Fire & Flood

by Victoria Scott

  The dark, shadowed jungle of the day has morphed into the black hue of night, so I don’t see any harm in inching closer. Last night, I slept as far away as I could while still keeping him in my line of sight. Tonight, I can’t bear to be more than a few feet away. He may hear me, but with this cloak of darkness, he’ll never see me.

  Folding my arms around my knees, I close my eyes. Inside my head, I’m back home in Boston, sitting in front of the TV with a bowl of kettle corn. My dad is talking football with Cody, and my mom is harping on us to come to the table … and for me to lay off the popcorn before dinner. I picture us sitting down to my dad’s meat loaf, the kind with the red gravy. Cody will make a remark about Brad Carter sucking face with a new girl, and I’ll sock him in the arm. Mom will get mad. Dad will laugh.

  Before I can stop myself, I start to hum to Madox. It’s the tune to my mom’s bedside song — our sicky song. I hum for several seconds until I hear a cracking sound. When I open my eyes, I spot Green Beret staring in my direction.

  Crap!

  Oh well. It’s not like he can see me. It’s too dark. But then he stands up and steps closer. I hold my breath, willing him to look away. He lifts his chin and leans toward where I’m sitting. Shaking his head, he runs his hands through his dark hair. Then he lets out a long sigh that says in no uncertain terms that he’s wildly irritated.

  I’m not sure whether it’s his bed made of sticks that has him pissed, or if he’s spotted me. I lock my muscles in place and pretend I’m a lifeless stump. Nothing to see here, folks. He looks in my direction for a long time, then turns to his Pandora.

  “M-4,” he says. His voice startles me. He hasn’t said a single word in the two days I’ve followed him. It’s amazing really, because I’ve got a novel’s worth of backlogged dialogue waiting in my head. My ears strain to figure out what’s going on, but I think I hear him tap the ground twice. It’s so dark, I lean forward to try to see what’s happening.

  Then light springs forward from the lion’s mouth.

  What the —? I gasp when I realize. The lion breathed fire. My skin buzzes from what I just witnessed. Maybe I’m hallucinating? But even from here, I can feel the warmth of the flames. Before I can comprehend how this guy’s Pandora — M-4 — created fire, the guy packs up his two bags, hooks them across his chest, and motions for M-4 to follow him. He’s leaving his campsite, I realize. He’s almost out of sight when I see him turn and look in my direction. His face is stone, his eyes hard as iron. He steals a glance toward the fire, then turns to go.

  For several minutes, I wait, watching the fire. I’m afraid the fire will consume everything, but it doesn’t spread. The surrounding wood is too damp to catch, I guess. Everything here is always damp, including me. My clothes never dried from the rain two days ago. I slowly realize why the rash is spreading across my skin.

  I haven’t been completely dry in days.

  The air is too muggy here, and there’s hardly any sunlight below the canopy overhead. Once it rains, the moisture stays. I’m afraid if I don’t dry my clothes now, I may never get another chance. I wait a bit longer, then creep toward the fire. When I don’t see the guy or his Pandora, I sit down on the twig pallet and pull off my boots. My feet are wrinkled and swollen and covered in red patches. The rash has spread. I tug off my shirt and pants, and dry everything by the dancing flame. Then I curl into a ball, my Pandora pulled closed to my stomach, and I sleep.

  When a small noise wakes me hours later, I try to block it out. I need sleep if I am to survive out here. But a strange cracking sound comes again, which I can’t ignore. Even stranger is the crawling sensation along my bare stomach.

  My eyes snap open and I glance down.

  My Pandora — it’s hatching.

  I bolt upright and the egg rolls away from me. I reach for it, and freeze when a small black paw strikes out of the shell like it’s grasping for something.

  I can’t help the tears that sting my eyes.

  Covering my mouth, I watch as my Pandora pushes his way out of his egg, piece by piece. He’s alive. All this time, I feared he was never going to hatch, that the smell wafting from the egg was from decay. But it’s happening. He’s here.

  My Pandora, my Madox, kicks the last piece of shell away. He’s covered in a thick, greenish slime, but he doesn’t seem to mind one bit. He stumbles onto his back, his four legs kicking the air like an overturned turtle’s. When he rights himself, he circles twice, his small pink tongue dangling from his mouth.

