The Island

24. Gravity

Jordyn

Eventually, I slam into the flat ground below, spread eagle on my back. The world goes black around me as my head hits the ground milliseconds after my spine. The fact that I can feel every thing tells me I'm not dead. There's a burning in my back, a sharp pain in my already broken arm, and a deep pounding in my head.

More importantly, though, I can't breathe. Forget the blindness; forget the pain. The searing fire spreading through my chest and throat intensifies with every second that passes. I feel my mouth open, but my lungs can't seem to process how to work. I clamp a hand over my chest, clawing my nails into the jumpsuit.

I'm not going to die from a fall. I'm going to suffocate.

This isn't how I want to go. Especially knowing that there's a way out right in front of me and not before I've told Sam who he is, who I am, and who we were together. I'm not dying today. I'm not dying under this dome.

My lungs kick themselves to life, and I gasp for breath. Air floods my lungs, throwing me onto my side. The coughing begins soon after, wracking my entire body. I feel every breath burning tender lungs and searing my raw throat.

The coughs become dry heaves, and I push myself up into a sitting position. The gagging only intensifies my breathing struggle. Yet, as I suck in more starved breaths, my vision starts coming back in cloudy chunks. The colors rush back first to form a mirage of bleeding greens and blues around me. Next, the trees outline themselves, and the shape of the jungle rises around me like prison bars. I blink the tears away, and the last of the mistiness disappears.

With a hand clamped over my throat, I look around.

I landed a few feet away from the base of the volcano where I first started climbing. The evidence of my descent is a long trail of crushed bushes and rocks that have been pushed aside. Leaves cover my jumpsuit, joined by broken twigs and bits of pebbles. A thin layer of dirt coats my arms. I can only imagine how awful my face looks.

In spite of how bad I feel, at least I'm alive.

I do a quick once-over of my body to make sure nothing else is broken or cut open. Luckily, I'm just stiff and bruised. With a sigh, I adjust my sling and flop back on the ground.

I just need a moment's rest. One... or two minutes.

Tops.

When I open my eyes, the sun has began to dip towards the horizon. The skinny trees cast long shadows on the ground around me. The air is noticeably cooler, but it is still thick and sticky with humidity. When exactly did I fall asleep?

I jerk upright, wincing at the protest of my muscles. Bad idea. The pains have turned into aches, and my entire body is stiffer than a wind-dried towel. That alone forces me to use the closest trees to hoist myself up off the ground. Thank God I didn't pass out and sleep into the night; I would have been lion fodder.

Limping back through the woods is easier this time than it was before. Time has been kind to most of my ailments. While the trip takes longer, I can breathe, and the burning that once engulfed me is gone. The pounding in my arm is gone as well, unless I try to move it. By the time the shed breaks through the thick vegetation, the blue sky has turned orange and sunset approaches.

I open the door and drag myself in, locking it behind me. In this condition, I can't protect myself. If Sam or Neil comes back, what's to stop them from killing me this time? I'm sure Neil meant to last time. Whatever saved me then probably won't save me now.

I lower myself down in the center of the filthy rug, curling up with my arm squeezed tight against my chest. The fabric under my nose smells like copper and dirt, a strange mix of nature and machine. I listen to the wind blowing against the window. The glass creaks slightly as the light fades. Monkeys chatter around me--angry that they can't see me inside my hideout.

Regardless of the fact I took a nap on the jungle floor earlier, exhaustion catches up with me again, and within minutes, I'm lulled to sleep by the fake world around me.

The sound of heavy rain wakes me up. I open one eye at a time but don't move. Instead, to appease the stiffness, I use my other senses to figure out what's going on.

There's a new smell in the room, a stench of feces and rot. My mind goes straight to manure, but where that comes from, I have no clue. I hear a deep scratching at several points around me. I grit my teeth together as it continues on a repetitive loop, growing louder and more spine-tingling with each passing second. The assumption that rain woke me fades.

To my right, the scratching is fast paced, a rabid sort of digging at the wall. It's much more quiet than the scratching at the door. Whatever is trying to get in is taking its time by digging its nails into the wood first and then pulling them down in an effort to shred the object. I glance over to see the door tremble.

Slowly, my breathing in calm, even strides, I lift myself into a sitting position and back away from the door. Moonlight shines through the crack along the bottom, and a shadow paces back and forth. It's big--bigger than the monkeys. That's when I put two and two together. Smell plus size equals lions.

The lions found me.

A clawing sound at the window forces a squeal out of my mouth. I look over to see two giant paws.

If they get in, I'm dead. There's absolutely no way I can protect myself.

Am I sure there's nothing in the room?

Sweat begins to pour out of my skin as I push myself to my feet and run around the perimeter of the room. Adrenaline courses through my veins, pushing away the pain and fatigue that plagues me. The scratching intensifies as I move.

I check every inch of the walls in the hopes I'll find a second door. Maybe I can run. Yet, my search comes up empty. I glance around the room, frantic. All that's left is the rug and a thin layer of leaves that the bird blew in.

With a sound of desperation, I cross the room. My foot catches on the corner of the rug, and I tumble to the ground. The fabric wrinkles as I drag it along with me. When my foot hits the ground again, it slams into something cold. I twist back in pain, ready to cradle my toes, but I freeze.

Where the rug was sits a metal ring the size of my fist. In the faint light from the window, the outline of a door reveals itself.

A trapdoor.

The real door shakes behind me, testing its hinges.

There's no time to think. I have to move.

I crawl across to the ring and grip it with my good hand. Although heavy, the door opens with ease, revealing nothing but darkness and cold, moist air. Water runs somewhere below. I glance back at the real door to see it shatter. Pieces of wood scatter across the floor.

With an deep breath, I throw myself down into the hole, slamming the door behind me. 

A/N: Sorry it's so short! It almost didn't happen. It's been a crazy few weeks.