Nico and Elias sit perched next to a crackling fire, the woven basket planted at their feet. Nico clutches the dagger with ghostly white hands so clammy I fear his grip might slip. He's shaking, and I know why. Nico has never been good with blood, and he's always had a weak stomach.
The golden skin of his arm is outstretched, wobbling about as he takes a deep breath. He lowers the blade to the top of his forearm and drags out a long but shallow gash. He's careful not to dig too deep, and he shifts his arm over the basket.
Time seems to stop as the crimson drops fall into the basket, diffusing into the water and turning it a pale pink shade.
"How much am I dropping?" Nico says through gritted teeth.
"Enough to turn it red," Elias informs him, the bags under his eyes more prominent as he straightens his mouth.
Nico sighs and squeezes more blood out. It runs down his arm and creates ugly maroon streaks. Semi-transparent, it reveals the freckles on his arm.
Nico scoops the basket away from Elias and Veyr instantly takes the other side as he struggles to lift it. They hold it over the fire, Veyr's face unchanging but Elias's sweating with perspiration.
Nico retreats to the ocean to wash the blood off his arm, and I feel an urge to go with him. I retort to biting my lip, my scar tingling as I press the deformed skin.
I force the memory of my mother's ring out of my head, focusing instead on the crackling fire. While Veyr and I were in the jungle, Ziana managed to find some vines and more sap and is working away weaving a tipi like structure. Its foundations seemed to be held up by some form of miracle, and small wooden stakes are pressed into the sand. I don't understand, and I don't pretend to. I do, however, want to understand.
I try to make sense of her dozens of twisted plants and the strategic placement of each log. The fifteen of them are held together in place by two thin vines tied together. They fan out at the bottom into a circular hut nearly twenty feet in diameter. How they aren't slipping is anybody's guess but Ziana's. As much as I hate to admit it, she knows what she's doing better than I do.
I bend down and grab a handful of the sand, looking for signs of fertility. The millions of microscopic rocks sift through my fingers, no sign of dirt anywhere. I may not understand building, but I do understand farming. Of the explored area, the marsh seems to be the best place to start seeds, but we'd have to find fast-growing plants. There's no sense in caring for something only for it to finish in the final days of the Trigger.
I stand uselessly off to the side, my stomach turning as I watch the rest of them be productive. Even Nico scampers off to aid Ziana, spreading her logs apart as she coats the sap around their entirety.
The basket dangles so close to the flames I fear it might catch on fire. Nothing can play too close to the flames for long; it'll always get burned. Sweat trails down Veyr's nose and over his puckered lips. He has to be painfully hot right now, his arms and legs are just inches away from the fire.
As if on cue, Elias barks out a yelp as he lets go of the basket and stumbles into the fire, redirecting the container onto the sand where it slams forcefully on the ground, a few ounces of precious water splashing to the sand.
It is apparent that my concern is no one else's, as Veyr rushes immediately over to where Elias rolled and pulls him out of the flames' reach. Elias lets out moans of pain as he clutches the left side of his face.
"Goddamn bee," Elias curses. "I'm allergic, it scared me."
"Let me see your eye, dumbass," Veyr demands, his hands prying Elias's arms out of the way.
A nasty blister is already consuming his face, but it doesn't seem too severe. His eyebrows are still intact, but it appears that the ends of his hair have been seared off.
"Good news is your eye is fine," Veyr groans. "It burned the lid slightly but you reacted quick enough that all of the burns aren't worse than second degree. The bad news is it's going to hurt like hell and we don't have anything to soothe it."
"Great," Elias mutters, his voice already strained from the pain. His visible eye is pooling with tears, and they fall silently down his cheek.
"I can look for something," I offer. "But I only know the properties of the plants we grew. I have no idea if the jungle ones will be the same."
"Look for Snakerot," Elias growls. "It should be familiar."
I nod my head, picking the dagger up off of the ground from where it slipped out of Elias's belt. Snakerot is one of the most prevalent plants in what is left in the world, known for its ability to survive in the harshest conditions and thrive in the supple. Shaped like long dark green tubes, they curl at the end and their venom has a variety of uses, which is why we kept them around.
