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"I don't understand, there haven't been any new holes in the fence for a few days…" When Tristan doesn't say anything, a somber doubt creeps in. "Or have there been, Tristan?"
"There have been two holes in the last two days, though no paw prints have been inside the fence."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Sighing, he says, "Because I didn't want to worry you."
His answer melts me. I place my hand on his shoulder. He winces, but I don't remove it. "Don't keep things away from me, okay? We’re a team."
"A team," he repeats.
"Yes. A team. What do we do now?"
Tristan purses his lips, lost in thought. "Strengthen the entire fence. Let's put another row of branches and leaves all around it, doubling it."
"And that will keep them at bay?" I ask.
"It'll be better than what we have now."
"Can we put some plants with spines on the outside?" An idea strikes me. "Sort of mimicking a barbed-wire fence?"
"That's a good idea. Except they'll dry off quickly and won't be as useful anymore."
"Not if we uproot them and replant them here."
"It'll take a lot of time."
"I don't have a better idea."
Tristan considers my words for a few moments. "We'll double it with branches today. That will take us the whole day. We'll start to plant spine plants tomorrow."
"Sounds like a plan."
We venture into the forest to gather branches. We have a hefty reserve of wood for fire, but that's not good enough for the fence.
Tristan was right, doubling the fence does take up the entire day. It's hard work and we do it more meticulously than the first time. I remember the day we first put the fence up, the day I decided to get closer to Tristan, and started firing my never-ending list of questions. Neither of us speaks now. The silence is heavy, the unspoken words and memories from last night floating like an invisible, choking mist. Something broke between us last night. I don't know how to repair it. Or if I want to repair it. I catch Tristan looking at me a couple times, but he looks away when I meet his eyes.
I steal glances at him too. His capable arms fortify the fence, the muscles on them flexing with effort. I used to look at his strong, defined body with admiration—thinking how well he can protect us. Now my thoughts are far from being so innocent. All I can think of is how those same arms enveloped me last night, holding me against him, caressing me with a fervor I’ve never experienced before. As his lips move, gasping for air—the hot, humid air that's never enough to satiate our need for fresh air—our kiss flashes right before my eyes. His lips over mine, coaxing me, setting me ablaze. His tongue and its desperate dance with mine.
It was passionate.
Raw.
Impossible to forget.
But over the next few days I try to do the impossible. Cold silence hangs between us as we plant spine plants in front of fence, building our little fort. Tristan goes back to sleeping in the cockpit at night. I don't do anything to stop him, telling myself it's for the best, convincing myself he won't have nightmares again. He doesn't need me anymore.
All of which proves to be a lie. Maybe it's because I’m now intimately aware of his nightmares, but in addition to hearing him thrash around in his sleep, I make out the words he mumbles, despite the closed door. I break down after three nights and go to him in the cockpit. I wake him up, his horror-filled eyes finding their focus and peace when he sees me. He opens his mouth, but I put my thumb on it, shaking my head. I lead him to the cabin, on my seat. He puts his head on my chest, entwining his fingers with mine, his breath rapid at first, then more shallow until he falls in a restful sleep.
The next afternoon, I head straight to the shower, exhausted after a trip to check the water level at the bottom of the hill. The water receded some more, and Tristan predicts we should be able to leave this place in about one month. One month! After having spent almost three months here, that shouldn't seem like such a long time. But with the threat of two or more jaguars looming over us, it seems like an eternity. Hopefully the spine bushes we planted around the outside of the fence will keep them away. I spend an inordinate amount of time in the shower, rubbing my skin, cleaning myself. I ran too close to one of the spine bushes near the entrance and scratched my right shoulder. The spines must contain some kind of coloring sap, because my scratch is a jet black that doesn't go away no matter how hard I rub it. Hopefully it will go away in a few days. I'm almost done showering when I hear Tristan’s voice.
"Aimee, get inside the plane. Now." I don't move, paralyzed by fear, clutching the dress I was about to put on. A hundred different scenarios play in my head as I try to imagine what prompted Tristan to sound so desperate. "Aimee."
This time I do move. Fast. I sling the dress over my head and jump out of the shower. Instead of getting inside the plane, I grab my bow and a few arrows. I look around for my spear, but don't find it anywhere. Instead, I find Tristan, his bow and arrow in his hands, ready to shoot. He's standing with his back to me, in front of a giant hole in the fence. A fresh one.
So much for the spines protecting us. Tristan has his arrow pointed at the hole, as if he's expecting something to burst through it any minute. I have a hunch I know what.
"The jaguar who made that hole is still around?" I ask.
