Guy studies the feather lying over my shoulder, then nods to himself. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I just got an official nod of approval. Not sure of what to say next, I ask, “Do you think the raccoon would have done this? Healed my wound?”
He shakes his head. “Not for you, no.”
It’s what I figured, that each Pandora looks out only for its own Contender. Still, I wonder how he knows for sure.
Guy cracks his knuckles like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know how. When after several seconds he still hasn’t spoken, I decide to take a gamble. “Guy? Will you tell me about this race?” I swallow hard and add quietly, “Please.”
“I told you it wouldn’t help.”
“Tell me anyway,” I say, hoping my voice is steady.
Looking toward the sky, he seems to think. He pulls in a breath and lets it out. He does it again. And again. His broad chest swelling like a bird’s, then flattening. Then to my astonishment, he speaks. “There are different people running it. Different … names for them.” He stops suddenly, like he can’t believe he’s said anything. I stay quiet. So quiet, I can hear my heart pulsing in my ears. Guy wets his lips. “There are the Creators, the ones that made your Pandora. They’re more commonly referred to as Pharmies.”
My mind spins. I know that word. The girl in the train car with me said it.
“They work in pharmaceuticals, of sorts, and ensure the Cure is available to the winner.” He taps his temple lightly. “These guys are brilliant. They were experts in genetic engineering by the early 1950s, two full decades before the public started reading about it.”
Guy looks at me, but I avoid his eyes. I don’t want him to see how enraptured I am by what he’s saying. Instead of asking him to clarify, and before I can really think, I ask, “Who are you here for, Guy?”
He turns away from me. I’ve asked the wrong question, and now he’s shutting down. To my surprise, he looks back at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You owe me a favor for treating your wound.” He says it so even keel that I wonder if he practices speaking without emotion.
“A favor?” I ignore the fact that he’s avoiding my question, or that he’s just told me half a story. “What kind of favor?”
He looks at Madox, and my stomach plummets. No. I won’t give him my fox.
“I want you to sing that song,” he answers.
“What song?” But as soon as I ask, I know. He heard me singing to Madox when I was following him. Which means he knew I was following him. “Oh God.” I cover my face with my hands. “You mean the sicky song.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I realize he really, truly means for me to sing it. Like, now. “You can’t be serious,” I say.
Nothing.
I roll my eyes. This will be the most embarrassing moment of my life. But he touched my leech wound, for crying out loud. And I have so many more questions I need him to answer. So if he wants the sicky song, he gets the sicky song.
I clear my throat like a professional might do. Then I open my mouth and sing. It lasts for ninety humiliating seconds. I can’t even look at him when I’m done. But when he doesn’t say anything, I can’t not look at him.
Glancing over, I notice he’s just staring forward.
“You are a horrible singer,” he says.
My jaw falls open. The friggin’ nerve. I’m about to tell him where he can shove it, but then I see it — the smallest of smiles tugging the corner of his mouth up. And I can’t help myself. I point at his face. “You’re smiling,” I say while laughing. “You’re totally smiling.”
The grin slides from his face, and he shakes his head as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. But I totally busted him and he knows it. Mr. Stone Cold just broke.
He lies down and closes his eyes. “I think you’re well rested enough to watch on your own now.”
“I was to begin with,” I retort.
He’s quiet for a full minute before I hear him speak again. “My cousin,” he says. “I’m here for my cousin. Because he’d have done it for me.”
I smile to myself.
I know he won’t say anything else.
Our group hikes through the jungle for five days, our Pandoras trailing nearby. We face problem after problem: falling trees that nearly flatten us, unrelenting rain, chronic fatigue, insect stings … the list feels never ending. The race feels never ending. Mostly, we do what we can to survive each day. We eat and drink what the jungle provides. We share stories and memories from home as we hike to keep our spirits up. And we locate two more flags: each southeast of the one before it.