Besides being a soothing burn cream, it can be used for pain relief, reduce the signs of aging, and even be used as a sweetener, making it quite a popular natural product.
"I'll be back soon," I promise, scurrying off before any of them can object to me going by myself.
Caught up in taking care of Elias, Veyr doesn't offer any sign of acknowledgment, but I don't care. I just bolt into the jungle with intentions other than finding the Snakerot. Although beautiful, that wildcat could feed us for a week, and its pelt could be of some use. Going in the direction of a wounded animal is sure to cause a run-in with scavengers, but scavengers are all they are.
I jog into the jungle for as long as possible, knife ready as I scan the trunks for any signs of the tubular vines. They're leeches; using trees for their benefit before killing them with their sweet nectar. Although beneficial to humans, the venom is toxic to other plants and causes rapid decay. I shouldn't have to look very hard or far, woods and jungles are their primary habitat, but it's taking longer than I would've liked.
I grow impatient as I barrel through more and more trees, growing deeper and deeper with every stride. Soon I am in unfamiliar territory, and the world around me shifts once again.
A shimmering lake lies before me, the clearing so vast I wonder how Veyr and I didn't notice it before. I realize with a sense of dread that I either traveled further or in the wrong direction than I intended too, but I brush it off. I discovered something much more valuable.
The trees sparse out to form a large circular meadow, the lake stretching out for miles upon miles. I want to run out immediately and inhale the freshwater, realizing now that I never stopped to drink the cured liquid, but my instincts tell me not to. I need to observe my surroundings first; make sure I don't become clear in the view for any predators.
Sure enough, there is movement at the base of the lake to the left of me. A towering beast stands in the weeds of the water, scrounging around lazily. The creature is nearly four times the size of me, with a maw that's similar to a hippopotamus. The pale pink and wrinkled body is stubby and seems to be compressed together; a stub of a tail flailing around as if grazes. The creature turns in my direction and its eyes meet my own. They're golden brown and welcoming, and a sense of calm washes over me. The animal appears to be telling me that I can trust it, and I take another step forward.
That's when it bolts around, scanning the surrounding forest for signs of a threat. It's pointed ears perk up, and it's rough skin ripples on edge. I look around, careful not to breathe, but sense nothing.
I whirl around when I hear a yowl, and do a double-take when I realize the creature isn't there anymore. It vanished in thin air, the once green water now stained a deep crimson is the only thing giving it away.
A sense of dread boils through my blood and I take a deep gulp before backing up, not wanting to stick around long enough to discover what just killed the giant with no struggle at all. I let out a few breaths then turn, sprinting back to more familiar territory. The trees blur around me in a frenzy of brown trunks, and I stumble over an overgrown root.
The motion sends me flying into the ground, dirt flying around me as my outstretched hands scrape mercilessly on the floor.
"Shit," I curse, the familiar stinging sensation of open skin throbbing through my arms.
I pant in the dirt for a few moments, unsure if I have the strength to get up. I don't hear anything following me, but obviously, the water creature didn't either until it was too late.
I decide to scamper up and put a little more distance between myself and the beast before stopping to search for the plant. Right before I do so, something catches my eye.
A medium-sized plant that curves around the base of the tree glimmers in the sunlight, it's venom-filled pockets beating as if containing a heart.
I breathe a sigh of relief and yank the plant out of the ground with a sharp jolt. The commotion causes a few angry calls from insects as they scamper away into the concealed depths of the jungle.
The plant is different than I remember, the tubes tinged with slightly purple veins at the ends rather than yellow, but there's no denying it's Snakerot. The smell of the venom is intoxicatingly sweet, just as I remember it the few times Nico and I stumbled into the plant.
