LAUREN

I tell myself that a few days without K’thar isn’t so long. After all, I survived twenty-three years without him. I can do a few more days. And the people in the beach tribe need help. Mari’s a mess and won’t leave the unconscious T’chai’s side. She keeps asking me things like, “The cootie’s supposed to make him heal faster, right? It’s going to make him better, isn’t it?”

I want to tell her yes, because that’s what I was informed of, as well. But I don’t know how the cootie deals with things like a destroyed midsection or possibly punctured organs. I don’t know how it handles sepsis or an infection or any of the gnarly things that can happen in a primitive place like this. The cootie may keep its host strong, but it can only do so much. But I only smile brightly and pat Mari on the shoulder and reassure her that he’s strong.

What else can I do?

The horned tribe—as I’ve come to think of them—is wrecked from the attack. M’tok keeps trying to walk on his knee that looks worse and worse with every hour that passes, until R’jaal sits him down and forces him to rest. S’bren—the one with the wounded arm—does what he can to help around the camp.

That leaves myself and R’jaal to take care of everyone. It’s a little awkward at first because I don’t know many of their words and he’s not as patient with me as K’thar. Through a mix of gestures and bitten-out words, he gives me tasks to do. It doesn’t matter that the twin suns are going down and I’m exhausted from walking all day. There’s water to be gathered and a fire to be built. I guess they like fire here on the beach.

By the time it’s fully dark, I’m exhausted and ready to crawl into bed. I don’t even mind when R’jaal points me into the second hut and I have to sleep across from M’tok and S’bren. It’s clear to all of them that I’m K’thar’s and no one’s going to touch me. I fall asleep atop a pile of leaves instantly.

The next morning, I wake up to a hiss. I rub my eyes and glance over and see that M’tok’s lancing his swollen knee. He hisses again as a river of pus dribbles down his leg, and my stomach heaves.

“You should really rest that thing,” I tell him faintly before retreating out of the hut.

I’m aching and sore and I want to sleep for a million more hours, but when I get out of the hut, R’jaal is already in the waters of the bay, casting out nets. I can’t sleep while there are people in need, so I work on stoking up the fire again. I know how to do this thanks to Liz and Harlow, at least, and I set one of the giant conch-like shells into the coals and fill it with fresh water from a nearby stream that trickles from deep within the rocks. While I’m waiting for that to boil, I grab one of the spears resting against the huts and join S’bren in gathering some of the big nuts that fall on the ground. He’s slow with only one arm, which suits me just fine because I’m not very skilled. There aren’t many, of course, and half of the ones that have fallen have rotted away. He gestures at the tall trees, indicating I should climb and get some, but I know I’m not that skilled. If K’thar were here, it’d be different.

But he’s not, so I’ll do what I can. I suck up my fear, find the shortest tree to climb, and somehow manage—slowly—to get over to the tree with the nuts and shake a few down for S’bren. By the time I get down, my knees, the insides of my thighs, and my hands and feet are scratched up and sore. Lovely.

We head back to camp and I see R’jaal dragging in a heavy net in the water, straining to pull it in. S’bren drops his armful of nuts and starts to go after him, but I put a hand on his arm and indicate that I’ll help. Of course, R’jaal doesn’t like the way I try to help him and ends up snapping and barking incomprehensible words at me as I wade in and try to help him out.

By the time we get to the shore, he looks furious, half of the fish inside the net have probably swam out my side, and I’m exhausted. It’s barely dawn.

R’jaal snatches the net from my hands and says something biting to me, and I hit my breaking point. I slap at his hands and bare my teeth at him in my best feral alien imitation. “I’m trying to help, motherfucker! Either let me help or leave me the fuck alone!”

He looks surprised at my vehemence, and then throws back his great horned head and laughs. A quick pat on my shoulder tells me that all is forgiven and then he spends the next while showing me how to grab the net and haul it so the fish don’t get away.

Between keeping water boiled for Mari so she can nurse T’chai and helping R’jaal with nets, the day flies past. I snag a meal of the occasional tree nut and a bit of fish. Most of the fish in the nets are tiny, nothing but mere mouthfuls. I notice that most of the fish is saved for myself, Mari, and T’chai. The others don’t seem to be hungry, which tells me that they’re as low on food as K’thar’s tribe.

I go to bed that night exhausted, but thinking hard. The ground gives another faint tremor, then goes still. It’s the third one that day, and everyone ignores it.

But it reminds me that we can’t just think about day-to-day survival. We need to get off this island.

We need a plan. All of us—big horns and four arms and humans—need off this island. The mainland, however distant and however cold, had plenty of game, and I know that the others were never hungry. Not like this.

