Sam Michelson

There's no way that only two people could survive a wreck. Which is why, when he finally found Danny, Sam wasn't surprised by his existence, but rather by the bright smile and total unease Danny held for their entire situation.

"You're far too happy about this," Sam grumbled, walking behind Danny as he led the three of them back to his 'hideout'. "We woke up, stranded, left for dead, and you go out and made a 'hideout'. A hideout. Seriously?"

"What, did you want me to book a room at the nearest hotel?"

"Yes."

The look on Danny's face before he broke out into laughter was enough to break something small inside Sam. The irritation grew. The knowledge that, no matter how much they loved one another, they wouldn't be seeing eye to eye on this...or anything, for that matter. He's so fucking calm. We're going to starve to death and he's happy to crack open coconuts and enjoy it. What the fuck? God, this was a mistake. A whole fucking mistake.

This is God's punishment to you. You deserve this.

Shaking the thought away, Sam kept pushing himself further into the jungle. His heart was too heavy to feel right as he walked inside it. Everything itched. It was large and full of darkness. Despite the fact that it wasn't night yet, it was almost impossible to see sunlight in the bottomless regions of the jungle. His feet were coated and his body ached. He wanted to rest. Leaf after leaf he pushed himself, heading farther and farther west, close back to where he'd originally awoken. Close to where whatever it was that had found him before, whatever creature he'd heard, had also awoken. Step by step they grew closer. Night crept just behind them, a few feet away, slithering in circles as the faded remains of daylight passed overhead.

This is God's punishment to you. You deserve this.

The 'hideout' wasn't much better than the jungle itself.

Danny, great as he seemed to be at doing nothing all day, had managed to actually create tie together enough tree limbs and huge ass leaves to make something resembling a hut. It let in no light, which meant it must have been fairly waterproof, but the ground was dirty and looked almost wet on the inside. He had bundled together a bunch of leaves in the corner, probably for a fire or something, but aside from that it was bare of anything else.

"It looks...great, honey," Sam said, feeling his voice leave his body. It was different. He was standing there, watching everything, talking and engaging, but nothing was real. The air hit his body differently. Even his hair was different, somehow in his face yet not blocking his sight at all. He could see just fine. He could move just fine.

So why did he feel like he wasn't alive? Like he wasn't there?

The girl, Bianca, seemed fine with it, but it wasn't like she could even see. She was basically useless on her own, though, so Sam couldn't be upset at that. She was a child. Needing protection.

"So you made a lean-to? That's pretty neat." Bianca ran her hands along it, very gently, as though waiting for it to fall over. "Do you have any sticks left over? This one that Sam found me is a bit too short."

"Yeah, give it to me and I'll get you a better one."

"Thanks."

It was so simple. So easy to get things done. So easy to work things out. They were talking and doing things. Sam sat there, watching as Danny criticised sticks until he found one that was just large enough and sturdy enough to do.

"Better?"

"Much."

The little girl seemed to lean into Danny when she spoke. It was obvious that, despite not having sight, she was attracted to him. Danny was an attractive man. He was full of muscle and hips--full of a strong jawline and hair that tangled just right--full of strong hands and legs--full of goodness in a way that Sam had never known before. He was a good person. A normal person. He was made for this type of tragedy. Made to survive.

This is God's punishment to you. You deserve this.

Sam wasn't certain if he'd even be able to survive his marriage, even if they hadn't been left on the island.

Even if nothing had gone wrong.

Everything had already gone wrong. It went wrong from the moment Sam answered his Grindr notification. It was wrong from their first kiss, their first touch, their first fight, their first make-up, their first everything. It was hell and it was beautiful.

This is what happens to people like me. We end up dead. Someone planned this. My parents. They must have. They wanted me to die. They needed me to die. They already cut me out of the will, now they're cutting me out of existence too?

Reeling, each thought left him a little more removed, a little more distant. A little more confused about who he was and who he was supposed to be. A little more scared when a hard hand touched down on his, clasping him, pulling him up, drawing him into a hug that made his knees week and his eyes water.

"We're going to die out here," Sam whispered.

"No we won't."

Bianca had already laid down to sleep. Danny had started a fire. It was calm.

It was loud. Animals moved in the night. Every second was a call of terror and unknown. Each movement was too much--too loud--too annoying--too distant--too close--too--too--too--

"Come with me," Danny said. He was calm. He was sturdy. Sam, knees weak and buckling, followed him into the dark. Away from the fire. Away from the known.

"Come with me," Danny repeated. He was steady. Feet solid against the ground. Body pressed against his, leading him through the dark. Hands clasped. Hearts fast. Beating.

Then, stopped.

Hands left alone, by his sides. Hands on his cheeks. His neck. His chest. Lips, pressed against his. Tongues kissing, dancing, playing. Parting moans and little cries that rose up, up, up, up until he was distant even further, removed from everything, leaving the island, leaving the terror, leaving Danny.

Leaving.

He closed his eyes and fell into it.

Leaving.

Shirts off, clothes fallen to the ground.

Leaving.

Danny's hands exploring, down, rubbing softly.

Leaving.

The cracking of a coconut--

He's not--

"No, no no no no," Sam stuttered. He pressed himself up against a tree and shook his head, eyes wide. "We are not having sex out here."

"Shh, it's okay. We can use this as lube. I read it in a book once."

"There is no fucking way you're shoving coconut up my ass."

Even without light, Sam knew what Danny looked like. He knew the way Danny's eyes scrunched together, tired of arguing, tired of Sam not approving, tired and needing so much more than what he was getting. He knew the way his lips parted, slightly open, waiting to talk, words lost on his tongue in favor of their gentle silence.

"We won't do anything if it makes you uncomfortable," Danny said. Resting his hands on Sam's shoulders, he buried his face into Sam's, kissing him with foreign tenderness. It was uncertain, unsteady, both too rough and too removed.

Sam was too removed.

This is God's punishment to you. You deserve this.

"No, no, I can do it, I just..." The thought of that filth inside him--the dirt and grime built up, their sweat-covered bodies, mud and leaves mingled between ropes of--God no. "When we get back home. Not here."

Stroking Sam's cheek, Danny chuckled. "You want to head back to the hut and sleep?"

"Sleep--on the ground there? No, I can stay awake. Someone has to anyway. It's not safe--"

"Baby, think of it like we're camping. It's fine."

"Fine?" Sam shook his head. "Fine. Fine, yeah. Yeah, sure. Everything's always fine, isn't it? Everything's always perfect with you. No money? Fine. No support? Fine. Deciding to alienate everyone we love and know? Fine. It's always just so fine." Bitter seeped through him like a drug, eating away at each word until it was shrouded in the essence of resentment.

Danny was silent.

"I'm--I'm sorry, I'm just--"

"No, I understand."

You deserve this.

A sigh. Deep, throaty. Then another, longer, shaken at the end. Hands shaking in the dark. Head shaking. A large man with a larger disappointment--one that weighed one-forty and couldn't do anything right. One that, no matter how hard he tried, never seemed to be good enough to fit in--and nothing around him was good enough either. It was all tainted. Stained. Ruined.

Now, he stood in a jungle of ruin.

Sam walked.

There wasn't a 'where' that he went to. It was disjointed--disappointment led the way and crowded his existence until all he saw in the thick darkness were the eyes of everyone who'd ever given him that tired sigh.

"Sam?" Did Danny call for him? He couldn't say. His mind fooled him.

Each step was another trick, another treacherous bite at his wounds. He'd forgotten that he'd been injured in the wreck. Forgotten that his body ached. Forgotten everything in favor of the distance his poor, gentle mind would give him. It was too much. Too little.

Sam walked until he hit a wall, and then walked alongside it, his hands running over the edge. Feeling each sharp prick, each rough crack, each bit of leaves and dirt that accompanied it until he felt--nothing.

A hole inside.

A hole outside, too, where the wall rose and became a cave. It was quiet inside, beckoning him in, and Sam came to where he was called.

"Sam?"

Deeper, deeper inside.

"Sam!"

Walking until his feet crunched.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crawl.

They shivered across his body. Danced upon his toes. Fell into his hair. Coated every inch of the boy's frozen corpse--his death, he knew, was upon him. Surrounded at all sides. Stuck. Unable to move. Unable to breathe.

"Sam, come out--" Rough hands, pulling him back.

Moving just a little too fast.

His feet crunched again--this time, with a bite. A sharp, painful bite. He screamed, just once, before his eyes betrayed him.

They saw colors that didn't exist.

They saw a world of clouds and rainbows.

They saw death, standing in the corner with a grin on his face.

And, just before they closed and he gave way to faint, he saw the briefest touch of fire reflecting in Danny's eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny Michelson

They found the cave around the same time they found Bianca. Danny didn't mind carrying her the last leg of the journey, where the undergrowth was thickest. She was lighter than Sam and stayed stiller than he ever could when Danny carried him the same way. Although his husband seemed more than a little displeased at the sudden addition to their group, Danny hadn't given him any other choice than to accept it. There was no way they could leave Bianca behind, even if that meant carrying her through the jungle to make it to the cave before nightfall.

From the outside, it looked like a perfect shelter. They reached the opening before Danny's arms had even started to ache. His shoes were half-buried in the soft, wet soil, new water seeping into his already damp clothing. The promise of somewhere dry and safe was too good an opportunity to pass up. Carefully, he set Bianca down on the ground, taking her hand to guide her over to a clear spot where she could rest. Danny tried not to look too deeply into her eyes, there was something about the way they stared both at nothing and at everything that unnerved him. "Are you sure you'll be okay out here?" He asked gently, brushing a stray hair from the young girl's face. "We won't be long."

Bianca waved him away with a shrug. "I'll be fine," she promised. "Just don't forget about me."

Sam let out a small groan of distaste that pulled Danny's attention to him. Leaving Bianca, he stepped to the other boy's side, letting his arm drape loosely around his waist. "Do you really think this is going to be our best bet?" Sam asked, his hesitance settling over him like a thick blanket.

"Oh no," the words came out drier than he anticipated, but it was too late to take them back, "this is a last resort just in case the hotel down by the beach is full." Bianca snorted from behind him, her feet gently scraping the dirt as she settled down onto the jungle floor. "But it is tourist season so who knows if they'll be able to get us a spot."

The look his husband gave him was murderous. "That's not funny, Danny." Immediately, he felt his throat go dry, hesitation creeping up his spine as he swallowed anything else he was going to say. Sam pulled out of his grip, feet trudging forwards towards the mouth of their newfound shelter. "Let's just go already."

For once, Danny was at a loss for what to say. They went into the cave together, a stiffness tightening the air between them. Unspoken annoyance bounced freely between their bodies but Danny did his best to ignore it. This was the wrong time to pick a fight. It was getting late now, the cold night air ushering in the dark as the sun dipped lower into the horizon. He squinted into the cave as they traveled further in, trying to check for hidden dangers that would drive them from this shelter. They'd been walking for hours, it felt, and if this couldn't protect them until morning then he worried about what the night would bring.

The sand inside the cave was soft and dry, any rain or wind perfectly kept away by the protection of the stone walls. This is perfect, he thought to himself. We could stay here until rescue. He raised his arm, letting his fingertips scrape across the cold stone. Something vibrated beneath his touch, followed by the softest scratching sound from somewhere deeper in. Immediately, his eyes darted to Sam, praying that he didn't hear the noise. But the other boy seemed blissfully unaware.

"It's been almost a day now." Danny's words cut through the quiet like a knife and he watched as his husband turned to face him. "You've got to get your head together, Sam." He tried to sound as gentle as possible, to break the news as delicately as he could, but the cold bite of annoyance was difficult to smother. "Whatever we've got, whatever we can find, is the best we're going to get."

"You think I don't know that?" Sam snapped. He folded his arms over one another, bracing his fingertips against them as he stepped further away. "I'm doing the best I can here. I'm sorry I can't just flip a switch and- and just survive off the grid with nothing." There was something close to disgust in Sam's voice, an obnoxious and spoiled tone that grated against his brain.

The scratching was growing louder now, but not as loud as the rush of Danny's heartbeat in his ears as his blood began to heat up. "Well I need you to try," he argued back, exhaustion and anger pooling into a deadly combination in his words. "You're not the only one who feels like shit right now."

"I know that! I just-"

"You what? Think how you feel is more important?" The words came out before he could stop them, but the damage had already been done. He could see the sting of pain on his love's face, the recoil like a child slapped.

Guilt flooded his body immediately, hitting him like a punch to the gut. "Sam," he called, but it was too late. The other boy was already turning, leaving the way he'd come in and leaving Danny stumbling after. "Sam I didn't mean that." The scratching was louder now, pounding out a drumbeat that shivered up his spine. He caught him by the arm, desperate to repair the damage. I have to make him stay. I have to. "Hey, look. This sucks, this really does." His voice was different now, softer than before, more hopeful. "But we can make it work." The scratching only grew more deafening but Danny could no longer tell if it was coming from around him or inside him. All he knew was that his lover wouldn't look him in the eye, wouldn't erase that stinging look from his eyes. "We're still together. On our honeymoon."

With the last word, he pulled Sam close, nuzzling into his neck as his free hand found a home on Sam's thigh. He trailed his fingers inward, getting teasingly close to Sam's crotch before he was shoved away. "Seriously?" Sam scoffed, disgust and anger boiling to the surface of his beautiful features. "You're honestly thinking about sex right now?" He shook his head, stepping towards the exit of the cave. "Fuck you, Danny."

Everything was falling apart. He could feel the seams coming unraveled just as it had a million times before. He stumbled forward, hurriedly trying to catch the other boy as he fled."Sam, Sam wait-" And then it all collided. The rush of his heartbeat like a drum in his ears, the surge of anger, of fear, and the ceaseless scratching clashed together into a crescendo of sensation. Pain, stinging and hot, yanked at his calf as he cried out.

