The Island

28. Bloodbath

Jordyn

Sam and I watch the frantic boy disappear into the tree line, crashing through like an elephant.

He knew our names before reading our shirts.

No, that's not possible. There's no way.

Yet, I never once saw him look down at the peeling black paint. And he said we should know him, too. Confusion floods my stomach. Something's going on. I can feel it. Maybe I should know him.

"Should I follow him?" Sam whispers as we both rise to our feet.

I nod. "Just in case he comes back after us."

"Do you really think he's looking for someone?"

"I mean, they do drop prisoners in pairs," I mumble, shrugging. "How does he know her name, though? How can he remember anything prior to this?"

Sam shakes his head.

"I'm going to go get him, drag his butt back here, and then figure out what's going on."

I nod again, still stunned.

Sam takes off at a sprint, not much more graceful than Ezra was moments ago.  I listen to them both stampede through, until the trees stop shaking behind them and everything goes silent.

Where did this stranger come from? What part of their game is this? Just when I thought we were making progress towards escaping, they throw a new and dangerous wrench in the gears. My feet itch to chase after the two of them, but my entire body aches. I'm physically exhausted from my fight with Neil, and the sling is hanging on for dear life.

I'm about to lower myself back down into the sand when another scream--more like a wordless shout--makes itself back to me. I stand up straighter and tilt myself forward. What if Sam needs me? What if he's in trouble?

I swear under my breath and walk towards the trees.

"Jordyn!" someone yells, desperate and scared. "Come here!"

It's the new kid. Not Sam. Sam would have just let me wait out on the sand and brought news back to me. He's being a little too cautious about my physical condition. I rock back and forth on my heels. It's really not safe for me to go into those woods. Not in my condition. Yet, I don't hear Sam protesting.

With a groan, I give in to the curiosity and walk towards the source of the yell, as quickly as I can without running. It's an easy path to follow, considering broken branches line a footpath of stomped undergrowth.

A soft sound rides towards me on the wind. At first, I think it might be one of the birds screaming in the distance, but the sound is more low and gravely. The birds sound like a screeching. I squint--as if that could help me hear--and pick up my pace. The cotton-soft sound grows louder, until I realize it's someone crying.

Other than my and Sam's sobs, it's something I can't remember hearing before. The way that the crier sniffles occasionally, muffling the sound through fabric or flesh, gasping for desperate breaths between tears, sounds remotely familiar. It feels like an itch in the back of my brain that's nestling between my hair and neck. I want to scratch at it, but I'm too afraid of what I might learn about the mysterious Ezra.

My present is scary enough. Do I really want to delve into my past?

I push through a canopy of leaves and suck in a strangled breath.

The smell hits me first. The sour mixture of iron and sweat assaults my nostrils to the point that I can feel my stomach churning. I cover my mouth and nose with my good hand as fast as I can and swallow back the bile. I'm thrown back to when I was surrounded by Kaia's blood and the pungent smell of the decaying lion in the alcove. It's the unmistakable smell of death.