  I study my Pandora: his black fur; his four, pawed feet; his pointy, alert ears. When his eyes find mine, I draw in a quick breath. Madox’s eyes are brilliant green, so bright, they seem to glow radioactive in the night. My Pandora looks, in every way, like a baby fox.

  When Madox sees me, he takes two quick steps back.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. His ears perk at the sound of my voice, but he seems unsure. “You are KD-8. You’re … my Pandora.”

  I keep waiting for some supernatural crap to happen, like for him to grow wings or speak. But I don’t hear a thing. I pull myself up, and the fox backs away farther. It’s enough to make me want to sob. I’ve waited so long for him to arrive, and now he’s afraid. Not that I blame him. I wonder if he knows what’s happening or why he’s here.

  Racking my brain, I try to think of something to let him know it’s safe. That I want so badly for us to be allies. The only thing I can think of is my mother, so instead of speaking to Madox, I try humming. I start low and hum louder when he cocks his head and listens.

  I laugh, seeing him with his head turned, but then I gather myself and keep humming. I decide to try singing. A few notes in, Madox rights his head and his green eyes widen. His mouth falls open and, I swear to God, he seems to smile.

  Opening my arms, I pray for a miracle. That Madox and I can skip the days of awkward companionship and sail right to friendship. The black fox takes a tentative step toward me. I hold still.

  Wishing he could understand me, I think, I’m not going to hurt you.

  He takes two more steps, then he trots toward me until I run my hand over his wet, sticky fur.

  It’s a scene right out of a friggin’ Disney movie. Minus the green slime.

  I manage to get most of the goop off him by using large palm leaves. He helps the process by offering me places he’s still coated. When he rolls onto his back, I spot something on his right back paw. With one hand, I scratch behind his ears, with the other, I lift his leg. The other paws are black like the rest of his fur, but this one’s pink. I notice there’s a tattoo on the soft pad. It reads KD-8.

  They mark their Pandoras. It’s not surprising; I imagine they want to keep track of their inventory. Madox wiggles his leg free and takes a cautious step into my lap.

  “Come on.” I open my arms, leaving my lap wide open. “It’s okay.” He crawls all the way in, circles four times, and lies down. My heart swells as I look at him. He’s my Pandora, and I am his Contender. I can’t help wondering about all the cool things he might be able to do. But mostly, I’m just happy he seems to trust me.

  I glance around and notice I’m not sure where the guy and M-4 went. I know I should venture into the brush to look, but I’m still so exhausted. Also, I don’t want to move. Madox looks so serene, asleep in my lap. For a long time, I pet him and sing. He seems to like the sound of my voice. When he starts kicking in his sleep, I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

  “We’ve had a long day,” I whisper to Madox. Then I lean back, careful to keep my legs crossed, and I fall into a deep slumber.

  I dream I am running from a monster. The creature has yellow eyes and a bow slung over his right shoulder. Every few minutes, he strings an arrow into his bow and aims it in my direction. I run faster, weaving between gnarled trees and boulders the size of elephants. Everything is so dark; I can’t imagine how he can see me. But he does. I feel an arrow strike my skin and I cry out. I run faster, but it isn’t fast enough. Over and over, the arrows
pierce me until it feels like there are thousands hitting me at once. I drop to my knees and roll from side to side, trying to escape the pain, but nothing helps.

  When I finally wake up, Madox is yelping. I shoot up to see what’s wrong with my Pandora, but agony blinds me. My skin stings so badly, I believe I must be burning alive. When I look down, I see hundreds of red ants crawling over every inch of my skin. They aren’t built like the ants in Boston. These suckers are the length of a quarter, and each sting is enough to make me nauseated with pain. I jump to my feet, screaming, swiping at the insects. They crawl over my arms and legs and hands, and even across my scalp.

  I brush them off hurriedly, then lean over to rescue Madox. There are still dozens of ants trailing across my bare skin, but I’ve got to help my Pandora. Madox darts into the ashes from last night’s fire and rolls around. I flick off the ones he doesn’t get, then brush off the remaining ants still left on my legs. When we’ve rid ourselves of the insects, we move away from the campsite.

