ISLAND ILLUSIONS (#2 PARADISE ISLAND duology)

--thirteen--

Miles wondered why he even bothered lying down and closing his eyes at all. Every night, it was the same thing, the same repetition of gruesome images that he knew would haunt him forever—if he lived that long. Nightmares, flashing visions of pointy objects drawing blood, guts spilling over the forest floor, and big yellow eyes pursuing him and growling. Yes, the eyes were growling at him.

By that point, he figured he should get used to sleepless nights, and give up trying.

But he needed some sleep, and had managed to snooze for a good few hours before he woke exhausted, but with a purpose—to get the fuck off this island.

He showered, dressed warmly, pulled on a pair of hiking boots, and stuffed the notebook under his hoodie, as he had done to sneak it into camp. Now he needed to sneak it out, and with Jessa sniffing around, he feared he wouldn't get far.

To his luck, no one was outside when he opened his door. He scanned the area, finding the fire long extinguished, a few cups resting on the grass near the log stumps, the box of alcohol tipped over and showing that all the booze had been drunk.

Must have partied hard last night.

He'd heard them, still at it—Taryn and Lorenzo, arguing and screwing each other most of the night. And of course Jessa and Vick, who made it a point to have sex against every wall of Miles' cabin, then retreat to the fire and join in on Taryn and Lorenzo's fighting. That was another reason Miles couldn't sleep—the others were up all night howling, drinking, screaming, fucking themselves into oblivion. Today, he hoped that meant they'd sleep in, for once.

He slipped out, tiptoeing, worried about taking a single breath that might alert Jessa, if she was in the vicinity. But as he wandered closer to the forest, he turned around and had a wider view of the array of cabins. Most were dark against the rising sun in the backdrop, signifying that everyone was still asleep. When he spotted Jessa's building in the distance, he muffled a gasp. One of her windows was uncovered, and a faint light emanated from within, showing her inside, on her bed, straddling someone—probably Vick. She wasn't looking out the window, so whatever she was doing, whoever she was having sex with, was keeping her occupied.

Thank you, whoever you are.

He dashed into the woods without another glance, and set off towards the barrier. One obstacle overcome, he was reassured, but knew he was far from safe.

At the bottom of the steps, he stretched, patted the area where he'd stashed the notebook, to make sure it was secure. He then strolled forward—only to be knocked back by a low, gravelly growl coming from ahead of him.

He gulped, frozen in place, scowling at the area where the growl had come from. He heard another, somehow deeper than the first. Then another, joining it; both echoing about the forest, skirting under leaves, whistling along the dirt pathway until reaching Miles' feet. As if the growls were the air itself, unfurling from sky to ground, and warning Miles not to proceed with what he'd planned.

Miles had no choice but to proceed.

He dared a few steps forward, and more growls resonated. Coming from his left, from his right, even some from above him, as if howling down from the cliff he'd descended. Or dangling from tree branches, preparing to pounce on him. They encircled him, their sound brushing over his skin and creating goosebumps up his arms, down his legs.

"Shit," he said, pressing his lips together, squinting at the passage ahead. "What do I do? I have to go there. And I can't get eaten."

Patrek had been correct—the monsters smelled him, they smelled his reluctance. That, or Jessa and her ruler-like ways had informed the creatures that there was another doubter among them, and to be on the look-out. It wasn't like she hadn't warned him, hadn't threatened him; he realized now that he should have taken her seriously, and not set out to push her buttons.