He kicked his foot out on impulse. Something long and thick smashed against the stone. But the pain didn't stop. It came again with a quiet screech, digging fangs into his skin. And then again. A dozen bites, a swarm of agony that enveloped his senses. Danny's body thrashed, trying desperately to free himself from the assailants. At that moment, Sam no longer existed. There were only legs and teeth and the forward thrust of a hive mind desperate to send the intruder to its grave. He could feel his throat seared with a scream that never ended. Feel the stray flick of a tail on his tongue. They were everywhere. Everywhere.

Then came the thought. The single name screamed into the dark with no response.

He's going to leave me here.

But a cold, clammy hand grabbed his wrist, shrieking as the creatures piled onto his flesh. Danny felt his feet yanked out from beneath him, body dragged out into the fading sunlight. And as quickly as the attack began, it ceased. He opened his eyes, unaware that they had been shut, to a world of scalding pain. Above him, the stars seemed to laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jennifer Mizushima

Fate was such a fickle thing, never set in stone for longer than a second. Not even the most well-versed prophets could tell her where she was headed—figuratively speaking.

It had already become apparent just how young and inexperienced she was in the face of humanity's largest unspoken rival. Every imprint she made upon the earth was erased mere seconds later, the resistance of the moist moss beneath her bare feet serving no match to the temporary gravity that stepped forth. What chances did a teenager like herself have against the world that she barely knew, against nature's dormant yet active battalion? On this uncharted island, she saw everything as a threat.

On this uncharted island, everything saw her as a threat.

Jennifer crouched low as she followed the river downstream, eyes trained on the sparkling waters that snaked on a path it knew so well. With every second that ticked on, she felt the sun's heat baking deep into her pores, sweat sinking into her flesh just as they emerged. She dug her hand into the pocket of her shorts and withdrew a small crystal she collected along the river's bank earlier--sharp enough to cut through material that wasn't its own, honed to a point that could pierce even through flesh. As silly as it seemed, she liked to pretend it helped her ward away these strange foreign beings. Surely they must all have a name—just like the streets in her neighbourhood, the idiots in her school, the fields that withstood bloodshed and other historical shit.

No, that didn't matter. Names didn't matter if she wanted to survive. As friendly as some things on this island were, they must all contain some danger.

Such was the case as she suddenly stumbled upon a cave, a roof of stone sloping high over the ground. It was so well concealed behind a curtain of vines draping over the entrance, any other observant trekker might have passed by it altogether. Perhaps for good reason too, she thought, as she laid her hand upon the smooth stone wall, fingers drumming against the million-year-old natural phenomenon. Whatever historical transformation it went through had to render it so fragile, even human tampering would ruin it entirely.

Yet it seemed like the optimal place for shelter, she tried to convince herself. After all, it was so well concealed, no one would even think to bother her. At least here, she'd be alone, hiding away from the self-destructing world.

Jennifer closed her eyes and took a deep inhale, the scent of moist earth laced with urine entering her nose.

"Best place ever," she muttered to herself before striking out into the gloom.

At first glance, the cavern seemed hollow. Slow dripping water drummed a steady rhythm in tiny stone pools in the cave's niches, a nice cool breeze flowing through from time to time. Were all caves like this, or just the ones where no one bothered to step foot? Either way, it was soothing to be down here, away from the glare of the sun, away from the glare of society's dumb norms. Her slow tiptoes soon quickened into a normal walking pace, and soon she broke into a run, diving deeper into the spacious cavern with every step.

That was when she felt the first flare of pain erupt over her left baby toe, and she toppled to the ground in a blind alarm of agony.

"What the..."

Jennifer lifted her foot to get a better look and practically screamed in alarm at the long black creepy-crawly dancing around her skin, its little legs barely brushing over the hairs on her skin now raised in shock. Where its pincers sank into her skin, there was now a dark red mark, tiny enough to pass off as a popped pimple. She screeched again as she kicked the insect away, casting it back into the darkness.

"And stay away!" she snapped, her voice magnifying tenfold as it bounced off the stone walls.

Apparently, her shout had alarmed more than just her, having never heard her voice boom like it would have in an empty sports stadium. Just a few feet ahead of her, she could hear agitated clicks and an angry buzz hum and crescendo, millions of tiny little bugs just like the one she flung off her arm swarming around her. Ants? No. They didn't live in caverns like this. Leeches? This part of the cavern was dry, so it couldn't be possible.

The menacing clicks of the little insect army eventually reached her ears, and she found herself shrieking, wailing, limbs flailing every which way as they clung to her skin like vices, sinking their fangs into what she hoped was only her epidermal layer. Whether the bites brought venom or not, she did not want to know. She raised her crystal and screamed, swiping away as the insects brushed against her skin, invoking agony with every bit of flesh they could feast on. Lines of blood soon mingled with the marks they left behind—a scarlet constellation over every limb of her body—and before long, she had sliced several of those bugs in half, squishing on their carcasses with her bare feet. The rest of them continued to zero in on her, weaving themselves into her scarlet hair, buzzing furiously at this sudden intrusion.

"Stop!" she screamed, backing away and slamming herself into the stone wall. "Leave me alone!"

It was all she could do to stop them from infiltrating her mouth and eyes, tiny feet rousing sheer discomfort the longer they lingered. Fingers groped at the tiny skittering bodies, crushing them hard in a fist only one hand could make. Without a second thought, she crawled to her feet and sprinted out of the cavern, the angry little mob still chasing after her, and as she exited the cavern she grabbed a couple vines and tied one to her waist. She did not dare look down at the state of her arms, her legs, her entire body. She did not dare think about the price she just paid for her stupid decision.

She continued to run, as fast as her swollen feet could carry her, as fast as she could without sending her heart into absolute overdrive, before she saw a pool not too far off. Clear or muddy, she did not know, and she did not care. As she neared the bank, she squeezed her eyes shut and jumped, plunging feet first into the pool with an almighty splash.

The insects flailed away from her flesh into the water, but she couldn't think to seek relief again.

Fate, let me drown. It's time I punched my father in the face from hell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bianca Angelica Colombo

Bianca thought she had a handle on the situation. Her anxiety was under control, she wasn't dead yet, and compared to Sam she was a regular Bear Grylls. Until she met Danny. He was a real man's man, strong, he'd been able to carry Sam across a stream when he protested the water looked like it was infected, probably tall, but gentle too. With a voice as smooth as chocolate. He reminded her of a big dog, like a St. Bernard, a gentle giant if you will. Bianca definitely did. If only her mother could have found more men for her like him. Call her sexist, but she appreciated a strong man. Never mind that he was almost as old as Sam, or that he was married, or that this was technically their honeymoon. Bianca could enjoy listening to him talk for hours, and if it sent shivers down her spine when he guided her around, that was her problem. As long as she didn't act on her desires, things would be fine.

As hot as Danny probably was, he was smart, too. He'd probably been a Boy Scout at some point, or at least done manual labor on the outskirts. His hands, unlike Sam's, were large and calloused, but not in an unpleasant way. More in the, "I'm not a spoiled rich boy", way, which was the way Bianca liked. To cut to the chase, Danny knew what he was doing, which was why Bianca preferred that he guide her. Sam tended to forget that the sky was full of obstacles too, and would let her bang her head into branches and low-hanging trees galore. Or, even worse, he would pull her by the elbow and huff every time she tripped, as if she were a horrible inconvenience. It probably had something to do with the fact that they were stranded on an island with no way to get off, or that Bianca was technically crashing their honeymoon. But Danny was nice and slow, and while the branch he'd eventually found for her was much better than Sam's twig, it could only do so much. Danny didn't talk much, but that was alright. She could usually tell where they were by Sam's commentary. If there were any dangerous predators lurking around, she was sure he'd scared them off by now.

"Oh, god, the ground is just so dirty! Danny, do you know how many bugs I've seen so far? Jesus Christ, it's like this whole damn island's infested!" They'd been walking for the better part of an hour, if the aching in her feet was anything to go by. Sam had started complaining since they'd reunited yesterday, and hadn't left Danny's side since then.

"We're in the jungle, babe. Be lucky we haven't seen a copperhead." Danny's voice was calm, as always. As if being shipwrecked on an undiscovered island hadn't fazed him. "Besides, it's always nice to get away from the city one in a while."

"Maybe," Sam snorted. He had that same whiney quality to his voice as most of Bianca's suitors, the not so subtle undertone that made him sound like a perpetually miffed toddler. "Unlike you two, I don't enjoy wandering aimlessly around the wilderness." Bianca had nearly had it. She hated Sam, first for acting like a child, second for being a spoiled mamma's boy, third for being married to the one man Bianca had ever fancied. And now here he was, questioning their choices when if anyone had the right to lead the group it was Danny. That, plus the fact that he was ableist made him Bianca's least favorite person on the island. Not that she had much to go off of, but still. You get the point.

"The more ground we cover, the more we'll know about our surroundings," Bianca said, maneuvering around a particularly large tree root. The branch that she held was a bit too short, barely touching the ground if she held it at the proper height, and it curved and twisted more than she was comfortable with. But years of using her cane had prepared her, and what obstacles she couldn't see Danny steered her clear of. Sam of course was having none of it.

"Shut up, it's not like you can help us or anything." Bianca should have been offended, but she'd met enough of Sam's type to be used to them by now. "You're lucky you know, you don't have to see the filth that you're walking in. And where are we even going? Am I the only one with common sense around here? We should head back to the shore, that way if a ship passes by they'll see us." At the mention of the beach, Bianca shivered. She wasn't going back there, not if she could help it. No matter how hard it was to navigate, at least no dead bodies were waiting for them in the jungle. Danny must have noticed, because his next words held a sense of finality to them.

"We're not going back, at least, not if we find a shelter." Yet another reason that Bianca loved him. Or at least appreciated him. "Hey," Danny was talking to her now, "the path's getting pretty intense. You sure you're up for walking?" Sam scoffed as he moved ahead.

"It's not that bad." But Bianca wasn't listening to Sam. Her heart was pounding in her ears, even louder than Sam's complaints. Surely Danny wasn't suggesting what she thought he was.

"Is there another option?" She had to work to keep the astonished stutter out of her voice. They'd both stopped, and quicker than you could blink Danny slipped one of his arms under her knees and the other under her back and hoisted her up. Bianca squealed, flailing a little in surprise before she settled down. Danny chuckled, low and dark, before he continued. It was a little uncomfortable, so Bianca wrapped her arms around his neck, cheeks warm and face cast downwards so he wouldn't see. Danny was strong, stronger than she'd first assumed, because he seemed to have no trouble carrying her. Of course, it wasn't like Bianca was super heavy or anything, but she sure wasn't as skinny as those bitches in the magazines her mother aspired to look like. And Danny wasn't even breathing hard. Sam was grumbling a few feet away about having to carry her cane, but Bianca didn't care. All that mattered was her and Danny. The sounds of the tropical birds were almost relaxing, and that plus the sleepless night before and the gentle bouncing of his steps lulled her into a trancelike state.

Bianca did this very rarely. It was an abnormal thing to be sure, the kind of thing that made her mother's friends whisper about behind her back, and the kind of thing her suitors viewed as creepy and horribly unladylike. Bianca rarely had time to, what with the dinner parties and the outings and the sound of the city traffic, but once in a while, she would shut everything else out and just listen. It was calming, relaxing, and much more pleasant than actually thinking about her situation. So, Bianca did what she did best, she payed attention. Sam and Danny were discussing something, but their voices sounded far off and muffled when compared with the sounds of the jungle. Birds were chirping, loud and bold like they didn't care who heard them. There was the sound of a stream nearby, maybe a brook judging by the size. The air was much cooler, probably reaching dusk or at least late afternoon. And the wind, once a nice tropical breeze but now cold and chilly. She could smell rain on the air, could taste it if she concentrated hard enough. And then it hit her, the wet, earthy scent of mud.

Bianca had been so lost in thought that she hadn't realized Danny had set her down until he started walking away. "Don't worry," he said, pausing and placing a furry, round object into her hands. "Sam found some coconuts. There's a cave a few feet away, we're going to check it out. Be back in a jiffy." Her cane was also placed next to her by a very begrudging Sam.

"Don't go anywhere," he said, before giving her a reluctant pat on the shoulder. "We'll be back before you know it." And then he was gone, hurrying after Danny. "I am not spending the night in a cave! It's completely disgusting." His words had an echoing quality, suggesting that they'd already headed inside. But not too deep, she could still hear them.

"Come on, babe." It was Danny. His tone was beseeching, as if he were trying to convince Sam to do something. "It's still our honeymoon. I don't see why the shipwreck has to wreck our marriage." Did that mean? Oh, god, please, anything but that. Bianca might have thought Danny was hot, but she wasn't ready to have to listen to him consummate their marriage within earshot. As much as she sort-of hated breaking up their little reunion, she didn't think she would ever get over it if she let their scene play out. It was embarrassing enough hearing her horribly loud parents when she was seven, she hadn't gotten up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night for the next four years, but imagine now. And then a sickening feeling spread throughout her stomach. Sam had found coconuts. Nope, that was it. This was entirely too inappropriate for the given situation. Bianca stood, clutching her stick and heading towards the mouth of the cave. The floor was hard, maybe compact dirt or stone, but that was all she could tell. Danny and Sam's voices had all but disappeared, suggesting that the cave was probably long. The reverb too, from when the two lovebirds were talking, suggested a wide entrance. Bianca stopped at the mouth of the cave and swept her cane over the floor. Danny had told her it was about five feet, but it didn't hit any obstructions. So, this cave was at least ten feet long. And judging by the way Danny had grunted when he came in, which meant he'd had to stoop down, it was probably a good six feet. That is of course if she was going by the assumption that Danny was a tall man, which she was. Suffice to say, the cave was wide, very long, and not too tall.