At night, we set up camp and take our usual shifts keeping watch. Guy continues to not wake me when it’s my turn, and I continue to wake up on my own through sheer determination.
We talk during this time. Me more so than Guy, but still, he has his moments. There’s never any divulgence about the race, not since that first time. But it feels good to have a moment that’s stolen. As if we carve it out of the jungle night and say, This belongs to us.
I learn that Guy actually enjoys the wilderness, and if it weren’t for the race, he might be having the time of his life. He’s from Detroit, which I find insanely cool, and he has three younger brothers. Though he’ll never admit it, I know he also worships his father. Oh, and he likes newspapers: not to read, just the crinkling sound the pages make.
Five days. Ten stolen hours. And that’s all I know.
Every day now, Guy hikes behind me. It makes me super paranoid. Mostly, I think about the size of my butt and its general flatness versus roundness. At least it keeps my mind off more serious matters. Like the fact that my hands have started trembling, or that Dink hasn’t said a word in three days, or that Titus grows more agitated and aggressive by the day. I once asked Guy why we let him stay. He said something about it being better to have him in sight.
Today is day ten. And behind me I can hear Guy’s steady steps. They are faint, but the sound still soothes me. Just like every other day, I puzzle over what Guy told me about the race. About why the Pharmies created the Cure, and the Pandoras, to begin with. Four days ago, I thought about telling the others what Guy told me but decided I’d better try and get the full story first. Because God knows if they all start asking questions, he’ll clam up for sure. But once I do find out, I’ll share what I know. It’s only fair.
“Everyone still good for another hour before we rest?” Harper asks, rupturing my thoughts. She cranes her head skyward as she speaks, searching for her eagle.
The other Contenders and I mumble an affirmative response.
“Okay, I’m going to ask it,” Ransom says. “How much friggin’ farther do you think base camp is from here?”
“Forever,” Levi answers, one hand on his ram’s curled horn. “It’s forever from here. That’s what it feels like anyway.”
“Ten days,” Caroline says quietly.
I know what she means. We’re starting to cut it close. We have only four days left.
“What if,” Ransom says. “What if there really isn’t a base camp?”
Harper stops suddenly, and Ransom slams into her back.
“God, Harper,” he groans. “Walk much?”
She spins to face him. “Don’t say crap like that. We don’t need it. Understand?”
He looks off to his right. I can’t see his expression from here, but I imagine it’s one of irritation. Our fuses have become shorter with each mile we hike. Ransom rolls his hand as if to say, Whatever, let’s go.
We keep walking, and I fight the urge to look behind me. To see what Guy is doing. Maybe he’s building binoculars out of bark or a cell phone out of vines. Madox trudges through the jungle near my right ankle. He’s been a trooper during this race, though I can tell even he is beginning to tire.
We walk in formation for another few minutes until I hear something. Everyone stops and listens. This is what this leg of the race can be summarized as: listening. There are sounds that tell us a f
oreign animal is near, and others that the rain makes. When it’s morning, there are sounds that entire armies of insects create, and different sounds for when we’re near a stream.
The sound I hear now is not an innocent one.
It’s heavy and slow, and my mind begins to fill in the blanks. It must be large, and it’s either hunting for something or already on the prowl. As the noise grows louder, I know it’s closing in, and because it doesn’t slow, I determine it’s not here to attack us. Titus’s grizzly takes a step forward and lifts his muzzle into the air, smelling. M-4 mimics him from a few feet away.
I startle when I feel something behind me. Craning my neck, I find Guy standing so close that his arm brushes my back. He’s looking over my shoulder, watching intently, like he’s waiting to take those last two steps so that he’s in front of me. I want to tell him I can take care of myself. That Madox can take care of me. But the truth is I like that he’s there, just in case. So I turn and face the sound.
