Jordyn

After we've done all the throwing up that our bodies can handle, Sam lays out on the sand at the edge of the shade. Shadows cover his face, but his legs and waist dangle out into the sunlight. I crouch by his head, clutching my stomach.

"How were we supposed to know the fish were toxic?" he moans with his eyes half closed. Brown chunks cling to the front of his jumpsuit, and cracks snake across the surface of his dry lips. He slicked his hair against his head with salt water a few minutes ago, and now, it sticks up like a flagpole.

"We should have known," I mutter, almost too afraid to talk. I don't want to throw up again. My throat still burns from the seven other times I did. "Everything on The Island is trying to kill us."

Sam groans again but looks over at me with soft eyes.

"What do you remember about The Island?" he asks.

I take a deep breath and let myself fall back into the sand.

I've thought about asking him the same question, but it seems rude and intrusive. We remember different things, and I linger over the possibility that we could help each other with our memories.

Yet, they are precious and rare things, snow in the middle of this searing July and speckled fawn in the middle of a meadow. I hold them against my chest with greedy fingers. If I share my memories with him, they aren't mine anymore. They're ours, and I don't think I'm ready for that just yet. Not until I finish unravelling the fishnet that is my train of thought.

So far, I remember a house, white with a wooden porch and a white porch swing, a city that touches the sky with gray fingers, a man with red hair like mine,  someone screaming for me, and fire - overwhelming and murderous fire.

Yet, I know very little about The Island itself, and those don't feel like personal memories. What would it hurt to share?

"That it's designed to kill us," I say, picking at my fraying jumpsuit leg. "There's more than one prison like this, but we were put here because this is the most fearful habitat for us."

Sam thinks for a minute, opens his mouth to say something, and shuts it again. Wrinkles form on his forehead as he thinks, and his lips turn down towards his chin.

"What do you remember about it?" I prod.

"It's kinda fuzzy," he whispers and rubs his cheek, "but I think we're placed in two at a time at regular intervals. Like, you and I were put in together, and then, in a few days, two more people will show up."

"Like a drop off of prisoners?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure how that works, though."

My mind cranks a million times per minute. I wonder if the dome above our heads would open up, if a helicopter would lower two fresh bodies into the jungle. Was that how I was dropped off?

Not only am I curious about how the delivery works, I also know that the fact that someone is coming means there's a door in. If there's a way in, that means there's a way out. The possibility of escaping kindles like a pilot flame in my chest. Now, I have a reason to survive until the next two convicts arrive.

"What are you smilin' about?" Sam asks.

"Nothing," I say.

"Whatever," he says after a long scowling silence. "We both know what those hexagons in the ceiling are."

"Yeah, the dome."

"So, absolutely everything in here is fake."

"Down to this sand," I agree.

He cups a handful of the white diamonds and lets them run through his fingers as it pours out.

"Someone somewhere is controlling this entire place," he whispers, looking around again.

"I remember that, too."

"Who in their right mind would design such a beautiful place with the intention to kill people? What did we do to deserve this?"

"We're criminals," I blurt, shaking my head.

"Yeah, but even then, it can't have been that bad- whatever we did."

I look out at the ocean as he glances at me again. He still doesn't remember his crime, and I don't plan on telling him mine. Not until I remember why I did it in the first place.

Maybe that's why we're here. Maybe there isn't a reason.

I killed dozens of human beings by setting fire to an entire neighborhood, maybe just because it was Tuesday and felt like it. My stomach turns at the thought.

I had a reason; I know I did. I had to.

I just can't remember it.

"I don't know about you," Sam says, sitting up suddenly, "but I'm about to thirst to death."

He crawls on his hands and knees over to the water's glittering edge and scoops out a handful of saltwater. I raise a hand to stop him, but I'm too late. He tips his hands up at his mouth and takes a gulp.

I grimace as he gags and spits the water out.

"You can't drink salt water, Samson," I say with a sigh. He scrapes his fingers against his tongue and dry heaves a few more times. "I was going to warn you."

"Well, why didn't you?" he snaps, but his voice drops low and dry. I shrug. "You're pure evil, Jordy."

His words leave his mouth with a soft tone. He's not trying to be mean, but my heart sinks nonetheless. What if I am evil? What if that's why I'm here?

"We need to find clean water," I say in an effort to keep the conversation away from me. "Any ideas?"

He glances at the tree line.

"I'd say it would be in there."

I follow his line of sight. The red birds are still sitting on a branch, staring at us with beady black eyes. A small monkey has joined them and hangs upside down with his tiny brown hands dangling around his head. Black and white stripes line his tail as it curls around the branch beside the birds. He blinks his giant black eyes once and then resumes staring.

"You know, I'm not that thirsty," I mumble, standing and walking further into the shade.

"I'm about to die," he moans, throwing his head back. "If I don't get something to drink soon, the creators are going to watch me dry out like a sponge."

"That's the goal."

I know he's right. We do need water. The skin peels off my lips, and the sun burns my pale skin. My throat resembles sandpaper, and I feel a cough building that is sure to choke me. The dehydration causes my head to ache, and I shiver even in the intense heat.

"You know what I really want, though?"

I glance over at him. He's sitting with his head in his hands, face buried in them.

"What?" I ask, swallowing hard. The tiny action sends a fire down my throat that gives away the obvious truth.

"A bag of M&Ms," he says with a sigh. "A really big bag of the kind with peanuts inside."

My mouth waters at the idea.

"Or maybe even some Skittles," he continues, "or jelly beans or Raisinettes or Lifesavers-"

"Stop," I interrupt angrily. "I get the idea. We need water."

Every word brings back flashes of memories. At the mention of Lifesavers, an image of two children sitting on a white porch flashes back. They're laughing, showing each other the rainbow colored candies they've shoved on their fingers. The smaller one with bright red hair flicks one yellow ring at the boy sitting beside her, and he catches it in his mouth.

I strain to see their faces through the haze of laughter and smoke blending into the air around them, but the picture slips between my fingers like water.

"So, we're going into the forest," Sam says in an effort to bring me back to the present.

I grimace and bite my lip.

"Together?" I ask.

"Do you expect me to go in there alone? After the fish tried to maul me?"

"There won't be any fish in the trees," I mumble, but I know what he's going to say next.

"No, but there are bigger things."

His eyes go wide as he thinks about all the things that could wait in the muggy environment beyond those trunks. Sweat gathers in my palms. More lions, wolves, birds that eat human flesh. Even that monkey could chase me.

He's leading you in to kill you, the voice whispers behind my ear. As soon as you turn around, he's going to stick that knife in your back.

"I'm not going in," I say and take a step away from him.

"And why- oh, forget it. You probably think I'm going to strangle you with tree vines," he says, voice dripping with anger. He snatches his spear from where he left it in the sand by the now dead fire. "Get that nasty carcass out of here while I'm gone, scaredy cat."

I grab a handful of sand and toss it at his back as he walks past.

"Stop calling me names!"

"If the shoe fits, wear it, Jordy," he snaps, and a moment later, he disappears behind the rock and into the trees.

His words bounce back and forth between my ears like a tennis ball. He's right. I'm a coward, and it tears my stomach into shreds. I want to trust him, want to believe that he is on my side. It makes no sense, though. He knows I've done something horribly wrong. He understands that I'm a criminal.

Why is he helping me? What's in it for him?

The voices have to be right. He's being nice and helping me survive so that he can kill me himself. I won't be taken down half as easily.