Madox leaps over to my raft and goes nuts, jumping in a circle and whining. Even my fox thinks I’m an idiot.
“Have you lost your mind?” Harper screams.
Guy takes his wet suit top off and presses it to my leg. But before he does that, he takes the knife from my hand and cuts the thin flap of skin that holds my flesh intact. He touches my cheek briefly and says, “Don’t do that again.” His eyes are sunken into his head, and his voice sounds shaky. For some reason, his deteriorated appearance scares me more than anything else we’ve faced.
Ever the Green Beret, Guy understands immediately what I was doing. He takes the thin flexible wire and the bobby pin, and fashions a fishing line. Then, carefully, he uses my flesh as bait and ties more string around it so that we don’t lose it on the first try.
“You cut yourself so that we could fish?” Jaxon’s eyebrows nearly touch his hairline. “That’s so Rambo, dude.”
I laugh, because I don’t know what else to do.
“So if we catch a fish and eat it, does that mean we’ll be eating a piece of you, too?” Braun poses.
Olivia recoils. “Disgusting.”
“It was a fine idea,” Mr. Larson says in all seriousness. “It’s exactly what they wanted us to do — use ourselves or our Pandoras. You solved the puzzle.”
My cheeks warm. I’m flattered by his praise even if he is a jerk; though his flattery does little to wean the throbbing in my calf.
It takes Guy over three hours to catch anything, but once he does, we rejoice as much as our dehydrated bodies will allow. The fish is a good size, silver with a fine blue stripe down its middle. We slice it into small pieces to share, ensuring we leave enough for more bait. For my troubles, I get the head. Guy tells me the eyes have the most moisture, and I try to act gracious. The sushi jokes abound, and only one of us — Braun — upchucks over the side of the raft.
We catch another fish right before nightfall, and when the sky opens and salt-free water collects onto the raft covers, we dance. Willow gets on her knees and pretends to pray to the sky, and we all follow suit, giggling hysterically. Jaxon takes my hands and bows to me like I’m his queen, and I grab my chest and feign modesty. Mr. Larson sings to appease the rain gods at Olivia’s request, and amid the celebratory clapping and hip shaking, I find myself in Cotton’s arms. For the first time, the strange look in his eyes is gone. In its place is wonder, like he never expected to feel happiness again.
I wish I could see a picture of Cotton’s sister. I bet he has one where she has a gooey brownie held to her lips and a Tiffany lamp shade on her head, one her mother paid good money for. I bet when she smiled, the world smiled with her and when she cried, the sky wept as it does now. This is the way I imagine the baby sister he lost.
Cotton looks at something over my shoulder, and very slowly, he releases me. When I turn to see what distracted him, I meet Guy’s gaze. Judging by Cotton’s reaction, I expect Guy’s features to burn with emotion, but they don’t. I expect Guy’s hands to clench into fists, but they hang open, relaxed. In fact, the only thing that’s startling is his posture. While the rest of us sing and dance and open our mouths to the rain, Guy stands unmoving, eyes locked on my face. They flick toward Cotton for a heartbeat, and then the moment is broken. Harper grabs Guy’s hands and shakes her butt at him, and Braun takes my hands, and all is forgotten.
And so we end the sixth day with our shrunken stomachs full and our thirst quenched, dancing in circles in a yellow raft, floating upon a sea of bitterness.
When I wake on the seventh day, Guy is paddling toward the next buoy. Everyone else is asleep, and the sun is not yet visible. Purples color the sky, promising that it won’t be long now. I reach for one of the bottles we filled last night and take a very small sip. We don’t know how long it will be before we see fresh water again, so we have to ration.
“Want me to take the other paddle?” I whisper.
He nods, so together we row. The bleeding from my calf has stopped, and it feels good to exercise after spending six idle days crammed into a small area.
We work in silence until the sun makes its appearance. And then, as if the light has given him confidence, Guy clears his throat and says something I never expect, “You’re a good person, Tella.”
I roll many responses over in my mind before settling on, “Just not a good Contender, is that right?” I don’t put anger in my words. It’s simply a question.