Bianca had only taken a few steps in when she felt it. Chills ran up and down her spine, making her shiver. Not in the good way, like when Danny touched her or when there was a nice breeze. It was the kind that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up, and that made you want to run for your father or your shotgun. Whichever was closest, it didn't matter. But Danny and Sam were in here, and she couldn't back down now. Not when she'd felt that chill. There was something sinister in here, something dark, and she didn't want to know what.

She'd only been walking for a minute or two when she heard the scream. She jumped, cane forgotten in her confusion. The scream had been high pitched and terrified, like a little girl's. Sam. Bianca was running blindly towards the source of the noise until she heard something else. The sound of sharp objects striking against stone. Little feet maybe? Hundreds of them. And then, something brushed her leg. Bianca screeched, jumping high enough to crack her head on the ceiling. She fell to her knees, suddenly aware of the fact that she was caneless and guideless in the middle of some godforsaken cave where the only two other people she'd seen were planning to jerk off in a couple of coconuts. Not to mention the thing that touched her. Maybe a snake? No, it didn't slither like one. It had walked, on surprisingly short legs, but it had walked nonetheless. Bianca was bleeding, could feel the blood dripping down her forehead and into her mouth. She screamed again, wiping it away as fast as she could, but it kept coming. Her whole face was covered in it, and maybe she should have stayed out of the cave. The thing brushed her leg again, quick, too quick for her to catch it. In fact, everything was too quick for her. It was like she was moving through jello, or like God had hit the slo-mo button. Maybe he had. Who was she to know? Vaguely she remembered a reason for her being here. It was right there, on the tip of her tongue. Shelter? Right, shelter. She'd come here to find solace from the rain. And that was good, because now Bianca was very tired. She was sure no one would mind if she just lay down for a quick nap, right? But there was that blood again, she couldn't sleep if there was blood on her face. She had to get it off, she just had too.

It wasn't until someone had begun speaking to her that she realized her hearing was blown to shit. Funny, she didn't remember being exploded. When had that happened? Was it before or after her nap? It didn't really matter because seconds later strong arms were lifting her up and they were running. Whoever had picked her up seemed nice enough, muscly, warm. He smelled nice too, like coconuts. Hey, Bianca had a coconut. She lost it a while ago, but it was probably where she'd left it. She tried to tell the man to put her down, and when he didn't she struggled a little. She stopped after a while, her movements too slow and lethargic to be any real help. But she'd left her coconut, and her cane too. This nice man smelled like coconuts, so he'd probably have some for her. Bianca settled for wrapping her legs tighter around his waist and her arms around his neck, burying her face in Coconut Man's shirt. She remembered being carried like this when she was a baby, and although she wasn't a baby anymore it felt nice nonetheless.

Coconut Man finally stopped after what seemed like forever. He was panting, out of breath, and with a squeal of delight Bianca realized that her hearing had returned partially. It was then she noticed the other man, his breathing just as hard as the first. Bianca was deposited on a big rock by Coconut Man, and she strained to listen to him and the other man's conversation.

"-was I supposed to know?" Coconut Man asked. Bianca knew it was him because he sounded nice, like a proper Coconut Man should.

"Maybe we should have checked the fucking cave for giant bugs before you tried to fuck me in it!" This was the other man, because he didn't sound nearly as nice as the Coconut Man.

"Well, we're almost to the beach. I'm sure they won't follow us here." Coconut Man again. Grumpy Man moaned and bit back a curse. "Hey, are you okay?" Grumpy Man was screaming by now, and Bianca covered her ears. She didn't like to hear people scream. "Sam, what happened?" The sound was muffled again, but Bianca heard it clear as day. Her hands were doing no good so she dropped them down to her sides. "Oh, shit, it bit you, didn't it?" Grumpy Man's scream was agonizing, and Bianca might have felt sorry for him if she wasn't so tired. She tried to lie down on the rock, but it was too small and she tumbled over the edge, landing face first in the dirt. The sound of the ocean was calling to her, telling her to sleep. To forget everything and float into oblivion. And for once in her life, Bianca obeyed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Holly Newman

CENTIPEDE FOOD

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enrique Rivera

CIRRHOSIS OF THE LIVER

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elliot Baris

WENT DOWN WITH THE SHIP

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adrian Lovett

My footsteps were clumsy and weighted as I walked. While my leg had somewhat recovered from whatever happened to it, it was still barely better than deadweight. I would huff in annoyance, but opening my mouth only reminded me of how dehydrated I truly was. My tongue felt like sandpaper every time it moved, so I did my best to never move it.

The sun had risen early, and shone right in my face. I didn't know I had fallen asleep until the stupid ball of light in the sky reminded me that tomorrow, or today or whatever, existed. Turning onto my side didn't work, since the sun seemed to be everywhere, and my stomach growled angrily. It rumbled so deeply, as if to mock me for those berries I had eaten last night. Finally, and begrudgingly, I took to my feet and moved on.

The shelter I made was in shambles. Whatever weather I had managed to sleep through knocked it over. Because of course it did. I kicked sand onto the mess of leaves and sticks, and whatever was standing collapsed.

So here I was, in the forest. Hungry, dehydrated and injured. If I believed in any deities, I might fall to my knees and pray for some sort of salvation... but, even if I did, what were the chances of that ever working?

Slim to none.

The jungle was just as uninviting as it was yesterday. I felt the looming presence that seemed determined to stalk me, and freak me out. Every now and then I would whip my head around over my shoulder to try and find some hint of another living thing. Nothing but green trees and brown dirt. After the first time, I would flip the forest the bird. Maybe it would egg whoever on to face me. But mostly, it just made me feel better.

I hate to say it, but...Fuck this forest, man.

A sharp prick on my arm shot me out of my miserable grumblings. I automatically swatted at it, and opened up my hand to inspect whatever I had hit. A mosquito. Fantastic. Nature really was trying to kill me here. I have to get out of this jungle, it's about ten pounds of nope in a two pound bag.

I swerved to my left, trying to head back towards the beach. I hadn't gotten that deep into the trees, wanting an easy escape back into the open. Maybe even try to swim away? It really didn't make sense the more I thought about it, but it felt better than just wondering aimlessly.

The beach should have been right ahead, and yet, it wasn't. I frowned as I continued. No beach, no pristine white sands. Just mucky, disgusting swamp looking muddy ground. I growled to myself in frustration, and pushed forward. Each footstep became more difficult. Damn, stupid sprained ankle.

But that wasn't right. Each footstep was getting harder. I couldn't raise my legs very high, and... were my feet always that heavy? What a dumb question, I know but I don't remember my feet being this hard to raise and put down. Was I suddenly a toddler now too?

I looked down, and tada! I didn't have feet anymore. Instead, my legs ended in two clumpy muddy stumps. That would explain the heaviness, at least. What I couldn't understand was when the mud had gotten so high. I turned back to where I had come from and found that the ground had slowly dipped down.

I was now in the middle of a swamp. Knee-deep, in fact. What a day to be alive, truly.

I spun around and trekked back to the jungle part of the island. I would take someone or something I can't see in the jungle over not seeing a damn thing in this swamp.

The beach should now be to my right. So, once I was a good distance into the trees, I made a hard right turn. I didn't care that the greenery got thick, and it pricked and cut and scraped against my skin. Whatever it took to get my feet back in the sand.

I heard it long before I saw it. The gentle swish and crash of waves. Without thinking, my pace quickened and I crashed through some branches onto the sands. It dug into my skin but I didn't care. Sand had flown into my mouth, but I didn't stop moving. I spat it out as my feet hit the water. A plume of dirt puffed around where I stood. With a sigh, I set to work.

The next hour I spent meticulously scrubbing myself free of... well everything. Mud, rocks, twigs, even some thorns had found their way onto my person. With a wave of its waters, the ocean took it all away. The only thing to make it better would be another crate, preferably one that I could open, and one full of waters and food. The kitchen staff's signature porkchops with mashed potatoes and green beans would do nicely right about now.

I stretched out onto the sand, to bask in the warm sun for a moment. I was about to lay down completely when I heard a clicking noise. It was faint, but sharp. I shot to a sitting position and looked around. To my left was an empty beach, full of the same sand and ocean and tree lines I was (unfortunately) getting used to. To my right, however....

Sweet merciful baby Jesus in a manger.

Maybe there IS a God.

Down the beach, a good quarter mile was a cave. It was open to the ocean, but looked cool and damp, away from the sun's harsh rays. But most importantly, sitting innocently in the mouth of it was another crate. This one looked almost pristine and untouched by the ocean.

I scrambled to my feet and nearly sprinted to it. I couldn't, of course, but damn did I try. The thing was a heaven-sent gift, and I would praise whatever deity in hopes for karma points for another. As I approached, I could see that the box really was in top condition, all except for the back corner inside the cave. It had been pried open, almost enough for me to stick my arm through it. With a little more work, it would be perfect.

My eyes scanned the cave before I took a step in. It was a homely thing, if caves could be called that. It was dark and cool, made of a dark stone that seemed to shun the sun. After the first few feet of eroded stone, it turned incredibly smooth. Untouched save for the wind. Which did not howl through its walls. This place would be perfect for a place to sleep tonight, I noted as I turned to look outside. The sun was starting to dip down. If I had to guess it was about 2pm.

There was nothing to be afraid of. So, I stepped inside and inspected the opening closer. If I really wanted to, I could just reach in, but prying it farther would be the better option here. Exiting the cave, I found a sturdy branch, and set to work.

Angling the branch, I pushed my weight onto it. The box groaned and bent a little but didn't really move. I huffed, placing my sweaty hand onto the cool rock around me. With a quick swipe down, I rubbed the sweat away and went to work again.

That's when I heard another click. I whipped around and scanned the dark cave. There was nothing there. Maybe I was just going insane. That couldn't be written off just yet.

After what felt like an eternity, the box groaned and snapped. The corner broke off, leaving behind a triangle shaped hole. It was plenty big enough for me to stick my full arm into it. So, I got to one knee, and dug. Inside, I felt plastic bottles. Water! Yes, thank you, deity! I guess I could just call you God.

I yanked one out and chugged it. It tasted like heaven itself as it washed away all the grit in my mouth. Did I swallow it? Yes, but who cares. I wasn't going to die anymore.

I took out a few more and slipped them into my leg sling. It was an awkward fit, but they would sit there until I found, or I guess made, something to carry them in. In my arm went and I searched again. I felt a plastic surface. It crinkled, and it sounded like a chorus of angels. There was food in here too!

Only for it to be interrupted by another clicking sound. Annoyed, I turned once again. This time, however, I saw them. A dozen or so bugs. They had a thousand little wiggling legs that they were using to slowly crawl in my direction.

"Ew." A great choice for my first word today, if I do say so myself. The bugs continued my way. One in particular was faster than its buddies and it made its way onto my foot. I flicked at it. It held on. It raised its devilish little head and chomped down onto my toe.

Pain shot through my leg so fast it seized up. I shouted so many terrible curses that would put my mother to shame. I swatted at my foot and squashed the sucker. Only to find that three more had nearly made it to me.

The decision I had to make was the worst one of my life. Try to grab the food before running, almost guaranteed to be bitten. Or to flee and hope I'm quick enough.

My foot was now throbbing with a constantly flaring pain. I thought the original sprain had been bad? I would take that any day right about now. I shouted out my rage, and made my decision.

I ran.

The little pitter patter of their thousands of feet behind me was unsettling. I took a glance behind me. Their ranks had gone from a dozen to a couple hundred in an instant. I swore and ran. With one foot sprained and the other in agonizing pain from a stupid bug bite. I'm sure I made quite the sight.

Like an idiot from a horror film, I ran and went to the first exit I saw... The ocean. With barely a moment to lose, I sucked in a breath and dove in. I kicked and floundered until I couldn't hold my breath anymore. As I surfaced, I turned around and sucked in another breathe. I hadn't made it nearly as far as I had hoped. The swarm of critters were trying to come after me.

"Son of a bitch." I grimaced. My sprained foot felt weightless and fine under water. The one with the bite, the salt water was doing it no favors.

I didn't trust them being out of my sight, so I swam backwards. They didn't make any headway on me, and thank God for that. But they were still coming for me in a thick black cloud in the water. I didn't know how much more I could tread water, my entire body was starting to cramp painfully.

A few feet away the first of them stopped and just continued to float. A dozen more joined the first, creating a small barrier between me and the rest. The swarm paused, stopping as if they were staring.

Then, as one, they turned and swam back to the shore. Well, most of them. A few continued, but they joined the rest of the clump. Every now and then, a few would stop and just float from the retreating mass. The ones that survived the swim scuttled back into their cave, and the beach was still once again.

Now, before me, was a landmine of those bastards. I want to assume they were dead, but I couldn't be sure. So, I dove down and swam just under the surface, until I couldn't. You can't run halfway in water, especially into sand. But I tried. I paddled my arms around, trying to push the creepy critters away from me. I thought I was home free until I felt it.

One of them was still somewhat alive, and had clamped onto my hip. Fan-freaking-tastic.

Second verse, same as the first. I swatted at it, and ran. I ran to my right, as far away from the cave as possible. My legs pumped, my heart pounded and my breathing was erratic and funny. I kept going until I felt ready to drop, and heaven must have really smiled on me. Cause just in the distance, to my left, was my original shelter. It was just as messy and pathetic as when I left it this morning. But it would have to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Augustus Menenzes

SUBJECTED TO AMERICAN HEALTHCARE

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MJ Williams

There were many things to get excited about in this cave, assuming you're the sort of person to get excited about caves. Its single kidney-bean-shaped room was large but still cozy, maybe about 25 to 30 metres from end to end. It was dry, which meant it lacked the usual dank smell you might associate with caves. The walls and floor were smooth and rounded, giving it a much more inviting look than caves with many sharp edges tend to have. The cave was also strangely devoid of tenants, specifically of the large, carnivorous kind. As any person with any expertise in caves will tell you, these things are all objectively good things.

