"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."
"Doesn't matter." He comes to the door and effortlessly opens it, turning it into the airstairs.
"It hasn't rained," I say.
"I know."
I descend the airstairs, and walk straight to the fire pit. The fire is extinguished, of course. My heart thrums as my eyes shoot toward the canopy. Anguish swivels inside me, threatening to tear me. Tristan said the forty-eight hours after a crash is when the search is most intense. How many hours do we have left? I make a quick mental calculation. Less than twenty-four.
"It has to rain soon; it’s the rainy season. In any case, there are fruits here that contain enough water to keep us going until it rains, but I didn't find any that looked familiar yesterday," Tristan says.
"What are the odds of stumbling upon something that's poisonous?" I ask, my dry throat pushing the thought of any danger besides dehydration out of my mind.
"Let's not find out. We’ll walk in a different direction than we did yesterday, look for fruit, and gather some wood in the process."
"Sounds like a plan."
This time when we venture among the trees, I keep my eyes open for fruit that looks familiar. None does, but I'm fascinated by what I see. Plants with thorns so thick they resemble fangs. Fruits that have the texture of berries but are as big as pineapples. Flowers with petals so meaty they must contain water. But the petals are shiny, as if they've been polished with wax, and I remember reading once that it's best to steer clear of shiny things—they may contain poison. As time passes and we walk farther from the plane, things get worse. Every move to cut or pick up branches tires me beyond measure, and my vision blurs. Thirst and hunger erode my concentration and energy with lightning speed. When my legs become too unsteady to be dependable, I stash all the branches I've collected under one arm and grab Tristan's hand with the other one. Since he seems to be stumbling too, I'm not sure if this is a good idea. We're going downhill again, and I wonder how long it'll be until we reach the bottom and what we'll find there.
"Tristan," I say, "if no plane comes… how long will it take us to reach a city if we venture out on foot?"
"Months. We're very deep in the forest. And we'd have to build some sort of shelter every night, which would slow us down."
"Could we make it?"
"It's not impossible, but it would be very dangerous. At any rate, it's not an option right now."
My hands go cold, a spark of fear spreading ice through my nerves. "Why?"
He inhales sharply. "You'll see."
My brow furrows in confusion, as I follow him downhill. A few minutes later, I'm certain we walked into a nightmare. When we reach the bottom of the hill—or at least what I suppose is the bottom—we come at an abrupt halt, unable to move forward. All around us, stretching as far as I can see, is nothing but water. Muddy, dirty water. Everywhere. It must be at least waist-high.
"Is the entire forest under water?" I ask with a shaky voice.
"I suppose there are parts that are not, but most are during the rainy season. It'll be four months until the dry season arrives and the water retreats. Until then, we can't afford to leave this hill."
Four months. If no one arrives within the next twenty-four hours, we'll be stuck here for four months. And then another thought strikes me. Grim and dark. "Tristan, even if a plane finds us … where will it land? If there's water everywhere…" Every wisp of air leaves my lungs. "Our hill is covered with trees. How can a plane land without getting wrecked like ours?"
He doesn't answer right away, and his silence sluices away my last tendrils of hope of being rescued.
"They’ll use a helicopter. Let's go uphill again," Tristan says. "We absolutely need to find some fruit."
Going uphill takes twice as much energy as going downhill did. I take deep, ragged breaths, dragging my feet. I’ve almost decided to ask Tristan to call it quits and just go to the plane to light the fire when he stops so abruptly I nearly smash into him.
"I think that's a grapefruit tree," he says.
"Are you sure?" I ask. The fruits do resemble grapefruits, except they're much bigger and the peel looks coarser.
"No. But the monkeys are eating it, which means it might be safe for us, too."
"Monkeys?" I tilt my head back and crack a smile. High above us is a group of monkeys.
"Come on, let's take a few of whatever these are and return."
Since the fruits hang higher up, and both of us are too exhausted to climb, we just take the few that have fallen on the forest floor and pile them on the branches we are carrying. By the time we're back to the plane, I can barely stand. Both Tristan and I drop the branches next to the extinguished fire. Tristan proceeds to cut a slice from one of the fruits. Juice drops out of the fruit and I hold out my hand.
"Not so fast," Tristan says, touching the fruit to his lips, holding it there.