“You surprise me.”
I stop paddling. “Are you saying you might have underestimated me?”
“The others respect you. They listen to you, more and more. And not for the same reason they listen to me.”
I feel as if Guy is telling me something, but Braun is rolling over, mumbling, and it won’t be long before everyone is awake. I decide to be direct. “Say what it is you want to say to me.”
Guy swallows and then flinches as if what he’s about to admit pains him. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”
Now I’m confused, because what he said isn’t exactly an apology for treating me like a child. Though I guess part of the fault is my own. It was I who followed him in the jungle, I who did what he asked in the past without question. Maybe we both slid into those roles — with him leading and me silently following — without intention. And we both got comfortable. But I had hoped that when I started voicing my opinions, he’d be relieved.
I’m about to add something else when one of the Pandoras, the pig, starts bounding toward the iguana. I think that the iguana is getting picked on again until I realize that the two are playing.
Maybe FDR-1 isn’t a threat anymore. Maybe she can only inject a Pandora once, or maybe the pig knows Rose does it only when she’s threatened. Either way, they’re having a good time, and it brings a smile to my face. I turn back to Guy, and his grin matches mine, and just like that, we aren’t Contenders fighting to save family members. I’m a girl from Boston, and he’s a guy from Detroit, and don’t we make a fine pair?
Jaxon sits up like a novel thought has occurred to him. “Hey, you know what I was thinking? What is W’s deal? I mean, all the other letters in the alphabet have one syllable. But look at W. Double youuuu. Why’s it got to last so long? Right when you get to the end of the alphabet song, there’s W screwing things up. Am I right?”
“Go back to sleep,” Harper groans.
Jaxon gazes at Harper sheepishly. “Maybe if I could snuggle up —”
“Don’t even think about it,” she responds without stirring.
There’s a loud splash, and I spin around to find the pig swimming in the ocean. Y-21 is on his feet and sniffing at the water, looking very guilty.
“Good one, Y,” I say. “You may be a bit too big to play with the smaller Pandoras.” I cross into their raft, laughing when the bull snorts and hides his head shamefully. “Let’s get our pig from the water, shall we?”
My blood turns to ice.
My heart stops beating.
A shark fin breaches the surface. It’s there, and then it’s gone. “Guy. Guy!” I lunge back to the first raft without waiting for him to respond, and grab my paddle. Then I leap back to one of the Pandora rafts, the one closest to the swimming pig. BK-68 is a dozen feet from the raft. Not because Cotton’s bull knocked it that far, but because the pig started swimming nervously, not sure how he ended up in the water.
“The pig is in the ocean,” I hear Cotton shout.
“Shark!” Jaxon yells.
I shove the paddle as far out as I can, but it isn’t far enough. The shark reappears, dorsal fin parting the waves. It swims close to the raft, bumping it, and I notice odd stripes hugging its flank. I fall back, hyperventilating. If it bites the raft, it’ll deflate. What if it bites all three? The pig squeals, and I throw myself forward again.
“What’s going on?” Braun asks, his voice sleep laden.
The shark circles to the other side of the raft, away from the pig, and I lean ever closer to the Pandora. This is my o
nly chance to save it. Guy slaps the water on the other side to draw the shark’s attention away from BK-68. My muscles lock so hard, it’s difficult to maneuver the paddle, and I’m certain I haven’t taken a breath since the beast appeared. I can’t let the pig die. Not like this. Not while the rest of us watch.
A second, larger splash reaches my ears. I look over, and everything in my body clenches. Tears spring to my eyes, and I scream like I never have before.
Jaxon is in the water.
Jaxon is swimming toward Braun’s pig, and Braun is yelling something I don’t know what, and Cotton is holding Olivia because she’s hysterical. This isn’t happening. One of our own Contenders can’t be twenty feet away from a shark that looks a lot like a tiger shark, and isn’t that the most aggressive kind?
“Jaxon, grab hold of my paddle,” I holler.
