Noah doesn’t say a word, and when I turn around, he’s studying me. Our eyes meet and my breath catches in my lungs. He’s looking at me like it’s the first time he’s seen me in a long time. Or maybe it’s the first time he’s really truly seen me. His face is soft, his eyes are intense, and he hands the coconut back to me.
Just before he turns his back to me, he says in a soft voice, “I was wondering when the Lara I knew would show herself. Keep it there, Lara. On the surface. We might just have a chance of escaping if you do.”
My heart twists and I swallow the lump in my throat.
He turns and goes back to doing what he was doing, but I’m standing there, my body numb.
*
We fill the coconuts with water after a solid two hours of stabbing sharp items like rocks and sticks into them to make a hole big enough. It works in the end, and we fill our bellies with water before refilling and carrying them with us. We eat one coconut and take another with us. Noah tells me to drink the water from the middle of one; apparently it’s hydrating.
You learn something new every day when you’re being stalked by a psycho.
We walk for hours on end and my feet have gone from sore to numb. I no longer feel the sharp rocks and jagged edges of the sticks stabbing into my skin as we venture deeper and deeper into the thick shrubbery surrounding us. The trees that were once mostly spread out are now squashed together and surrounded by tiny bushes. There is a small poorly formed track worn through and I have no doubt who created that.
Noah and I argue about it, because I say the smart thing would to be to go off the man-made track and into the forest, but Noah tells me that we’ll barely get a mile through those thick trees before we’re exhausted from shoving and cutting branches. He claims that Psycho—as we’ve dubbed him—made it so we’re almost forced to stick with his created track.
Whatever.
At least it takes our minds off the looming reality that we only have one more day after this. And so far we’ve found nothing. No way out. No sign of life. Zero. Nothing. Noah is frustrated, and he’s letting it show. He swears at every second tree and spends a majority of his time in brooding silence. I can’t really blame him; I know he’s suffering. We both are. If we don’t find some way out soon, we’ll die.
It’s that simple.
Afternoon hits like a painful reminder, but we keep walking, keeping our eyes peeled, looking for some sort of end to this wilderness, maybe a sign of life. Anything to give us hope. When the sun starts to lower on the horizon, we face our worst fears. We’re pushing through the forest, not speaking, both of us exhausted, when we come into a small clearing; ahead is a fence. It’s not any old fence. It’s big, super high, and topped with barbed wire. But it’s a fence.
“It’s a fence!” I scream, running toward it. “Look, Noah, a fence!”
Freedom. Escape. We just have to get over it. I’ll cut my own leg off if it means I get out of here. I’ll do anything. Relief floods my heart and tears run down my cheeks as I charge toward it.
“No,” Noah roars. “Lara, stop!”
Stop? Why the hell would I stop? There is a fence. He must have lost his mind. My heart pounds and I pump my feet harder, shoving trees out of the way, leaping over logs, and running like I’m being chased. I’m about three feet away when a hard arm wraps around my waist and hauls me backward. Before I know what’s happening I land on my back on top of Noah’s chest, his arm still around me. He makes a loud oomph and rolls us to the side.
“What the hell are you doing?” I screech. “Jesus, Noah.”
“Do you want to fucking die?” he bellows, flipping me over so I’m on my back and his big body is looming over me.
“What are you talking about? Let me go,” I cry, squirming. “It’s freedom. It’s a way out.”
“It’s pumped with electricity, Lara. Jesus Christ, you just about fried yourself.”
I blink. “What?”
“It’s electrified in a big way. Fuck, can’t you hear it?”
I go silent. Beyond my breathing and pounding heart, I can hear the tick tick of the fence. Everything comes crashing back down, all my hopes, all the freedom I felt, the relief—it slams back into my body and all I feel is the piercing sting of disappointment. God, we’re never getting out of here. With every step we take, it feels like there isn’t a single thing we can do about escaping.
Keep fighting. At least try.
I close my eyes and lift my face up to press into his hard chest.
“We’re going to be okay,” he says, cupping the back of my head and holding me against him. “We’re going to find a way out, Lara.”
“There doesn’t seem to be a way out, Noah.”
“Then we’ll kill the fucker.”
I flinch. “Noah…”
“If fighting is all we have left, then that’s what we’ll do. I haven’t seen a single fucking way out of this place, so the only option is to fight. There are plenty of logs and rocks we can use to carve weapons. It’s not over, Lara.”
Fear courses down my spine. “Yes, you’re right—but what if that’s not enough?”
“Look at me,” he demands.
I drop my head from his chest, meeting his eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you, do you understand?”
I nod, taking a shaky breath.
“I won’t leave you alone out here.”
I know I should believe him, but I don’t know what the hell I believe anymore.
I just hold his eyes, and something inside me sparks to life. This man, whoever he is, put Noah and me out here thinking we’d make things harder on each other, but he was wrong. Noah and I, we’re not going to let this beat us. I lick my bottom lip and move my eyes away from his, because if I stare into them a second longer I’m going to do something I shouldn’t. Seeing this side of Noah takes me back to the way he was with me when we first met. God, he protected me so fiercely.
“I’m going to get another drink.” I smile, leaning up and kissing Noah’s lips.
“Okay, baby, don’t be long. That dress, those shoes, you’ll have the entire bar looking as soon as you step out of my arms,” he growls into my ear.
I shiver and smile up at him. He’s so beautiful. Perfect in every way. I love him so fiercely.
“I won’t be long.”
I turn and saunter through the crowd, stopping at the bar. To my left are two men, who stop talking the second I lean over the solid wooden counter and order my drink. I glance at them and they’re both looking at me, leering. Ugh. When did men become so blatant? Whatever happened to actually talking to a girl before checking her out?
“I won’t be long,” the bartender tells me.
I nod and smile.
“Hi there.”
I smother an eye roll and turn to see the man closer to me, smiling. He’s not handsome, but he’s not terrible, either. Just your average Joe. It’s always the average Joes that are the biggest creeps. I’m not entirely sure why, but they seem to think they’re God’s gift to women.
“I’m taken,” I say, turning back to the counter.
“Whoa, I was just saying hello.”
“We both know you weren’t,” I mutter.
“I like a challenge.”