SICK HEART by Huss, JA (nice books to read TXT) 📗

it,” he says. “I got you.”

And even though I don’t think his hand is gonna help break my landing when I jump, it actually does.

He gloats at me.

“Stop rubbing it in,” I say.

“What am I rubbing in?”

“The fact that this is the first day of the rest of your life.”

“Everyone’s first day.”

“Not mine.”

“Stick with me, Anya. You’ll see.”

I don’t know what that means, so I just ignore him and take my shower. I can hear lots of things going on down on the training platform, but I tune it out as I will my headache to go away.

When I go downstairs, I am surprised to find every bit of equipment put away in the containers. It looks like the first day I arrived here on the Rock four months ago and this is when the reality of my situation really sinks in.

It’s over.

My life with these people is over.

I suddenly understand what it might feel like to fight for your life on the mat. Waking up that morning knowing you might only have hours left to live.

But there’s one major difference.

They have a chance.

And I don’t.

The boat is actually very nice and has a cafeteria. Most of the kids stay on the deck, signing, and laughing, and playing their slapping games.

Ainsey is attached to Cort’s hip and even though I know Maart hates this, he doesn’t even shoot Cort a scowl. Just lets it go.

If Cort leaves his base camp today—and he will. I mean, why the fuck wouldn’t he?—then this is his last day with Ainsey.

I don’t bother him and he doesn’t come over to me, either. In fact, Maart is the one who hangs out with me all day as the ship crawls its way up the coastline of South America.

“Where are we going?” I finally ask him. We’re sitting on the deck, our backs propped up against some cargo hold, just watching the scenery go by.

“It’s a little village southeast of São Luís in Maranhão.”

“No idea where that is.”

“Brazil.”

I make a little o with my mouth. “So why are you hanging out with me today?”

“We’re sticking together.”

“Are we?”

“We are.”

“What’s that mean, exactly?”

“You’ll find out.”

My stomach does a little flip at these last words. But I don’t want to press him. I don’t really understand Maart. There are times—plenty of times, actually—when I think he’s on my side. But the few times when I think he’s out to get me just wipe all those positive thoughts away.

He’s… sorta terrifying. And not in the same way as Cort. I’m not saying Cort is dumb. Nothing about him leads me to believe he’s just some dumb, low-IQ fighter. But he doesn’t have that cunning look to him the way Maart does.

He’s not calculating, and Maart is.

I don’t know why Maart is in such a good mood. It might be because I’m finally gonna be out of his life. But I don’t care. I’m not in a good mood at all. I don’t want to be on this ship. I don’t want to go to their village. I want to stay on the Rock and never leave. Just—collect rainwater and fish for food. Train all day and lie under the stars at night.

I’m never going to have a life as good as that again.

Snap out of it, Anya. Survivors do not dwell on the things they have lost.

And it’s very clear that Cort is clinging to Ainsey today in order to avoid thinking about me.

Or, hell, who am I kidding? He gives no fucks about me at all. I am just a pretty girl he got stuck with. He made the most of it, and that’s all it was.

This… is even more depressing. So I put all of it out of my mind and head down to the mess hall to eat my last meal. That’s what it feels like, anyway.

I didn’t eat much last night. We were too busy drinking—and fucking—to take part in the massive feast that the kids had. And this morning I was a little hungover, so I didn’t have breakfast. But now it’s nearly lunchtime and I’m famished. I ask for all the things in the food line. A grilled cheese, a cup of strawberries, two chocolate milks, a side of French fries, a green salad with ranch, and two bags of nuts to keep for later, just in case I’m in a situation where a bag of nuts saves my life.

But all too soon it is clear that we have arrived. And when I go up on deck I see that the ship is maneuvering sideways up against a large concrete dock. I look around, taking it all in.

Except for the dock, there is nothing here. Just a sheer cliff wall, the water below—the dark color indicating that it is deep and there is no beach down there—and then beyond the rock is a canopy of tall jungle trees.

Brazil. Not much different than other jungle places I’ve been.

Monkeys and birds chatter and squeal in the thick foliage as a gangplank is put in place so we can disembark. But even after it’s firmly in place, no one moves to get off the boat.

I walk up next to Maart. He’s leaning against a railing, watching Cort talk to the ship captain. Rainer is talking too, but his words are directed at the kids. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a ritual.”

“What kind of ritual?”

“Going-home ritual.” He says this like everyone knows what a going-home ritual is.

“What’s it entail?”

He beams a smile at me. “Watch. And you’ll see.”

A few minutes later Cort is the first to leave the ship. He walks down the gangplank and then continues down the dock until he is standing on a large flat rock. He puts a hand up, whistles, and then Rainer walks Ainsey up to the gangplank and gives her a little push.

Ainsey doesn’t need that push. She runs down that gangplank. She runs all the way to Cort.

Maart clicks his tongue next to me. But he doesn’t elaborate on that