Locked

Chapter Four

I watch Noah hover with the men. They talk in low, hushed voices and he nods. I start to pace. There are too many thoughts in my head at the same time, and the questions seem to run together, forming a mangled, gnarled mass of how is this possible?

Minutes pass, and I hear something next to me. I spin to find a tribesman—but not one of the twelve, someone else. He’s clothed in neutral colors, and I know he’s been behind the tree all along. Instinctively, I step back, but his face is open and I can tell he means no harm. He’s very thin and young, too—much younger than the rest. He seems to be maybe my sister’s age, and I have the sudden, intense desire to scour this island for her.

He holds out his hand to me. We do not speak the same language, but that gesture tells me everything I need to know. You’re safe. I will not hurt you.

He points to his head and then nods and steps forward, and in the next moment he’s holding something out to me. They’re herbs. They don’t look familiar, but they smell familiar. I remember something—like a dream vision. These herbs being placed on my body. Noah forcing them into my mouth.

“You saved me,” I say out loud, even though I know he won’t understand.

He smiles. “Askuwheteau,” he says. He points to his chest. “Asku.”

“Asku,” I echo. He laughs—a sweet, light sound. He nods forward, for me to do the same.

“August,” I say. I place my hand over my heart.

He pulls me gently onto a trail in the woods, and I look back for Noah, but Asku shakes his head. It’s okay, he seems to say. He will come.

I follow him through the woods as it quickly becomes clear we are descending a mountain. The trail is sharp and jagged, and I feel the weeds nipping at my legs like they have teeth. My feet are bare, and the soles are raw, but it doesn’t slow me down. It feels amazing to walk. I feel stronger now, rooted to the ground beneath me. I breathe in the deep forest air.

I think about my wounds from the plane. I touch my tattered shirt. I place a hand on my ribs.

How?

How did he take away fatal wounds in a matter of minutes and with no tools? How does he know this language?

I’m lost in thought for the rest of the hike, a million questions bouncing around my head like a shaken-up snow globe, and before I know it, the path swings right and the ocean is there in front of us—splayed out like a story.

Asku leads me down a few more paces to an overlook with a little sand trail to the water. There is a hut there—a wood structure that looks half tree house, half log cabin.

He holds the door open for me, and I walk inside. It’s beautiful—spacious and cozy all at once. There is a wide, open living room with woven floor mats. Pots hang from the ceiling, and the roof is a canvas tent that lets the sunlight stream straight through. I cross through an entryway and see what must be the kitchen to the left. The hunger that has never really waned rears its head again, and I clutch my stomach, swaying on the spot.

Asku motions for me to sit down at the small table and chairs in the corner and hands me a big clay pot. I’m still not sure what made me sick last time, but Asku urges me with his eyes and I bring my lips to the edge. The water is cool, clean. I drink until the entire pot is empty.

I hear feet at the door, and I look up expecting to see Noah, but am instead met by two women. They come into the house silently, barefoot and dressed in cloth wraps. They carry shawls. As they enter the kitchen, they exchange some words with Asku before he turns to me. I’m not sure what to do, so I bow my head; when I pick it back up, he is gone.

“Excuse me?” I say. The women have brought in pitchers of water and begin rinsing vegetables in a basin. They don’t turn around, so I say it again, louder this time.

One woman pivots slightly. She looks at me, furrows her brow, and goes back to work. “Asku?” I try, hoping his name will catch. The woman looks up, but then she goes back to what she’s doing.

There is a deck off the kitchen that looks down on the ocean, and I wander outside. I try to find the place we came in. I think maybe there are markers, now, of the crash—maybe something has washed up to shore. But just like a few days ago, I’m met with only blank sand.

One of the women beckons me inside and sets a plate of food down in front of me. It’s modest. An apple—rotted. It needs Noah’s touch. A root vegetable and a patty of some sort of grain. I eat the patty and vegetable in minutes. The women watch me silently, and it’s not until I’m finished that I recognize the looks on their faces—they’re hungry, too. I hold the apple out to them, but they just shake their heads.

“Please,” I say. “Take it.”

One of the women bows her head and comes forward. She takes the apple gently and cuts it in half. The two women turn their backs as they eat.

I bring my plate over to them. “Thank you,” I say. They wipe their hands and then take my plate and look me up and down. My eyes follow theirs down and I remember, suddenly, that I’m practically naked. I cover my stomach with my hands and attempt an apology, but one of the women motions for me to follow her.

We leave the kitchen and turn right down a small hallway at the end of which is the bedroom. It’s beautiful—a canopy bed sits in the middle of the room with white sheets and woven blankets. There is a small room off to the side with a basin in it, and the woman nods for me to get in.

I take off my clothes slowly, aware that I am naked with her. Embarrassed at how dirty I am. But the moment I first step into the basin all thoughts of shame melt away. The water is warm, and as I sink lower, I notice it’s spiked with herbs—rosemary and lavender and the faintest hint of peppermint. I close my eyes.

I feel hands on my scalp, and I lean my head back so it’s resting on the ledge of the tub. I open my eyes and see a scrub brush floating on the surface. I pick it up and start running it over my arms and legs. The dirt comes off immediately. I keep scrubbing. My hands, fingernails, the bottom of my feet. The woman pours water over my soapy hair until it’s clean.

Then she holds a blanket out for me. I know I’m supposed to leave, but the water is so warm, and it smells so heady, I can’t bring myself to stand.

I do, though, and my legs nearly give out beneath me. My lids are so heavy I think I may fall asleep right on the floor. She wraps me in the soft fabric and leads me to the bed. I dive into it, so grateful for the opportunity to not be standing anymore. It is so soft and so warm.

I am barely able to utter “Thank you” before I’m pulled into sleep.

I dream I’m back at Ed’s house. We’re sitting in his room, doing homework. I’m lying on his bed, flopped on my stomach, highlighting some passage from a history textbook.

“You’re wonderful,” he’s saying. “I love you.”

“You’re biased,” I say. I stick the pen between my teeth and look up at him. His brown hair is falling into his eyes, and he’s wearing his blue button-down, the one I bought him for his birthday last year. “But I love you, too.”

He smiles. He bends down next to me and turns me over. He takes the pen out of my lips and kisses me. His hands trail up my sides. I breathe out into his ear. “I’m so lucky,” he says before I pull him down closer.

Then we are flying. But not metaphorically, not like on our love, or whatever, like really, seriously, in the sky. My arms are wings, and as I spread them out, I soar higher and higher. I can feel the sun on my face, the wind at my back. I’m high above the earth, but I’m not afraid. I know I have everything I need to land safely somewhere.

Ed is next to me, but then I realize he’s not flying with me. “What’s the matter?” I ask, because he’s dragging behind, and the next thing I know he reaches out for me. He’s pulling on me now. I can feel his weight, so heavy it’s hard to stay in the sky.

“Help me,” he says.

I reach to pull him onto my back, but before I can he’s already falling. The last thing I hear before I wake up is the sound of his scream as he plummets down to earth.