Juliet

After rubbing the back of my head with water and a piece of fur, he gave me more jerky, but I refused. I still don’t know what he was doing when he rubbed the water all over me, but as it was a wound that had only just started healing, it hurt.

I just let him do it so he’d let me be afterward, and he did, luckily.

I’ve been sitting here hungry all day long, but I still prefer that over eating that jerky again.

I can still taste it in my mouth even though I’ve tried to wash it down with water plenty of times. Nothing works.

I wish I could go out and find some herbs or something, some plants, anything. I could cook them and make a veggie stew with a fire. I know how to find the good ones, the plants you can eat. But he won’t let me walk around in his hut, let alone untie me so I can go search for real food.

I grumble and lie down on the bed. I have to admit it’s comfortable with this fur on top, but I can’t help but feel bad for the animal that had to suffer. Did he make this on his own, like everything else in this hut? Is this how he lives? Like a savage in the jungle? A wild man?

Goose bumps scatter on my skin.

I can’t imagine what it must be like if he has … he’s been alone for all this time.

No one’s on this island. I remember that well enough from all the research we did before we decided to make the trip to come here to study the wildlife. We specifically chose this location because of no human interference.

But it has … because he’s here.

Living on the island as if it’s his home.

Maybe it is.

But why would anyone want to live here? So desolate and far away from any human contact? He must’ve chosen here for a reason …

But why?

Does he want to be left alone?

Or did something happen that made him flee here?

I take a deep breath and sigh. There’s no point in worrying about things I can’t change.

We’re both stuck here now on an island that won’t get any more helicopters or ships until the call is made for a pickup.

Suddenly, I shoot up from the bed.

That’s it.

The call.

That’s my way back to my own life. My own home.

A telephone.

I frantically search my pockets but find nothing. Of course, I left mine in my bag … which must still be in the helicopter somewhere.

What about Ollie? And Pete?

I haven’t heard anything from this … man. No signs that they’ve been found.

Could they still be alive?

They had phones on them too; maybe they’ve already called for help.

I can’t sit here and do nothing. I have to try to find them. Or at least the helicopter. Anything to get back home. Waiting it out isn’t good enough. I have to act now.

I immediately start chewing on the rope again, not giving a crap about it hurting. I’ll bite through the pain, literally, just to free myself.

Asking that brute is no use. He keeps glaring at me as if I’m the stranger here. As if he doesn’t know what to do with me. I know he can talk—I’ve heard his English—so he knows how to speak. The problem is that he won’t, and I don’t know why, but I don’t care either.

If he won’t help me, I’ll do it myself.

While he’s off looking for more prey to hunt, I chew through the rope. I don’t stop. Not even when I hear him open something outside and making lots of noise with something that chops. I don’t care what he’s doing. As long as he doesn’t see me, I’m good.

The moment the rope snaps, my heart skips a beat, and I find it hard to contain my excitement. But I have to lay low. He can’t know I’m free, or he’ll tie me up again. No, I have to wait until it’s nighttime before I make my escape.

So I lay down on top of the rope and pretend it’s still attached.

When he comes inside again, I don’t get up.

When he feeds me, I chew through the jerky and swallow it down without complaints.

When he smiles, I smile back, feigning thankfulness even though I’m more worried and scared than anything.

Although I can see in his eyes that he won’t hurt me, I’m still afraid he’ll throw me in that pit again if he finds out I freed myself. And I refuse to go back in there. I’m not an animal. I’m a human being … and apparently, he hasn’t had contact with a lot of them to know how to treat them.

Still, watching him toil around the hut, making things neat and tidy again, and crafting little pots and spoons from wood makes me feel for him. I don’t know if it’s pity or sadness in my heart, and I can’t think about it too much because I know I shouldn’t get attached.

I don’t know him, but he captured me as if I was a treasure he found in the wreckage. I have to keep in mind things can go bad at any moment.

And I really, really want to go home.

More than anything.

When the sun has been gone for a while, and the only remaining light in the hut is the small candle beside my bed, he starts prepping the bed. He places a pillow made of fur on top, blows out the candle, and attempts to crawl behind me.

“Wait,” I mutter, which makes him pause. If we’re going to share a bed, the least we should know is what to call each other. “What … what’s your name?”

