Jordyn

My cheeks turn pink, and I turn away in a hurry.

I wasn't talking to her. Why did she have to say something to me? I'd just gotten over the knots in my stomach everytime I tried to talk to Samson. Now, I'm back to square one. The sweat in my palms tells me that much.

"What happened?" I ask Sam in a hoarse voice as I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. The air inside the jungle sticks to me and brings out what little water I have left as sweat. It pours out of every inch of me. The humidity rises exponentially with every passing second.

"I told you," Sam says, scrunching his nose up at me. "She attacked me."

He runs a hand through his already messy hair, but the sweat works like hair gel and makes the brown strands stand straight up. Leaves cling to his jumpsuit. A bright red mark mars his left cheek, only growing darker with time.

His response forces an eye roll out of me.

"I heard you," I say. "Can you be a little more specific?"

"She took her hands and hit me with them. Over and over again, Jordy," he mumbles as he picks the leaves off himself.

"Let me rephrase that. What were you doing when she attacked you?"

Sam looks up then, raising his eyebrows. Did he really not know what I was asking? Is he that thick?

"I got lost," he says as he looks back down. "I was looking for water, and then, I couldn't find my way back to the beach. That's when I came across this clearing. I stopped to catch my breath for a minute, 'cause it's so dang hot. That's when she jumped out of the trees and tackled me."

"So, first you get beat up by fish and now a girl?"

He glares at me from underneath thick eyebrows, and his forehead creases like folds of fabric.

"Don't be so sexist," he snaps. "Her being a girl has nothing to do with anything. Look at her for five seconds. She's muscular as all get out."

I glance back over at Kaia. She's watching us with a devilish smirk spread across her face as if she isn't tied up but leaning casually against the tree behind her. Her jumpsuit is made differently than ours. The sleeves cut off at the shoulder instead of the elbow. Like me, she wears no shoes, and the legs of her suit reach down past her ankles.

"She's fast," Sam continues as I inspect Kaia, "and strong. Knocked my knife right out of my hand. After that, I didn't stand a chance."

How did she know that his knife was his strength? She couldn't have, unless she's been watching us. My eyes trace down her arms and watch how her muscles tense with every breath. They aren't obnoxious or overwhelming but subtle. She reminds me of a cat- feral and stealthy.

Strands of her black curls fall around her face, but she stares at me though the vines of hair. Her mouth rests slightly open. Her chest rises with every short breath, pulling tight against the front of her jumpsuit. For a moment, her eyes soften, and her smirk morphs into a warmer smile.

Heat rises to my cheeks again, and I look away.

Don't forget that she's a prisoner, just like you. She commited a crime so heinous that she deserved death. Too young to be killed, so they dumped her in here. She's not a harmless house cat. She's a killer, a thief, or an arsonist.

Do those three things really belong in the same list, voice? It's hard for me to believe thief falls in the same category as arsonist and murderer.

"Wait," I blurt as I remember why Sam was even in the woods. "Did you find water?"

Sam looks up at me from his bent over position. One hand freezes on his pant leg. The other holds the ground so he won't fall over. His eyes go wide.

"Oh, yeah!" he says with excitement. "I did actually. I had just found it right before she jumped me."

I run a hand through my hair. It long ago fell out of the braids and now lies in messy knots around my head.

No wonder she attacked him. He found her secret stash of clean water.

"Do you mind showing me where you found it?" I ask.

Sam shrugs.

"Why not? It was this way."

With one last glance at Kaia, I follow Samson through the trees. Once we are out of the clearing, the air becomes more humid. It sticks to my skin like liquid glue and runs down my body in thick rivulets like ribbons. Every breath feels like I'm taking it through a face mask while sprinting.

Sam leads me no more than ten steps away from the clearing. I hear the water before we get there, a distant whisper over rocks. The term 'babbling' comes rushing back from somewhere in the back of my mind. Yet, this water isn't loud enough to be called babbling. It really is more like a whisper, a child's cry in the middle of a thunderstorm of jungle sounds around us.

