The Island

3. Blind

Jordyn

The fiery sky softens at the edges, and I wonder where the dome begins and ends. The hexagonal shapes in the sky go on as far as I can see in every direction, never wavering. Their edges are pale white, even in the darkness. I might be able to pretend they're stars, if they weren't so precise and frequent.

I run a hand through my hair and separate it into two groups on my shoulders. Untold to do so, my fingers braid them into long plaits, and I see that it's light red, almost pink in the red night. Still, the hairstyle brings me comfort for some reason. I rest the heavy locks on my shoulders and stare at the fire as another memory resurfaces.

In this one, I'm sitting on a piece of plastic attached to two metal chains. My body is launched forward, only to be brought back by the chains. Wind whistles on either side of me, and the motion tilts my stomach as I sway. My pigtails trail in front of me like two bolts of lightning.

I glance over my shoulder in the memory to see a tall man with hair much redder than mine. His face is blurry, unfocused. I plead with my mind to give me more. Just a little. Just a glimpse. The memory slips away, though, and leaves me filled with useless longing.

I tug at the sleeves of my jumpsuit and wrap my arms around my knees as I pull them up to my chest. My body shivers uncontrollably, even though the fire still burns in front of me. Maybe the high tide won't kill me, but the temperature drop will.

When I wake up, the air around me chills my entire body. My lips and chin quiver, and the hands I wrapped around myself are numb. I shoot up into a sitting position and tell myself to open my eyes.

But I can't. My eyelids are frozen shut.

I bring my shaking hands up to my face and rub circles on my cheeks. The friction warms me slightly, but not enough to stop the shaking. After the feeling returns to my fingertips, I inch my way towards my frosted eyelashes.

They're solid, coated in frost from the damp sea wind.

My heart stops when I realize my eyes are open.

Everything around me is immersed in a darkness so thick that I can't see my hands right in front of my eyes. I pray they'll adjust in a minute, but my panic swells like a tsunami with every passing second.

When did the fire go out? Will I be able to get it restarted in temperatures this low?

More importantly, why is there no moon?

My stomach twists in knots of thankfulness and confusion. Thankful because no moon means no high tide. Confused because the creators just added another unnatural element to my obituary.

Instinct kicks in, just like it did when I started to build a fire, and my hands begin to search through the sand. They look for a wall, but instead they find the icy remains of the teepee that once burned blue.

Think, Jordyn. Think.

I built the fire in the mouth of the shelter. The rock hangs over my head; the ocean crackles in front of me. Swallowing, I crawl on my hands and knees to my right. Each hand sweeps in an arch before it trusts that the ground is clear.

I've lost hope and all sense of direction when I slam head first into the bottom of the rock. How did I crawl backwards? I've turned myself around completely and cornered myself.

"Great," I hiss, turning and pushing away from the back of the rock. At least I'm far enough away from the water that nothing's going to grab my ankles. I relax, still shivering. Maybe I can just wait out the night here and be more prepared tomorrow night.

Then, a low purr fills the air, like a tiny vibration through the rock. My head is still pressed up against the rock, and I feel it traveling through my skull like an electric razor being passed over my hair. The rock shakes, and loose bits of gravel rain down on my shoulders.

Two lumbering footsteps morph into four. The scent of hot garbage fills my hideout and brings out beads of sweat along my forehead. The purr turns into a growl that's being strained through bared fangs.

The lion is back.

I could kick myself. Why didn't I consider that once the sun went down it would return? I guess it didn't like the sun. The threat of the ocean in front of it doesn't faze it.

I hold my breath as the animal passes over me. The lumbering steps stop; the growling pauses. Maybe it can't smell me.

Then, something lands in the sand in front of me with a loud thud. My eyes catch the outline of the lion, standing my height and twice as wide with a body built entirely from muscle. As if standing on a carousel, the lion turns and sets its yellow eyes on me.

The two black slits contract in the pools of neon yellow that illuminates the lion's face. He walks towards me. Saliva drips from his black teeth and runs down his disgusting mane.

I check my pockets for the third time, still hopeful. All I have to defend myself with is a pocket knife. I'm bringing a knife to a gunfight. Regardless, I pull the sleek weapon out and push the release on the side. The blade slides out with a hiss, and the lion's eyes narrow in on me.

I reposition myself onto my knees and hold the knife out in front of me. At least I hope it's in front of me; I still can't see anything.

The lion stops about three feet in front of me, emits one low growl, and then pounces.

The back of my head slams into the rock as I'm pushed backwards. My hands sink into his warm fur and slide around in the thick blood. I throw every bit of strength I have into keeping him at arm's length, but that doesn't stop his paws from trying to claw through my clothes.

My stomach contracts as he stands on me, threatening to suffocate me. I wiggle against the sand and take hungry breaths. Somewhere in the wrestling match, the knife slips out of my hand, and the darkness devours it.

Suddenly, his face moves, and I feel teeth sink into my leg. He tears through the thick fabric and rips my pant's leg clean off, reeling in surprise at how easy it was. I take the opportunity to get back on my knees again and fumble around for my knife.

My fingertips graze the slick metal just as the lion jumps on my back. I fall on my stomach gasping for air. My vision swims as my lungs fight for something, anything. Stars explode behind my eyes.

The lion's mouth surrounds my head. Teeth sink into my ears. Spit runs down the sides of my face, and I clench my mouth closed at the stench.

This isn't real, I remind myself. This is a manufactured animal, designed to terrify you and give you nightmares. No lion is this big or scary in real life. The thoughts aren't comforting, though, as pain rockets through my head and neck.

I'm going to die.

The lion's jaw slackens, and I fall face first into the sand. The saliva works like glue, and I struggle not to inhale the grains that adhere to my face.

He steps off my back and lets out a long, low whimper. Then, he falls to the ground. The light of his eyes fades as they close, leaving me in darkness.

I scramble to my feet and brush the sand off my face as well as I can now that I'm blind again. The black shape contrasts with the white sand, but the first thing I notice is something stuck out from its side.

Curiosity wins, and I reach out to touch the thing that killed my designer predator. I recognize the cool silver of a knife and wrap my hand around it.

Something moves at the mouth of the cave, and I jerk the knife out of the dead animal. Hot blood washes over my hand.

The dim light from the dome overhead illuminates a human shape.

"You're welcome," it says, and the low, masculine tone indicates it's a boy.