Jordyn

Sam and I watch the frantic boy disappear into the tree line, crashing through like an elephant.

He knew our names before reading our shirts.

No, that's not possible. There's no way.

Yet, I never once saw him look down at the peeling black paint. And he said we should know him, too. Confusion floods my stomach. Something's going on. I can feel it. Maybe I should know him.

"Should I follow him?" Sam whispers as we both rise to our feet.

I nod. "Just in case he comes back after us."

"Do you really think he's looking for someone?"

"I mean, they do drop prisoners in pairs," I mumble, shrugging. "How does he know her name, though? How can he remember anything prior to this?"

Sam shakes his head.

"I'm going to go get him, drag his butt back here, and then figure out what's going on."

I nod again, still stunned.

Sam takes off at a sprint, not much more graceful than Ezra was moments ago.  I listen to them both stampede through, until the trees stop shaking behind them and everything goes silent.

Where did this stranger come from? What part of their game is this? Just when I thought we were making progress towards escaping, they throw a new and dangerous wrench in the gears. My feet itch to chase after the two of them, but my entire body aches. I'm physically exhausted from my fight with Neil, and the sling is hanging on for dear life.

I'm about to lower myself back down into the sand when another scream--more like a wordless shout--makes itself back to me. I stand up straighter and tilt myself forward. What if Sam needs me? What if he's in trouble?

I swear under my breath and walk towards the trees.

"Jordyn!" someone yells, desperate and scared. "Come here!"

It's the new kid. Not Sam. Sam would have just let me wait out on the sand and brought news back to me. He's being a little too cautious about my physical condition. I rock back and forth on my heels. It's really not safe for me to go into those woods. Not in my condition. Yet, I don't hear Sam protesting.

With a groan, I give in to the curiosity and walk towards the source of the yell, as quickly as I can without running. It's an easy path to follow, considering broken branches line a footpath of stomped undergrowth.

A soft sound rides towards me on the wind. At first, I think it might be one of the birds screaming in the distance, but the sound is more low and gravely. The birds sound like a screeching. I squint--as if that could help me hear--and pick up my pace. The cotton-soft sound grows louder, until I realize it's someone crying.

Other than my and Sam's sobs, it's something I can't remember hearing before. The way that the crier sniffles occasionally, muffling the sound through fabric or flesh, gasping for desperate breaths between tears, sounds remotely familiar. It feels like an itch in the back of my brain that's nestling between my hair and neck. I want to scratch at it, but I'm too afraid of what I might learn about the mysterious Ezra.

My present is scary enough. Do I really want to delve into my past?

I push through a canopy of leaves and suck in a strangled breath.

The smell hits me first. The sour mixture of iron and sweat assaults my nostrils to the point that I can feel my stomach churning. I cover my mouth and nose with my good hand as fast as I can and swallow back the bile. I'm thrown back to when I was surrounded by Kaia's blood and the pungent smell of the decaying lion in the alcove. It's the unmistakable smell of death.

Sam takes a slow step towards me in an attempt to block my sight. He fails, mainly because we are the same height. I push him aside anyway and let the scene before me register fully and unbelievably.

Ezra sits in the middle of a small empty space between several trees. The shadows cast provide enough shade that the air around us is cool and less humid than normal. The low bushes that crowd the bases of the trees fence the three of us in. Goosebumps spread over my skin. I've been here before. I met the lion here. This is where I was dropped.

Yet, the words of warning I want to speak stick in my throat like they're glued there. I can't break the solemn air around me.

Ezra's hands, now covering his mouth, are covered in thick, red liquid. I assume it's blood, judging by the smell surrounding us. Not only does the blood coat his hands, it paints his knees, chest, and arms. How he managed to get so much on him is clear.

Every inch of greenery in the small space is drenched in blood. It drips from the branches overhead. Drops of it mar Sam's shoulders. The bark of the trees resemble the backs of the red birds, with the liquid running down in rivers almost.

Among the red is flecks of white and orange material--skin and jumpsuit.

I take a deep breath around my hand and feel tears gather in my eyes.

It's not just the blood.