But he won’t. Not until he has Braun’s Pandora. His blond hair is matted against his head, and his lanky body thrashes toward the pig. I wish he’d swim quieter. There’s no telling what he sounds like to the shark. Cotton races to Guy’s side and smacks the water, trying to keep the shark’s attention diverted.
Jaxon is a hand away from BK-68. His fingers practically brush the pig’s skin.
A second, larger shark appears from nowhere.
It takes the pig in its jaws.
Both shark and pig disappear beneath the water, and Braun releases a cry of anguish. My soul shatters into a million fragments that will never piece together the same way again.
“Get him out of there,” Harper screams. She means Jaxon, and she means me. It’s my job to get Jaxon back to safety. Harper jumps onto my raft and takes hold of the paddle. All we need is for Jaxon to grab it. Then the two of us will pull him toward us with everything we have. Behind me, the Pandoras howl. They understand what’s happening, and they’re wild with fear. The iguana races back and forth along the lip of the raft, seemingly deciding whether to jump in after her new Contender.
The pig has only been gone a moment when it reappears. Braun yells even louder, and I notice the pig is alive. The sea fills with red, and I glimpse the deep, oozing gash in the pig’s head. But BK-68 is alive and blissfully close to the Contender raft. Mr. Larson reaches out, and together with Olivia, the twosome pulls the pig to safety.
Above the Pandoras’ racket, I hear Willow scream.
She’s pointing to a third fin.
We are surrounded. If there are three sharks visible, there’s no telling how many lie hidden. Jaxon grabs hold of the paddle at last, and we pull him toward us, my muscles burning. Even as my throat begins to open, realizing we’ll rescue Jaxon in time, my mind buzzes over what will happen to Braun’s Pandora. Over what the sharks may do to our rafts to relish another taste of sweet, living meat.
I lock on to Jaxon’s elbow with one hand and his wrist with my other hand. There’s a shark swimming toward him, but I’ve got a hold on my friend like a vise, and I’m not letting go. I pull so hard that the puncture wounds in my shoulder and the still-pink scar in my stomach shoot daggers of pain throughout my body. But it doesn’t matter. I have him! I’ve pulled Jaxon on board, and he’s safe, and —
Jaxon slips from my hands.
No, not slips. He is ripped from my hands. There’s a horrible, surreal moment in which Jaxon screams. His face twists with bone-rattling terror, and I understand something in that instant that no one ever should: There is the fear of knowing you’re going to die, and there’s the horrifying, hell-on-earth fear of knowing you’re about to be torn apart and eaten.
The world falls away. I don’t smell the musky scent of Jaxon’s copious blood or hear Contenders screaming like their bodies have been consumed by fire. I don’t see the sharks glide through the water, ravenous, toward their find. These things happen, but they don’t register. Not really. I can block them out. I can lean into someone who must be Guy, and I can pretend this isn’t happening. But there’s one thing I can’t escape.
The feel.
The feel of the raft jerking as sharks bump against one another, vying for the best piece of Jaxon. Is it his left arm? His hip bone? His mischievous green eyes?
I scream.
I scream and kick and struggle against Guy. It’s my fault. I should have pulled Jaxon in faster. I should have jumped in after him. Somebody should have done something. It happened so fast. Jaxon was here; Jaxon was gone.
Jaxon — who cared for Olivia like he would a sibling, who lost his cheetah Pandora in the desert, who crushed on Harper as if she were the most entrancing girl he’d ever met, who came to save his sister but is now in pieces beneath our feet.
Harper is holding Willow as she cries. Cotton is staring into the distance as if he doesn’t understand how he got here. Olivia is crying; she’s crying so hard and so loud that her elephant Pandora is frantic. Guy whispers in my ear. What’s he saying? I don’t know. Jaxon is dead. Mr. Larson yells and points to the water. He wants us to paddle away from the sharks, I suppose.
Fuck Mr. Larson.
Braun is the only one who breaks through the fog feasting on my sanity. “It’s in its head,” he’s saying. “Should I pull it out?”
