The Island

4. The Boy

Jordyn

I feel around in the sand with my free hand until I find my knife. When I have both in my palms, I hold them out in front of me.

The shape takes one step into my hide-out, and my breath starts coming out in quick bursts. My chest rises and falls faster than I can control. The sweat returns, and for a moment, I'm afraid I might drop the knife.

He just saved my life, though.

That alone doesn't make sense.

"Don't take another step," I warn, but my voice comes out low and hoarse. It shakes like the rest of my body, crippled by the cold. My hands quiver, but they're hot. Is something else wrong with me? Why am I panicking?

"I just saved your life," he says, much more firm than before. I notice he talks with a thick accent. My mind races to figure out what part of the United States it might be from. "Do you really think I would hurt you now?"

Still, he doesn't move. We both know he's right, though. Something in the back of my mind doesn't want him anywhere near me where I would have to speak to him. The last sentence drained all my energy and left me hollow. My stomach turns at the very thought of having to open my mouth again.

"Have you put the knives down yet? I can't exactly see you."

"No," I answer in a squeak. The words feel like razors as they rise up my throat. I pant for a moment before gripping the knives tighter.

"I'm not a threat to you. Promise."

"How can I possibly believe you? You threw a knife in the dark and killed a moving target!"

That was too many words. My head spins.

"I don't know how I did that," he mumbles, "but it was almost like I could hear its heart beating or something. I knew where it was. Plus, I could hear you whimpering."

My cheeks burn in shame. Was I that loud? Who or what else heard me?

"What's stopping you from doing the same thing to me?" I ask, scratchy voice barely above a whisper.

The boy groans. It echoes around the rock then settles in front of me on the glacial sand.

"Again, why would I kill that thing if I wanted you dead?" he repeats. His tone is full of exasperation. "I would have let it finish you if that's what I wanted."

My hands lower themselves by an inch. His points make sense. I can't deny that.

"What do you want from me?" I ask, licking my dried lips. It doesn't help. The wind freezes my own saliva in the bloody cracks.

"Your help," he says. "I saw you build a fire earlier. You clearly know more survival skills than I do. I just want to pair up and make it through a few days before this place kills us."

"I don't want a partner," I snap.

"Because you don't trust me?"

My silence answers him. He sighs and continues.

"So, you'd rather starve, freeze to death, or be eaten than give the person who saved your life a chance?"

"I wouldn't freeze. I can build a fire."

"And where is that fire now, Red?"

I grimace at the use of a nickname. Of course he doesn't know my actual name. How could he in the darkness? He's going off my hair color. Great.

"Don't call me that," I whisper and lower my weapons the rest of the way.

"What? Red? You don't like it?"

I growl in absolute annoyance, and he laughs. It reminds me of windchimes on a porch made of wood on a house surrounded by a rainbow of wildflowers. Where did that picture come from? Have I heard that laugh before?

"I'll make you a deal," he says, and I jerk my head up as he takes another careful step. "I'll stop calling you Red if you agree to pair up with me."

"What's the point? We're going to die anyway," I say bitterly.

"True, but at least we can die together. You have to admit, death's a lot less lonely when you have someone to share it with. Even a stranger."

I would much rather be alone. My reaction to his very presence tells me that. Yet, I keep replaying that laugh over and over in my head. There's something different about him.

I need help, too. I don't know how to hunt. I'm too scared to go into the woods for any reason. I'm too weak to defend myself, and the water terrifies me to the point of paralysis.

Maybe a partner isn't such a bad idea.

"Fine," I mumble, and the boy laughs again. The sound sends chills down my spine. More of the memory resurfaces- endless hills around the white house, the flowers turning like windmills in the soft breeze, a porch swing, and someone humming.

"Thank you, ma'am," he says as he rushes into my sanctuary and sits down on the other side of the lion carcass. He lays down in the sand beside the dead animal until all I see is a lump.

"What are you doing?" I ask as I scoot away from him.

"Unless you can somehow start a fire in below freezing temps," he explains, "you had better use the warmth of this thing to keep you from dying."

I stare at him in disgust.

"I can't see your face, but I know what you're thinkin'. It's disgusting. It works, though. You're gonna have to trust me."

I know I'm never going to sleep with him sitting there, but the cold prevents me from thinking straight. It distracts me from what's going on around me, from keeping an eye out on all of my surroundings.

I sigh and scoot closer to the steaming carcass. The sand is warm from the blood. I'll wash off in the morning, if I can build up enough courage to stand in the ocean. Maybe I'll have my new partner stand guard.

Within minutes, he's asleep and emitting a low snore that makes me smirk.

That's when my mind decides to answer my question about where is accent is from. Southern. He's from a southern state- Texas, Tennessee, Alabama. One of those. I make a mental note to dig up more information about him in the morning, when I can see his face.

For now, though, I lean against the body of the lion and try to focus on what's outside. It works mostly, and I narrow in on the sounds of birds screeching in high major tones.

The wind whispers around me, like a soft voice heard behind a thick curtain. It sounds like an old woman with paper thin lips and wise eyes.

Kill the boy.

When the whispers form words, I jump and look around the alcove like I can see where the voice came from. No more shapes loom in my vision. We're still alone.

Kill him before he kills you.

I'm imagining this. The Island is playing mind games with me now. I know this stranger isn't going to kill me.

Is he?

Yes. He will. As soon as you close your eyes, Jordyn.

So, I won't close my eyes. I won't trust him with anything until I know he's not going to turn on me.

The voice disappears, and I shiver and cuddle against the lion once again. There's no fatigue left in me now. Every sense is on edge. I listen to his snoring. I watch the water rock back and forth in the unnatural light of the hexagon roof. I feel the rock overhead for vibrations. I sniff for the smell of blood or the stench of garbage and filth.

Nothing will get past me. I won't be tricked.