However, there was something else about this particular cave that caught the attention of our intrepid adventurers. This cave had great lighting. Not because of the white light from the full moon outside bouncing in from the floor of the cave entrance, or unexplained wall sconces mysteriously lit by the powers that be who were preoccupied with level design. No, this cave was much more spectacular than that, because it was the home to a unique species of bioluminescent moss that emitted a blue-green light. The moss interspersed all the walls and floors of the room, recreating the night sky all around MJ and Willow and bathing them in a soft turquoise glow.

"Wow," MJ mouthed in awe as she looked around the room. She looked over at the similarly quiet Willow; her wide eyes followed the moss on the ceiling with a childlike wonder that was rare for the ex-secret agent.

Once Willow noticed her friend watching her, she looked away with a faint blush. "What?" she croaked, and cleared her throat. "Whatever. Anyway, this is a good spot. It's dry, it's protected, and it looks like it'll keep us safe during storms."

MJ stifled a chuckled and moved to the closest wall. She ran her hands lightly over the glowing moss. It was soft, and cool, and just a bit sticky to the touch. She carefully removed a small chunk and placed it in her palm, where it emmanated a soft blue-green glow on her fingers. She poked it and it bounced back immediately, like a tiny cushion for fairies or mice or something equally small and cute. She pulled off a tiny bit and offered it to her bird; Sharkbait nibbled it, then quickly spat it out with a large squawk and a disgruntled feather ruffle.

MJ called out to Willow, "Yeah, I definitely still want a cottage on the beach, and a treehouse out in the jungle somewhere, but this will make for a really nice third home," as she pocketed the moss in her bag.

It had been several days since arriving on their new tropical island home, and MJ and Willow had spent their time tentatively exploring their surroundings for a more permanent housing situation. In that time they had had little luck, although the two did find some more goodies that had washed ashore. Nothing too exciting, but they did find some beach towels which they cobbled together into bags that were now slung over their shoulders. They only carried the essentials, of course: Willow had some food, water, matches, and her beloved knife, while MJ carried more food, foraged birdseed, and her bottle of whiskey that she had done very well not to scull in one go (at Willow's behest).

Speaking of, she snuck another small gulp as Willow's voice echoed back to her from the other side of the cavern, "Hey, have you seen this?"

"Hmm?" MJ hmmed back as she wiped the remaining moss off her hands and strolled over to Willow. "What is it?"

Willow was standing next to a singular dark shadow at the back of the cave. As MJ got closer, she could see that the stretch was not just a blank patch of wall, but an opening to a passage just large enough for a person to pass through. Willow gestured to the opening. "Our third home might be bigger than we thought."

MJ gave her a smile that, even in the dim light, clearly spelled troubled. "We should check it out."

"How exactly do you plan on 'checking it out'?" she said, folding her arms. "It's fucking pitch black down there, and we only have a very limited number of small matches."

MJ stepped back and rubbed her chin, looking around the room. "You've got a point— Ooh, I know!" Without any further explanation, she rushed out of the cave and into the cool jungle. Willow sighed and investigated the cave some more, perhaps wishing her best friend wasn't like this (although some may argue that she would be bored if her friends were less interesting). No more than a minute later, MJ returned with too relatively straight, thick branches no longer than your arm. With an impish grin, she hurried to a cluster of moss on the wall and secured clumps of the luminescent plant onto one end of each stick with bits of cotton salvaged from her clothes. She rushed to Willow with maybe a bit more pride than justified and presented her creations. "Ha! Island-style torches, patent pending."

Willow took one and waved it around. "I'll admit, it's cute," she said, the ball of blue-green glow at the end of the stick bobbing and weaving as if it were dancing on its own. She pointed it towards the passage. "It's not very bright, though. Unless—" She shoved the stick back into MJ's surprised hands and dug the box of matches out of her bag. "This better work, or I'm wasting on of these for nothing," she mumbled under her breath. With a flick of the wrist, she lit a match, and the two held their breath as the tiny flame took hold and flickered on its tiny perch. Slowly, and with a lot of care, Willow brought the flame to one of the moss-covered ends of the stick and—

Fwomp! In an instant, the flame engulfed the moss, creating a much larger fire that crackled and burnt in much the same way an actual torch would. MJ laughed and shook the torch a little to check that the fire wasn't going anywhere, and Willow smiled a very pleased-with-herself smile in response. "I had a feeling the moss would be flammable."

"What?" MJ bawked. "You? Wasting precious resources based on optimistic feelings? You really need to watch how much sea water you drink, you know that, Willow?" she teased as she nudged her friend playfully on the arm. Willow only rolled her eyes, trying (and failing) to hide her smile as she snatched the lit torch from MJ's hands and marched down the dark corridor. "Hey, wait up!"

MJ lit her own torch and followed after her friend. It was incredibly ominous, the way the glow of the moss behind them completely cut off the moment she stepped through the gap. Squeezing through the gap wasn't particularly pleasant, with jagged edges jutting out of the wall at weird angles forcing MJ to squeeze through. Thankfully, however, the passage immediately widened to a size that could comfortably fit two friends and a bird walking side-by-side without brushing the edges. The texture of the walls had completely changed, though. They were noticeably more black in colour and was made up of hundreds of small, smooth bumps, as if the walls had scales. When MJ caught up to Willow, she remarked, an echo stretching her voice down the passage, "This is a weird cave, right? That's not just me?"

Willow looked back over her shoulder. "How did you light that?" she asked, her eyes suspicious and her voice accusing.

MJ tried to look confused as she sidled up to Willow, but her smile betrayed her. "What? Didn't I tell you about this?" She grabbed a small, steel lighter from her bag and help it up to the torch light.

Willow stopped in her tracks. "No, you did not tell me about that."

"Huh, must of forgot," MJ shrugged, smiling slyly. Willow's hard stare was unrelenting. "You remember that bartender guy from the first day on the cruise? Called Eric? He was one of the survivors. Seemed totally different, though. He was all sad and quiet, nowhere near as friendly as he was on the ship. He really did not seem to be adjusting to well... Anyway, I nicked his lighter."

Willow considered MJ's words. "Does he know you have it?"

"Nah, of course not! He probably won't even notice it's gone. Besides, I've done him a favour. Smoking kills, you know," she said with a grin.

Willow thought for a moment longer before smirking. "You smug bastard. Well, I'm not about to complain about having more ways to start a fire. Better us than him." She turned and continued walking down the dark tunnel. "So is that what you think 'reconnaissance' is?" she asked over her shoulder. "Stealing things?"

MJ fell into step close behind. "'Course not. I was mostly just chatting, sussing out where everyone else is at."

"And? What did you learn?"

"A fair bit, actually. There's only about a dozen people here. It's weird, I swear all of the passengers on that cruise ship were old people but most of the others are young and, like, insanely hot. It's like we've stumbled onto some weird mash-up of Survivor and The Bachelor, but none of the contestants want to flirt with me. The captain survived, which is nice to see, he's a good bloke. No sight of the head of navigation, thank Kevin. Cindy was a piece of work and in the few days I worked with her she didn't listen to me at all."

"I can't imagine why," Willow mumbled.

"There's also a blind girl, she's sticking with a married couple. Did you know that there's a married couple on the island? Sam and Danny. They're not very fun, though. Don't seem very into each other. I'm almost certain they got married for a tax scam. D'ya remember that time we got married for a tax scam? Man, those were fun times."

"Oh yeah, the assassination attempt from the yoga instructor at the couples retreat was so fucking fun."

"You wouldn't know fun if it tried to strangle you with a yoga mat. And neither would any of the survivors, they're all too busy being sad sacks to enjoy themselves. I definitely won't miss them when they leave or die or whatever it is they plan on doing." MJ paused. "Except Arnie. He's the only one out of that whole mob you would actually have a good yarn with me. He's so adorable and Irish, although he could not handle the whiskey, I'll tell you that. But he's so funny! I don't know why you're so suspicious of that kid."

"How do you not see how suspicious he is?" Willow replied, a bit louder than necessary. MJ could practically hear her paranoia-brain kick into overdrive. "He also works entertainment, he's not a very good comedian, and he joined the crew at the last minute after we did! It just makes sense that he's an assassin!"

The pair continued to bicker as they walked down the twisting tunnel, deeper into the cave. If they had stopped the incessant squabbling for one moment and been a little bit more careful, they may have noticed that the passage of the cave they found themselves in was too comfortable to stand in, and too easy to navigate, for a cave with no inhabitants.

However, that would be expecting too much of them.

Before they knew it, MJ and Willow had reached the light at the end of the tunnel, in both a metaphorical and literal sense, as the passage widened gradually until opening up into a frankly enormous cavern. The pair's jaws dropped as they stepped into the open room. They had clearly travelled quite a bit downwards, or they had found themselves in the heart of a mountain, because the cavern went about 100 metres up before giving way to the night sky. MJ breathed a sigh of relief at the cool air and gentle moonlight streaming down; a comforting sign that the outside world hadn't gone anywhere while they were spelunking. The luminescent moss had reappeared to MJ's delight, dotting the large expanses of walls and somehow twinkling on and off so that the stars in the sky above stretched down to MJ and Willow's feet.

"Woah," they exhaled in unison.

But they weren't marvelling at the walls. They were marvelling at the centre of the cavern, for there stood a grand structure unlike anything they had ever seen. A great stalagmite grew from the centre of the room, twisting and bending and branching off to different parts of the cavern, more akin to a tree than a rock formation. Maybe this was appropriate, because the structure was not made of stone: It looked to be entirely crystalline. Natural, clear crystals of grading colours and sizes blended together all throughout the trunk and branches of the diamond tree. This alone would make for the most magnificent view either had ever seen in their lives, but the addition of the full moon's gleam reflecting throughout the structure tipped the whole experience right over to literally breathtaking.

The two stumbled almost drunkenly towards the tree, eventually standing close enough that they were both within arms reach of the precious stone.

"How is this even possible?" Willow whispered, lightly rapping her knuckles against it.

"I have no clue, but it's almost a shame that we want to stay here because we could definitely sell the island for a killing now."

Willow turned to MJ, leaning against the tree with her hand. "Don't be ridiculous... Although we could sell parts of the gems OH FUCK!"

With the reflexes of an ex-secret agent wanted by most global superpowers, Willow pulled her hand away from the tree, swiftly striking the crystalline tree again with the back of her hand. The stone was fine, but the centipede splattered onto it was not.

"FUCK FUCK FUCK SHITTING FUCK ON A MOTHERFUCKING JESUS CHRIST—" Willow yelled as she shook her hand and cradled it into her body. MJ jumped to her side.

"Hey! Slow down, what happened!?"

"The motherfucker bit me!" She held her hand out for MJ to see.

"Ew." The bite mark on the back of Willow's hand was itself small, but the flesh around it was already swollen and bruised. Willow pulled her hand back and continued her train of expletives, throwing in a few fun Chinese words that MJ definitely recognised. She slung her free arm around Willow. "Come on, we should head... Out..."

No sooner had MJ looked at the exit did she wish that she really hadn't, because she very quickly learnt that the centipede that bit Willow was not alone by a long shot. Looking now, MJ was suddenly aware of the millions of little black centipedes carpeting every cave surface in view, crawling and wriggling their way towards the women. A quick glance to the sides confirmed her suspicions that this was an attack from all sides.

Willow clearly noticed as well, because her string of swears quickly went quiet, and then very very loud again.

The two jumped back-to-back by sheer instinct and held out the only weapons they had: Their moss torches. By some incredible (arguably undeserved) gift of divine intervention, the two had stumbled across maybe the one thing that could hold back the oncoming hordes. As the two waved their torches, the centipedes closest to them crawled up and turned in on themselves, twisting and writhing until they were swallowed back into the horde.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck," Willow said with passion. "What do we do?"

"Don't worry," MJ laughed, not letting any concern show in her voice. "This is nothing compared to that time with the piranhas in the Orinoco."

"You were nearly eaten alive in Orinoco!"

"But I wasn't in the end!" She waved the torch around some more, watching the way the centipedes literally bent over backwards to avoid being near the flame. "Look, they avoid the fire. If we stay back to back like this, we should be able to just waltz out of here."

Willow breathed heavily behind her. "Okay. Okay. We can do that."

Just as they started coordinating their movements, the room started growing darker. And darker. And darker still. MJ only just caught a peak of the moon directly above them before it was completely blanketed by a shadowy cloud and the cavern was plunged into darkness. The only sources of light left were the slight glow from the moss and the yellow blaze from the torches. The swarm was now hidden completely in the darkness, which actually brought MJ a level of comfort.

"Shit."

"No, we'll be right," MJ said, using her most reassuring voice. "As long as we've got fire, they can't get us."

A Crack! of thunder rang out above them, and before they knew it a downpour of rain was drenching them and their belongings. They could do nothing but watch as their torches unceremoniously fizzled out and the room was completely cast into blackness.

"Plan's changed. RUN!"

And that they did. With no time to think of anything at all, they sprinted towards tunnel they came from and ran for their lives. In their panicked brains, they didn't even question the twinkling moss that had sprung up in spots along the previously pitch-black tunnels that now lit their way way to salvation (In this regard, it's probably for the best that they didn't stop and think, or they surely would have come to the horrifying conclusion that the moss was there the whole time and was just covered up by an unending number centipedes trying to avoid the torches).

For an eternity, MJ and Willow ran, legs pumping, lungs aching, a taste of spit and bile building in their mouths. They darted and swerved down the tunnels, bugs squelching under every step and only narrowly avoiding being bit by those that fell from the ceiling. They were gaining distance, but slowly, and never enough to be safe. The swarm was hot on their heels, their tiny individual legs only helped by their sheer numbers, allowing them to follow in a tidal wave of arthropods. The swarm knew that this feast would not feed them all, not by a long shot, but boy was it hungry.

