I don’t like that.
That’s why when I sort out the kitchen storage one afternoon and see Katura hike toward the path that leads to the springs, I set the boxes I’ve been stacking aside and quietly follow her.
I know every path within a mile radius of the beach, so it’s not hard to know which direction she is going and how to track her. I take a parallel path along the main one, scanning the trees to see her t-shirt flicker among them. The jungle is full of noises during the day. But I’ve been here long enough to listen to the right ones, and I can hear her footsteps until they stop.
Hiding behind the trees, crouching to get closer, I watch Katura as she looks around, then sits on her haunches and pulls a pouch out of her backpack.
She survived a boat crash and saved her backpack. Atta girl! This ingenuity comes with proper training, and I admire her for that. But it’s too out of place. She is only nineteen, she said. And she is hiding from everyone to look at whatever she smuggled with her.
Katura pulls something out of a plastic pouch, carefully sets the bag aside, and inserts something small into a rectangular device she is holding.
I swallow hard, watching her from behind the tree.
If she made it to the Westside on that boat, there would have been a proper search. Whatever it is that she brought with her would have been taken away. Unless she had another way of hiding it.
But why would she?
I think I know what she is holding in her hand. I stare in disbelief—no one on this side of the island has it. Unless you have connections to the outside. Unless you came here for a reason other than to join the paradise crew.
She presses the button.
In seconds, a beep sounds, and Katura pulls—
An antenna.
Shit.
I was right.
It’s a satellite phone.
21
KATURA
THREE MONTHS EARLIER…
“We can’t goto the island and extract. They have radars. The Secretary of Defense made sure his son’s playground is armed to a tee. We have to play by the rules.”
My uncle’s voice is business-like. I feel excited. It’s the first time he’s talked to me like this. Hell, it’s the first time they’ve asked me to do something on my own. Of that scale.
My dad is typing away on the computer at his desk in the corner. Our cabin in the mountains of Pennsylvania is several miles from a small town in the valley. A town that is more or less decent and carrying on after the Change.
This is also the first time I hear about Zion Island. And the story is out of the books.
“Plus, we don’t want casualties.” Uncle taps the pen against his thumb as he sits in the armchair, his feet crossed at the ankles on top of the desk. I am on the other side of it, and I feel like it’s a job interview. “If the secretary finds out we invaded his son’s precious haven, he might get angry. Tsar is not exactly friends with him. Besides, we are not sure his daughter is there.”
“Name?”
“Milena Tsariuk. Her father is Aleksei Tsariuk, goes by Tsar. You get the idea. His reach is pretty wide and strong worldwide.”
“Why didn’t he just talk to Secretary Crone?”
“He did.” Uncle smirks. “The secretary sent a request to his son. Archer Crone said she is not on the island. He has extensive records of everyone. This is a tricky situation. She might not even be on the island. Or—”
“Under a different name,” I finish.
He nods, leans over to grab a folder, and tosses it to me.