Island of Fire

She sniffed deeply, trying to determine if anyone had brought food recently. Smelling nothing, she scooted over, rolled to her back, and slowly let her eyelids open.

She frowned. And then she sat up. She craned her neck, squinting, turning her head all around, and frowned again. And then she pounded Samheed’s arm.

Her heart raced, and she pounded him again, and then began to tap into his hand, “Wake up! I think . . .”

He didn’t move, so she pounded him harder until he moved and sat up.

She began again. “Something’s different. Can you”—she paused, not quite sure—“see? A little bit?”

Samheed turned his head about, and Lani almost thought she saw a shadow, or a silhouette of his face. “I can see you!” she tapped. “Sam!”

“No,” he tapped. “I can’t.” He turned toward her, but she couldn’t make out his features at all. It was just an outline, black on dark gray. A moment passed. “Nothing,” he tapped slowly. “Are you sure?”

Lani strained her eyes, and the usual blackness was definitely gray now. She could see Samheed’s profile, and a blob not far away—the bucket of water. “It’s very faint,” she tapped. “Gray instead of black. Outlines. The bucket.” She turned toward him. “I’ll touch your nose,” she said, and reached out toward the line where gray became black along his profile and the tip of his nose was apparent. Her finger landed on it, and she could feel him breathe in surprise.

“I . . . ,” he began to tap, and shook his head. His heart twisted as he yearned to see anything, but all was still black. “Still nothing,” he finally tapped.

In wonder, just barely able to see the outline of him, Lani guided her finger down his nose, across his cheek, and then she squeezed his shoulder. Tears jumped to her eyes as the world lightened before her at the slowest possible pace. “I can see you,” her lips mouthed, but she didn’t tap it. Instead she tapped, “I’m sorry.”

Samheed was still for a moment, and Lani watched him bring his free hand to his bowed head. She could almost feel his longing. Then he dropped his hand to his lap, deadweight, and tapped, “Tell me everything you see. And—” He stopped.

Lani waited. “And?”

Samheed turned his blind eyes toward her. She could see the outline of his body, feel his breath on her bare arm, his hand on her knee. Slowly, softly, he tapped, “Please don’t leave me.”

Together, Apart

Lani squeezed Samheed’s arm. “Of course I won’t leave you!” she tapped. She flung her arms around his neck, surprising him, catching him off balance. He righted himself and, after a second, hugged her tightly, squeezing his eyes shut and biting the inside of his cheek, wishing he weren’t so helpless. He hated this feeling— had always hated it. Before today he could be thankful that Lani couldn’t see the fear on his face, but now . . . He didn’t want to have to count on anybody at any time, not after all that had happened to him.

But when he was truthful with himself, and when he remembered that Lani hadn’t left him the last time she’d had a chance, while he lay helpless and knocked out on a table, and when he thought about the past weeks in this stupid, horrible cave of darkness and silence, no one coming to their rescue, only Lani there, and the two in turn acting both vulnerable and strong, he knew that Lani was probably the one and only person in the whole world with whom he could truly let down his guard.

He clutched at her, devastated that she could see shadows and he couldn’t, yet trying not to lose hope. If she could see, she could try to escape. But if she had to drag him with her, he was only a liability. And despite her response, despite knowing deep down that she wouldn’t leave him willingly, he was still scared beyond anything he’d ever been through—beyond the Purge, beyond the battle, beyond the excruciating implantation of the necklace of thorns. Samheed was frightened that something would separate them, and that he would be left blind, deaf, mute, and alone in this stark cave once again, this time forever.

Lani’s lips parted in surprise when Samheed didn’t let go of her. And even though she’d been concentrating, straining her eyes to see more and more as the light slowly increased, something in her stomach flitted about just then, and she became highly aware of Sam’s warm cheek against hers. She swallowed hard and her breathing grew shallower, almost as if she was afraid her intake of air would disturb the moment or cause Sam to come to his senses and let go. But he didn’t. Lani’s eyes fluttered closed, and she turned her attention from things she could barely see to things intangible and invisible inside of her, and for the briefest of moments, the two breathed together in time.

When they drew apart at last, it was with a somber realization that they were alone in this strange and horrible world, and that hope for rescue was waning. That despite the trauma and horror of their predicament, all they had was the person sitting next to them. And all they could do was wait for Alex.

But Alex hadn’t come.

Neither needed to say it. They sat side by side, backs against the wall, fingers intertwined, with no pressing need for sight or sound in this moment, as long as they had each other.

It was perhaps an hour later that a towering shadow darkened the brightening space in front of Lani. She startled with force and scrambled closer to Samheed, gripping his hand tightly as she tried to explain what was happening with taps from her other hand on his knee. But it became apparent that the figure, in the process of setting down a tray of food, noticed her commotion. In the grainy light, Lani saw the black holes that were his eye sockets, two dull orange spots coming from the depths of them, and a slow, evil smile spreading across his face.