So I try to think of a plan. Mari’s in no shape to do so, because T’chai’s been delirious with fever and his abdomen tight and swollen. I have to remind her to eat, so she’s definitely not planning ahead. And the others? I suspect this is the only world they know, so they’re not going to be thinking of a way off the island.

But it’s all that’s on my mind lately—escape…and K’thar.

Because I’m not leaving without him.

My affection for the big, four-armed alien is the only thing that makes sense in my world right now. I have to call it affection because I can’t be in love. It’s far too soon and my body and mind are far too influenced by my cootie at the moment. I’m trying to be practical, even though just thinking about him makes me want to giggle like a schoolgirl. I think about him all the time. I miss him an insane amount, and I watch the trees every chance I get in the hopes that I’ll see him hop down and stride toward me with those gorgeous, fluid steps of his and I’ll fling myself into his arms and he’ll pull me against him and our cooties will sing together and…

And yeah.

He needs to come back, and soon. I wonder how long it’ll take him, and I can’t stop thinking about it as I gather wood and debris to tend the firepit while R’jaal casts his nets out.

Someone does come back, though, but it’s not K’thar and the rest of his small tribe.

It’s another group. This must be the third tribe that K’thar mentioned to me back when he was telling me about his peoples. I’m surprised to see a small cluster of men walk toward our huts, and R’jaal moves protectively to my side, standing in front of me. He calls out a warning to the others, who call back to him.

These don’t have large horns. Nor do they have the strong four arms that K’thar’s group does. They’re definitely different, though. As they approach, I can see that when they talk, I catch a hint of fangs. Their fingers are tipped with fierce looking claws, and they’re the first aliens I’ve seen that have facial hair. Each one has a beard and a sprinkling of chest hair. Fascinating. So many different traits for so few people. How did this come to pass, I wonder?

The men gesture at me, and my skin prickles with awareness of just how little I’m wearing. My grass bib and my loincloth are getting pretty ragged due to days of wear, and I’ve been stuffing more leaves into the weave to try and make it last, but they’re going to fall apart pretty soon. Everyone else is naked, of course, but I feel naked with how much they’re staring at me.

R’jaal talks to them for a moment and I hear K’thar’s name pop up. Immediate disappointment crosses their faces.

All right, R’jaal is going to remain on the Christmas card list, I decide. He’s telling them that I’m mated to K’thar. Whew. The looks they send my way are a lot less interested and one bearded guy casts me a glance of pure disappointment. I hear Mari’s name, and then T’chai, and then K’thar’s name again.

The newcomers turn away and discuss quietly amongst themselves, then settle a bit farther down on the beach, at the edge of the trees. I can’t figure out what they’re doing, so I go back to working on the fire. When I look up, I see one of the newcomers wading out to help R’jaal, and another brings me a stack of firewood. The other two work at the edge of the woods and I realize that they’re making their own shelter.

I’m surprised…and a little impressed. These guys act like they don’t like each other, but when someone’s in trouble, they pitch in to help, no questions asked. It’s clear they showed up to see me and Mari, but they’re staying to help.

All right, then. The escape plan has to cover fourteen people. We all have to leave. When I get time to myself, I’ll work on a plan of some kind.

* * *

Time to myself arrives that afternoon. I’m putting fresh water into the conch shell I use for boiling when one of the bearded newcomers grabs my arm and hauls me away from the freshwater trickle. My protest dies in my throat when a shadow crosses over the encampment, and then I race hard to one of the stone huts. I huddle inside with Mari while the others camouflage into hiding.

They chase the thing off with spears and this one doesn’t even land. I’m guessing that as predators, those giant birds are very sight-based and so the camouflage keeps the aliens safe. Since Mari and I can’t camo, I have to spend the rest of the day hiding in one of the sweltering little huts with her. She sits at T’chai’s side, gently washing his wounds and stroking his brow while he sweats with fever. It’s like I’m not here.

I don’t mind that. I wouldn’t know what to say even if she paid attention to me. I’m not good with comforting. I’m good at being stoic and practical. That part of me (the stoic part) wants to shake her and tell her to sleep, because I don’t think she has since he got wounded. But I understand how messed up she is. I’ve been worrying about K’thar non-stop since he left.

My cootie’s been rather silent, too. I hope that doesn’t mean anything awful. I don’t think I could stand it if something were to happen to the fragile bond between us. We haven’t even had a chance to explore it much.

I really, really want that chance.

So we have to leave this death trap of an island, and soon, because all these little quakes just tell me that a big one is on its way.

By the time that K’thar returns the next day, I think I have a solution, too.