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Sixteen : Rabid

 "Corin," I lean into him, only slightly repulsed by the sharp scent of fish on his waterproof jacket. "That mountain ahead, I've never seen anything like it. Do you know much about it?"

"The one that splits into three points? It's called the Trifecta. It's kind of a landmark, signifying the edge of city limits."

Huh. So it's well known and easily recognisable. Something anyone would be able to find. But that doesn't explain how its jagged forms imagined themselves into my unconscious. I consider the rainbow in the dream, the way it pierced the thick canopy of trees hugging the mountainside. In my mother's bedtime stories, if you followed a rainbow to its end there was always treasure.

"Can people climb it?" I ask. Corin purses his lips, frowning.

"There's a walking track," he says slowly, squinting from the Trifecta to me and back again. "People can hike for exercise if they like, but no one goes up into the denser trees."

"Why not?"

"There's a fence skirting the base of the mountain so you can't wander off track. I'm not sure I like where this is going..."

"The Authority Bureau will be looking for us in this boat. We should moor here and get rid of it."

He slows the old fishing boat down and we bob for a while, staring at the cloud-shrouded behemoth towering ahead of us. I wait in silence for him to agree. The only sound is that of the puttering motor and the distant shriek of gulls. I don't want to tell him –yet- that my grand idea is actually following a random dream I had last night.

"I guess you're right." Corin finally says, running a hand through his tousled dark hair. "Let's take everything we can from the boat, though. Neither of us are used to roughing it."

I'm not going to argue with that.

I fill my backpack with the last of the food from beneath the mouldy squabs (of which there is very little) and an old fleece blanket which smells faintly of fish, while Corin steers the vessel as close to shore as he can. Suddenly, the engine cuts out and there's a harsh grinding sound from beneath the floor, as if we've run something over. I duck back through the cabin door and emerge on deck to find Corin standing there shivering, clad in nothing but a woolly fisherman's hat and his underwear.

My eyes go round. I'm not sure where to look, and find myself staring crazily around trying to find something else for my eyes to rest on, without success. I am drawn back to his almost naked body like a perfectly toned, tanned magnet.

"Um," I manage to squeak out, "where are your clothes?"

Corin doesn't seem embarrassed, just cold. His golden skin is pimpled with gooseflesh, arms clutching his shaking torso. I try keep my eyes on his face.

"I've grounded the boat, but this is the closest we'll get. There's still a good few feet of water." He manages a wobbly grin. "No sense in us both getting soaked and dying of hypothermia in that forest."

I tear my gaze away from where I had been assessing the curve of his pleasantly broad shoulders, to instead assess the situation at hand. He is right. The beach is fairly far away, pebbly and deserted. There's precious little sun making it through the thick cloud cover. The water appears almost black, but it can't be more than waist deep. He could probably have kept his shirt on. Show off. I pull on my beanie and bite my lip. I still don't understand how he supposes I am getting across.

Easing himself over the edge of the boat, Corin hisses through his teeth as his feet, then calves, submerge into the churning water. His muscles strain as he dangles for a moment, before letting himself drop, unleashing an explosion of expletives.