Narrowing my eyes, I can spot two animals heading toward us. As they tread closer, I notice there is a third smaller animal and three people following behind. I wonder if they are Pandoras or jungle creatures. But as I get a better look, I know it’s the former. The animal in front is a zebra. Its stripes change colors as it walks so that it blends almost seamlessly into the green and brown foliage. Behind it is a rhinoceros, a thick ivory horn growing from the tip of its nose. Hanging near the back, close to the three Contenders, is a kangaroo. Its long tail drags behind it as it hops along.
The Contenders don’t notice us, and I’m not sure if that’s for the best. I can’t help wondering who these people are, where they came from. The cluster of travelers is made up of an older man, maybe in his midforties, and two younger girls who appear dangerously thin.
Harper takes a few hesitating steps toward them, and then raises her arm. She’s going to let them know we’re here. But before she can, Titus grabs her wrist and yanks it back down.
“What the hell are you doing?” he hisses. “Trying to get us killed?”
Harper gives him a lethal stare before ripping away from him. “There’s no reason we can’t help each other until the end.” I still don’t know how I feel about Harper, but I can’t help agreeing with her on this point.
Though I know she’s fuming, she looks away from Titus and back at the strangers. No one else says anything as we watch them pass. When they’re out of earshot, Guy steps beside me and speaks to our group.
“Running into other Contenders may mean we’re getting close.” His brow lifts. “And it probably means we’re headed in the right direction.”
Levi points toward where we spotted the Contenders and their Pandoras. “Look, something else is coming.”
We watch and wait. The vines and plants rustle, but we never get a clear view of who’s there. I make out that they’re human — that there are maybe six of them — and that they aren’t Contenders. Their clothing is also brown, but it’s too dark in color. As they move, they stay close to the ground, their heads snapping this way and that. A sense of foreboding brews in my stomach, and even the birds overhead seem to hold their breaths. Though my brain demands my silence, every muscle screams for flight.
“They’re following the Contenders,” Guy says quietly.
Watching them, I know he’s right. There’s an odd, jerky manner to the way they move. These people, though I can’t fully see them, are like nothing I’ve ever known.
Except.
I think back to the man I saw the first day of the race. The one I thought I imagined. Maybe he’s one of these men. I wonder what they’re here for and whether they’ve been following us. Madox whines below me … and my legs begin to shake. I tell myself it’s because we’ve walked for too long this morning and that I’m exhausted. But I know it’s something more. That it’s fear.
Guy looks into my face. I wonder if he sees how this race is beginning to take its toll on me. I think for a moment that he’s going to suggest we stop here to rest.
“We should walk through the day,” he says. “We can rest tonight.”
I close my eyes against the disappointment. But I won’t be the one to suggest we stop. So I clench my fists, remember why I’m here, and hike to the front of the group with Madox at my heel. “I’ll lead,” I announce. “We’re all tired, but I expect you to keep up.”
For one single moment, I wait for Harper to protest. To stake her claim as leader of this troop. But when I glance at her, she has a look of relief in her green eyes. She doesn’t smile at me, or even nod. She just gets in line behind me and starts walking.
We’ve been heading east, but it’s nearing time for us to turn and trek south. I’m still at the front, hiking through thick jungle plants, a film of dirt and sweat across my brow. Every few minutes, I scan our perimeter, searching for more Contenders and their Pandoras. We’d seen more over the last three hours. There was a teenage boy with a tortoise, a man with long black hair and a yellow snake wrapped around his arm, and two women in their forties with a pair of owls. Most Contenders traveled alone, but some, like us, hiked together. It’s reassuring to see them. A lot better than seeing the strange men, who we keep an eye out for but haven’t spotted again.
My boots begin to feel heavier as I walk, and I cringe from the blisters that have formed along my Achilles tendons. I look up to ensure the path ahead is free of logs or dense plants, and notice the ground seems darker. I realize then that my boots haven’t gotten heavier, but rather the earth has become softer, making it more difficult to walk.
“The ground,” I say. “It’s getting muddy.”
