Until the Day I Die(40)

Nobody asks what the consequence is. He produces an old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock and balances it on the edge of the truck. “I get a twenty-minute head start. When this thing goes off, you go off. Got it?”

We all stare at him, dumbfounded.

“Hello?” he says, and we all nod. “All right. Namaste, my little chickadees.” He turns, takes off at a jog, and in seconds, has disappeared into the jungle. I scoot around to the other side of the truck and furtively relieve myself.

When I rejoin the group, the black woman claps her hands. “Okay, bitches. Let’s go.” She speaks with a New Orleans accent, rich with Cajun undertones, and now that the sun’s up, I can see she’s a little younger than me and a lot fitter, with killer cheekbones and a set of excellent eyelash extensions. This woman had the right idea; she looks ready to conquer the jungle. To kick this L’élu’s ass in style.

She starts up the road, Deirdre padding after her like a puppy.

“Hold up,” I call out to them. “Don’t you think we should wait for the alarm?”

They stop. “No,” the black woman says.

“What’s he going to do?” Deirdre says. “Punish us?”

“I don’t think we should antagonize him,” I say. “Not right off the bat. We should play by the rules. Wait for him to get ahead of us, like he wants us to. We can use the time to make a plan. He literally told us nothing. If we go running into the woods—”

“Jungle,” the black woman says.

“—the jungle, without a plan, we’ll die.”

“She’s right,” Agnes says from behind me. “It’s dangerous out there.”

We all turn to her.

“I was kidding, actually,” I say.

“I’m not.”

“That’s right. You got hurt on your first L’élu.” I nod at her bandaged leg. “How did it happen?”

She presses her lips together. “A few of the guides like to mess with your head. Make you think you’re in mortal danger. I didn’t appreciate it.”

“Do you actually think they take chances they shouldn’t? That the L’élu’s unsafe?”

“I think,” Agnes says flatly, “that this whole island is unsafe.”

I want to ask her more, but the clock is ticking. Literally. And we need a plan.

“We should get organized,” I say, then catch myself. I’m on Jax autopilot, marshaling the troops, meager as they may be, to meet the challenge.

“Organize us, then,” says the black woman.

I turn to Agnes. “You’ve done this before. Is there anything you can tell us? Any advice we could use?”

“Well.” Her eyes dart from the jungle back to the road. She’s nervous about something. Really nervous.

“Agnes?” I prod.

She picks up a stick and draws a circle. “He didn’t tell you any of the signs. This means wrong path.” She draws three parallel lines. “This means go back to where you came from. There are signals you yell to each other, and you’ll see them written, too, if he’s being nice. The words on-on means one of you found the right direction. On-in is the trail’s end. Which is important, because Lach may not be there, and if you keep going, you could get lost or hurt.”

I survey the group. “We should get each other’s names, so if one of us gets lost, the others can find them. So we can stick together. She’s Agnes. I’m Erin.”

The black woman pipes up. “Jessalyn. Jess.” She looks at Deirdre, who’s pinching the bridge of her nose and looks like she may have drifted off to sleep even though she’s still on her feet. “Hangover. What’s your name?”

“Deirdre.”

“Quick question, Deirdre,” Jess says. “Where’d you find booze at a rehab?”

Deirdre turns away.

“Try to stay dry, if you can.” Agnes finishes braiding her long hair, then dips a hand in her bra, pulls out a little piece of square blue plastic, and fastens the end of the braid with it.

“What’s that?” I demand.

“Bread tie.”

“Smart,” Jess says. “Do you have an extra one?”

“Sorry.” Agnes plants her hands on her hips. “Also, you should try to find a weapon.”

“A weapon?” I say.

Her eyes meet mine for a brief moment. But she doesn’t elaborate.

“You guys,” Deirdre says. “I totally think Antonia set me up. She did this to me. She let me drink on purpose.” As if to punctuate the statement, she then vomits all over her hiking boots.

“Good Lord,” Jessalyn says. “Honey, no offense, but you did that to yourself.”

I check the clock. We’ve got roughly six more minutes before the alarm goes off. Six minutes to see what we can salvage for the days ahead. I fling open Lach’s truck door and check the floor. “Bingo.” I hold up two stray rubber bands.

“Oh, me, me, me!” Jessalyn says. I hand her a band and twist my hair up into the kind of topknot bun thing Shorie does. It feels like heaven to have my hair off my neck. Jessalyn and I also find a couple of extra rubber bands, which we pop over our wrists, a stick of gum, and a half-empty pack of cigarettes.