Withering Hope (19 page)

"Aimee, get inside the plane. Now." I don't move, paralyzed by fear, clutching the dress I was about to put on. A hundred different scenarios play in my head as I try to imagine what prompted Tristan to sound so desperate. "Aimee."

This time I do move. Fast. I sling the dress over my head and jump out of the shower. Instead of getting inside the plane, I grab my bow and a few arrows. I look around for my spear, but don't find it anywhere. Instead, I find Tristan, his bow and arrow in his hands, ready to shoot. He's standing with his back to me, in front of a giant hole in the fence. A fresh one.

So much for the spines protecting us. Tristan has his arrow pointed at the hole, as if he's expecting something to burst through it any minute. I have a hunch I know what.

"The jaguar who made that hole is still around?" I ask.

"I told you to get inside the plane," Tristan hisses.

"Well, I didn't. Deal with it." I point my arrow at the hole as well, stepping next to Tristan. "Don't try to argue with me, just tell me what's going on. What's the plan?"

My throat constricts as I stare at the hole, but I manage not to panic.

"I haven't been able to formulate a plan beyond killing him on sight."

"Is it just one jaguar?"

Tristan pauses for a few beats, then nods. "Smear your arrow tips with poison." I do as he says, grateful that we decided to tie the pouches with poison on the bow yesterday.

"Have you seen my spear?" I ask, feeling unprotected with just the bow and the arrows, since my aim is still far from being of any use.

"It's propped against our wood supply."

I slowly back up, not taking my eyes off Tristan. He is fixed on the hole, his grasp on the bow firm, ready to release the arrow. His shoulders hunch forward; his white shirt is soaked to his skin. I've never seen him so tense.

When I get to the wood shelter I peel my gaze off him, bending to pick up my spear.

"Aimee, if you care about me at all, get inside that damn plane. Now." The jaguar has come into view at last. Tristan's words carry a thinly veiled panic that turns me into stone. I can't take refuge in the plane, even though I fear what we're about to face.

More powerful than that is the fear of losing him. I can't hide inside the plane
precisely
because I care about him. Why did it take this to realize just how much? The feeling is so clear, so natural, it's like it has always been there. But I've subdued it so fiercely that it strikes back with an intensity that hurts.

Most powerful than everything, though, is the need to protect him. From my crouched position, I see the dreaded orange and black fur of a jaguar through the hole in the fence. I grip my spear in one hand, my bow in the other one. I bounce to my feet with a grating noise, a branch snapping beneath my feet. Maybe if it hadn't, Tristan wouldn’t have looked my way, and the disaster would have been averted.

But it did snap.

Tristan's head turns to me, and his eyes leave the hole for a fraction of a second. But a fraction of a second is all it takes for the hellish nightmare to begin.

No words come out of his open mouth. Instead, a scream splinters the air. Piercing and horrifying. Like a lightning bolt, it courses through me, paralyzing me, sucking every wisp of air from my lungs. The next seconds are excruciating. They pass too fast for me to be able to react, but seem long enough for me to take in every gory detail. I see Tristan's bow fly out of his hand as he lands on his back, muddy water splashing in every direction. When he raises his left hand over his head in a defensive move, I see my worst fear soaking through his shirt, one blotch of blood at a time. My knees buckle. I won't be able to reach him in time to spear the jaguar preparing to attack him. Judging by its size it is a cub, not the mother. But the cub is large enough to do permanent damage. Large enough to be deadly. I drop my spear, take one of the arrows, and place it in my bow. My hands tremble. I'm terrified of releasing the arrow. But I do. And it misses.

I let out a huge breath though, because the arrow isn't totally useless. It distracted the jaguar. For one tiny moment; then it turns its attention toward Tristan again. A blink of an eye later, Tristan yelps with pain, both his arms crossed in front of him. More red dots appear on the white sleeves. But the worst is yet to come, because the beast used only its claws to attack until now, not its fangs. My heart in my throat, I release another arrow. I let out a primal, horrifying sound. The arrow almost hits Tristan. And it's poisoned. If one single arrow hits him—

The recognition pumps life in my limp legs. I drop the bow and pick up my spear again. And then I dart toward them, passing by Tristan's bow. I don't have a plan other than spearing the beast. I don't know if that'll help much or not. I'll throw myself between them if need be. All I care about is distracting the beast. When I'm less than a foot away from them, I draw in a sharp breath and lunge forward with all my weight, spearing the jaguar in one side. It jerks back, the brusque movement unbalancing me. I fall flat on my face in the mud, a numbing pain spreading over the side of my face. I turn around at the sound of a riveting grunt behind me. Tristan's on his feet, clutching his arrows. I don't understand what he's doing, or why he's walking backward, until I see the bow on the ground. He's trying to reach the bow. But he won't make it in time. He won't. The jaguar is already poised to attack. One leap forward and Tristan will be beneath him. Beyond saving. I try to push myself up, and hurt my palm on a pointy stone.

That's when it hits me.

Stones.

