by Tess Sharpe
“We need to get to the armory,” I say, remembering the security protocol Bertie ran us through when we were assigned to the training center. “There’s a cache of stunners and tranquilizer guns in every habitat. If we’re armed, we’re safer.”
“Wait, look,” Tanya says. The moonlight’s shifted again, and I see it too. Ahead of us is a large tree with a few thick branches almost brushing the wall.
We run toward it, and Tanya scrambles up first. I keep watch on her while the boys keep an eye on the horizon for any danger. My stomach twists as Tanya crawls belly down along the branch, and it wobbles furiously when she straightens up and then jumps.
“Oof!” She lets out a pained grunt as her hip hits the wall, and she has to pull herself up to the top and over; then she drops to the ground on the other side. Shakily, she gets to her feet. “Come on, you guys,” she hisses as loudly as she dares.
Eric follows her up and over, making a jump neater than his sister’s, and the twins clutch each other when they’re both safe on the other side. Justin’s next. When he gets to the first V in the tree, where it splits into two thick branches, he turns back and holds out his hand to pull me up.
I’m just reaching for him when Tanya’s voice cuts through the silence.
“CLAIRE! TO YOUR LEFT!”
I don’t look. I know I can’t waste that kind of time. I just react. I dive to my right, away from Justin and the tree and safety.
I roll down an embankment, and for a moment, it’s just a blur of green and brown and panic and Get up, Claire, get up get up get up! Dizzy, I force myself to my feet as soon as my free fall stops, and I look up to see a thick press of eucalyptus trees grown tightly together, just ahead. I run toward it, sliding through the narrow spaces between the trees, my stomach scraping against rough bark as I do.
I’m whimpering, and I have to stop. I press my lips together, trying to stifle the sound. I have to be quiet. I have to stop shaking. I need to run. I need to survive. I need…
Click. Click. Click.
All the hairs on the back of my neck rise as I see the glow of amber in the darkness. The Raptor has caught my scent and is coming near. My heart’s beating so loud, surely she must hear it. She cranes her neck, trying to squeeze her head between the trees, but she can’t quite fit. She gnashes her teeth at me, and I scramble back as she rears away, trying to jam herself between another clump of trees.
She’s already learning. Adapting.
The trees sway back and forth, and I freeze, terrified.
If I run, will it spur her on, now that she’s got the fix on me? Will it spur her hunting instinct? They hunt in packs. I know that. And if she’s confused and scared and hungry and alone…
“Hey!”
A rock comes sailing through the air, striking the Raptor on the flank. Her head jerks to the side, all her attention leaving me.
But instead of feeling relieved, all I can feel is terror.
Because it’s Justin running toward me, darting through the trees as the Raptor tries to chase him. He hasn’t made the leap to the wall. He’s come back for me. Oh God, he’s come back for me. Why has he come back for me?
“Claire, go, run!” he shouts, and I follow him, I have no choice. Running full tilt through the eucalyptus grove, the trees our only protection, I’m terrified to see them thin out ahead. I can hear her behind us, her frustration audible in the air between us, her angry roars pulsing through me like electricity.
At the edge of the eucalyptus grove, she has some trouble navigating through the trees, which gives us a head start—not much, but we’ll have to make it work.
“We need the weapons,” Justin gasps as we leave the shelter of the trees for vulnerable open space.
“There’s a cache in each corner of the habitat,” I say, stopping for a second to catch my breath. I look around, trying to see if I can identify anything familiar from our sprint before the grove. But it’s too dark, the moonlight’s too weak, and we don’t have time. We need to run.
“So we just run until we hit wall again,” Justin says, and the way he says it makes tears well up in my eyes. It’s not a question. It’s a statement. Like he’s sure. Like we can do it.
Like it isn’t the last thing he might ever say to me.
“Yeah,” I say, gaining strength from his faith. “Let’s go.”
We run.
My existence narrows down to my pounding feet and the air cutting through my ragged lungs, and the creeping, terrible knowledge that comes with each step: I am prey. The jungle is merciless. My body aches as I squelch through ankle-deep mud and get tangled up in vines, the flies relentlessly swooping at my face. Just a few more steps, I keep telling myself. A few more steps, and it will clear. And the weapons will be in reach.
Surely someone is coming to help us. Even if the cameras aren’t working because of Eric’s wire blunder, surely the twins would go get help.
But I’m not sure at all. Not with what I know now about them. Thieves. Liars. I feel so naive. So stupid.
I push it out of my mind as Justin and I trek on, our footsteps and the buzz of the insects the only sounds. Has the Raptor lost interest already?
I know that’s wishful thinking. The kind of thinking that will get us killed.
“Hey,” I say, my hand closing on Justin’s arm. “Look.”
A glimpse of gray through the trees. The wall. Hope sparks in me as we draw closer, and I see a red box just fifty feet ahead, tucked into the corner next to some ferns.
The weapons cache. It’s so close. We just need to get to it and open it, and then maybe we’ll be okay. We’ll at least have a fighting chance.
