And his lips touch mine.
It’s so sudden that I almost don’t know how to react. But that’s okay, because my body understands exactly what to do with him. My back arches and I wrap my arms around him. His mouth is warm and soft against mine. And when his tongue touches the inside of my lips, a clap of thunder sounds through my body. I realize now that neither the jungle, the leeches, the raft, nor the river posed any real threat. The real fear is here.
That I will surely drown in his embrace.
All the things I question about Guy vanish. I don’t care what he’s hiding. I don’t mind that his hands are calloused and his skin is pricked with sweat. I only care that he’s pressed against me. That he’s here.
Our kiss has just started — seconds of bliss, maybe only a single moment — when it’s interrupted by the men in collared shirts.
“May we have your attention?” one man says. The drums stop. The dancing stops. Guy and I pull away and look at each other, breathing deep. I have a sudden impulse to kiss the scar over his eye, or run my fingers over the mangled part of his left ear. Every last imperfection seems to beg for my immediate attention. “It’s time to announce the first victor.”
This gets our attention. Guy and I turn and gaze at the man with the comb-over. He holds something in his closed fist, but I can’t make out what it is. “One hundred and twenty-two people competed in the first leg of the race,” he says. Some Contenders clap and the sound appalls me. “But only one could win the initial prize.”
The man holds up his fist. I notice then how large his ears are, how they redden with his excitement. “Rachelle Gregory, please come forward.”
A short, robust woman on the other side of the fire stands up. Contenders nearby give her congratulatory pats as she moves toward the man. She appears to be Caroline’s age and has feathery red hair … and freckles. I wonder if she hates them as much as I do mine. Maybe she doesn’t think about them. Maybe I shouldn’t think about them.
The woman — Rachelle — stands near the fire and beams. Her smile is so wide, I’m afraid her face will break. But her rigid posture speaks the truth. She hates it here, and I decide then that I like this lady.
Opening his fist, the man stretches a long green ribbon taut. Then he ties it around her upper arm. A hush falls over the crowd. We’ve been trained so that flags mean everything. They were life preservers in the jungle, something that said: You’re on the right track; everything’s going to be okay. And now, at base camp, they’re a status symbol. I spot them here and there tied around the arms of Contenders, young and old. They wear them proudly, their heads held high and their chests full.
But no one has a green flag.
The woman’s smile falls as she fingers the ribbon around her bicep. I wonder how it feels. A few days before we found base camp, our group agreed not to wear the flags. Except Titus, who may very well have solidified the trend.
“You worked hard to win this leg,” the man tells the woman. “And though our resources are limited, those of us working behind the Brimstone Bleed are doing everything we can to help save lives.”
I wait for people to scoff, to mumble smart responses. No one does. I think about what Guy told me, about the Pharmies. Glancing at him, I vow to learn more of the story soon.
“So tonight, we’d like to award you a monetary prize: enough to secure the best doctors in the world. While only the Cure can guarantee health for your loved one, this money will help ensure they get the best care in the meantime.”
The man hands her a slip of paper.
She gasps.
Nobody says anything for a few seconds. Finally, a young boy calls out, “What does it say?”
Rachelle looks up. Tears threaten to spill down her cheeks. “It’s a check for two million dollars,” she says. Contenders who just got done patting her on the back are now looking at her with envy. And hatred.
The man places a hand upon her shoulder. “And now it’s time to ask you a question, Rachelle.” He touches a hand to his thinning hair, then glances out at the crowd. “Are you going to continue the race? Or will you return home?”
Rachelle looks at him with shock. Before this, I’d often wondered if we’d be allowed to leave if we wanted to. Surely, she must have wondered the same thing. And now here it is — a ticket out of this place. I try to decide what I would choose: to return home with the money and hope better doctors can help save Cody, or to stay and fight for a guarantee. The woman’s face tightens, and I can tell she’s asking herself the same thing.
“I want to leave,” she announces.
The Contenders clap at this, happy to have her out of here. To be rid of a fierce competitor.
A woman in white takes her by the arm and the two disappear outside the base camp. Where are they taking her? To a village? A small airport outside the jungle? I have a reckless longing to race after them, screaming to wait up, Madox bobbing in my arms.
A small voice inside my head whispers: Are you sure you’re strong enough? Are you sure there’s really a cure? Worse stilclass="underline" Is your brother’s life really worth risking your own?
I jump to my feet and storm toward the cabin Guy and I have slept in for the last four nights. Behind me, I hear the man saying something else, and the Contenders grow excited. But I block it out and keep moving. I have to get away from here. I need time to think.
Finding my usual cot, I nearly collapse onto it. But I stop myself. What makes me deserve this bed more than someone else does? After questioning the value of my brother’s life, perhaps I don’t warrant anything more than the floor.
I grab a plaid blanket and a pillow and lie down beside the bed. Curling into a ball, I pray for the sound of Guy’s approaching footsteps. I want him to chase after me. I need him to find me and hold me like he did the first night. My face burns as I think about our kiss. I squeeze my eyes shut and think about the feel of his lips, the fleeting touch of his tongue. But what does it matter amid the Brimstone Bleed?
It matters more than anything.
I hear footsteps approaching and watch the door. Please let it be him. Please let it be him.
The door creaks open, and Harper steps inside. Somehow, her being here is even better. I watch her search the floor until she finds me. In her hands are two envelopes. “Tella,” she says gently. “You left before they made their final announcement.”
Madox trots through the door Harper left open and locates me within seconds. He nudges my arm until I lift it and let him snuggle against my chest. I pet his thick black coat and raise my head to look at Harper. Her eyes are red-rimmed and glistening.
I bolt upright. “What is it? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She hands me one of the envelopes. The other, the one she’s clutching in her left hand, has already been opened. “This is for you.”
Harper turns to leave. I want to ask her to stay, to tell me what’s wrong. But she’s moving too quickly. When she gets to the door, there are two Contenders trying to make their way inside.
“No,” Harper says, blocking their way. “Go away. Find another cabin.”
“This isn’t your —” one starts to say.
“Out,” Harper shouts. She looks back at me. My stomach clenches when I notice tears are now streaming down her face. “I’ll be right outside.” Her voice breaks. “No one is going to come in.”