  My bag, the one I carried Madox in, is covered in ants. I grab the device from the inside of it, then drop the bag onto the ground and leave it there. My Pandora licks himself, whining. I place my device into my pocket, pick Madox up, and stumble farther from the site. This is why the guy sleeps in the trees, I suddenly understand. Thinking back on the three nights I’ve spent on the jungle’s floor, I can’t believe this hasn’t happened before. How could I be so stupid? The ants probably felt like they hit the jackpot when they stumbled across an almost naked girl and her fox.

  Though the stinging sensation along my skin is almost unbearable, I know I have to grab my clothes and boots. Ants crawl across them in organized rows. I put Madox down and take four more stings in order to shake everything off and get dressed. With all the insects gone, I can finally inspect the damage they’ve done. Glancing at my arms, I decide I look like I have chicken pox. It’s disgusting, and I’m certain I’ll have nightmares about this long after the race is over. In a strange way, it makes me mad, too. These tiny little creatures just treated me and Madox like an early-morning snack.

  I see a flash of red. Before I can stop myself, I start stomping across the site, the ants squishing beneath my thick boot heels. A wild scream escapes my throat, and I sound more animal than I do human. Madox trots behind me, licking up two or three ants at a time and gnashing them between his teeth.

  Laughing, I point at Madox’s mouth. “Hell yeah. Eat those effers.” Then I stop. “Wait, Madox. No. I don’t know if that’ll hurt you.” I scoop him up as he swallows down another mouthful of ants, smacking his jaws together.

  “Let’s just go,” I tell my fox. “We need to find the guy I’ve been following. You may not like his Pandora, but I think he might know where we’re headed.”

  After walking for several minutes, Madox trotting by my feet, I still can’t find any trace of either man or lion. At first, I’m devastated, but then I remember that I followed him for two days and he never found another flag. Plus, now I have Madox, so I don’t feel the desperate need to be near another person.

  As Madox and I trek through the jungle, I notice the plants are taller. Three days ago, they reached my ankles. But now, now they brush my knees, my hips, and in really dense areas, they even graze my shoulders. I feel like I’m being swallowed alive and realize that by following the guy, I’ve been heading deeper into the jungle. He obviously wasn’t following the perimeter plan.

  At some point, I stop and listen. I hear a screeching sound. It’s not a sharp caw like some of the birds make. This one is lower and carries farther. Madox cocks his head. He hears it, too.

  “What is that?” Madox circles my ankles, and I crouch down to stroke the fuzz behind his ears. “It’s okay,” I tell him. But the sound grows closer, and it’s clear now the noise isn’t coming from a singular animal, but many of the same kind.

  I stand up, rubbing the searing pink bumps along my skin. My lungs pull in quick darts of jungle air, and a cold sensation blooms in my belly. The calls are so loud now, they feel like they’re coming from inside my head. Madox barks and backs up. Before I can rejoice in the fact that my Pandora just barked for the first time, the brush opens like a velvet curtain.

  A dozen chimpanzees move toward us, swaying side to side as they walk. One near the front, the biggest one, stops suddenly. He didn’t expect to see me here. I pray I’ve startled him enough so that he’ll turn and flee. My heart skips a beat, then another, as he studies me.

  Another chimpanzee moves forward. She has a baby chimp in her arms. The sight is eerily human. The large chimp near the front holds out an arm to stop her from going any farther. The gesture pushes me over the edge; it’s too much like something my father would do to me or Cody. I don’t know much about apes, but I know I’m outnumbered.

  I take a small backward step.

  Moving is the wrong thing to do, I realize too late. The large chimp pulls himself up to standing and beats a single fist against his chest. My land, he seems to say. Maybe I’ve shown submission when I should have been aggressive, but it’s too late now. He screeches loudly, and the chimps behind him follow suit.

  “Run, Madox!” I turn and race away, glancing down to ensure my Pandora is by my side. He’s little, but he’s good at finding small spaces in the foliage to dart through, and so he keeps pace. My blood is ice in my veins. I pray that the chimpanzees will be content that I’ve fled, but soon I hear the unmistakable sound of being pursued.