Scraps of orange fabric flutter in the breeze as they hang from arm-like branches. Some shreds stick to the trunks of trees, and others clutter the ground. Among them, various limbs and appendages are displayed. What appears to be a hand lays on the ground not far from Ezra's trembling body. A foot rests at the base of a tree to the left. There's a clump of blonde hair caught on a branch behind the boy. Red, unidentifiable masses are scattered across the rest of the space.

My eyes wander down to Ezra's knees.

In front of him sits what remains of a face. Its eyes are gone; half of the skull has been torn away from the rest. My hands turn numb as I lean into Sam beside me. The skin that remains is stretched and torn, shredded to bits by massive teeth.

How in the world did I survive the lions on my first day? I should have died. I shouldn't have been strong enough to kick that animal off of me. This could be my remains splattered all over the woods.

Someone--or something--wanted me to live more than a minute. Someone wanted me to play their game for just a little longer.

"Maybe it wasn't her," Sam says softly, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. He's not speaking to me, but hearing his voice brings me back down to Earth.

"Of course it was," Ezra snaps. His voice is choked, pained, and forced. He doesn't look up at us. Instead, he runs his hand through the strands of blonde hair that adhere to the clump of skull and lets it fall through his blood soaked hands.

"How do you know? Maybe they put in another person with you."

"The guards said it was Sarah that they lowered in before me. They called her 'his friend', not knowing I could hear them. It couldn't be anyone else."

He goes silent for just a moment and looks up at us finally.

"Plus, Sarah's hair was the color of wilted sunflowers--not quite bright but still really pretty. I teased her all the time about it. I called her 'Yellow Light' and told her that she made traffic speed up when they saw her coming."

Not a lot of what he says makes sense. Yet, there's something endearing in his voice that tells me, whoever Sarah was, she meant something to him. Something more than he's willing to admit to us or himself. At the mention of "flowers", my mind goes straight to the white house. There weren't any yellow flowers there, not that I can compare this yellow to, and they definitely weren't wilted.

A rustling in the leaves nearby gets my attention. Sam's grip on my shoulder tightens, and his body tenses up. My eyes dart around the opening and search for iridescent, slitted pupils.

"Ezra," I say, finding my voice as the fear creeps into my chest. "We can't stay here."

"I can't leave her," he whines in reply. He looks up at me with desperation in his brown eyes. "I promised I would keep her safe."

"The animals that did this--" I sweep my arm to make a point. "They will come back. We don't stand a chance."

"I deserve to die alongside her," he mumbles as his hands fall into his lap dejectedly. "I promised her. No one's coming to save us, anyway. Riku didn't make it back. Thomas doesn't know where to look. We're all going to die. Why not--"

Sam cuts him off my reaching down and grabbing his thin arm in a much bigger hand. Sam jerks Ezra to his feet and pulls him towards him.

"Shut. Up," Sam hisses, glaring. "No one else is going to die. Do you understand me?"

Ezra doesn't even seem fazed. If Sam held me that close to him and glared at me with that intensity, I would probably die of fear. Does he know what the boy is capable of?

Ezra returns Sam's glare with his own serious one.

"Are you listening to me? No one is coming for us. No one. They've left us here to die, and we might as well succumb to nature before we starve to death."

"We will find a way out," Sam whispers, faltering.

"There is no way out of The Island! You're in the middle of Texas right now, Samson. There's nothing but tumbleweeds and cattle for hundreds of miles. Murano's guards would shoot you before your bare feet hit the asphalt."

I know I should intervene, but my mind's too busy deciphering all the names Ezra is dropping. Riku. Thomas. Murano. They sound so familiar. The itch is back. I should know those names.

It slams into my chest like a freight train. I gasp aloud, catching the attention of Sam and Ezra both. Sam lowers Ezra to the ground and turns to me with concern.

"Thomas," I manage to spit out as I wrestle the connections in my head. "Thomas is my father. He knows my father."

Sam's eyes go wide. I see the synapses connect behind his pupils, and in one swift motion, he grabs Ezra's jumpsuit and jerks him towards the path we came on.

Ezra does know me.

He knows everything about me.

"It seems like you have some explaining to do," Sam says, shoving the boy ahead of us in the path. Ezra grumbles something to himself but angrily walks without a fight.