Jordyn

I wake up an eternity later, unable to move. My body has turned to lead, and I am anchored to the floor under me. My right arm throbs. I can't force myself to look at it, though, mainly because I can't turn my neck to one side or the other.

I've been thrown under a stampede of horses, trampled, and left to die.

So, instead of trying to move, I stare at the ceiling overhead and piece together the memories my hysteria and fear evoked. Three revelations have become clear, but a thousand more questions climbed out of the shadows and have nestled in my brain.

First, Sam and I were friends. That's why he felt so familiar and why I gravitated to him. The Island knew that, and the voice tried to pit me against him. We've known each other since we were little. I spent days at his house, loved his parents, and held him when he lost them. He was the boy on the porch swing of my previous memories, the wind chime laughter, and the smell of chocolate.

More importantly, I didn't kill his parents. President Murano did, according to my father, who I can now connect a face and name to. I saw him before, in the earlier snapshot of him pushing me on a swing. The identity of my father isn't important, though. I just care about the fact that I'm innocent of Sam's accusations.

I didn't murder his parents.

I killed someone, but it wasn't them.

There's one more thing that sticks out about the two memoryscapes, though.

The news reporter said my father was the leader of a rebel group. That means that I was part of the rebels.

Rebels against what? The president? But what in the world did we do to cause her to come after Sam's parents? They were obviously afraid of her to begin with.

There are parts that are not as clear as others.

The ache behind my ears makes it feels like I wasn't supposed to see that. The Island didn't give me those memories. They snuck into my head like ants, fueled by the attack by Neil. The pain allowed them to nestle in uninvited and uncontrolled.

One unanswered question hangs over my head like the bright copper sun, searing through my chest.

So I didn't kill Sam's parents, but I killed someone! Why did I commit arson in the first place? The Island isn't going to release that bit of information to me just yet--accidentally or on purpose. It's the missing piece to the puzzle I've been trying to solve since I first got here.

I turn my head slowly and look at the single window in the room. Bright light filters through the dust bunnies that float around the room. How long have I been laying here? When did Sam and Neil find me? It was morning, I think.

Judging by the angle of the beams of light coming through the spotless window, it's well past midday.

Wait--how do I know that?

What else did the attack bring back to me other than memories?

I shift my weight and push myself up with my left arm. The long scab from my fight with Neil days ago has been reopened, but other than the constant throbbing, that pain is weak compared to my right arm. When I'm sitting up, I bring the right one around to the front and suck in a hiss of air.

Not only is the majority of skin from my elbow down a deep shade of purple, blue, and green, the large section between my wrist and elbow is no longer straight. Instead, it bends away from my body just slightly where the bruises become more severe. I hold back the vomit I feel rising in my throat and turn away from the scene.

I'm going to have to set it, or my arm is never going to heal right.

Swallowing down the pain, I sigh and look back at the limb. How do I set a broken bone? What does that even mean? I run my good hand through my matted, gross hair and dig through my new knowledge.

I need something sturdy and straight and something else soft to use as a sling. Glancing around the shed proves pointless; there's nothing but leaves, a rug, Kaia, and blood. A stick might work.

I check over the rest of my body, finding more bruises and swelling. Under my jumpsuit, bruises of a rainbow of colors cover my stomach and ribs. My face doesn't feel much better. My lips feel puffy, and it hurts to breathe through my nose. There's a beating behind my right ear, joined by a sensitive spot and a matted section of damp hair. Other than my arm, though, I'm in one piece. I find nothing missing--only hurt.

Carefully, I lift myself off the cold concrete and grasp for the wall. The effort required to stand nearly sends me sprawling out onto the floor again, but I bite my lip and mumble curse words under my breath.

If I make it out of this alive, I'm never going to feel like this again--helpless, useless, relient, and abandoned.

I will hold myself to that. I will not be helpless. I can do this on my own.

I drag myself towards the door, taking it one step at a time. Moving hurts--more than I thought possible. My ribs burn with every exhausted breath; my legs muscles contract and knot up against me. The arm I've cradled against my chest stings and aches dully as it's jostled around by my ragged, lumbering walk.

Regardless of the battle on the way, I make it to the door and turn the knob, flinging the heavy object open. Sunlight races in through the gap and fills the shadows surrounding me. I check the jungle outside to ensure nothing is lurking and then step away from the doorframe.

When I'm without a crutch to hold onto, I stumble on my static legs like a newborn deer. The first few steps feel like a mile, but after that, the process becomes much easier, less like I'm walking for the first time and more like I've been bedridden for a long time. The feeling returns, and I place each leg with a little more confidence. I cling to the trees less and trust myself more.

