Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
I’m loading more papayas into my bag for later when a bolt of awareness zings down my spine. I freeze and listen.
Nothing. But something is telling me to run. It’s like the urges I felt to kill Virginia and screw Pax; it’s just there, taking over all my other senses, and it’s strong.
Bag in one hand and spear in the other, I race for the edge of the jungle. I’m almost there when I hear a man’s voice.
“Clear that section.”
My pulse pounds, terror racing through my veins. I hold my breath. If I run too fast, I could tip someone off that I’m here. Instead, I creep in the opposite direction of the voice, my gaze on the ground so I can watch where I step.
I figured they’d look for me. Olin said they would. But I didn’t think Pax and Virginia would send people so far. Not when the Tiders are starving and rebuilding their camp.
I’m dead if they catch me. There’s no way Virginia will just throw me back in that hole.
My best option is to take cover. If they’re combing the jungle in sections, they’ll find me if I’m not hidden.
There’s a big rock formation about a hundred feet away. Every step I take toward it, I worry I’m going to get a spear in my back.
Finally, I reach the massive rocks, which have moss and small vegetation growing in their cracks. At its tallest point, the formation is about twenty feet tall, only a few cracks of sunlight breaking through the canopy of trees to illuminate it.
The sense of alarm hits me again, this time like a punch in the stomach.
Go.
I run my hand over the rocks, my stomach dropping with panic. There’s no hiding place here.
Racing to the other side, I find a thick wall of vines, bright-orange blooms giving off a heavy, sweet scent.
Maybe I can hide behind them. It’s the best option I have right now. I slide behind the curtain of twining green branches and leaves at one side, being gentle so I don’t destroy my cover.
I keep walking, my palm out in search of solid rock. But after a few seconds, a damp, earthy smell fills my nostrils and I realize I’m entering a cave.
The path turns into a decline, cooler air washing over my skin. I breathe a sigh of relief as I continue down, small rocks crunching beneath my boots.
Trickling water sounds from deeper inside the cave. It’s completely dark in here, but somehow I can sense the space around me and I know I’m not about to walk into anything.
I descend about a hundred feet and then the ground levels out again. A single crack of light filters into the space, allowing me to see dim outlines.
Squinting, I creep closer to a flat rock at about my waist level. My breath catches in my throat when I see what’s on it. There’s a sheathed knife, the craftsmanship on the leather case like nothing I’ve seen on this island. Beside the knife, there’s a big bowl turned upside down and...I run my fingers over the surface of the other item, which is so dark it blends into the rock. It’s a flint for starting fires.
I swipe the knife and turn, looking over one shoulder and then the other. My heart hammers, fear gripping me by the throat. Is someone about to lunge at me? I wouldn’t even see them coming.
Close your eyes. Use your other senses.
I release a slow breath and look down, shuttering my eyelids. It’s not as scary as I thought it would be. There’s the faint trickle of water. The musty smell of bat dung floats through the air and welcome cool air takes the sting from the scratches on my face.
I don’t know how I’m aware of this, but somehow, I know that if there was someone else in here with me, I’d be able to feel them moving. The cave is still, and with every second that passes, my heartbeat slows.
Unsnapping the knife sheath, I pull the weapon from its case. When I’ve moved the bowl and flint to the ground, I sit on the smooth, cold rock and put the knife beside me.
Just knowing I have a weapon makes me breathe easier. I reach down and untie my boots, pressing my lips into a thin line. It’s going to hurt, but I have to do it.
Gingerly, I slide each boot off, then make quick work of the socks. Tiny needles stab my feet. They’re dry, though. And I should be safe here.
Unless the cave’s occupant returns. I wrap my hand around the knife’s hilt, the solid feel of it grounding me. I need to stay awake and alert, but now that the adrenaline has worn off, fatigue is calling out to me.
I can’t give in. I can rest here, but I can’t sleep.