I’m about to rush forward when Justin flings his arm backward across my chest and presses his finger against his lips. He drags me behind a tree, we flatten ourselves against it…and then I see her. She’s moving along the perimeter, striking the wall with her nose every few feet.
She’s testing it for weaknesses. She’s smart. It makes her even more terrifying.
We watch, frozen against the tree trunk, and I try so hard to not even breathe, because what if she hears? What if she smells us?
And just as that thought is going through my mind, she arches her neck, her head tipping back to the sky, her mouth open wide—and God, those teeth—as she inhales.
It’s now or never, and Justin and I both know it. We don’t need to speak. We need to run. It’s either run toward the weapons—and the Raptor—or run away and she’ll chase us.
I look at him, and when he smiles, I think it’s to reassure me.
But then he straightens and turns, not to run away into the jungle, but to run toward the wall, and I realize it’s not reassurance.
It’s goodbye.
“No—” I start to say, but before it’s even out of my mouth, before I can do anything to stop him, he’s yelling, running out of the tree line and away from the weapons cache, drawing her attention.
I have to move. I force myself to, my heart screaming inside me like my mouth wants to. The Raptor chases Justin, leaving the weapons and me behind. He disappears into the jungle and so does she, and I want to scream, I want to yell and run after them, but I force myself to be quiet, and I run toward the weapons cache. With shaky, bloody fingers, I punch in the key code Bertie gave us as a precaution, and I flip open the box. Inside are stunners and tranquilizers. I grab a stunner and one of the tranquilizers. It’s close enough to a rifle; it’ll work. I shove the stunner in a pocket, swing the rifle strap over my shoulder, and turn back to the trees.
The jungle is silent. I have no idea where Justin is. Where the Raptor chased or—my stomach lurches—dragged him. Is he alive? Is he dead?
Is it hopeless?
I take a deep breath. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.
It may be hopeless. And I may be human
.
But it’s time to be the kind of prey that fights back.
It doesn’t take long to find the blood.
My heart sinks and my resolve hardens with each smear I find on the jungle floor. He’s hurt. But that doesn’t mean he’s dead.
Fingers tight around the stunner, I prowl through the jungle. I wish I could say I’m some stone-cold badass who feels no fear, but I’m not. I’m just a girl, but I’m strong and I’m smart—which means I’ve never been so scared in my life. I shouldn’t be doing this.
But I have to do this.
He came back for me. I won’t leave him behind.
You don’t leave people behind.
My parents…Karen…they’ll understand if…
I lick my dry lips, my boot pressing down too hard on a branch, and the crack that fills the air makes me reach for the button on the stunner. Something rustles in the vines behind me, and I barely turn my head as I try to catch sight of her out of the corner of my eye.
But if it’s her, she doesn’t attack.
If it’s her, she’s still out there, watching, waiting.
Learning. Adapting.
It’s time I do some adapting of my own.
I don’t have the special scent-masking spray Bertie and I used before we entered Rexy’s paddock, but there have to be other ways to disguise my scent. I keep moving, scanning the area ahead of me. Using a plant would be risky—some of them are stinky enough, but what if it’s poisonous or something? I’m not good enough at identifying plants in the daytime, let alone right now, when I’m so scared I can barely think.
But I need to think. How do I blend in? How do I smell like the jungle, not like me?
My foot squelches loudly as I step forward and I look down.
Mud. Mud could work! Please, let mud work.
I bend down and scoop up as much as I can and keep moving as I rub it over my arms, my chest, my legs. I’ve gone a quarter of a mile by the time I’m covered, praying my scent has changed enough. That it’ll be enough. I’ve gone off course, heading away from the last smear of blood I found, passing by the exact kind of cover I need: a group of big rocks with enough space below to hide in. But I keep going, focusing on a spot about twenty feet ahead. I can hear the scraping sound of claws against bark in the distance.
She’s getting impatient.
I need to make my move.
I take an abrupt left, duck through the trees, and creep behind the rocks, where the ground dips into a hollow area just big enough for me to tuck myself into. I lie there, flat, the rifle digging into my back, the stunner clutched to my front, trying not to breathe as the rustling of the jungle grows louder.
Click. Click. Click. Those claws against the ground. I never want to hear that sound again. It’ll haunt me forever.
The sound grows closer—so loud I’m sure she’s right next to me, and when I turn my head to the side, peering through a crack in the rocks, I see her feet right there, standing next to the pile.
My entire body shakes. I try to tense my muscles, terrified I’ll make noise, but I can’t stop.
Please, please don’t smell me. Please let it work.
Her feet stop.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three…
She moves away, her talons disappearing from my view, and I wait for silence, counting in my head and trying to calm my breathing until I’m sure I can stand on my feet, steady.
Then I crawl out of my hiding place and circle around, back toward the trail of blood. Running full speed away from where she’s going—and hopefully toward Justin. I get to the last place I saw blood, a fern bed, and hurry in that direction, peering into the darkness, every sense on alert.
There, up ahead, is that another smear? I run forward, and my hand presses against the tree trunk. I can feel the rough scrape of clawed-up bark—and the wetness of something that’s not water or tree sap. I’m on the right path.