He frowns. “Lock.”

Lock. What a strange name for a man like him.

Not that it matters. Biting my lip, I respond, “I’m Juliet Baker.”

“Jul …”

He seems to have some trouble pronouncing it.

“Juliet,” I repeat.

“Julet.”

“No, Juliet.”

“Jule,” he murmurs, his voice lower than usual.

I shake my head. “Ju-li-et.” It can’t be that hard, can it?

“Ju-et.”

I roll my eyes and sigh. “Jules is fine.”

“Jules.” He smiles. “Jules.”

I don’t know why, but every time he says my name like that, my whole body tingles. Shit.

Don’t let his husky voice get to you so much, Jules.

He’s just a man.

Who captured you.

And is still keeping you as a pet.

I take a breath and sigh. He keeps staring at me for a few more seconds before crawling onto the bed as well.

I tense up the moment he lies down beside me, and I can feel his breath on my skin even though he doesn’t touch me. There’s no telling what he’ll do if I don’t fight this, so I force myself to stay vigilant while I hear him fall into a deep sleep. He snores while I refuse to sleep.

When I’m sure he’s far beyond the possibility of waking up, I slowly inch up from the bed. He groans, so I stop momentarily and watch him roll over on the bed, facing the ceiling. His face is quite rugged but in a good way. Handsome, even.

What are you doing, Jules? Get out of there!

Right, I shouldn’t be thinking about this at all.

It’s time to run.

I quickly rid myself of the rope around my wrists and throw it on the ground. I put on my shoes again, which he took off and placed underneath the bed.

I go to the kitchen area and grasp the flask, then I bolt for the door. There’s no lock, and it opens without making too much sound. I hope he doesn’t wake up soon because he’ll probably chase me, which is why I have to make a run for it.

Now.

* * *

I hastily fill the flask with water from a barrel outside. Next to it is a torch, so I grab it and light it with the fire outside. Then I run. The torch guides my way through the jungle, through the thick bushes and trees. When I find a big trunk, I stake the torch in the ground and climb up again. When I’m high enough, I scour the area until I find ground zero.

It’s not far, so I immediately jump down, grab the torch, and run toward it. If I go in a straight line, I’ll reach it eventually, and if I’m uncertain, I can always climb another tree to check my bearings.

I know how to navigate my way around the land. If I need water, I know how to find it; if you just go down, all the water flows from mountains to the rivers down below. And if I need food … well, I can tell which plants are edible and which aren’t. Guess the survival skills the teacher taught me back in college are paying off.

But I’m not thinking about food or water right now. I need to get to the helicopter. I want to know if Ollie and Pete made it out alive. And I need to find a cell phone, so I can communicate with the outside world and let them know I’m okay.

So I keep running—past a tiny creek, over some rocky terrain, and into the deep jungle—until I finally come across a few charred trees. Not far beyond is an entirely scorched area … and in the middle of it all is a helicopter … or what’s left of it.

The metal wrangled and molten, I can barely recognize it as a helicopter. It’s turned upside down with pieces of metal hanging by a thread. The whole thing looks as though it’s about to collapse.

I take a deep breath and venture forward, determined to find what I’m looking for.

With the torch to light the way, I avoid debris and tree stumps, navigating around to the helicopter. There’s no good way to get inside, other than through the window on top of the wreckage, so I plant the torch in the ground again and grasp the wreckage and pull myself up.

The metal makes weird noises. Creaking and screeching, as if it’s about to collapse completely, but I push through. A small piece breaks off where I grasp it, and I almost tumble down, but I manage to catch myself before I fall. I grab a sturdier ledge and pull a bit before I actually make another move to make sure it doesn’t snap.

After a few more steps, I’m near the window, so I tear off a piece of my shirt and wrap it around my hand to knock away any remaining shards of glass. Then I hoist myself inside.

The whole thing quakes the moment I land inside the blackened cockpit, but a few seconds of pause keeps things together. For now.

The moon provides a small trickle of light into the helicopter.

That’s when I notice the seat in front of me.

Or at least, what used to be a seat. And buttons. And a stick.

Nothing’s left of it.

Or the human who was in it.

It’s as if the pilot melted together with the seat.

