The Jungle

Chapter 15: Rabbit

As it turned out, very hard indeed. But not in the way one might suppose. Caroline could not concentrate because Bahati’s teaching methods were very distracting. He insisted upon standing behind her (still with no shirt on his body because he said it made him uncomfortable) and helping her pull the string. Her breath froze in her throat and she would sit stock still, unable to perform even the slightest cognitive response until he moved away again. He also insisted upon grabbing her hands sometimes and showing her how to hold the bow in such a way as to prevent string burn. He wasn’t entirely successful and she eventually ended up with a huge bruise on her arm.

They stayed in the cargo hold of the plane for hours, until a voice called up to them. “Hey! Anyone up there?” It was James.

“We are!” Caroline shouted, sticking her head out the door. “We were looking for more clothes for Bahati.”

“Well some of the women made dinner,” he replied. “We used what we could find in the kitchen. Most of it’s canned but it should be good enough.”

“What is it?” Bahati asked, sticking his head out as well.

“Spam and corn,” James replied. “Sorry, son. I know you hate corn.”

Bahati nodded. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll skip dinner. Caroline, you go ahead. We can have a lesson another time.”

“No, it’s okay,” she laughed. “I hate Spam just as much as you hate corn. We can suffer together.”

“Suit yourselves,” James chuckled. “I’m going to bed. See you guys tomorrow.”

“Good night, James,” Caroline called after his retreating back. She turned to Bahati and grabbed a bag she’d claimed as her own. “Now let’s get moved in, Bahati.”

The Kupata grinned.

They chose a room right across the hall from the room James and Juliet were sharing. As she unpacked the clothing, Caroline smiled at Bahati. “What do you think of Juliet and James? They make a cute couple.”

“I would have to agree,” Bahati said as he lay on his bed, twirling his terraraptor claw absentmindedly between his fingers. “It is time James found a mate. He is old and nearing the end of his life. It was foolish to wait this long.”

Caroline giggled. “The life expectancy here is different, Bahati. He’s only forty. Most Metropolans live to be about ninety. His life isn’t even halfway over yet.” She hung up the last shirt and grabbed Bahati by the hand, pulling him up off his bed and over to the small window in the wall. She pulled back the curtain and pointed. “Look out the window.”

Bahati saw strange lights twinkling about half a mile from the window. “What is it?” he asked.

“Buildings,” she replied. “The District of Las Vegas used to be called Nevada a long time ago. This base was out in the desert, and as a result, a fence was built around it to keep people and dangerous animals out. No buildings were developed behind the fence. What you see out there is what the rest of the world is like. It’s nothing but buildings and lights and pollution. I hate it, but you can be healthy there. They can cure almost any disease now. People have no reason to die.”

“This bothers you?” Bahati guessed.

“A bit,” Caroline answered truthfully. “Would you like to know the reason I came to the island in the first place?”

Bahati crept up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me,” he said.

Caroline’s skin was crawling with goose bumps. She turned around to face him. “I wanted to be free,” she replied. “My ancestors were among a group called pioneers who travelled from the Atlantic coast to the Pacific in covered wagons almost four hundred years ago. Before he died, my daddy told me I had their spirit. I hated enclosed spaces and my dad was always taking me to the simulation room of the gym so I could run and play in a field of green grass. I was only ever myself when I was there. At other times, I was sullen and silent and destructive. My mother thought something was wrong with me and began to give me small, weak amounts of tranquilizer so I would be quiet and sit still like other people. Our neighbors talked about me because they could hear me running in the halls or jumping on beds or screaming at the top of my lungs. I kept Warren busy, that was for sure, but he was never as active as I was. My parents blamed me for the fact that he liked to run as well. They said I was a bad influence on him.