But it was okay. MJ and Willow were nearing the end! They weren't far now, just a couple more turns. MJ could barely think, she was so exhausted. A glance at Willow told her it wasn't the case for her friend. She may be out of practice, but Willow still had the athleticism and training of a spy, and she didn't look like she was stopping anytime soon. Willow would be fine. But what about her? MJ's muscles were going to give way soon, and she wouldn't put it past the swarm to follow them into the jungle and finish the job. She needed to stop them. How? A cave in? A flame thrower? An explosion?

"That'll do," she breathed, grabbing her whiskey and the lighter from her bag with one hand while she wriggled her bandana out of her hair with the other.

As they reached the final stretch, the soft glow of the first cave room in the distance, MJ slowed to a jog and looked back again. The bulk of the swarm hadn't turned the corner yet, she had a moment.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Willow gasped between pants. "We need to go!"

"I need to do something," MJ wheezed, "I'll be fine. Just keep going."

"What!? You're going to—"

"Trust me. Keep going!"

Willow threw her a concerned look, but nodded quickly in understanding. She picked up her pace and flew down the hall, reaching the end of the passage in no time flat and leaving MJ's sight.

MJ quickly got to work with the objects in her hands, creating a Molotov cocktail in a matter of seconds (a practiced skill) while waiting for the swarm to appear.

And appear it did. From around the corner, the swarm lurched into view, albeit a little different. It would seem that the fastest of the swarm were trying so hard to crawl over their brethren that they had broken off into their own clump, and large writhing sphere just the right size to fit down the tunnel. The living mass knocked into wall, then started rolling towards MJ with increasing speed.

"Crikey," MJ gasped. She took a few steps back and then broke into a run towards the exit, her knuckles going white around the weaponised glass bottle in her hands. She had just enough brainpower to hear the Indiana Jones theme to play in her mind and she charged down the way. She stopped short of the leaving the tunnel, wrenched her arm back, and threw the bottle with all her might at the moving target.

The bottle arced in the air, spinning in slow motion with a flaming-bandana trial giving a fantastic light trail. MJ didn't watch as it collided with the mass (she knew better than that by now).

Maybe it was the high fat content of the centipedes. Maybe there was something weird in the alcohol. Maybe whatever omniscient presence that resided at the heart of the island just wanted to fuck with them. It certainly didn't help that the walls were lined with a highly flammable moss. However, MJ knew that cheap whiskey like that shouldn't have made an explosion that large.

The sudden force of heat and light propelled her forward, throwing her forward through that last gap separating the first area of the cave and the tunnel system beneath. A chorus of pained screes rang out behind her as the centipedes were burnt to a crisp. Smoke started pouring out of the gap, and MJ stumbled out of the cave coughing and wheezing.

She collapsed to her knees, smiling at the fresh breeze and wet dirt beneath her. She barely had time to process Willow slamming into her and tackling her to the ground. "Drop and roll! Drop and roll!" MJ scrambled, pushing the blonde hair out of her face and spitting mud out of her mouth as Willow rolled her over a couple times in the dirt. Eventually, they both stilled, breathing heavily, and Willow helped MJ over to the side of the cave. They both sat up, leaning against the rock. Sharkbait swooped down and took his place next to MJ, a centipede corpse in his beak.

"Are you okay?" Willow finally asked after a long pause.

MJ waved her off. "Yeah, nah, I'm fine."

Willow rolled her eyes and pointed to MJ's arm. "You're bleeding."

MJ looked at the dirty big cut on her arm. It must have happened after throwing the cocktail. "Ow."

"Did you do what I think you did?"

MJ laughed somewhat deliriously. "Yup, Molotov cocktail." Willow stared at her with her typical stern expression, but she couldn't keep the facade up in her exhausted state. Soon enough, the two were wracked with fits of laughter that pierced the cool night air around them.

A rustle in the bushes momentarily quieted them, when they saw two figures step out into the clearing in front of the cave. Standing in the moonlight, MJ could see that they were two of the other survivors, the Michelsons.

"G'day guys!" MJ called. "Willow, this is the married couple I was talking about." Willow nudged her sharply in the side. If she had more energy, she might have tried scaring them off with her knife.

"Is everything okay? We heard an explosion and laughter," one of them called back, walking ahead towards them. The other man stayed behind.

"Yeah, mate, we're good." The man walked up closer into view, and MJ identified him as 'the hotter one' in her head. She could clearly see the confusion on his face, and really, could she blame him. MJ and Willow were drenched in rain and sweat, puffed out and red faced, laughing their heads off in the dark. MJ was bleeding and singed, her messy hair tossed up in an absolute state without the bandana tying it back, and Willow's hand was swollen and red. Smoke was billowing out of the cave beside them. "You know, this is a great spot if you're looking for somewhere private," MJ smirked, nodding toward the cave entrance. "I'm sure it'll really spice up your relationship," she added with a wink.

The man paused, then opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. With a slow shake of the head, he turned and walked back to his husband, gabbing his hand and leading him away into the bush.

MJ and Willow burst out into uncontrollable giggles once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Willow Zheng

All things considered, there were a number of things that might have been wrong with the cave. There was the possibility of bears, which was frightening; there was the possibility of tigers, which was also frightening but also, frankly, really fucking awesome and her preferred way to go; there was the possibility of some freak occurence of nature like flooding or falling rocks or sulfur deposits, although none of that was likely to happen unless the cave went a hell of a lot deeper than it looked and made a sudden left turn into hell—and it looked pretty damn deep. There was the possibility of bad air, although they'd salvaged a pair of their gas masks if worst came to worst, although that also wouldn't do them any good if they didn't figure it out until it was too late—

"Do you think there are ghosts in this cave?"

"You need to stop with the ghosts." At least ghosts wasn't on the list of things that might've been wrong with the cave. Even in the worst of worst case scenarios, she could take some comfort in the fact that she didn't have to worry about no stinkin' ghosts. Willow cast a nervous glance back; the cave entrance was a distant pinprick of cold light that seemed to be sloping disconcertingly downward to reach them, and the thin strip of cave floor that was still lit had grown progressively more damp and glossy the deeper they delved into darkness. She took a cautious breath: cold and a little wet, but in a fresh way and not a moldy way. She held out her hand. Water trickled onto her palm. "Could be drinkable, although we're not deep enough for it to be filtered properly through the rocks. It's running, though, and not...uh, what's the—stagnant, that's it." Absentmindedly, she batted Sharkbait away. Stupid bird was going to get himself killed. "Safer than puddles. We've got...how much have we got, MJ?" Willow could vaguely remember having water when they'd packed up camp and set off in search of resources earlier that morning, but given that they'd been able to pack up camp (read: literally everything) save the raft in their two backpacks, they probably didn't have a lot. "MJ, how much do we have?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Water." They had water, didn't they? "MJ, how much water do we have?!"

"The gallon jug." MJ was the barest outline of a frizzy-haired shadow in the darkness before her, and sounded uncharacteristically terse as she reached back to pat at her pack. "Willow, you need to calm down."

"You need to freak out," she muttered back darkly. The mouth of the cave—and a fair bit of the cave past it, for that matter—had been dry, clean, and well-lit. The roof of it extended out far enough to make for makeshift protection against the worst of the elements. So long as they didn't venture too far in and the cave didn't go too far further down, maybe they could live in it—although maybe it'd be better if the cave did go further down because it was more likely to contain a spring or some sort of consistent water source, or maybe it'd be worse if the cave went further down because it was more likely to be structurally unstable or contain a horde of unfriendly bats—

"I am freaking out." What the hell was her friend going on about? "I'm claustrophobic, remember? What I need is to calm down. We both need to calm down. At the very least, one of us needs to calm down, otherwise we reach critical Willow mass and we can't both be Willow, Willow, or we're going to die here consumed by our own indecision and paranoia the way Willows do when they're unattended."

It was probably a sign of how poorly things were going that MJ made sense; as a matter of fact, she was starting to sound disconcertingly like Willow's running internal monologue. Oh God. They did need to calm down. Willow reached out tentatively and patted awkwardly and blindly toward the fuzzy blob of her friend. "There, there." And suddenly she was faced with the very terrifying prospect of being the MJ of the situation. She wasn't used to being the MJ, god damn it; there was a reason God had given her the name 'Willow', and it wasn't just because the government had chosen it for her when they'd printed her American passport. Maybe it was. Whatever. Focus. What would MJ do in their situation, besides freaking out? "...She'll be right, mate?"

"Will she?" MJ muttered darkly.

"She will." She'd better be. Willow blinked her eyes open and shut a few times, trying to force them to adjust to the darkness through sheer force of will. Even so, she could barely make out the craggly curves in the cavernous walls surrounding them. "Shut up a second. Listen, and you can make it out, can't you?"

They listened.

"...What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Water." Aside from the disconcertingly loud clicking of tropical wildlife, there was the sound of water splattering against the rocks loudly enough to drown out the sparse trickles from the ceiling. If she squinted (or, you know, did the ear-equivalent of squinting), she could filter out a distant burble reminiscent of a child blowing bubbles through a straw. "There's water somewhere nearby—"

"Yeah, it's running down my pants right now."

"—no, not just gross ceiling water. There's a water source." A spring of some sort, that was their best bet. "A freshwater source without biological contaminants. No more carving up trees and praying to Confucious."

"What kind of Chinese person are you?"

It'd probably be a little less funny if she hadn't actually heard that joke from foreigners before. "Shelter and water in one fell swoop, Sheila."

"Look at me." Kind of an impossibility, but MJ's teeth were chattering hard enough through her words that she made her point. "What makes you think I can live in this thing?"

The fact that the alternative was a raft they'd propped up between two trees in the forest. The prospect of huddling under a palm frond and wringing water through their shirts before they could even consider boiling it before they could even consider drinking it. The reality that Willow would throw MJ off a cliff before she passed up the only viable source of shelter on the entire goddamn island. Those were all things Willow would have said but wasn't allowed to say because she was too busy being MJ. Jesus, being MJ was the worst. "Well, you'd only have to live in the first few feet of it..."

There was a moment of silence, save for the rattling of bugs outside the cave and the thick splash of water somewhere nearby, while MJ considered it. "...The first few feet were okay," she conceded reluctantly. "Wide. Warm. Dry. Not claustrophobic. Like a Welsh grandmother's hug goodbye after a traditional Christmas dinner. Comforting, not uncomfortable."

"What?"

"Cut me some slack, I'm nervous." MJ pulled her jacket closer against her body, considering. "...Alright, I'll live in it." She sighed gustily. "And we'll just avoid the creepy part of the cave. We can probably make it decently far without the spooky cave water, give or take a few weeks—"

"No, I'm saying I'll get the water, dummy." Willow had the sudden alien urge to reach out into the darkness and ruffle her friend's hair. When could MJ go back to being MJ so she could go back to being Willow? Did she sound affectionate? Disgusting. Would they be stuck like this if they didn't switch back soon?

MJ stared at her—or, at the very least, her shadow turned to presumably face her direction—before she sighed again and raised a hand to her mouth. There was a quiet hacking sound before she stretched it back out toward her. "Alright, I'll live here with you if you get the water." Well, don't sound so excited. MJ waved her hand a little. "C'mon, let's shake on it."

To her credit, Willow did catch herself before she'd gasped the proffered hand. Roleplaying MJ was probably to blame for her lack of judgement. "...Did you just spit in your hand?"

"...Yeah?" MJ shrugged, as if such a thing were a commonplace practice. Then again, nothing about Willow's life was particularly commonplace nowadays, considering she was standing in a cave on an island in the middle of what was either the ocean or an alternate universe. At least their friendship dynamic was once again aligned with the laws of the universe. "You gonna shake it or not?"

"Not when you spit in it! That's unhygienic!"

"...As opposed to that time you made me stick a needle in my thumb before you took out the power grid in Buenos Aires?" Inexplicably, MJ's hand was still out. "You can get AIDS from sharing blood, you know."

"Yeah, well, you can get herpes from spit—"

"AIDS is worse!" Alright, that one was hard to argue. "Just shake my hand, c'mon. The faster you shake my hand, the faster we find your precious water or whatever you want and we can get the hell out of here."

"I'm not shaking your spit-hand, dude." Dude. Bleh. She had to get the MJ out of her mouth. "The thumb thing is an actual thing, you know? Blood oath. It carries metaphorical meaning—like, 'I swear it on my lifeblood.' Does spit have metaphorical meaning? No. It's just spit. If you have to be gross, there has to be a reason—"

"I'm not gonna cut my hand open in this dark cave and die from infection for your spy creed," MJ said flatly in an uncomfortably Willow-esque tone. "This is still an oath, okay? A...a mouth oath, not a blood oath—"

"When has a 'mouth oath' ever been a thing?"

"When people kiss each other at marriage," MJ supplied immediately. Dammit, they'd been spending too much time together.

"...I'm not going to marry you, Sheila." For so, so many reasons, starting and ending with the fact they were currently emaciated shipwreck survivors standing in total and complete darkness in a cave. "Christ, at least buy me dinner!"

"C'mon, I don't wanna carry the water!" MJ shook her head with a whine. Christ, is that what Willow sounded like? Or—no, no. Balance had already been restored to the universe. The voice of reason wasn't the one who'd insist on cave-marriage in exchange for water transportation favors. "Besides, you never venmo'd me for the Tim Horton's in Saskatchewan, so that's gotta count for something—and what do you have against marrying me, anyway? We already basically live together, we'll be together alone forever on this island, and besides, I'm not bad on the eyes, if I say so myse—"

"I'll carry your water whether we get married or not—which, by the way, is not what shaking spit hands means!" Willow groped out blindly to shove her friend further into the cave and got handily bitten by Sharkbait for her troubles. God. The worst. "And I refuse to sully our friendship with the institution of marriage—"

"What do you have against marriage? It's great." MJ had resumed her fast-paced jabber without a beat; although a little less peppy than usual, she let her friend shove her further into the cave without complaint. "Wait, is this about the FBI agent and the—"

"You promised to never speak her name again. You swore on a random grave we found by the I-75 in Miami."