I cringe and try not to touch anything as I pass by. It could all be evidence for when the police come to investigate, and I don’t want to be blamed for messing up a crime scene. Because who knows what happened … I don’t.

The last thing I remember was our flight and that we were just about to land … and then a lot of noise and banging, and me being thrown out of the helicopter.

And then him … finding me. Taking me.

The rest is history.

I blow out a deep breath and force myself to concentrate on the here and now.

Slowly, I crawl across the floor beyond the cockpit and look up.

My jaw drops the moment I see Pete … and the metal bar that pierced his body.

No matter how hard I try to suck in the air, the oxygen won’t enter.

My throat clamps up before I can squeal.

Fuck.

This is horrible.

Pete’s dead … and Ollie … Where’s Ollie?

I think as hard as I can, and then it hits me. He was flung out of the helicopter before it crashed.

I quickly move to the left and climb up to the window on the rolled-over helicopter. When I gaze outside, the moonlight is enough to show the bits and pieces of metal scattered on the ground … and pieces of clothing … and flesh.

My hand flies to my mouth, and I struggle to keep the bile from rising.

I force the image out of my head.

That is not how I’ll remember him.

I have to tell their families. I have to let them know what happened. Give them a proper funeral. Something …

I gather my courage and move back to Pete’s body, frantically searching for my bag or his. I push my hands underneath my seat but to no avail. When I turn my head, I spot my phone … under Pete’s seat.

Despite swallowing, I can still taste the sourness in my mouth, but I push on anyway. I have to get that phone, no matter how horrible it is. Crawling as low as I possibly can, I push my hand underneath and feel around, trying not to touch the body. The smell is so vile; I have to stop breathing while I’m trying to find the cell phone.

When I’ve got it, I quickly pull back and lean backward as far away as I can against my own seat. With unsteady fingers, I ram the buttons, but no matter how many times I press the start button, it won’t turn on.

Of course, it won’t.

The phone’s completely blackened with stuff leaking out of it.

The batteries have long been drained or burned.

“Fuck!” I yell, smashing it down onto the floor.

Tears well up in my eyes as I stare at the body in front of me, wishing he could speak and tell me what to do. How can I ever bring them back home if I can’t even get us off this island?

Fucking useless.

As I sit here, contemplating on what I should do, the helicopter begins to creak.

The sound makes me uneasy, so I slowly start to move back to the cockpit again. Every time I place my hands and knees on the floor, the metal screeches. It chases adrenaline through my body and makes my heart pump faster. I need to get out of here before this thing collapses. I can barely see, as the moonlight is my only source of light right now. But if I keep going in the same direction, I’ll surely bump into stuff I’ll recognize.

First the door, then the seats, and then the stick and buttons on a dashboard, which I use to push myself up from the skewed floor. As I crawl out the window and hold it tight to make my descent, the metal screeches louder than ever before.

“Jules!”

In shock, I turn my head toward the distressed voice.

There he is, a few feet away from the wreckage, holding a spear in one hand and a lit torch in the other.

He tracked me all the way here?

Suddenly, the slippery surface of the helicopter makes me lose my grip, and I squeal as my feet fall off the ledge. I barely manage to hold the broken window, but glass punctures my skin.

“Jules!” he yells, rushing toward me, dropping the spear and torch.

I try to grasp the ledge of the window with both hands, but I’m swinging from the helicopter right now … and it begins to sway.

My eyes widen as the whole thing comes apart at the seams right beside where I am.

The tremors make me lose the last inch of my grip.

I fall.

My feet hit the metal, and I bounce off, my body turning toward the ground headfirst.

Shit.

I close my eyes before I hit the ground.

Except I don’t.

Two strong arms catch me right before I do.

It all happens so fast.

The wreckage creaks and contorts, collapsing under its own weight.

One moment, Lock clutches me, holding me close to his body.

The next, he stumbles and falls.

I’m thrown forward into the scorched grass.

My body rolls out away from the crash site. I groan and cough as I recover from the fall. When I lean up, I blink and look around.

There’s nothing left of the helicopter.

Nothing … but a man underneath a large chunk of metal.

I don’t recognize the agonizing sound that leaves my throat.

“Lock!”