Withering Hope

We find what looks like gigantic bamboo trees nearby and use the slim trunks as pillars for a shelter then cover them with the same thick leaves I used to make the baskets. When we finish, it's almost dark. The shelter will keep things dry, but I suspect that if a heavy storm comes along, it will knock the shelter flat in no time.

My stomach begins to grumble after we're done. "We could've used a few more of those fruits," I say, rubbing my stomach.

"I can go get more."

"No. It's almost dark. You said the forest is more dangerous when it's dark."

Tristan frowns as he looks through the trees, making the hair at the nape of my neck stand on end. Not because he's hesitant or frightened. On the contrary. It frightens me because he isn't frightened. Not one bit. People without fear are a danger to themselves. My parents weren't frightened of anything. That's how they got themselves killed.

"Don't go in, Tristan," I urge, gripped by panic. "Please don't."

His eyebrows shoot up. He’s puzzled by my reaction, obviously. Realizing my fists are clenched, I hide my hands behind my back.

"I'm not that hungry.” A loud stomach grumble follows my statement. "I can wait until tomorrow."

"Okay," Tristan says, scrutinizing me. I breathe relieved.

A bird soars above us. Even though it's almost dark, I recognize it by the bright yellow plumage on top of its head. "Look, that's a yellow-crowned Amazon parrot. I have a friend who's had one for years." The bird descends in circles, until it lands on Tristan's arm. "Hey, it seems to like you. I thought wild birds would avoid humans."

"So did I. Can you look away?"

"What?"

What happens next stuns me. He opens his mouth, no doubt to explain himself, just as the bird opens its wings to take off. Tristan turns to the bird, raising his free hand. I think he’s going to caress the bird or stop it from flying away.

Instead, he breaks its neck.

I scream, covering my mouth with both hands, buckling forward, and throwing up. Tristan's saying something but I just signal him not to come close to me. I back off, sitting on the airstairs, refusing to look up.

"Sorry. I meant to warn you," Tristan says. "It's just—”

"That was brutal," I cry.

"We need to eat," Tristan retorts.

"Just give me five minutes."

But it takes me more than five minutes to pull myself together. By the time I get up from the airstairs, the now featherless bird is roasting above the fire, speared with a makeshift skewer Tristan built from a piece of metal salvaged from the wrecked wing. The sight sickens me.

"I'm sorry," Tristan says when I approach the fire.

"It's… you just blindsided me."

"I didn't mean to. It should be cooked in about an hour."

"No edibility test?" I inquire.

"None needed. We both recognized the bird."

"I won't be able to eat anyway." I pace around until Tristan says it's ready. Hunger gets the better of me, and I force myself to take a few bites, though I feel sick afterward.

"Go inside," Tristan says. "I'll clean up around here."

"Thanks." I glance up at the sky. "Why are search missions carried out intensively just in the first forty-eight hours, Tristan?"

"After forty-eight hours they don’t expect to find anyone alive. But it doesn't mean they will stop looking for us, Aimee," he says. "Tomorrow morning we'll light the signal fire again. We'll be fine. They'll find us." His tone appears firm and steady, but I detect a tinge of uneasiness under the layers of his reassurance. He doesn't believe they will find us. Fear bites into me hard, but I will myself to remain calm like Tristan. His calmness and fearlessness awe me. And I'm convinced he's not faking. As I watch his well-built frame and heavily muscled arms move in the shadows, I can partly understand why he's not afraid. If I were that strong, I'd feel more courageous… or not. Who am I kidding, I've always been a coward. Still, watching him, I fear a little less.

Lying on my reclined seat inside, I hug the pillow under my head and try to decide which sleep-inducing technique to use. Since I only sleep four or five hours a night, I rely on these techniques to be able to fall asleep; otherwise it can take up to hours for that to happen. But tonight, none of the techniques help. I fall asleep long after Tristan has gone into the cockpit, and when I do, I dream of a helicopter rescuing us in the morning.