"I didn't say Hadyn," MJ countered. On purpose. Because she was the worst. "Well, I did now, but—is that why you're against it? Because I thought you said that was all an elaborate ruse anywa—"

"I will drown you in all the stolen cave water you want if you stop talking about Hadyn." Great, now she had Willow saying it. Just for that, she shoved her friend deeper into the cave-darkness and pointedly ignored her prattling about how no one wants to be drowned. "Besides, it's not about that. Marriage is a sham. Government institutions are a lie. Take it from me, who has been a sham while taking part in the institutions of two separate governments. Besides, look at the Michelsons. Who wants a relationship like that?"

"Hm, true." MJ's deep breaths were still rattling, but she was unconsciously matching time with Willow's steady breathing and her trademark cheerfulness had returned. "I take back the mouth oath." Spit-shake. 'Mouth oath' just sounded wrong. "Marriage is dead and the Michelsons killed it. You know, I'm like 90% sure they got married for—"

"Tax purposes!" Right?! "And honestly, I feel like there's something going on between that one guy—the emo non-famous one, y'know—and Colombo's daughter. Our friendship's better than that drama. C'mon."

"You're right, you're right, I take it back." The Aussie snickered, shrugging Willow's hands off her shoulders and trekking uncertainly deeper into the cave. The light was really disappearing now; the thin sliver of silvery light was fading. "I won't ruin our pure and virtuous water retrieval agreement with that bullshit. Marriage is for normies who don't steal cruise ships or take over deserted islands."

"Or look for water in caves to live in on deserted islands." Wait, was that something glowing at around eye level, right when the light from the mouth of the cave was fading entirely? "Speaking of which—"

"Holy shit, what the hell is that?"

Before Willow could fish a rope out of her backpack and say the words 'cave safety protocol', MJ had taken off into the darkness, her boots crunching noisily against the gravel of the caravan floor as her holler (and Sharkbait's answering squawk) echoed into the darkness. Like an idiot. Willow chased after her; the thin ribbon of light from the cave mouth faded completely, but that no longer mattered in the face of their new discovery. After only a few paces, Willow could finally make out her friend again—the dim pastel glow just barely lit up the planes of her face, exaggerating her features and making her appear like a disembodied head. Her mouth was twisted in a scowl, but the splatter was getting louder as Willow raced closer. Sure enough—

"Water." Water. First the knife, now this: a craggy basin formed out of the rocks curving from the back wall of the cave, finally, water gushing over the sides and spilling freely all over the uneven floor. The hem of her dress was wet and water was sloshing into the boots she'd stolen off the Captain's sleeping body, but who cared when the water didn't smell of brine and fish piss. She was learning so much about love and her capacity for it, here on this island with no other humans and inanimate objects. She fought the irrational, MJ-reminiscent urge to just stick her face in the water and instead opted to peer tentatively over the edge of the structure. Sure enough, the bubbling sound was coming from the very center of the shallow basin, where a finger-sized fissure at the bottom was offering up a steady stream. "What're you looking like that for?"

"Slipped. Ran headfirst into the wall." MJ patted said wall, then gave it a harsh punch and winced as it scraped up her knuckles. "Got too excited about the light. Where's the light coming from?"

"The plants." The glowing was coming from flat patches of bioluminescent moss, the pulsating light refracted through geometric formations of milky crystals crowning the hollow; thankfully, the moss wasn't growing in the water, or she'd have to worry about the effects of glowing mystery plants on the human body. "Wait. Wait. Have Sharkbait try some of the water first."

"What? No." The lines of MJ's scowl grew deeper. Drawn out in the dim light, it looked ten times more terrifying. "We're not using Sharkbait as a guinea pig."

"Sheila, that bird survived a shipwreck. At this point I'm willing to believe he's functionally immortal. If the literal ocean couldn't kill him, a beakful of cave water won't." A beakful of delicious, delicious fresh cave-spring water. She hadn't known it was possible to lust over water this much until now. "C'mon. If anything, letting him drink first is an honor."

Thankfully, with the balance of the universe restored, MJ couldn't refute the Willow-logic; she gave her another long look before sighing and beckoning Sharkbait forward. The demonic bird latched onto the moss with his wicked talons, his bright, beady eyes darting before the two of them, before he ducked swiftly down, his plumage bobbing as he guzzled water down.

"...No immediate death?"

They watched a moment longer as Sharkbait straightened again, squawking curiously, before lifting off again with a ruffle of his crooked feathers and swooping low over the basin before lighting back on MJ's shoulder. MJ, who could somehow Sharkbait-whisper (as opposed to Willow, whose interactions with the bird mainly consisted of silent threats of galah soup), crooned nonsense syllables at him before turning back to Willow with a grin. Her teeth gleamed brightly in the moss-light.

"He's good." And then, against every law of human nature, she stuck her nose in the galah's open beak before turning back to Willow again. "And his breath smells fresh, too. It's clean."

"It's clean?" All of Willow's protests about her friend potentially getting her nose cut off by a bird beak were forgotten (momentarily, at least) in favor of a sudden wash of sweet relief. It felt like she was floating. It felt like she was floating in a tidal wave of cold, cleansing cave water. Not that it impaired her logic, obviously. "Clean enough. We'll have to boil it before we do anything with it, still—and we should probably make a carbon filter too, just to be on the safe side—"

"Ah, relax for a second, will you?" MJ sighed and slumped her weight onto her back foot, scratching her galah's beak in fond appreciation. "Let something good happen. We found a nice cave to live in, we found a good source of drinkable water, we're going to—OUCH!"

And this. This was exactly why Willow never let good somethings happen, because you need to be on guard, because you never know when your home country will decide your stolen information isn't good enough and force you to go on the lam and turn you into an impromptu cruise lounge singer, and you never know when the ocean will decide to fuck you on top of all that as if it weren't enough. "What? What is it?"

"Stupid—something bit me. That thing." MJ nodded toward something she'd slapped onto the rim of the water basin—a long, striped centipede writhing weakly against the granite, flailing cilia-like legs around. She raised her hand as if to stick her bleeding finger into her mouth, because that wasn't the surefire way to get AIDS and the centipede flu; Willow slapped her hand down. "Fucking—holy fuck, goddamn ow, that hurts like a motherfucking bitch."

"Is it venomous?" Willow held out her hand; MJ submitted her finger for inspection accordingly. There was blood welling up from the bite; no more than a papercut, but that was still far too much for a single bug bite. "No red streak, but there's swelling...fuck, that's not good—"

"You mean poisonous—ow, ow, ow." Willow took a tentative step toward the exit, leading MJ by the hand, but her friend was bent double over her finger by now and wincing. Shit. Shit, this wasn't good. Willow led her back to the basin; water would probably help and the dim light would have to do, considering the distance back to the entrance. "What's the difference between poisonous and venomous?"

"Well, venomous means bad shit when they bite you, poisonous means bad shit when you bite it." The alternative to focus was extreme panic, so Willow bit down her half-formed paranoia thoughts about her closest friend possibly dying and forcing her to declare war on the entire centipede species for vengeance and instead focused. Angle the cut down, keep calm, clean and bandage. Thank God she knew enough to not attempt sucking out the venom, or she'd definitely have AIDS and also possibly be married. Willow, focus. "So as long as no one's eating the centipede—"

Sharkbait hopped off MJ's shoulder, bent down, and horked down the centipede in two impressive bites.

"...Okay, so now we have to worry about whether or not it's poisonous." Willow sighed as, predictably enough, MJ began making frantic noises and clawing for the galah. Because panic wasn't warranted until the bird got poisoned, never mind if the human did. She swore she could see the bird looking smug as fucking shit, even in the dim light; it lived to make Willow's life harder. "One thing at a time, okay? Let me just rinse out the damn thing and—"

"Willow."

MJ's hushed whisper caught Willow off guard; she turned towards where MJ was jutting out her chin. It was difficult to tell in the dim light, but there were now a few centipedes wiggling their way towards where the first one had lay dying moments before; they inched their way up onto the ledge of the basin, scrunching up and stretching out slowly as the circled the spot. Sharkbait blinked at them owlishly while they crawled over his talons. Below the flaps of their garishly colored skin, Willow spotted a glint of what could've been fangs.

"What kind of centipede needed fangs that big?" Death centipedes, apparently. "There weren't even any other animals in this cave—"

"Probably because the centipedes ate them all," MJ whimpered—although whether out of pain or fear, Willow couldn't tell. "Shit, just—stay quiet, back away slowly—"

"Okay, they're centipedes, not bears." Even as Willow said it, she couldn't bring herself to roll her eyes, instead guiding her friend slowly away by the hand and willing her stolen boots not to slip on the slick, water-weathered rock.

"Yeah, probably because they ate all the bears." Fair point, that. "Seriously, I don't think I can take another bite, you gotta make sure they don't get me again or you, too—"

Sharkbait blinked at the creepy-crawlies a second longer before abruptly pecking down at them, snatching all four up in four quick bites.

"...Oh my God."

"The fucking audacity."

"That's my boy." MJ had graduated beyond worry into maternal pride, beaming happily through her pain and beckoning Sharkbait over with her free hand. The galah blinked at her before hopping up and letting out a creaky chirrup. "Gives no shits, keeping us safe—"

"Well, at least the centipedes are gone." Willow dipped her hand carefully into the water, brought it out, and dripped it carefully over MJ's bite. As an afterthought, she scooped up a second handful to her mouth and drank, just in case it turned out poisonous so MJ didn't take it as a personal attack. It certainly tasted the way clean would taste, alongside being fucking fantastic to boot. A thought to return to later. "Alright, let's get you out so we can bandage up that sucker properly...hey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Even as it left MJ's mouth, Willow knew it was a lie; hell, even as the question left Willow's mouth, she knew it was a stupid question. She was allowed to ask stupid questions sometimes, especially when her friend had been mysteriously bitten by a potentially venomous centipede (who cared about poisonous, the bird was going to murder them all in their sleep someday if he didn't die first). Said friend was not breathing shallowly, still hunched over her own hand. The moss-light was weak, but even so, it was easy to see she'd grown pale. MJ had a historically bad track record about caring for Willow's skepticism, but her worry must've done it, because the Australian looked up and offered up a week smile. "Okay, not really, it hurts like hell—and it's just, I don't feel very good, and I can't see the way out of the cave, and now I'm starting to feel like—I don't know, are the walls closing in? I—"

"Hey, hey, no." Shit. Willow grabbed MJ's arm and slung it over her shoulder. The creases of her jacket, still stiff from saltwater, cut harshly into the skin of her neck; her friend slumped against her, close enough that Willow could hear MJ grinding her teeth together viciously. "We're fine. The cave mouth's just a little further down, and—look, here." She angled her hand back, fumbling clumsily for the few matches she'd stored away that weren't too wet to be of use. "Look, I'll light it for a second and you'll see—the cave's huge. The walls aren't closing—WHAT THE FUCK?!"

The match hissed as it hit the wet floor, going out as quickly as it'd come to life. That one second, though, had been more than fucking enough to give Willow nightmares and what the hell, probably endless hallucinations and a healthy paranoia about killer centipede swarms for the rest of her life; the walls were slathered in thrashing centipedes, their striped shells glinting translucent like glass in that single second of firelight. Their bodies were dangling and dripping from the ceiling, squirming and coiling, their legs thrashing wildly. When they moved, it looked like the walls of the cave were alive, heaving in a roiling mass of loud gnashing and insectoid chittering that it turned out was coming from literally inside the cave and not outside, that explained why it was so loud. Oh God. The crunching. It wasn't gravel. Her boots were covered in centipede too and there'd been one dangling right in front of her eyes and that stuff that had been dripping from the ceiling was now probably not actually water and holy shit, was Willow also becoming claustrophobic?

"TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF!"

"IT'S OFF! IT'S OFF!" Willow made to stamp down on the burnt-out match for good measure, but all she got was another crunch which was definitely holy shit centipede and oh fuck suddenly she could feel them crawling over her feet and chewing through the stolen boots. "OKAY. OKAY. NEW PLAN. GET OUT. GET THE FUCK OUT, AND THEN WE'LL FIGURE OUT THE WATER THING. OKAY." Breathe. Breathe. Panic. "HOW THE FUCK DO WE GET OUT?!"

"I DON'T KNOW!" MJ was still shouting into Willow's shoulder. If the winces were any indication, her pain wasn't getting any better either. Oh. Great. They were in a cave full of poisonous centipedes. Venomous centipedes. Death centipedes, either way. "I DON'T KNOW! FUCK, THAT DID NOT HELP ME THINK THE WALLS WEREN'T CLOSING IN. OKAY. WAIT. THINK."

Willow nearly threw her friend to the centipedes for that one. "BITCH, WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THERE'S TIME TO THINK?!"

"WELL, THAT'S ALL WILLOWS DO HALF THE TIME IS THINK!" MJ shot back. "YOU'RE A SPY—"

"NOT A SPY!"

"—WHAT DOES YOUR SURVIVAL TRAINING TELL YOU?!"

"I WAS NEVER SURVIVAL TRAINED FOR THIS SHIT!" Okay. Okay. Willow nearly told herself to sit and think, except there wasn't time to think and she couldn't sit because death centipedes. "OKAY, UM...FIRST THINGS FIRST! GET ON MY BACK!"

"WHAT?!"

"PIGGYBACK, SHEILA!" The fastest way out of the cave wouldn't be limping side-by-side like the world's shittiest three-legged race. Yes. Good, Willow. Logic. "PUT YOUR LEGS AROUND MY HIPS AND LOOP YOUR ARMS AROUND MY NECK LIKE A GODDAMN MAN!"

