now she’s lying on top of it, using the deflated remains of the canopy as a blanket.
Eventually I’ll have to find a way to prop it up so she has some kind of protection from the sun, but for now she looks comfortable, so I leave her alone.
Her wounded arm stretches out across the top of the raft, mango leaf still tied to her skin. Every time I pull it back, I brace for maggots, but thankfully that nightmare hasn’t happened quite yet.
I stand up and look down the beach. The sky could not be bluer. The water is sparkling. The sand pristine. It’s another beautiful day in paradise.
And I never want to see any of it, ever again.
My stomach aches with hunger, so I head into the trees to grab more green branches to distract myself from it.
God, I hope Jackson can find something to eat this time.
If not, we might have to venture much farther from camp, but there’s got to be more fruit trees around here somewhere.
And when we find them, I’m hiding food everywhere.
Everywhere. Let’s see that asshole try and steal from us again when I’ve filled the beach with little stashes of food like a fucking squirrel.
Ten feet into the trees, the hair on the back of my neck lifts, and I freeze.
The jungle has gone silent again. It’s like nature itself is telling me something out here doesn’t belong, and I’d be willing to bet Jackson’s car that it’s the same shirtless asshole who stole our food last night.
A flash of skin moves to my left, bolting through the trees.
Got you!
I shout for him to stop and take off after him. The forest floor bites into the soles of my feet. Branches catch on my bare skin. I trip over rocks and roots and brush, but I don’t let up. I’m not letting him slip away this time.
He runs in a zigzag pattern away from camp, around groups of trees and brush, keeping parallel with the beach. Flashes of sunlight, sparkling off the water, shine through gaps in the trees and glint off his back.
He fucked up. He should have waited until nightfall to mess with us again, because now I won’t stop until I have answers.
I’m gaining on him.
The trees ahead thin, and he bolts through a swampy area full of sludge.
He splashes through the ankle-deep water and shoots out the other side.
I crash in after him. Halfway through, something catches my foot, and I almost fall face-first into the disgusting mosquito breeding pool, but I catch myself on a stump and wade out the other side.
When I right myself, he’s gone.
I round a cluster of palm trees, expecting to spot him on the other side, and kick something hard across the jungle floor. Pain radiates through my toes, and I swear up at the canopy, jumping on one foot to see what I kicked.
My sticker-covered water bottle is on the ground.
I stare at it in shock. Footsteps thunder through the trees to my left, and I shake off my surprise and tear through the trees after him.
Who the hell is this person? Someone who doesn’t want us on their beach? Fine, report us to the authorities. Do us all a favor and get us the hell out of here. I don’t understand the point of stealing our things and ruining our shelter.
I run through a wide thicket of branches and skid to a stop.
I’m standing in a small clearing, only about twenty feet across, but someone’s clearly living here.
A rickety-looking shelter made of branches and palm fronds leans up against a thin tree that bends under the weight.
The cans of stolen peaches and tomato soup are smashed open on the ground beside a rock.
My mesh bag hangs from a nearby branch.
I step closer, listening for movement in the trees, and snatch my bag off the branch. The first aid kit is still inside, and so is the waterproof pouch with my phone. The sunscreen is gone.
On the ground beneath it is a huge pile of fruit. Mangoes, bananas, guavas, even a couple avocados. More than any one person could eat before it went rotten. In fact, it looks like all the fruit that went missing from the trees around the campsite.
My heart thunders in my ears.
Someone’s going out of their way to make sure we suffer out here.
I need to leave, right now. I don’t hear him in the trees, and if he doubles back for the camp, Jackson will be Emmy’s only line of defense. If this guy is willing to watch us starve, what else is he capable of? I have to get back and tell Jackson what’s happening.
I put the water bottle into my bag and turn to leave, but my gaze catches on the shelter. A piece of dirty fabric is stretched across the ground inside. White fabric with tiny little buttons.
My blood runs cold.
Oh my god. I know that shirt.
Something moves behind me, and I whirl around as a huge branch swings for my head.