The man in the office chair jumped awake at the sound of voices. His clipboard slid off his chest and fell to the floor, creating one of the loudest sounds he had ever heard. Swearing, he picked it up, looking at his partner. Somehow, she was still asleep. Instead of waking her, he surveyed the screens. 

On the walls, the two natural enemies had met. Both in personality and nature, they were to be complete opposites. Their superiors had planned it that way. As the woman, who held a hand made, crude spear in her hands, saved the scrambling man, he asked her to help him find shelter. On this side of the screens, the man in a suit punched some buttons and pulled up the island maps. 

The female asleep in the chair beside him snored lightly, her black hair falling over her face. The man leaned back in his chair and watched the two of them, as the woman looked around her for something, shelter, probably. He could just barely hear them over the camera’s speaker system. He caught a glimpse of the name, black, bold letters across her left breast. Jess. 

“At least I know one of you, now,” he muttered, scribbling the name on one of the manilla folders on his station. 

~~~

I’m not sure what he said for a minute. I have to turn my head and face my ear towards him. Yet, after a moment, I realize it was the language. At first, the language was unfamiliar. Hadn’t I just spoken it? Rubbing my temple, I analyze his words one at a time. 

I, as in him. Need, as in he will likely die without it. Shelter, a place safe from something, like a fire or a storm. I, again as in him. Can, as in am able. Trade, to exchange goods. When spaced out, they make sense. Why is this so hard for me? In my head, everything is picturesque; it just gets lost in transmission. It’s the word ‘trade’ that catches my attention. What is it that he has to give me? Yet, I need shelter too. Night will be here soon, and there’s no telling what will come out of these weird woods when the sun sets. It does occur to me that he’s a night dweller, but I’m not. At least, I don’t think I am. Thinking about it makes me doubt myself. Still rubbing my head, I lower the spear and step back. I dig around in my head for words. 

“We both need shelter,” I say, more sure of the combination of sounds, “But I doubt that you have anything I would need, seeing as you look to be in the same position I am.” I point my spear down and rake it across his jumpsuit. It needs cleaning. He is wearing the same orange suit, the one that screams prison and makes no sense to me. “Lucky for you, I’m nice,” I add, looking around the woods. Was I nice? That didn’t sound right, but I said it with such confidence. There was no way of being sure I was, and I have absolutely no idea who I am. If there ever was a time to be a better person, I guess the time is now. 

“Stay here, and I’ll climb up to the canopy of the forest and see if I see anything,” I say, laying my spear on the ground as an act of trust. I doubt he’s in any condition to attack me, or to climb this tree. What other option do I have? Judging by the smells and sounds I’m surrounded by, he’s the only other human on this land. I’d rather be with him than wandering around aimlessly alone. I turn and find the tree with some good footholds, wondering where I even learned to climb trees. It’s easy, a slow rhythm of pulling and pushing myself up. Lost in the concentration of movement, I forget and am surprised by the open air I feel as I break through the surface. A huge expanse of forest stretches in one direction, and the sea is behind me. On the other side of the forest, there’s a single hill of earth. It’s a tall pile of ground, shaping up to a point. I can’t see behind it, but I assume the ocean wraps itself around. 

I push myself down, back under the shelter of the branches and glance down to find my foot holds. Below, I can see the speck of life that is the man, and I feel something knotting up in my stomach. I’m frozen, like ice almost, unable to tear myself away from this position. I’m holding my breath; my hands, holding on to the branches for dear life, are both convulsing. Bile rises up in the back of my throat. I don’t recognize the reaction of my body to the ground below, but God, I’m so high up. 

I’m afraid of heights. 

There’s a fuzzy memory in the back of my mind of standing, no sitting, in a cart on rails. I feel the cart lurch forward, my stomach in my shoes, and that’s what I’m feeling now, without the wind in my hair. Back in the present, I hold myself as close to the tree as I can, clenching my eyes closed. Now wasn’t the time for that memory to come back. Blindly, nearly panting, I scale back down the tree, scraping my hands up badly along the way. I miss a foothold and end up falling, landing on my back. Luckily, it must’ve not been far up, because the impact does do anything other than scare me. Breathing heavily, I turn to the man. 

“There’s a hill up ahead, a pointy hill,” I say, biting my lip, “It’s a mountain. Maybe there’s a cave up there.” I can’t be sure where that connection came from, but it makes sense now that I’ve said it.