Scarletta could drink straight from this creek and be fine.
But she doesn't know that.
She steps in slowly. Gasps at the temperature—it's cold, fed by underground springs—and picks her way across with exaggerated care.
Halfway through, something brushes her ankle.
She shrieks, flails, almost falls.
Just a leaf. Carried by the current.
She makes it to the far bank and collapses on the moss, breathing like she just sprinted a marathon.
1:51:33.
"Get up," I say out loud, even though she can't hear me. "You're wasting time."
But she doesn't get up. She lies there on her back, naked and panting, staring up at the canopy.
A guinea fowl crashes through the underbrush twenty feet from her position.
She bolts upright, eyes wide.
The bird emerges onto the path. Speckled grey and white, about the size of a small chicken, with a distinctive helmet-like crest on its head.
It looks at her.
She looks at it.
"Nice bird," she whispers. "Good bird. Don't… peck me."
The guinea fowl clucks—low, rattling sound—and waddles past her into the jungle on the other side of the creek.
Scarletta watches it disappear, then looks down at the tracker.
1:50:18.
"Shit."
She gets to her feet. Brushes moss off her ass. Picks up her crumpled card from where she dropped it, checks the map. Checks her watch. Looks around orienting herself.
Ah, she's figured out there's a compass on there.
She starts walking. Faster now. Finally understanding that time is the real enemy here, not the jungle.
She thinks she's in control of what happens. That her pace can change the outcome. That her compliance, or failure will dictate…anything.
It can't. It won't.
I've planned for every fucking possible scenario.
The whole point of this island is… herenjoyment.
Chapter 4
Scarletta
The watch beeps.