After picking out a sturdy branch about the same length of my arm and some thin, pliable vines for tying, I hobble back to the shed and plop down on the carpet beside Kaia's body.

"I'm sorry," I whisper as I reach out with my good arm to grab the front of her jumpsuit. I tug at the fabric uselessly. I'm either too weak to rip the fabric or it's too sturdy. With a grimace, I lean down and use my teeth as an anchor. The next time I pull, the fabric shreds.

I continue that process until I have a chunk of fabric long and wide enough to use as a sling.

"Sorry," I mumble again, turning away from her. Wind blows in through the open door, scattering leaves.

I stretch my arm out in front of me on the concrete with the uneven part angled towards me and the branch beside it. If I hit my arm at the exact right section, there's a chance I can knock it back into alignment. As soon as I do that though, I'll need to tie it to the stick immediately. I take a deep breath and stuff the torn piece of Kaia's uniform in my mouth.

How many times have I done this?

Lifting my left arm up proves easy, but letting it coast downwards is near impossible. I can't bring myself to do it, no matter how many times I count down from ten. I practice swinging a few times, but when I do to finish the motion, my arm comes to a complete stop.

Come on, Jordyn. You can do this.

Finally, I close my eyes. I feel around for my arm and practice the up and down motion a few more times. With a deep breath, I let my arm fly, clenching my eyes so tightly that they hurt.

The scream that escapes my mouth bleeds through the gag, and I nearly inhale the fabric as my mouth flies open and sucks in a mouthful of air. My eyes shoot open, and tears spring forth. For a second, my consciousness wavers, and my body rocks back and forth. I clutch the rug for support.

I can't pass out. I need to tie the arm down. Still, the impact has amplified the pain to impossible heights. I've never felt anything this painful--not that I can remember anyway. The sooner it's over, the better.

With my left hand trembling like a person caught in an earthquake and tears streaming down my face, I tie the branch to my arm with the four vines I collected. The complicated process takes longer than expected using my left hand and my mouth. Once that's done, I work on constructing the sling. By the time I've tied it off, I am sobbing and have a terrible cramp in my already aching neck.

I crawl towards the nearest wall and collapse against it, unable to do anything but take exhausted breaths. The pain in my arm has receded to a sharp throb, which is both bearable and better.

How long can I stay here? If I lock the door tonight, will whatever killed Kaia come back for me? I can't go to the beach; I'll be too vulnerable. I can't go find Sam and tell him about our past; he'll never believe me. Right now, survival is my greatest concern. As long as I stay away from the boys, I think I can handle nature.

I think.

I glance towards the door weakly, ignoring the way my body trembles.

How long until the sun sets and the lions come out?

My head falls back on the wall again. I need a miracle.

I let my eyes slip closed for a moment, falling into a semi-asleep state brought on by the pain and fatigue. It feels nice to rest, even if it's not for long. My senses stay on high alert, listening to for the crunching of leaves or the rumbling steps of a predator approaching. All I hear is the beating of wings and soft clicking of the security monkeys.

Wait. Wings.

My eyes shoot open as a gust of wind cuts through the shed.

A single giant, red bird stands in the doorway, retracting its wings. It takes a cautious step into the building. The black, eternal eyes stare at me, like it's daring me to do something. Kaia warned us about how much they can carry as well as their scream. I know for a fact that I don't want to make it mad.

So, remaining statuesque, I watch the bird stalk across the room and shift its attention to Kaia. The crimson head turns sideways as it looks over her corpse. It clicks its beak once and jumps, landing directly on Kaia's chest. I wince as its finger length talons dig into the soft skin covering her collarbone, shearing through bone and muscle in the process.

No, the birds aren't something I want to mess with.

Worst case scenarios flash through my head. I'm about to watch this animal devour the girl I was accused of killing. I imagine its beak tearing through her body, one inch at a time, shredding the skin.

Instead, the bird extends its wings and flaps them several times to gain power. The wind blows my hair back against the wall. As I watch, the avian lifts Kaia's body off the ground like a rag doll and hovers for a moment, feet from the bloody rug where she rested. It glances back at me and then flies towards the door. It moves as if starring in a slow motion film, until the tight door frame forces it to land and drag its prize through.

I push myself up onto my knees and crawl over to the door just in time to watch it gain flight once again and ascend towards the hexagonal ceiling.

It's not going to eat her. It's taking her somewhere.

Using the door to balance, I stand and stumble into the woods to follow.