I stop and turn my head in the direction of the house.
“You better not destroy the house!” I yell into the jungle. I plan on taking the house from Langston someday. I may not like Langston anymore, but I dreamt up that fucking house when I was eight—it’s mine.
I turn back in the opposite direction of the house, hoping to eventually find the runway we landed on.
I take a step, and a green leaf with tiny razor-sharp teeth digs into my thigh. I take another step and almost trip over a branch. One more step, and then I stop.
There is no clear path. I realize now that when I followed Langston to the house, he was clearing the path for me, stomping down leaves and branches. He was making it easier for me, even if he was teasing me by letting his branches hit me.
Now, I’m all alone to make my own path. I like being an independent woman carving my own path.
I sigh, covered in sweat dripping down my forehead and pooling around the base of my neck. Getting off this island is going to take forever.
I curse to hell whoever it is attacking. I’d rather be stuck talking to Langston than running for my life through the hot jungle.
Why am I running?
Does Langston think I’m not strong enough to stay and fight with him?
Will he be too worried about me if I’m nearby while he’s fighting?
Or is he hiding something?
My money is on Langston hiding something. He doesn’t want me to know who’s attacking. Or he doesn’t want them to know that I’m here.
Either way, he’s hiding.
That alone should make me turn my ass around and demand answers from Langston.
My leg is straddling a fallen tree; my hair is stuck to my face. I would do anything for some water to fix my bone-dry mouth, too.
I look left then right.
What do I do?
Do I run back to Langston, into the danger, and demand answers?
Do I do as Langston said and run? And run? And run?
I’m already running; I’m not turning back now.
He said to run as far as I could tonight, and then to come find him tomorrow.
He’s crazy if he thinks I’ll return to him—back to being his captive and back to the place where he said he’d end my life.
There is no way I’m going back now.
Langston promised me answers. He promised to give me one clue from his half of the torn paper.
I look left—toward Langston—man, do I want to know what his half of the paper says. I want to know what my dad’s last message to me was. I want to know because I’m curious—not because I give a damn about the treasure.
I make my own money—I don’t need any inheritance or treasure.
I may have had some help from Enzo, giving me enough money to go to college and feed myself, but after college I got a job. I worked hard. I’ve even offered many times to pay Enzo back. He just never accepts my money.
Good riddance, I huff, pulling myself over the log.
A mistake—I come crashing down into a pile of mud on the other side.