I kicked at the leaves until I found footprints in the soft silt around the pool. Bare prints mixed with the deep tread of Edward’s boots. They went every which way. Trying to follow them in the growing heat made me dizzy, dizzier still because I’d missed my injection for two days.
“Edward?” I called one more time. Only a bird shrieked in response.
Twenty-two
I PICKED A DIRECTION and ran as fast as my bruised feet would take me. The shears were heavy in my pocket, but I was glad to have them. And the knife. All I could think of was that rabbit, ripped in half, when supposedly no one ate meat.
Someone had developed a taste for it, it seemed. And was now clawing apart anything with a pulse. I had to find the compound before whatever was lurking out there found me.
My foot slipped on another of the yellow fruits, and I stopped long enough to fill my pockets. I’d seen a bowl full of them in the compound, so they must be safe. It could be hours before I found anything to eat again. I planned to find a stream and follow it to the beach. If I circled the whole island and couldn’t find the wagon road, I’d climb to the volcano’s peak, or as close as I could get, and look for the compound from above.
A bird called overhead with a sharp, unnatural pitch. I caught glimpses of the ratlike creatures from the corners of my eyes. Had my father created them, too? Was the island filled not only with his lurching islanders but also with all manner of aberrations?
Presently I came across a pile of river stones marking some kind of trail. I followed the narrow path until I found another pile of stones, where I stopped to rest. The yellow fruits had oozed and stained the inside of my pocket, but they were still edible. I ate a half dozen and dropped the slimy pits on the ground. A trill started up somewhere—an insect, or a bird. I squeezed the knife harder. Then I realized that anyone who saw the pile of pits would know I’d passed this way.
I threw them into the jungle to hide my trail. Satisfied, I wiped my sticky hands on my skirt. As I turned to go, one of the pits sailed back through the air in a graceful arc and landed at my feet.
I clutched the knife and spun around. Something was out there.
“Who’s there?” I yelled. My palms were sweaty. I bit back my fear. Aim for the eyes.
A catlike snarl emerged behind me and I whirled. “Come out! Show yourself!” I yelled.
A deep growl came from the brush. The leaves trembled. A figure slunk toward me, keeping to the mottled light, his hunched posture and spots making him nearly undetectable.
It was the blond islander. The one who’d killed the rabbit.
“You,” I breathed brandishing the knife. Fear mixed with fascination. This walking, breathing creature had been created on my father’s operating table. Somehow, my father had accomplished the impossible: turned animal into man—almost.
“Stay back,” I warned.
“‘Come out.’ ‘Stay back.’ Make up your mind, girl.” His words came with a distinct hiss. I should have been afraid. I should have been terrified. But his mere existence—knowing what he really was—was so spellbinding that there wasn’t room for fear.
“Don’t come any closer,” I said, raising the knife. He emerged from the leaves but hunkered near the clearing’s edge. His white shirt was roughly patched with scraps of linen. The sleeves were rolled to the elbow, revealing forearms covered with thick blond hair. For the first time I could see below his waist, where a tail flicked and swayed. A muscle in my back twitched involuntarily. A tail.
I studied the way he moved, so silent, so graceful. The perfect balance of animal and human. My gut tightened as I remembered standing on the Curitiba, watching the monkey. That was something I’d once longed for: a way for humans to share the talents of animals.
I was like my father in too many ways.
The creature came closer, recapturing my attention. “If you try to hurt me, I’ll slit your throat,” I threatened.
“Hurt you?” His lips curled into a snarl. “There are better ways to hurt a lost girl than throwing fruit.”
“Who are you?” I snapped.
“Jaguar,” he pronounced.
“Jaguar? Didn’t my father name you, like the others?”
“Jaguar,” he said again.
“Did he make you? Did he turn you into this? Answer me!”
“Lost girls must be careful. The jungle is dangerous, they say.”
A drip of sweat rolled down the back of my neck. He was trying to frighten me. But if he truly meant to attack, he surely would have done so already.
I kept a firm grip on the knife but lowered it. “Why are you following me?” I asked.
He cocked his head. “You were following me. You were in the bamboo. Watching.”
So he had seen. He could have attacked then but he hadn’t. I narrowed my eyes, wondering why. He curled his lips in response. He was smart, I realized. Smarter than most humans.
“Where is Edward?” I asked.
“The castaway.”
Surprise nearly made me drop the knife. How did he know?
My discomposure made him smile all the more. “Montgomery told me about the castaway,” he said. “Montgomery says watch the girl. Doesn’t say watch the castaway.”
“When did you speak with Montgomery?”
“Questions. Questions. Come with me, now.”
His paw curled, beckoning. The tip of his tail twitched. I felt myself drawn toward his hypnotic yellow eyes. But I caught myself.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said, squeezing the knife. “This is madness.”
“It isn’t safe without me.”
“It isn’t safe with you!” I stepped back, a branch snapping under my foot. “I’d sooner take my chances alone.”
“You don’t know what hunts you.” His nose twitched. “I do.”
His words were unsettling. On the whole of the island, I couldn’t imagine any beast or man more terrifying than him. And yet, if he hadn’t clawed those islanders to death—which I wasn’t sure he hadn’t—something else had.
“What’s hunting me?” I asked cautiously.
“The monster,” he said, lips curled diabolically. I didn’t know if he was as mad as my father or just toying with me. It was ludicrous, anyway. Talking to a walking experiment. Yet he hadn’t tried to hurt me, which was more than I could say for some humans.
“I want to go to the compound,” I said.
He cocked his head. “The Blood House.”