Page 31 of Wild Life

I scowled and stuck out my hand. “A little help here?” My voice was still hoarse from escaping death.

Instead of being a decent human being, Cryptid ignored me and walked away.

“Jerk,” I muttered. That man was insufferable.

I pushed myself up and dusted off my palms and knees, watching him as he headed for the line of bushes. His hair was down and the old rubber band he used to secure his bun at the crown of his head was missing. I’d only ever seen his tresses loose when he was about to go to bed, and I had never really taken the time to appreciate them. Luscious, wild waves cascaded down his neck, the tips grazing his broad shoulders. He was a darker version of Tarzan, both in appearance and in mood.

He examined the full blooms dotting the wall of dark green leaves. He plucked two ruby-red hibiscuses and turned to the side, his profile visible as he brought one of the flowers to his nose and inhaled. Fleetingly, he resembled a little boy, his innocence visible in that hard exterior.

My heart softened as I approached him. “Those are beautiful,” I said. “Going on a hot date or something?”

He faltered at my voice, shuffling backward. I had intruded on a personal moment.

I held my breath as his lips parted, expecting miraculous words to escape. Only, nothing came out. Instead, he walked off.

“God, I wish he could talk to me,” I said aloud to no one in particular, and the pig snorted. I turned my focus to the black-and-beige spotted bundle sitting on his hind legs, begging me for more treats. I stooped before him and patted his head. “Reading your friend’s mind is exhausting. How do you do it all day?”

The pig grunted. How was it that this animal with hooves could carry on a conversation better than his human?

“Where do you think he’s off to?” I asked my animal companion.

All I was met with was a blank stare.

“I don’t blame you. He doesn’t really tell us anything, does he? How about we find out ourselves?” I patted my thighs, and he stomped excitedly. “Let’s go.”

We followed behind at a safe distance. If Cryptid could hear us, he didn’t let on. I was rather surprised, between the pig’s hobbling and my clumsiness, we made more noise than a train.

The trees with the mysterious tick marks were on our right, and I was immediately filled with overwhelming heaviness. My fingers involuntarily skidded over the grooves as we passed by. I didn’t know what it was about them, but a sense of foreboding twisted my guts into knots. The trees communicated deep grief, telling me a heartbreaking story.

The island had a way of speaking louder than its inhabitants could, like it had a life of its own.

The brush thickened, making it harder to tail my target while still maintaining ample distance between us. The pig had a tougher time wading through the vines on the ground, and every so often, I’d have to stop and untangle his legs.

Jeez, where the hell is Cryptid going?

There were too many trees to see clearly. I had lost him, but the pig still trotted along, and I trusted that at least he knew which way his companion had gone.

I was ready to give up this spy mission and head back to the hut when I spotted him through the leaves. There he was, hunched over on his knees, his shiny locks covering his face like a curtain. He held the two flowers in either hand, resting them on his lap.

Two dirt beds lay before him side by side, separated by a line of small rocks. They were too perfectly arranged to be natural. Someone had created them intentionally—like graves.

He set the flowers down by his side and pulled at the weeds that tangled over the soil, working diligently and exercising so much care in cleaning the beds—gardening with no garden. Then he carefully scooped up and covered the beds with new soil.

Gently, he laid a flower on each fresh bed and stared at them for a while. I could finally see his face as he turned it to the sky, eyes closed and hands resting on his lap. He was so still, he didn’t seem real anymore—like a carved statue posed deep in prayer.

The pig was restless at my side, his legs wrapped in weeds. He let out an angry grunt, disturbing the peace.

Cryptid’s focus shifted toward me, pricking me with its sharpness.

He stood up and stalked closer. His size overwhelmed me.

“Umm, I was looking for…”

My mind raced as I stared wide-eyed back at him, hoping an excuse for my nosiness would present itself, but I was never fortunate enough for things like that to happen. Being on the island was proof of just how unlucky I was.

“The trees.” I pointed up to the canopy that enveloped us. “They’re interesting, huh?”

He glared at me, clearly seeing through my bullshit. Then he stormed off, leaving me with the ghost of whatever emotion had gripped him moments earlier.

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