"THEN FUCKING KNEEL LIKE A GODDAMN WOMAN!" Sexist? Nah, probably just panic. Besides, men were the ones who knelt during proposals. "HOW ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO GET ON YOUR BACK, JUMP?!"

"YEAH, WELL, I'M NOT KNEELING ON THE CENTIPEDES—FUCKING YES, YOU'RE GONNA JUMP!" Just for good measure, Willow bent halfway and got moist centipede ooze in the face for her troubles. Oh God. Oh Jesus. Oh sweet baby Gandalf. She reached down with trembling fingers, half-expecting to feel the crawling of little legs slithering over her skin—her hand brushed the inner edge of her boot by accident and she nearly threw a swearing MJ off her back. She rolled up her socks—that was one problem out of the way, if the centipedes got that high. "KIDS THE AGE OF TWO CAN FUCKING JUMP SO FUCKING JUMP AND GET THE FUCK ON!"

"I'M ON! WHAT TWO YEAR OLDS DO YOU KNOW WHO JUMP?! I'M ON!" MJ locked one arm in a vice grip over Willow's collarbone, throwing the other forward with such force then early both reared face-first into the centipede covered floor. There were also centipedes on the floor. "GO! GO! GO!"

"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, I'M GOING!" Of course, she made it half a step forward before—

"WAIT! NO! STOP!" Distinctly non-centipede spit hit her shoulder. Was MJ spitting on her? After everything Willow had done and was doing with her, and also while she was carrying MJ's life in her hands (or, to be more exact, on her back)?! "THE CENTIPEDES—FUCK, THEY'RE IN MY MOUTH, THEY'RE HANGING TOO LOW, JUST—LET ME THINK—"

"WELL, THINK FASTER!" Willow shrieked back, shifting from one leg to the other and shaking them frantically. Fuck, she could feel the centipedes crawling up through her socks. They were there. She could feel them, despite their best efforts to make her think otherwise, those dirty little centipede bastards. MJ, in the meantime, had somehow wiggled her way further up, as if up was the way to stop the ceiling centipedes from hitting her; by now, she had her legs locked around Willow's neck. Uncomfortably familiar instinct seized her—assassins had tried to strangle her that way more than once. Damn idiots doing vanity moves they picked up from fanservice spy thrillers. "OTHERWISE I'M JUST GONNA BOOK IT, I SWEAR TO—"

"GOT IT!" And then MJ slapped her face open-handed. "WHERE ARE THE—WHERE'S THE MATCHES—"

"NOT ON MY FUCKING FACE, THAT'S WHERE!"

"WELL, GIVE ME 'EM!"

"I'M SORRY, MY HANDS ARE A LITTLE BUSY MAKING SURE YOU'RE NOT GETTING CANNIBALIZED BY CENTIPEDES!" To prove her point, Willow dug her fingernails warningly into where she was gripping onto MJ's calves. "GET THE MATCHES YOURSELF, YOU FUCKING—"

"GOT IT!" And then MJ kicked her in the shoulder. Willow seriously contemplated jumping: one little bunny hop and her friend would get a faceful of centipede. No, that was mean. "AND WHERE'S THE FUCKING—"

"THE WHAT? THE WHAT?"

"THE ALCOHOL!"

"THE ALCOHOL?!" And here Willow had been about to help get them out of the fucking centipede death cave! "YOU—DON'T YOU DARE—YOU ARE NOT GOING TO TAKE A BREAK AND DRINK YOUR GODDAMN BIRD ALCOHOL AT A TIME LIKE THIS!"

"NO, NO, I'M GONNA—" There was a distinct clink of glass against glass as weight lifted from Willow's backpack. How much alcohol had MJ snuck into her backpack?! From up above—as in, disconcertingly above Willow's very flammable hair—there was the distinct hiss of a match being struck by a very precariously balanced Australian. "I SAW IT IN AN EPISODE OF IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY IN—"

"PHILADELPHIA! I DON'T CARE! HURRY UP, LAND'S SAKE!"

Distinctly non-centipede spit hit her. Again.

"STOP SPITTING ON ME!" Fuck it. Willow began her precarious trek into the centipede carpet, ceiling centipedes be damned. She could've sworn it wasn't this loud on their way in—and their balance had been a lot better when MJ had just been piggyback like she fucking told her! "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TRYING TO DO UP THERE, ANYWAY?! YOU'RE NOT FUCKING VENOMOUS! YOU DON'T SPIT POISON!"

"WELL, MAYBE I DO NOW THAT THEY BIT ME—"

"IN WHICH CASE I'D BE DEAD, BECAUSE YOU SPIT ALL OVER ME!" Willow screeched to a halt (and nearly fell over, fucking centipedes moving under her goddamn feet), enraged at the goddamn audacity. "THAT HAD BETTER NOT HAVE BEEN YOUR ACTUAL PLAN—"

"IT WASN'T! IT WASN'T! JUST KEEP MOVING—GOD DAMN IT!" They still hadn't gotten to the part of the cave that was lit by the cave entrance—which made sense, considering they hadn't seen the death centipedes on their way in. "I WAS—"

"WELL, THEN WHAT WERE YOU DOING?!" Shit. Shit. Shit. Willow sprinted a few steps, only to nearly keel over because of how top-heavy they fucking were with MJ's weight balanced on her and their center of balance somewhere three inches over her head!

"I SAW IT IN THE SHOW—"

"WHAT?!"

"HE—well, he spit gasoline on a match and made a fireball, I figured the alcohol would do the same—"

"NOT YOUR WEAK BIRD ALCOHOL, IT WOULDN'T!" That was the plan?! Why hadn't she just said so?! "Why couldn't that fucking scrawny chicken of yours have brought you vodka or some grain alcohol, something 151-proof—listen, in your backpack—I got some of the hallucinogenic gas from the—oh, FUCK ME!"

The good news was that they'd finally hit some of the light from the cave entrance. The bad news was that, on their way in, the centipedes had somehow begun moving towards the entrance; they thrashed angrily along the walls all the way towards the entrance, curling inward. Willow was reminded uncomfortably of a light tunnel. Fuck it, she was not dying here. She'd thought the ship closet was stupid and the shipwreck was stupid and Kazakhstan was stupid but this, this was the stupidest way to die and she was not going to die in a centipede cave with her best friend sitting on her shoulders!

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Meanwhile, somewhere above her shoulders, MJ was approaching a pitch reserved for dolphins and scientific experiments. "WHERE THE FUCK—HOW DID THEY—WHAT THE FUCK—"

A squawk. A fucking squawk.

"SHARKBAIT!"

"SHARKBAIT!" MJ barked back instinctively. "WAIT, SHARKBAIT?!"

"YOU GODDAMN THREE-EYED FOUR-FEATHERED ABOMINATION OF SATAN!" The goddamn bird squawked, because he was still there, because he was going to get them all murdered. Jesus fuck, it was the closet all over again—she wasn't built to carry a full human woman and a freeloading feathered spawn of Satan on her shoulders as she ran around caves. God had not intended her for such a purpose. She hitched MJ's legs further over her shoulder and kept running. The breath she lost screaming was worth it. "I AM GOING TO TURN YOU INTO A STEW. A SHITTY STEW. AND THEN I AM GOING TO FEED YOU TO AN ASSHOLE. A POLITICIAN." Fuck, fuck, fuck. Christ, her lungs. "AND THEN I AM GOING TO THROW THAT POLITICIAN INTO A VOLCANO." A volcano in a shitty, backwater place. "IN MONTANA." The demon bird cackled, and then cut off, and it had better not be eating another goddamn fucking centipede. "AND THEN I AM GOING TO SET THE VOLCANO ON FIRE!"

"OI! WHAT DID SHARKBAIT EVER DO TO YOU?!"

"HE'S—IT'S THAT HE'S EATING THE CENTIPEDES!" She should've turned him into a feather-tick when she had the goddamn chance. "THAT'S WHY THEY'RE PISSED OFF, THAT'S WHY THEY'VE TURNED ON US—THE GODDAMN ALARM PHEROMONES, I BET HE'S SENDING 'EM OFF THROUGH HIS FUCKING FARTS LIKE THE GODDAMN BAT SIGNAL, FUCKING—"

"THE GAS! Oh my God, the boat gas!"

"YEAH, THAT'S WHAT I WAS SAYING THE GAS!" Well, that's what she'd been saying before she'd come to the revelation that MJ's beloved devil bird was secretly one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. This time, the distinctly non-centipede thing dripping in her eyes was definitely sweat. Goddamn bird! "BUT LISTEN—GET THE GAS MASK FIRST, BECAUSE IF YOU ACCIDENTALLY GAS US—"

"OKAY! OKAY!" And then something literally fell in front of her eyes. It was only because Willow was just that much of a professional that her sweating, pounding head managed to tip forward enough that she could snatch the strap of the gas mask in her teeth.

"NOT VIKE VHAT, OOF FUCKING—" And now she was running through a cave of swarming, angry centipedes with her best friend on her shoulders and the bird, that could literally fly, was laughing like a goddamn psychopath. " —MY HANDSHS! ARE A FITTEW BUSHY!"

"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT!" Fortunately, her friend managed to snag it out and strap the gas mask clumsily over her face. Unfortunately, the process involved at least three near misses where they nearly both fell into the sea of death and legs and mandibles because MJ's sweating palms on Willow's sweating face did the straps with all the grace of a college frat boy removing a girl's bra for the first and only time. The skewed angle of the visor meant that she could barely see the light growing marginally brighter through the cloudy, tinted plastic. Even so, the ground of the cave seemed to pulse below her feet as it reached critical centipede mass. Maybe the lack of vision was a good thing. And then she nearly slipped. Nope, definitely a bad thing, fuck. "THERE, IT'S ON! AND MINE'S ON—"

"DID YOU GRAB THE AEROSOL CAN?"

"WHAT? YES! NO!"

"WELL SHIT, MJ, YES OR NO?!"

"DOES IT MATTER?!"

"NO, NOT UNLESS WE WANT TO DIE IN AN UNDIRECTED AND LOCALIZED EXPLOSION AND RUIN OUR CAVE TO BOOT!" Not that the cave would matter if they were dead, Willow realized as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but you know what, she could be excused for not being on point with sarcasm right now. "AEROSOL! DIRECTIONAL! AND THAT GAS ISN'T AS—WELL, THE WATER SOURCE WON'T—"

"OH, BECAUSE YOU JUST NEEDED YOUR PRECIOUS CAVE WATER, SO NOW WITH THE CENTIPEDES—" Metal clanked into her backpack. Fucking ow. "ALRIGHT, HERE WE GO—"

Willow didn't hear the match strike this time, but she could feel the sudden burst of warmth that seeped through the rubber seal of her mask on her sweat-streaked face; the warmth was so sudden and startling that she nearly slipped again, boiling the skin beneath her mask. She could've killed MJ for the idea, if it weren't for the instantaneous improvement on their situation—there was an ungodly shriek, as if the entire centipede swarm were a single eldritch monster being skewered, and the striped bodies simultaneously curled up and pressed themselves into the cave walls in unison, newly illuminated by the warm red glow of chemical fire. Willow would've looked back and watched them die under any circumstances—she was allowed a little sadism after all the shit she'd been through and also was actively going through, dammit—but the moment the hissing whisper of the aerosol can stopped, the centipedes began uncurling again, their bodies reaching forward and legs flailing wildly like so many alien feelers.

"YES!" Above her, MJ was yelling—and, if the repeated wild shifts in balance were any indication, pumping her fist in the air. Fumbling resumed, and then the dim hiss of another match, barely audible for a second as the centipedes retreated before their shrieking resumed at fever pitch. Light bloomed again—once, twice, three times. "YES! YES! YES!" Four times. Sweat the temperature of boiling water streaked like fire down Willow's face, her panting heavy in the mask. "NO! NO! NO!"

"'NO?!'" Not no! Why no?! "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'NO?!'"

"I MEAN 'THE CAVE IS ON FIRE' NO." At this point, Willow's brain was so offline that she could be forgiven for taking a quite literal hot minute to process. MJ's yelling was somewhat muffled by the mask, but her tone seemed less panicked or scared and more blatantly dumbstruck by the twist of totally predictable, in hindsight events "I MEAN 'EVERYTHING IS ON FIRE' NO."

"EVERYTHING?!" Willow. Was pretty sure she was included in the nebulous concept of everything. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'EVERYTHING?!'"

"I MEAN 'MY EVERYTHING IS ON FIRE' NO!" Inexplicably, there was another burst of fire above her head. "HOW MANY 'EVERYTHING'S DO YOU—FUCK, HOLD ON—"

And now, alongside the phantom sensation of centipede legs coating her skin and crawling into her underpants, she could feel the sudden warmth of the cave engulfing her on all sides; hot air and smoke billowed around her, the boiling warmth crackling over her skin like electricity. She was going to burn alive here. And Sharkbait wouldn't shut the fuck up! "THE WATER!" There was still a gallon of water in MJ's backpack, wasn't there? Wasn't there?! Fuck, why hadn't she triple-checked?! Willow felt a suspiciously searing puff of air against her. She wasn't going to look down and check if it was fire. For so many reasons, starting with the difficulty she was having even keeping her head aloft and running at full sprint and ending with holy fucking shit fire. "MJ, THE WATER—"

"WHAT DO YOU THINK I SAID 'HOLD ON' FOR, WOMAN?!" Something heavy bashed solidly into the front of Willow's skull, hard enough that her vision, spotty as it already was from shortage of breath, went black for a quick moment. Her bones ached white-cold in her legs; her foot landed solidly and she nearly buckled from the force of her step before shoving herself back up stumbling blindly on. When she blinked herself back it was hard to tell through the billowing dark smoke juxtaposed against the blinding tunnel of centipedes on fire literally encircling them, but the end seemed closer. She could make it. Her breath rattled noisily in the enclosed space of her gas mask. "I'VE GOT THE WATER!" Some small shadow—the cap of the gallon jug, probably—fell past Willow's eyes. "BUT IT'S OUR ENTIRE SUPPLY OF DRINKING WATER, AND THERE'S NOT ENOUGH TO PUT OUT THE TUNNEL IN FRONT OF US—"

"FUCK THE TUNNEL!" Honestly, fuck it to fucking hell and back. Keeping the steady stream of vicious expletives in mind to bolster her flagging energy, she persevered. "US! DUMP IT ON US! WE'RE GONNA GET THROUGH THIS FIRE OR SO FUCKING HELP ME GOD, I SWEAR TO FUCKING FUCK I WILL FUCKING FUCK YOU AND YOUR FUCKING BIRD—"

"WHAT?!"