I run forward, the rifle slapping the back of my legs with each step. I lose the path twice, but each time, I manage to circle back and find it again. There’s still no sign of him.
Did she drag him somewhere I won’t be able to find him? Did he get away from her and crawl to safety?
I step forward in the darkness and something crunches under my boot, the sound of glass breaking unmistakable.
His glasses. Oh no…
“Justin,” I hiss into the night. I dart forward, all my focus ahead, and I don’t see it coming.
I don’t see her coming.
All of a sudden, my feet are swept out from under me. I slam down onto the jungle floor and my head strikes the rifle stock hard, dazing me. The stunner flies out of my hand, and I’m reeling, bewildered by what just happened, trying to catch the breath that was just knocked out of me. I cough and sputter, and then I hear it.
Click. Click. Click.
She steps right in front of me, shifting from foot to foot, gaze intent on me.
She doesn’t want me to interrupt her meal.
I sit up, looking around frantically for the stunner, but it’s out of reach. I grab the rifle on my back, but when I rest it against my shoulder, I see that my fall has broken the tranquilizer darts inside the chamber. It’s useless.
I’m useless.
Oh God.
I scramble backward, but my shoulders hit the trunk of a tree, and then I’m stuck, pinned there by her predatory gaze. I stare at her long, sharp claws gleaming in the moonlight. She’s tensing. Her muscles bunching, her talons curling.
She’s going to pounce.
This can’t be the end. I can’t…I won’t…
Think, Claire. Breathe.
Adapt.
Something’s pressing into my leg. A cylinder.
The bear spray Karen made me buy and bring to the island. The bear spray I put into my pocket to appease her this morning. The stupid, silly, miraculous bear spray.
I yank it out of my side pocket just as the Raptor makes her move toward me. I leap to my feet, raise it in the air as high as I can, and press the button. The peppery spray bursts from the spout, and the Raptor gets it right in the eyes. She rears back, shrieking in pain.
I dive for the stunner, flip it on, and press it against her flank, sending shocks through her. She shrieks again, and I hate the sound; it’s horrifying. I hate that I’m the cause of it. But just the one poke puts her down, totally unconscious. I prod her a few times, just in case.
As soon as I’m sure she’s out, I run.
* * *
I find Justin in a clearing about thirty feet from the spot I found his glasses. He’s dragged himself over to a tree and is propped up against the trunk, his eyes half closed, his hands loose in his lap.
“Justin!”
I run to him and kneel by his side, looking up and down frantically.
“You’re here,” he says. His voice wobbles. There’s a dark wash of blood across his chest, and when I press my hands on it, he groans and bats them away.
“Of course I am,” I say. “She’s knocked out. I got her. It’s gonna be okay now.”
His head lolls to the side, and for a horrible second I think this is it, but then he slowly raises it. I place my hands over his, and he tries to turn his own to clasp mine but can’t quite find the strength. My thumb presses against the inside of his wrist, and his pulse is so shallow I can barely feel it.
“I think—” he says. “I think I’ve got an answer.”
“An answer?”
He licks his lips, his chest rising and falling in stuttered, painful movements. “If the progress is worth the consequence,” he says. “Remember. When we…”
“When we met,” I finish for him.
“You were right,” he gasps out. “The cost…it’s too much.”
I cup his face, swallowing back the
tears. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “They’ll be here soon.”
“Don’t cry,” he says. “It’s…” He shudders. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“That’s good,” I say. “They’ll fix you up as soon as they get here.”
“You’re a bad liar,” he chokes out.
I wipe the trickle of blood away from the corner of his mouth. I know what that means. He’s bleeding internally. My fingers clench his. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t do anything.
I can’t fix him.
I can’t save him.
All I can do is be here with him.
“You came back for me,” he says.
“I couldn’t let you be the only hero,” I say, and he coughs when he tries to laugh. “Don’t,” I say gently. “Justin…”
More blood trickles down his neck, this time from his ear. His eyes flutter close and then snap open.
“I’m…I’m glad you’re here,” he forces out, his words so soft it’s hard to catch them. “Wouldn’t want to do this alone.”
“I’m here,” I say. “I’m here.”
And I am.
Until his very last breath.
I don’t know how long it takes for them to find me. Oscar and his security guards. Minutes? Hours?
When they do, it’s all bright lights and concerned shouting. Guards swarming Justin, and then me, and then people in lab coats, and finally Mr. Masrani, running forward, shouting my name, looking more shaken than I’ve ever seen him.
It’s like everything’s on mute. I let them help me up. I’m guided into a jeep, and they drive me back to the training center, where doctors shine more lights in my eyes and ask a million questions and say things like shock and trauma.
“Where are Tanya and Eric?” I ask.
“Who?” asks the doctor who’s stitching the cut on my arm. When did I even get that?
“Tanya and Eric,” I repeat. I look around the room. There are at least a dozen people in the training center: people on radios, people on phones. Mr. Masrani is in a corner in deep conversation with a guy who looks like a lawyer. “You need to find them. They’re stealing. They let the Raptor out. They didn’t mean to, but they did.”