  They scream over one another, and creatures in the canopy overhead cry in return, anxious at what is happening below them. The chimps are gaining on me. Of course they are. They’ve lived in this jungle all their lives.

  Thorns tear into my clothing as I race. I have no idea what they’ll do if they overtake me, and I cry thinking about it. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I run faster. Madox is still at my feet when the foliage begins to clear. The plants that were thigh-high thin and shorten, but I’m not sure this will help. I need to move quicker, but I also need the jungle’s natural cover. Balling my hands into fists, I push even harder, and for a few seconds, I am filled with triumph as I gain a solid lead on the chimps.

  The black hole comes out of nowhere.

  One moment, I’m whipping past trees and overgrown vines, and the next, I’m throwing myself back to keep from tumbling to my death. Madox stops just in time and comes to rest nearby. The chimps are growing louder again. I know it won’t be long before they find me. I can’t run forever. I can hardly catch my breath as it is, and fear is making it hard to think.

  I glance down into the enormous pit, maybe forty feet down, noting the thick vines along the sides. If I’m careful, and if the vines can hold my weight, I can scale down into the cave and wait until the chimps pass. I’ll have to be quick, though. If they see me, they’ll follow. I’m certain of it.

  “Come on,” I whisper, scooping Madox into my arms. Stuffing the bottom of my shirt into my pants, I tuck Madox in between my shirt and chest. Then I grab on to the thickest vine I see, tug it twice to ensure it’ll hold, and step over the side. My brain screams that this is not the alternative I want, that there’s no telling what lurks inside this cave. But I have no choice, so I push those thoughts aside and descend into darkness.

  For having never climbed anything before, I think I’m doing pretty well. I use my legs to balance my weight against the rock wall, and test my footing before I step. I’m halfway down when I hear the chimps closing in. I have to hurry. Glancing beneath me, I note there are still ten feet left before I reach the cavern floor. In a panic, I try sliding down the vine. My feet slip out from under me and before I can regain my balance — I’m free-falling.

  The breath is knocked from my lungs when I hit the ground. Instantly, I check Madox. He pulls himself out from my shirt, and when I realize he’s okay, I lie back and cringe against the shooting pain in my lower body. I know I have to check for broken bones, but right now I’m still more afraid of the chimpanzees. Grabbing Madox, I pull him
onto my chest and press my head into his damp fur.

  Please don’t let them find us.

  I pray for several seconds before I’m brave enough to glance up. The chimps’ cries are directly above the cave, and I know they’re standing dangerously close to the edge. Sucking my bottom lip, I lift my head from Madox’s warm body and peer upward.

  A chimpanzee stares down at me.

  I start to scream, but cover my mouth to stop myself. My body shakes with fear, and I forget all about the pain in my back and legs. The chimp raises its hands and intertwines its fingers over its forehead like it’s worried. A sharp call nearby steals its attention, and it looks away. It glances back at me once more, then turns and flees.

  For a long time, I don’t move. I can’t. Each time I consider sitting up, I imagine hearing the chimps’ calls. But when Madox starts licking my face, I know I have to keep going. This is a race, and I can’t stay down here forever.

  As I pull myself up, I feel wetness on my back. For a fleeting moment, I’m terrified it’s blood. But when I search further, I realize it’s only water. Madox scurries beneath me and drinks from the narrow stream. I suddenly realize I’m incredibly thirsty, and before I can wonder what kinds of terrible things call this stream home, I get down on my hands and knees and drink. The water is cool and tastes like nothing I’ve experienced before. I’ve never had water this pure, untouched by humans. It’s almost too much, and I close my eyes against the euphoric feeling of meeting such a basic human need.

  There are moments in the jungle where I can’t help but laugh at how my life has changed in these last four days. Drinking from a stream, in the belly of a cave, is one of those moments. Yesterday, if this had happened, I would have daydreamed about my leopard-print house slippers and my grandmother’s crocheted blanket that I’ve kept at the end of my bed since forever. But today, I just glance at Madox drinking beside me (downstream, thank God), and I’m thankful for his presence. I was afraid that after he hatched — if he hatched — he would leave me. But so far, Madox has been faithful, and I feel another stab of affection for my little Pandora.