I don't spend too much time examining it as there's still not much distance between me and whatever just committed murder. I have no idea what the beast was, not to mention the speed or tracking abilities. The thought of the dying cat briefly enters my mind, but I shake it off, knowing better than to alert the unknown creature with fresh food. I'll have to come back tonight during my shift and retrieve it; this time when I'm sure Nico is asleep.
***
By the time I enter the camp, I'm panting like a dog. Sweat runs down my back and forehead, and my mind desperately aches for a bath to cleanse itself. The Snakerot is clutched tight in my arms, a few drops of venom leaking out of the root where it was yanked from the ground.
"You're a goddess, Sunshine," Veyr thanks, taking the plant out of my hands.
He carefully squeezes some of the clear fluid-like pulp out of the root directly onto Elias's face. His skin is wrinkled and blistering; his eyelid puffy and salmon pink.
Elias lets out a sigh of relief as Veyr rubs it into his skin, the venom acting like a salve. It glistens in the light as it soothes the damaged skin, and I see Elias's muscles withdraw their tension.
"Better?" Veyr asks, standing up and leaving Elias laying in the sand.
"Slightly," he groans. "Still hurts like hell."
"It's only going to get better," he assures, brushing off his pants.
I notice with a grin that they're slightly too short for him, riding up past his boots rather than being tucked in. It's the Regime's fault, as they're supposed to account for all measurements. How they let the slip-up pass, I'm unsure.
Ziana appears to have finished her teepee and is securing the final logs deep into the sand. Her braids have been pulled up into a ponytail, revealing her angular face even more. I can tell the heat's also getting to her, and she saunters over to the fire.
Water.
I almost yelp with glee at the realization. The scare with the beast made me forget about the quenching in my throat and the willpower it took to swallow, but glancing at the basket, I finally let my instincts take over.
I press my lips against the side of the basket and tilt it sideways, the feeling of cool malleable liquid washing over my cracking lips. I gulp it down forcefully and try to conceal my smile as it waterfalls down my throat.
Although I try not to waste a drop, water still manages to miss my mouth in the dazed process of drinking and lands in the sand, earning a scowl from Ziana when I look up.
"You're so unsanitary," she scolds, then gestures to the ground. "And wasteful. Elias got burned for this, the least you could do is treasure it."
"Don't tell me you made cups?" I laugh. "I don't know how else you expect me to drink; my hands are equally as dirty."
"As a matter of fact I did," she snaps back, gesturing to the shelter where Nico stands, examining the inside for leaks.
"Well aren't you a homebody? Should've guessed that though, you people from Five love your art."
I didn't mean it as an insult, I actually quite admired her tipi and was impressed by her cups, no matter how useless, but her face grows dark and I know she takes it the wrong way.
"I'm not like you," she snaps. "I don't know how to wield a knife or how to fish or how to be brave. You're fearless; I'm just an artist trying to make this island feel a little bit more like home."
She stalks back to Nico without her water, and I glance over at Veyr.
"What was that all about?" he asks, eyebrows upturned.
I shrug my shoulders. "Made her angry again."
Veyr cracks a grin. "You seem to be pretty good at that."
"It's my specialty," I deadpan, squinting my eyes as Elias lets out another groan.
I notice the burns on his hands and try to suppress my worry. Elias is smart, and his craftsmanship is only challenged by Ziana. But while Ziana's talents focus on homeliness, Elias's are survival-based. Ziana can't make weapons or braces as he can, and I can only pray that the venom heals him quickly.
"Don't look at me like that," Elias snaps, his arm moving to cover his blistered face.
"Like what?" I question, my voice filled with confusion.
"Like you're analyzing my every move," he growls. "Like I'm prey."
I stifle a snicker. He doesn't realize that he just described the exact way he looks at all of us.
"You're not my prey, Elias," I chide, then mimic his behavior from fishing. "At least not yet."
Veyr rolls his eyes at me, but I can tell he's a bit uneasy.
"All jokes," I assure him, and I watch his shoulders unclench.
"I'll be back," he declares, tossing the spear from hand to hand. "I'm going to test my luck with the fish."