My enormous friend isn’t crying. In fact, he’s the epitome of calmness. It’s like when Jaxon vanished, Braun shut down and all he can do now is spout gibberish about his pig’s head. Willow retches, and chunks of partially digested fish gut splash over her chest. At first, I believe her sickness is from the sharks stirring beneath us, fighting for every last bit of our friend. But then I see Braun digging his pointer finger into his pig’s skull.
“What are you doing?” Cotton barks.
“It’s okay,” Braun says with no emotion. “It’s dead.”
Olivia sobs harder.
I can hardly see through my tears, so when Braun holds up a blinking contraption, I decide that it must be his device. But when I wipe my face, I see that it isn’t that at all. It’s a silver chip with a green light blinking on and off the same way the red ones do on our own devices.
“It was in my Pandora’s head,” Braun explains. “What is it?”
“Oh, Braun,” Olivia whimpers. She throws herself into Braun’s arms, and suddenly the Contender’s face darkens.
“Where’s Jaxon?” Braun asks, his mouth agape.
Guy tightens his hold on me. Both arms are entangled around my waist, and his cheek is pressed against my cheek. Wetness dampens my shoulder, and I pretend I don’t know what it is. I won’t turn and look, because seeing Guy Chambers crying means it’s over. It means this race was never meant to be a chance to save one single loved one among the rest, or even an opportunity to seek revenge on the relatives who killed Santiago’s daughter in the way of trials and tribulations.
If Guy is weeping, it means he may be thinking what I am: that the Brimstone Bleed was created so that we, all of us, die in the worst of ways.
Mr. Larson holds his hand up. He’s comparing his device to the chip Braun pulled from the pig’s skull. My head drops to my chest, and the tears come faster, hotter.
Because the red light on the device is blinking.
Each of us stares at the device in Mr. Larson’s hand. We don’t know what the chip Braun’s holding does, or if the same things have been implanted in our own Pandoras. We just know the red blinking light means more: more information we don’t want, more challenges we’re too crippled to face.
Mr. Larson’s fear has made him resilient, though, and so he shoves the device into his ear and listens, his head tilting this way and that as if he’s searching for a radio signal. When his hand falls to his side and his eyes widen, Guy loosens an arm from my body and searches for his own device.
The sharks have barely quieted and are still circling our rafts. And we’re supposed to listen to a message from a robotic woman we’ve never met? No.
“Don’t,” I whisper to Guy.
“We must.” He plucks my own device from my pocket and places it in my ear. Some of the other Contenders follow his lead. Othe
rs don’t.
My body shudders uncontrollably, and I shake my head, not wanting this anymore. I want to go home. I want to be in my bed and hear my mother’s footsteps padding down the soft carpet, coming to tell me there are pancakes in the kitchen, and, yes, Dad made sausage, too.
My mind snags on the thought — sausage. I gag until I can hardly breathe, and Guy rubs my back. Over and over, Jaxon’s death replays in my mind until I believe I’m truly and utterly losing it. There’s no time for grief inside this race. Only for more dread, more loss.
A clicking sound fills my ear, and then static.
The message begins.
“Contenders, we have learned that some of the boats we loaned you for the race have malfunctioned.”
If I were up to it, I’d roll my eyes. I’d roll my eyes, and I’d snort.
“We provided each boat with three rescue rafts for Contenders and their Pandoras, but we never anticipated that the need to utilize these rafts would arise. Unfortunately, that has not been the case. What’s more, we’ve learned that many of the life rafts themselves have formed spontaneous leaks.”
Willow gasps and clings tighter to Harper. All eyes fall to the water. To the sharks.
“Here at headquarters, we’re working hard to ensure this glitch doesn’t arise in future races. Remember that we have marked each of you with a colored wristband for your personal safety, so while there is no need for panic, we would implore you to move as swiftly and efficiently as you can toward base camp.
“As a consolation for your trouble, we’ve decided to reverse our earlier decision and instate a prize for the ocean portion. We realize these unforeseen circumstances have been taxing, and so whoever is the first to step foot upon the third base camp will win a ten-minute phone conversation with the loved one they’ve come to save. We hope this will serve as an additional encouragement to push onward.”