The sound of my heart slamming against my ribcage pounds in my ears as I frantically scratch to remove the half-buried stone from the earth. It's huge. That's good. It will do some damage. I hurt my fingers in the process of digging the stone out. I throw it in the direction of the animal with both hands, aiming for its head, but it hits his side, where my spear wounded him earlier. The cat roars in confusion, his head snapping in my direction. His predatory gaze lands on me. Pain pierces my chest, stopping any air from coming in. Every inch of my clammy skin twitches. My mind is too clenched by fear to formulate a plan. My body seems to have a will of its own and starts crawling backward. But the beast is advancing toward me already. I can't outrun it. I can't beat it. I close my eyes, crossing my arms in front of me as Tristan did earlier. I grind my teeth, my body shaking like a leaf. I wait for the attack, bracing myself for excruciating pain. When a howl resounds, I'm surprised it doesn't come from my own lips. Still shaking, I open my eyes. Through my crossed arms I see the animal howling, still heading my way, though its steps are slower. An arrow is sticking out of the side of its neck. When the second arrow pierces him, the animal sways, collapsing a few inches from my feet. Its passing isn't as quick as the small animals Tristan tested the arrows on, but no more than a few seconds go by before the beast dies.

I become aware of pain in every part of my body. On the side of my face where I hit the ground when I fell, in my fingers from digging for the stone. But I couldn't care less. All I care about is that Tristan is alive and walking. His sleeves have quite a few blood stains, but somehow there aren’t as many as I imagined earlier. He doesn’t seem hurt. He's smeared with mud, just like me.

He kneels next to me. Unable to say anything, I sling my arms around him, tears streaming down my cheeks as I press my ear against the soaked fabric on his chest.

"Aimee, are you hurt?" Tristan murmurs in my ear. Apprehension colors his voice.

"No. But you are."

Through the shredded sleeves of his shirt I can see his skin and it sickens me. "Let me take your shirt off," I say with a trembling voice.

"Let's get away from this first," he says, motioning toward the dead jaguar cub. Fear courses through me as I realize that what we just did will bring the fury of the jaguar mother upon us. I’m certain there will be a retaliation. I dearly hope she does not have any other cubs, because I don’t know how we will defend ourselves if she does.

"What are we going to do with it?" I ask.

"I'll take care of it later."

I make Tristan sit on the airstairs, and I remove his shirt, careful not to hurt him. When I see his arms, every muscle in my body relaxes a notch. His scratches are not as deep as I thought, though they run along both his arms, and certainly need cleaning and disinfecting. I run inside the plane and rip a strip of fabric from my wedding dress, then grab the first aid kit. My diamond rings slips off my finger, falling with a hollow sound on the floor next to my suitcase. In my haste to get back to Tristan, I don't even think of stopping to retrieve it.

Outside, I dip the fabric in water, then run it along his arms, cleaning the long scratches. Though the scratches aren’t deep, blood trickles from a few of them. I start shaking, the sight of blood mingling with the white of the fabric too much for me to bear. No matter how much I grit my teeth and bite my lips, I can't stop fresh tears from rolling down my cheeks.

"Aimee," Tristan says tenderly, tilting my chin to meet his gaze, "it doesn't hurt that bad, I promise."

"I don't…" I take a deep breath. I need to pull myself together. But my voice is undependable when I continue. "I was so afraid something would happen to you."

I realize I can't talk about this. At least not right now. The terror is still too fresh, the fear of losing him still has an iron grip on me.

He takes my bloody fingers in his palms, cleaning them with water, just as I did with his arms. Then he bends forward, kissing my hands, in a gesture so tender, so pure, that I'd like nothing better than to steal this moment and encase it in a glass bubble, a haven safe from the forest. Safe from the world and its judgement. Safe from my own judgement. Tristan stays like this for a few seconds, then pulls me in a tight hug, his forehead buried in my hair, his lips touching my neck. "I've never been more afraid of anything than I was of losing you today, Aimee." His voice trembles, yet the words tumble out fast, as if he's afraid I will stop him. "All I could think of was you'd be taken away from me before I got to tell you how much you mean to me."

"I know," I whisper, pulling him up, resting my forehead against his. "I know. I—” I stop when I notice blood trickling again from the scratches on his arms. "I have to bandage your arms. On second thought, take a shower and wash all the mud away. I'll bandage your arms afterward."

Tristan doesn't question me, but his eyes probe me with worry, which is ridiculous, because I am fine.

I stay just outside the shower while he's inside, unable to bring myself to move from this spot, shaken by the irrational fear that something may happen to him if I stray too far, that something will take him away from me. He walks out wearing the fresh pair of pants I put there for him earlier. He didn’t put on the shirt I also put there. He looks as strong as ever, as long as I keep my eyes away from his arms and on his steel chest and broad shoulders. But then blood trickles from one of his scratches again, and all my fears are back. I take the bandages, rubbing alcohol, and what's left of the antibiotic cream out of the first aid kit when we return to the airstairs.

"No, don't use the antibiotic cream," Tristan says.

"Why? The scratches can become infected."

"We shouldn't waste it."

"Waste it? Tristan, your arms need it."

"Maybe we'll need it more later. We could get attacked again, and if you get hurt…" He drops his eyes to his hands, his tone apologetic.

Always thinking of me first. Always.

"Let me be the one who worries about you for once, okay?" I say. "Just let me apply it. Please. You need it."

I sense that he'd like to argue further, but I shake my head and he gives in, allowing me to take care of him. After I'm done bandaging his arms I tell him, "Go inside the plane and rest. It's almost dark anyway. I'll take a shower and then come inside."

"No, I'll wait for you here," he says. "Just in case. I want to keep an eye out."

I nod, understanding his apprehension. I felt the same before.

Showering usually calms me, and I never hurry the process, but now I can't wait to get out. Being separated from Tristan, even if he's just a few feet away, causes me to shudder with fear that something might happen to him.

When I get out, Tristan takes my hand, leading me inside the plane. The warmth of his palm spreads through me, making my nerve endings tingle. I allow myself to give in to the sense of security he brings to everything

I don't pull my hand away. I don't ever want to pull it away.