I let out a sigh knowing this will leave me useless and hovering around camp when I could be going to retrieve the wildcat. Although, if no one cared if I went the first time, who's to say they wouldn't again?
I weigh the decision, deep down knowing if I don't go get it now, I'll regret it if it turns up missing later in the night. Before I can talk myself out of it, my mind is made up and I begin to walk in the direction of the jungle.
"Where are you going now?" Elias groans still curled up in the fetal position in the sand.
"Hunting," I reply. "I promise to bring back a wildcat for supper."
Elias snorts. "Don't get yourself killed just yet."
"Not planning on it," I reply, walking off.
My hands grip tighter around the hilt of the knife and I bite my lip as I suppress the urge to chuck it. Built-up frustration is trying to force itself out of me, and I know if I don't release it soon I'll snap at one of the others.
***
Nico is the source of my thoughts as I tread through the forest. I want to kick myself for the way we've acted; the way I've acted, but I angrily gnaw at my cheek instead. Nico and I, inseparable childhood best friends, were lucky enough to be placed in the same squad, and now we can't even bother to mutter a few words to each other. The entire situation is petty, but I can't bring myself to apologize. I've never been good about saying sorry.
The moans of a dying animal snap me back to reality and I let out a sigh of relief. Luckily enough my tracking abilities aren't too poor, and I managed to follow the correct trail of compressed leaves and broken branches.
The sight of the cat is enough to make me throw up with pity. The gaping wound in its side has turned to a nasty matted mess of congealed blood, and it doesn't appear to have the strength to lift its head. It perks its ears up at the sound of me, though, and I watch as it opens its golden eyes.
"I'm sorry," I murmur to the animal, sad that its life had to end like this.
There's no denying the cat was beautiful in its prime. The elegant claws and sharp teeth mark it as an excellent hunter, and the sleekness of its fur is undeniable.
I realize with a groan that I have no way to kill the thing unless I scale the tree, and although the boots have a decent enough grip and I still have the dagger for extra help, I don't know if I'll manage. I decide now is as good a time as any to attempt to climb one of the giant trees and I begin to examine the bark for footholds.
Strangely enough, the trunk is filled with peeling wood and dents from sheltering animals. I imagine it shouldn't be hard to climb the twenty feet up to the creature, but getting back down seems like a problem. Even Veyr, who had no hesitation climbing up, struggled and fell, nearly hurting himself. One wrong landing and my ankle or legs could get broken.
I scold myself for my recklessness and begin to climb, one hand in front of the other and not daring to move until I am certain I have a secure foothold. The blade between my teeth begins to slide, and I yelp as it slices the corner of my lip.
The cat lets out a warning yowl and I wait a few seconds before beginning to move upward. Although I doubt the cat is in any shape to move, I don't want its final bursts of energy directed at me.
I reach the limb the cat is perched on out of breath with burning arms; years of plowing didn't quite prepare me for lifting my entire body weight. Its eyes soften at the sight of me, and it lets out a soft purr.
I reach my hand out cautiously, dagger ready in my other one, and press it softly to the cat's fur. The coat is sleek and has a velvety texture, and it reminds me of the waterproof clothing some of the Regime wears.
The cat lets out a snarl and I whip my dagger around to face it. The two of us lock eyes, and it's almost as if I can see the spirit draining out of it.
"You'll be in a better place now," I lie, raising the knife.
I don't believe in any sort of afterlife, but I know others rely heavily on the religions before the Triggers. I only believe in one thing on the other hand, and that's survival. It's too draining to dwell on the responsibilities of an afterlife, so I follow my own path.
The dagger impales the cat straight through the neck, and it lets out a faint gurgle before twitching for the last time. I wince as the creature lets out one shuttering last breath and dies next to me, its paws going limp.
Not hesitating, I pull the dagger out of the cat's neck and then proceed to roll the feline off the tree. It hits the ground with a sickening crunch, blood gushing from its new wound.
"I'm coming," I call down to it, hoping I don't break my ankles on the way down.
I just pray the pelt and fresh meat were worth it.