"Right up here," Sam whispers, turning his head towards the sound. A little smile creeps up on his lips, and he catches my eye. His sunburnt cheeks glisten with sweat, and I look away towards where he pointed.

We break through the trees once more and come across a stream of water no wider across than my arm. The crystal clear water snakes over a dozen shades of gray rocks that have been smoothed down over time. It moves away from the mountain beside up, towards the ocean.

"Is it clean?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. Just looking at it makes my mouth water.

"As far as I can tell. I didn't get a chance to drink any."

We look at each other at the exact same time.

"Not it," we blurt in unison. I feel my cheeks burn pink, but Sam just laughs.

"I already put myself in danger for you once today when I came in here," he says. "It's your turn."

The voice rings like a bell in the back of my head.

As soon as you lean down to drink, he's going to stab you.

Yet, I can't resist the fire searing my throat and lungs. I would give anything to stand in the center of the small stream and feel the water rushing over my feet.

Wait.

Shouldn't I be afraid of the water?

Everytime I look at the ocean, fear knots itself like a den of snakes in my stomach, writhing and squeezing my insides. My palms get sweaty, and my breath comes in uneven chunks.

Looking down at this water, though, I feel- what's a good word for it?- thirsty. Whatever moisture I have left in my body gathers in my mouth and pools up under my tongue. I know I'm not scared, because my hands don't shake. I also don't feel like I'm about to throw up. Not that there's anything in my stomach to throw up in the first place.

If Sam's going to kill me now, at least I'll die unafraid. Thirsty, sunburned, and starved, but not scared.

"Fine," I say slowly, "but if I die, it's your fault."

He smirks at me and takes a step back. That movement comforts me. He can't reach me to stab me if he wanted to. His spear is back in the clearing with our prisoner.

I kneel down by the water and reach out with two dirty hands. The water runs over my skin and strips away the top layer of filth. It's bitter cold but soothes the red skin under all the grime. I sink my hands further into the water, touching the rocks along the bottom. They feel just as smooth as they look.

When my hands are almost numb, I cup them together and lift them back towards my mouth. Specks of dirt float inside the water between my hands, but it's still mostly clear. I smell it first, but there's no hint of salt. Then, I dip the tip of my tongue in it. It doesn't burn me or taste foul.

So, I tilt my hands up and drink the handful of water. It slides down my throat with ease and runs down my chin. Some splashes down the front of my jumpsuit, but I couldn't care less. The ambrosia water quenches the fire and nurses my chapped lips back to life. I've never tasted anything so good in all my life.

I reach back with stingy hands for another mouthful.

"All clear?" Sam asks as I sigh in relief after drinking the second handful. All I can do is nod and reach for more. He falls to his knees and begins to shovel the water into his mouth. He does so with less carefulness than I did and ends up splashing more water on him and the ground than in his mouth. He pours handfuls over his head, running fingers through his light brown hair.

We splash it on our faces and wash the sand off our limbs. Sam rinses off the bite marks from the fish, scrubbing away caked on blood. I use my nails to scrape lion saliva off my face and neck.

"I would have attacked me too, if I was her," Sam says in a voice filled with bliss. "This is worth protecting."

I look over at him with wide eyes.

We left Kaia unattended for too long.

"What?" he asks with water dripping off the end of his nose.

"You don't think she got out?"

"How would she? I have her knife right-"

His voice trails off as he pats his pockets.

"-here."

The last word is spoken low and quiet, but his wet eyes tell me her knife isn't in his pocket. He jumps up and takes off running through the woods. With a groan, I pick myself up and follow.

"Dang it!" he all but screams, picking up the strands of cut rope that hang limply around the tree. I pick up his spear and toss it to him.

"We let our guard down," I say with a sigh.

"For five minutes!" he hisses.

"You have to admit it was totally worth-"

My words are cut off when something tackles me from behind. The thing shoves me forward to the ground and wraps two pale arms around my abdomen. Sam's words from before come back to me.

"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."

Kaia wasn't alone. The question is- who was here first? Us or them?