Guy walks up next to me, and his lion shadows him. He crouches down, digs his fingers into the wet dirt, and rubs them together. “We’re nearing a body of water.”
Over the last week or so, we’d crossed many streams that allowed us to quench our thirst. But at night, Guy tells me about great, rushing rivers that live inside most jungles. A tickle of excitement creeps through me, imagining his river.
“Let’s keep going,” he continues. “We have to stick to the plan.”
This is fine by me. I’m eager to see what’s ahead. So I plow onward, even though the dirt gets thicker and harder to trudge through the farther we go. Soon, the sound of rushing water is unmistakable. My tickle of excitement morphs into full-body exhilaration. Ever since that day in the clearing, where Madox shifted into different Pandoras, I haven’t seen anything but dense vegetation and tall trees. And right now the desire to see the sky or a river or something different is overwhelming.
I rush forward. After several more feet — and a few stumbles — I see it. The river. It’s wide and caramel brown and there are bright white clouds floating overhead. A grin sweeps across my face, and when I turn to see the other Contenders, I’m thrilled to see they are smiling, too.
Everyone except Guy, that is.
I’m suddenly furious that he can’t appreciate this, the whispering water and cool air. “What’s wrong with you?” The bitterness in my voice surprises me. “Why aren’t you happy?”
His eyes stay on the river, searching. “Because it’s time to go south.”
I turn back to the water and dig my nails into my palms. He’s right, of course. We’ve spent about six days traveling east, so it’s time to turn. Scanning the thick mud along the bank, I know it’ll be impossible to hike alongside the river and make enough progress.
We’ll have to use the current to carry us south.
We’ll have to go into the river.
The river seems so vast, a winding, curling snake in the heart of the jungle. I can’t imagine how we’ll ever use it to travel. Or what creatures live in its dark belly.
“Do you …” Caroline says slowly, eyeing Guy. “Do you think we should swim?”
“I’m not swimming in that shit-stain water.” Titus snorts. “Do I look like someone who wants Ebola?”
I have no idea whether you can get Ebola from swimming, but I sort of agree. This w
ater doesn’t look like something I want to submerge myself in.
Guy walks away from us and comes back a few seconds later, holding various things. He moves closer to the water and throws the first item in. I’m not sure what it was, but it now lives at the bottom of the river. He throws the second thing, and it plays follow-the-leader, sinking fast. I watch as he throws in two more things. They all plunge into the river and drown.
His back rises and falls like he’s taking a deep, frustrated breath. Then he cracks his fingers — all but his thumbs. I picture racing over and cracking those blasted thumbs for him, but before I can, he says, “We need something that floats.”
“Okay,” I say quickly, turning to browse the vegetation around the riverbank. This feels good, like we have a plan. We need something that floats, he said. Fine. Everyone in our group searches the jungle floor for several minutes while our Pandoras watch. We look like a crew from one of those murder movies. Like we’re searching for a body. It’s a twisted thought, but it makes me laugh.
“What’s so funny, Looney Tunes?” Levi asks.
I shake my head. “This is the crap I used to watch on TV. People searching through wooded areas, wearing horrendous clothing. I mean, how is this happening to me?”
Levi’s brows pull together like he’s thinking really hard. Then he looks at me and his face splits into a smile. “I have no idea.”
Ransom stands up like something huge has occurred to him. We all look in his direction.
“What is it?” Levi asks.
Ransom glances around. “I’m in a jungle. A. Freaking. Jungle.” he says. “With a magic raccoon.”
Dink giggles, and the sound surprises us so much that we all stare at him.
Ransom points at Dink. “I made the kid laugh.”
“People,” Guy says. “Floating objects.”
We all look at Guy, then make faces to one another like he’s our overbearing dad. Secretly, though, I love that he’s so focused and reliable. His steadfastness is what allows the rest of us to let loose. Even Harper, who days ago was the epitome of seriousness, now shakes her butt at him.