Glancing up, I wonder if I can make a bed in the trees like the guy did. My guess is no, but I have to try. I turn in circles, inspecting the trees, deciding which would make the best starting point. But as I spin, something catches my eye.
In the distance, I see a soft, dancing glow. I recognize instantly what it is — a fire. And I know what maniac’s Pandora probably created it. Ensuring Madox stays nearby, I creep toward the surge of light. When I’m within a few yards, I begin hearing voices. Not the kind that worry psychologists, but the real kind. The ones that tell me this isn’t just the Green Beret and his lion, but people. I briefly wonder if I’ll see the guy I spotted my first afternoon in the jungle, the one whose face appeared painted. Then again, I’m not entirely certain that wasn’t just my imagination.
I move closer, hoping to get a look at them while staying hidden. Madox seems to sense we’re prowling, so he mimics me, staying close to the ground and taking careful steps. The voices grow louder as I settle behind an enormous tree trunk. Pulling a deep breath, I peek around the side and take in the view.
Three people squat around a small fire. There’s not a lot of light radiating from the flames, but inside the dark jungle, it’s more than enough. They’re all wearing brown scrubs with a single pocket — and a serpent embellishment — on the chest. Some of their pockets protrude, and I can only imagine they’re storing their devices in there as I am.
The first person I notice is a woman maybe in her midthirties. She has prominent cheekbones and long black hair. There are small laugh lines around her mouth, and the way she keeps folding and refolding her hands tells me she isn’t any more comfortable with this jungle than I am.
Beside the woman is a young boy. He has thick, curly hair, and I instantly like him. I know what it’s like to wake up to that nightmare every day. He smiles easily at what the woman is saying, and I notice he’s drawing something into the dirt with a long stick. I’m terrible at guessing kids’ ages, but I’d put him at probably about eight.
The last girl I see, I want to strangle. Like the woman, she has long hair. But instead of dark, it’s blond — no, honey gold — and shines like that of a Broadway starlet. I can’t see her eyes from here, but I’m sure they’re some stunning shade of blue. She has cream-colored skin and a body that belongs in a magazine — the kind for guys, not girls. I hate her with everything I have as she laughs her perfect laugh and tosses her perfect hair and crosses her to-die-for legs. The girl seems to be about my age, or just a few years older. We could be friends, I realize, if I weren’t so overwhelmed with the urge to end her.
My legs ache from bending down, and when I stand to relieve them, Goldilocks glances over. I freeze as she gets up and walks toward me and Madox. The woman starts to stand, too, but the blonde holds out a hand to stop her. Her eyes narrow as she searches the area. Then she glances directly at me.
Green eyes, not blue.
The girl motions for me to come out. “I see you, Contender. Identify yourself or I’ll send my Pandora after you.”
Inspecting their campsite, I don’t see her Pandora. Or any Pandora, really. I contemplate coming out like she asked. From what I can tell, none of them carries weapons, and I’m sure I can flee if the need arises.
Picking up Madox, I stroll out from behind the tree trunk. “Hey” is all I can think to say.
Goldilocks tilts her head at me. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Tella Holloway,” I answer. She seems to be waiting for something else, so I add, “I’m a Contender.”
She nods like she assumed as much but is relieved to hear me say it. Pointing at the feather over my shoulder, she says, “Nice hair flair.” I smile cautiously as she motions toward the fire. “Want to join us?”
I can’t help the spike of excitement in my chest. For four days, I’ve had no one to talk to except a mute fox — God love him. And now this girl — who I’m hating less — is offering her company. “Yeah,” I say, setting Madox down and moving toward the fire. “Thanks.”
The girl sits down on a log and scrutinizes me. “Have you found any flags?” she asks, her brow lifting.
I shake my head. “No. You?”
She doesn’t answer, but the drop in her shoulders tells me she hasn’t. “My name’s Harper. This is Caroline,” she says, flicking her finger toward the woman. “And this is Dink,” she adds, referring to the kid.
“Hey.” I sit on the ground and try to act as unawkward as possible. “It’s nice to meet you guys.”
“Do you want something to eat?” Harper asks.
My stomach growls when I think about food. I want to be self-sufficient, to show these people I can fend for myself. But I nod anyway, then watch wide-eyed as Harper reaches into a bag and pulls out a sliver of charred meat wrapped in a palm leaf. “Don’t eat the leaf, just the meat.”
Though I know I should be offended she thinks I’d eat the leaf, I’m glad she clarified. I don’t ask what I’m eating. I don’t want to know. The meat is tasteless, but it still feels so good to chew, I can hardly contain myself. As I eat, I wonder why this girl is being so nice. There can only be one winner, so why is she helping me?
I think I have the answer when I notice her eyeing my Pandora, who’s currently lying on his back, four legs kicking at the sky. She wants to know what he’s capable of, which immediately fills me with anxiety. My fox had yet to demonstrate any of his skills. Maybe hers hasn’t, either. “This is Madox.” I nudge my Pandora with my boot and he bites at it.
Harper’s face opens. “You named it?”
“Well, yeah.” So much for not feeling awkward. “His original name was KD-8, I guess.”
“You shouldn’t do that,” Harper says.
“Why not?” Caroline’s voice surprises me. It’s low and gentle, and I get the sensation she doesn’t ever raise it. “Why can’t she name her Pandora?”
Harper bristles. “It’s not right. They’re here to help us survive. Not be our pets.”
Caroline presses her lips together. It seems she disagrees, but doesn’t want to push the issue.
“What’s up with its eyes?” Harper asks suddenly. “They’re trippy-looking.”
I glance at Madox’s electric-green eyes. It’s something I’d assumed all Pandoras had — unnatural eye color.
Instead of waiting for an answer, Harper asks another question. “When did it hatch?”
“Last night,” I say. Then to emphasize I’m my own person, I add, “Madox hatched last night.”
Harper looks confused. “Hasn’t grown much, huh?”
I glance at the baby fox. Had he grown at all? I didn’t think so. Shaking my head, I ask, “Did yours grow?”
She laughs. It’s a short burst of sound. “From the second it hatched, it wouldn’t stop growing. But I think it’s done now.” She looks at Madox. I can tell she thinks my Pandora’s a dud. It’s decent that she doesn’t voice the thought, but a knot of fear still twists my stomach.
Is there something wrong with Madox?
“Speaking of, where is my Pandora?” Harper says, interrupting my slide into hysteria. “It should be back already.” She stands and places her two pointer fingers into her mouth. Across from her, the young boy — Dink — plugs his ears. Seconds later, I learn why.
A sharp whistle sounds from Harper’s mouth. Madox jumps up, startled. I pull him into my arms and wait for whatever Harper called to show. There are a few seconds of silence in which my ears ring. Then I hear a whooshing sound. Something flashes across my line of vision, and moments later, an enormous bird lands on Harper’s outstretched arm.