Of course there would be no mercy from the universe.
It rains hard, fast, soaking the earth, us, the shreds of blanket we wrapped around Iris.
We carry her into the jungle, finding a space by the water, where we will lay her to rest. The guys use the paddles from the lifeboat, sticks, rocks, and anything else they can find to dig a hole. We pitch in, helping, while Rachel sits beside Iris’s body, her hand on her head, as if she will just spring back to life.
It hurts. Every time I shove the stick into the dirt, it is a stark reminder of the path we are on.
Eventually, we have a hole big enough for Iris. My chest twists in a way that is a mix of agony and trauma. Ace and Zeke step forward, while Kellen pulls Rachel carefully away from Iris’s body as she whimpers no, over and over again. I don’t think I’ll ever unhear her cries of pain.
Zeke doesn’t look at her body as he lifts it. Carefully, they place her in the hole. Then, they begin to cover her up. We just stand in the downpour, mud, salt, and rain streaking our clothes and bodies, and we watch as she disappears. Inch by agonising inch, her body becomes one with the earth. Tatiana sings. Her voice is thin, but it cuts through the rain.
Rachel has nothing left to give. She just presses her hands to her mouth and rocks, eyes squeezed shut.
Once they’re done, we find some wildflowers and place them on her grave. Then, we stand and we stare, broken and empty, not sure where we go from here. Adrian appears with a large bundle of flowers he spent the last hour collecting, and he strolls past us and kneels down, placing them on her grave next to ours. “Fly with the fairies,” he murmurs.
Oh, Adrian.
“Where the hell do we go from here?” Aggie says, but it’s not really a question anyone can answer.
“We keep goin’ the way we already have been, we don’t give up, and we don’t stop. We fight for survival,” Ace rasps. “That’s what she’d want.”
We clean up as best we can, and then Zeke scoops Rachel up into his arms, and we go back to the camp, leaving our friend behind. That’s a sick feeling, and one I never want to feel again. Once we’re dry, we huddle around the fire, all of us shivering from the damp, the cold in our bones. The air is empty in a way I’ve never felt before.
No one eats. No one talks.
We all go to our beds, the night dead silent.
I can’t sleep, and I roll from side to side, over and over again.
Eventually, I move, without thought or intention.
I just move.
I step over bodies and find his bed, where he is on his side, the flicker of the firelight dancing across his tattoos.
The way I need him right now, scares even me.
Dropping to my knees in front of him, I carefully lift his arm and slide in, pressing my chest to his. He’s warm, and masculine, and he smells like the ocean. He shifts, a sleepy growl leaving his lips as he hauls me closer, capturing my leg between his. His lips are only millimeters from mine, and my heart is racing so hard it feels like I might actually pass out.
I don’t say anything. What is there to say?
Instead, I kiss him.
It’s the only thing that feels right.
He tastes like rain, salt, and something wild, and I am so hungry for it. His stubble grazes my mouth and my cheek, his hand locking across the small of my back so fiercely that it reminds me I’m real and alive. He jerks me impossibly closer, and I let him, my arms wrapping behind his neck, my fingers digging into the muscles at his nape.
My lips are warm, against his, and I can feel the way his breath hitches as the kiss deepens. I can feel, too, the way his whole body tightens and then melts around me, the contradiction of force and surrender, like he’s afraid of how badly he needs it. He crushes my mouth beneath his, and I dart my tongue out, reckless, desperate, just to see what he does.
His hands are everywhere, skating up my ribs, down my hips, palming the back of my thigh and dragging my leg further into his. He is all muscle and heat under the blanket, and I can’t stop touching as if my hands need to catalogue every inch in case the universe tries to steal him, too. I break away, but our lips remain so close it is hard to think of anything else.
“You okay?”
His voice is that sexy, half sleepy, raspy sound that makes my body jolt.
“I don’t know how to be okay anymore,” I whisper.
“We’re gonna make it,” he murmurs into my ear.
