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“Alright, good. Be safe.”
“Always, brother. Always.” I wait for him to leave before picking up the mostly empty pack from the ground.
It has another gun, naturally, two knives, some gloves, a protein bar, and two bottles of water. I know damn well Zig spotted it the second he found me, and I know he knows what’s in it, but Zig can’t help who he is, and that’s, first and foremost, an older brother. Even if he is only older by four minutes.
I take one of the bottles and drink half of it, barely quenching my thirst, before I slide it back into the pack and sling it over my shoulders. I check the compass and begin my trek westward, using my knife to cut through the denser parts of the jungle.
After hours with no water in sight, I decide to head back and try again tomorrow. The walk back seems to take me longer, with my energy reserves drained. A pounding headache reminds me that I need to drink again.
I stop and grab the half-drunk bottle, place it to my lips, and tip my head back, swallowing it down. My eyes slip closed as I enjoy the tepid liquid. If anything, it makes me thirstier. I open my eyes with a sigh, and something catches my eye. I squint as the light blinds me. I blink at what caught my attention, but they’re still there.
High up in the tree—and as I look around, I realize it’s not just one tree but multiple trees surrounding me—are what appear to be bunches of mangos. Or at least what I think are mangos. They are smaller than the versions in supermarkets and pretty green, but that could be because they’re not ripe. It’s not my area of expertise, but beggars can’t be choosers. As long as they don’t make us sick, what does it matter what it is?
I find the tree with the lowest branches bearing fruit and climb up it. The arduous task takes far longer than usual thanks to the damn heat. Once I’m within reach, I pull a few free one by one and slip them into my pack. My legs shake as I use them to grip the tree, and when I have four in my bag, I decide to climb down before I fall.
I force myself to take it slowly. Once I reach the ground, my legs buckle under me. I lie on the ground, hoping I haven’t squashed the damn things after all that, before I work up the energy to drink half of the remaining bottle of water. Using the tree closest to me as a crutch, I climb to my feet and resume the walk to the plane. By the time I make it back, the sun has sunk low, leaving everything cast in an eerie gray hue.
The smell of something cooking has my stomach rumbling loudly, so I quicken my pace, and when I break into the clearing, I see Zig roasting one of the birds on a spit that looks like it might have once been part of the plane. Salem is pacing, clearly agitated.
“Hey, pretty girl, what’s wrong?” I ask.
Her head whips around, and she runs at me. Not having the strength to do anything but catch her, I almost lose my footing as she buries herself against my chest and breathes me in.
I look over her head at Zig, who watches her with soft eyes.
“When it started to get dark, she got worried,” he tells me without taking his eyes off her.
I pull her back and look down at her, seeing that her lashes are damp as if she has been fighting back tears.
“What’s it going to take for you to realize we won’t leave you?”
She closes her eyes and shudders before pulling away. “Nobody ever thinks it’s their last goodbye.”
I reach out and tug her back to me, even though she resists. I press my head against her forehead and hold her in place until she relaxes a fraction. “I’m sorry. I won’t leave so late next time, but I found something.”
“You found water?” Zig perks up.
“Not yet. But I did find these.” I step back from Salem and open my pack to reveal the fruit.
“Are those mangos?”
“Looks like it to me.”
“We need to test them first. We can’t be too sure out here,” Zig states, walking over and snagging one. He moves back to his seat and places it on his lap before taking the skewered bird and handing it to me. “Eat,” he orders.
For once, I’m not in a hurry to argue with him.
I watch as Zig cuts the fruit open and peels back the skin. “Definitely smells like mango to me.” He rubs it on his lips before handing it to Salem. “Rub a little on your inner wrist and on your lips, but don’t eat any. If by tomorrow we still feel fine, then we can eat a little and see if it agrees with us. After a day or two, if everything is good, we can gorge on them to your heart’s content.”
“You could eat one if you wanted to. I could always heal you if you get sick,” Salem offers.
“And I appreciate that, little one. But you should save your energy for something critical,” he tells her.
She sighs. “You’re right. But I can taste them to see if they are okay or not since I heal faster.”
She moves to take a bite when Zig stops her.
“You may heal faster, but do you really want to be dealing with the shits in the jungle?” He grins wryly.
