Page 5 of Blue Arrow Island
For a single second, I close my eyes. Shit. Why did I tell her my name? There’s something so unbelievably difficult about hearing someone crying out for help from me specifically.
We’re all linked together, Briar. From the tiniest little microorganism to the impossibly vast cosmos, life is connected. It’s beautiful when you think about it.
My mother was a scientist, and her words to me when I was young flood back. I’ve thought of them many times in the five years since losing my entire family. She felt connected to nature. So I try to sense her there when I’m at my lowest, in the canopy of shade created by massive oak trees or the peaceful birdsong at sunrise.
I clench my fists, both inked with permanent warnings to the world that I refuse to be used. I’m proud of what the tattoos represent. My parents and sister would be too.
Amira is still alive right now, and we’re connected. If I don’t try to help another woman who also stood up against evil, risking her life to do so, there’s no humanity left in me.
My feet sink into the sand as I set off in a run, going after her. There’s a spear on the ground, and I bend and reach down to swipe it up. My father taught me how to use guns and knives, but I don’t know anything about fighting with spears. It’s pretty self-explanatory, though: Stick the pointy end into the bad guys.
I reel backward, the spear flying from my hand. Something powerful pulls on my midsection, the air in my lungs whooshing out in a rush. I’m lightheaded, fumbling my hands around my chest to figure out where I’m hit.
“Relax,” a deep male voice says from behind me. “I won’t hurt you. I’m here to protect you.”
My fingers find a rope. I’ve been lassoed, like a fucking farm animal. My arms are locked at my sides, immobilizing me. I turn and lunge toward my attacker, planning to headbutt him. He reacts quickly, putting a palm out to absorb the impact. My head throbs from the force of the hit, and his hand doesn’t even move.
“You’re okay.”
I scowl at him. He looks about my age, his wavy, shoulder-length brown hair and lean, muscular build making him look more like a surfer here to catch waves than a warrior capturing prisoners.
“I know this is a shit show, but the Dust Walkers will kill you. I’m saving you.”
“I didn’t ask to be saved,” I snap. “Leave me alone.”
His expression softens. “You can’t survive alone here. If we don’t take you with us, the Dust Walkers will chase you into the jungle and kill you.”
“You’re the one who just tied me up.”
A smile plays on his lips. “I get it. But you’ll be untied when you get back to our camp. I swear, this is for your own good.”
“And I swear I’ll kill you if you don’t let me go.”
It’s an empty threat from a helpless woman, once again tied up and unable to defend myself. And my throat is so dry and sore I can hardly talk. When I try to lunge at my captor, a wave of dizziness makes my world spin. I fall to my knees instead.
“She’s probably got heat exhaustion,” a female voice calls. “Let’s go!”
My captor bends down beside me. “My name’s Pax. What’s yours?”
“Eat shit.”
He chuckles lightly and scoops me up with hands beneath my back and knees. My resistance is weak, my arms leaden.
“You can’t keep up with us in your state. Try to relax. We’re going to take care of you.”
Nausea hits like a tidal wave, making me cringe and curl into myself. I’m drenched with sweat and on the edge of passing out. As much as I want to argue with him, it takes all my energy just to breathe.
“Good. Try to relax. The worst is behind you, I promise.”
I don’t believe him, but I’m too drained to fight anymore. I got minimal food and water in prison, and I’m still groggy from whatever the guards used to knock us out.
Fighting is all I have left, though. Every day, I silently consider all the ways I can make Lochlan pay for what he’s done to me. It’s been my driving force since the day his soldiers captured me at the market.
These people who are taking me back to their camp aren’t my enemies. Lochlan is. I have to rest up, gather my strength, and come up with a new plan. I’ll find a way to get home and look him in the eye one last time—as I’m ramming a dagger into his chest.
3
It’s working. God help us all.