"FUCKING DO IT!" Smoke plumed in front of them, completely blocking the fire. Dimly, Willow's unconscious brain registered this as a good thing: smoke escaping through the only vent it had meant they were close. Of course, a large majority of her brain had gone completely fuzzy and the other part of it wondered if it was actually smoke or just her mind blacking out. Her body barely registered as MJ emptied the entire gallon over them; she was already drenched in sweat, enough so that her clothes stuck like a second skin, and the drinking water was lukewarm at best and merely flowed over her with the suffocating warmth of a layer of paint. Right as the plastic bottle clattered to the floor behind them, thrown over MJ's shoulder, the cave suddenly shrunk in front of Willow—no, wait, that was the centipedes curling in—flame suddenly bloomed before her eyes, engulfing the bugs with a high screech, too quickly for her to stop—and then her feet, so tired they were barely lifting, skimmed the ground and caught solidly into something clumpy as she pitched forward—

"WE'RE OUT!" MJ's voice came from miles away. "FUCK, WE'RE ON FIRE." Her vision went completely dark for a moment as she lay there, her heart beating so fast it was a steady alarming hum inside her ribcage—then it went completely white, unaccustomed to the bright sunny sky stretching high above them into open fucking air, but the oxygen she was gasping desperately into her lungs was still warm and humid from the gas mask—she went to rip it off, but her arms felt like they weren't goddamn hers, let alone lead, and her heart felt like it was beating so fast it was going to burn through her chest and sink right into the ground and she uuuuuugh. "WILLOW! WILLOW! ROLL! ROLL!"

Dark branches—no, talons—came into her field of view as something hit her head. No, a bird—that fucking goddamn piece of shit bird pecked her in the brain, and that did it. Right. Stop, drop, and roll. Survival. Fucking survival. Willow heaved herself over and rolled, dammit, the impact of the ground against her shoulder and limbs barely registering as painful shocks of phantom static. Forget her leg falling asleep; it was like her entire body had fallen asleep. This was the worst. As feeling slowly came back to her fingers, she felt a crawling on her arm and slapped it away—no, wait, not real. Then she felt it on her leg and thumped it against the ground—that one was real, and Sharkbait swooped off her head to peck it up and gulp it down gleefully before staring at her regally. As if demanding thanks. As if he hadn't gotten them all into this mess in the first place. Willow managed to prop herself up on her arms, even though they shook like goddamn grass in the wind; she barely managed the motor control to knock her gas mask clumsily off her head with her deadweight hand, an ache growing in her knee bent at the wrong angle that she was too tired to readjust. She gulped air into her lungs; it was so cold it fucking hurt like a motherfucker, but she was so starved for oxygen it felt like her lungs would pop like soap bubbles every time. A little ways away lay her backpack, singed on an entire side, zipped hastily open with its contents strewn across the ground. Her skin was a blistering red—a few feet away, MJ's was the same, her partner lying spread-eagle on the ground with her eyes closed as her breathing calmed. And through it all, that fucking bird plucked a single singed wing out of its loose collection of rattling feathers and dug his talons into the dirt by Willow.

"Someday," she breathed out. It came out like a quiet whimper. "Someday, you chicken shit. I will make you into a hat."

It was difficult to tell how long they sat there in the sparse grass littering the mouth of the cave, watching as smoke billowed out in thick clouds like the world's most demented and dangerous barbeque. Stray centipedes fled for them angrily, legs waving in outrage; Sharkbait pecked them all up without missing a beat and went back for the crushed carcasses MJ and Willow had crushed under their body weight while rolling to boot, because he was a selfish motherfucker. Red light occasionally colored the smoke in bursts like flashes of lightning in a stormy sky; eventually, as the smoke slowed, the lights continued to flicker along the walls of the cave. Willow still felt far too tired to move, but eventually she righted the angle of her leg just as MJ scooted over and offered her half the last remaining water bottle they had besides the gallon. It was only after she drank it that she realized she was thirsty; afterwards, she felt thirstier. Her mouth felt like a foot. Fucking cave water.

It was only when the clear blue sky began to change colors toward sunset that MJ finally sighed, reluctantly standing and offering Willow a hand.

"C'mon," she said, sighing expasteradly in response to Willow's no-doubt incredulous look. "We gotta go. Set up the raft tent. Find water." MJ glanced dubiously toward the cave. "Find different water. You think the cave water's still even there?"

That got Willow up; she pushed herself into a standing position with her own arms, ignoring her friend's outstretched hand, the distinct tremor through her muscles, and the brief moment of stumbling blackout as she went upright. She ignored it because this bitch and also the fucking audacity. "Underground source—and we didn't really start using the fire until the end. It'll be fine." She peeked over MJ's shoulder to check if it made her point, then gestured toward it. "See? Cave walls aren't even scorched. Whatever the rock is, it's tough enough. Besides, it looks like the centipedes took the brunt of it." Too much time upright. Willow doubled over, landing her hands heavily on her knees and leaning her weight on them. Bad idea. Her knees immediately gave and she ended up back on the ground, landing hard. Fine. Clearly some higher power wanted her to stay there. Who was she to question it, yadda yadda yadda. "We wait a few days, tap a few more trees in the meantime, let Sharkbait dine on roasted swarm, and then we're going back in. The fire probably burned out when it ran out of centipedes for fuel; in a few days the smoke should clear out, the last centipedes will get smoked out and get eaten, and then the cave's ours."

MJ shot her a dubious look. "...Do we even want the ca—"

"Don't." MJ had slapped her in the cave. While Willow was saving her life. Willow did not feel guilty when she accidentally slapped MJ back, reaching out blindly to wave her friend away from where she was lying sprawled on the ground. "Don't. We have fought too hard and sacrificed too much for this cave and I swear to God, so help me God, yes I said God twice, if any of those fuckers out there on the beach try and take this cave from me they will get blasted in the nuts with an aerosol flamethrower. I swear it. I swear it on that grave by the I-75 in Miami."

"Damn, on the Hadyn grave?" MJ whistled low. Willow still refused to open her eyes. "I mean, I see why—cave was pretty good, before the...well, the everything...but...I mean, really." The temptation came, to open one eye and glance at her friend dubiously. It lost. She was deceased. "C'mon, use that smart Willow brain of yours. It'll take ages to clean out all the dead centipedes. It's unhygienic, as Willow Zheng would say. Is it really worth it?"

"No. No, this time I am using my MJ brain." Actually, she was probably using the part of her Willow brain that was irrationally angry and refused to admit defeat, but whatever. "And my MJ brain is saying that, after all that shit we went through, I will gladly live on the rotting carcasses of those goddamn centipedes for the rest of my natural-born days."

Silence.

"...Fine." Ugh. She opened an eye to meet MJ's fondly exasperated gaze. A Willow look. Ugh. "Give it a day. Check the tapped trees we set up last night, find some food, turn in for the night—or the century, whatever—and then we'll strap on the gas masks again and check out if the smoke's cleared out, start sweeping out the centipedes with some of those palm fronds." She squinted up at the sky; the fading remnants of smoke still stood out against the darkening sky, stark white against the deep purple in twisted, gnarled shapes. She couldn't help it; she laughed. "Bright side?"

MJ gave her a droll look. Familiar, and welcome after a long day. "One: there's a bright side? Two: you found the bright side?"

"Oh, yeah." Her breathing was still a little heavy, but she managed to lift a stiff arm and sweep it haphazardly at the sky. "No way anyone within miles missed all that fucking smoke. Some random fucker in a helicopter's bound to show up and take those asshats away, and then maybe—just maybe—we'll get some peace and fuckin' quiet." She wiggled her toes in her stolen shoes without looking down at them, smiling at nothing in particular. "Hm. Think the Michelsons'll be nice enough to toss us their wedding rings? We probably deserve a reward, if our physical trauma ends up getting them outta here." She tilted her head back, wincing as the muscles in her shoulder pulled. Fuck. That's what she got for no exercise and also full-grown woman riding piggyback at a full sprint. "I get the rich bastard's. And you know what, I'll go one step further—I'll bet you that ring that it's the only one out of the two that's actually real gold."

To her eternal credit, MJ didn't pull the 'Willow' move and ask what the hell they were going to do with wedding rings on a deserted island with no monetary system the way Willow's Willow-brain did the moment the words were out of her mouth. Intead, the Australian frowned thoughtfully, sighing as she thought it over. Finally, she raised her ashy hand to her soot-stained face, worked her jaw a little, and spit.

"Shake on it?"

...What the hell. They'd been through enough together; risking herpes and marriage was the least of their problems, and her best friend in the entire full-on crazy world was the only person she'd deign to consider doing it with. Willow spit, shook, and—against her better judgement—let a good thing happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arnold Brown

Arnolds first night on the island was sleepless. He had laid out some leaves to sleep on like a regular Bear Grylls, but he soon realised foliage does not compare to the cheap second-hand mattress at home that he was so used to.

The only supplies him and Doris could find were a washed-up beach lounge and a large umbrella. Arnold had done the gentlemanly thing and gave up the beach lounge to Doris and although she offered to share the not so spacious seat, he had to respectfully decline. He wouldn't lead on another elderly lady. Not again.

He tried closing his eyes and listening to the small waves crashing onto the shore. While the sound was relaxing, the water ahead of those tiny waves scared him like nothing else. The endless ocean in front of him felt more like a large prison like wall rather than the boundless "nothing" that it was.

Looking behind him was no help either. The jungle was thick, and Arnold could barely see through it. The moment he had stepped into thicket he felt something staring at him, judging him maybe. Still though, it was more explorable than a body of water and he couldn't sleep on his pile of leaves any longer, so he decided to explore it.

"What are you doing?" Arnold heard a groggy voice.

"Exploring" he explained, trying to move a large branch out if his way "I couldn't sleep".

"Let me join you," she said, already getting up,

"Are you sure? You're still wearing that gown and you were sleeping-"

"I could go for an evening stroll" she interjected,

Doris still wore the evening gown That Arnold had found her in, head piece, heels and all. She seemed to hold her pride in her clothing and appearance.

"are you wearing lipstick?" Arnold asked, somewhat confused,

"Yes, thank you for noticing. I would never go without it."

"How?!" Arnold exclaimed

Doris lifted the bag in her arm that Arnold had found Doris with when they first met.

"where I go, my makeup follows" she smiled, holding her head high with pride.

"Is there any chance a torch also follows you wherever you go?" Arnold asked, cautiously creeping into the greenery ahead of him, "It's really dark out here".

"Are you afraid of the dark?" Doris cooed, her urge to pinch his cheeks in that moment was very strong.

"N-no!" Arnold cried a little too defensively "I just wanna see where I'm going"

"Reginald wasn't afraid of the dark" Doris began, fumbling through the contents of her handbag, "He would march on right ahead" she chuckled "he as the survivalist type, you know?" she reached deeper into her bag "I think they made a movie about him"

"Really? Which one?" Arnold gasped.

"Oh I don't know... Some deserted island movie starring some Tom fellow"

"Woah."

Doris's eyes beamed "There it is!"

"You found a torch."

"No, but I did find my keys."

"Keys for what?" Arnold asked

"My car," Doris explained "I thought I had lost these."

Arnold stood there silent and confused for a second. He didn't understand some of Doris's actions or her thought processes.

"These might help you I guess" Doris suggested, handing an unopened box.

"Glowsticks?" Arnold asked

"Yes," Doris smiled.

"You have glow sticks but not a torch," Arnold cried.

Arnold began cracking a couple of glow sticks, saving the rest of the packet for the next few nights. Cracking those things was honestly the highlight of his day.

Arnold walked on ahead, the bright neon sticks guiding him a weak 10 centimetres forward before they became obsolete to the overwhelming darkness. He still felt like someone or something was looking down on him. Judging him. The feeling felt similar to being in the same room as his father.

He couldn't see anything, however, and other than the weird stares he had received from the lounge singer on the cruise ship, he hadn't seen anyone else watch him, so he continued to walk through the bush looking for who knows what.

The inside of the forest was much darker and much more confusing than being on the shoreline of the island. there was no path Infront of them, and the stars had faded into the tall leaves above them. There were ominous rustlings in the bushes around them that would make Arnold squeak just the slightest.

"Did you know that my first shipwreck was terrorised" Doris stated, breaking their momentary silence

"By pirates?"

"No," she said, "By ghosts."

"Oh," Arnold said, much less interested.

"It's true!"

"I'm sure you saw... Something" Arnold reassured, in a tone similar to how one dismisses a grandparent after they have said something controversial.

"You don't believe in ghosts do you?"

"Nope" Arnold said, pushing more leaves out of his way, to walk further.

"How about spirits?"

"Still no" Arnold sighed.

"Well there's something spiritual here. I can feel it."

"I'm sure you do." Arnold had never been one to believe in anything mystical. He was a man of science.

"Did I tell you about the month that I lived in a tiny village telling fortunes?"

"No, you haven't," Arnold said.

Doris began her anecdote when Arnold came across a sharp stop in their path. Tall stone stood in front of him, much taller than either Arnold or Doris.

"Do you see that over there?"

"No. I can't see anything." Arnold stated dryly. The tiredness was finally getting to him.

"There's a cave over there," Doris's mind sparked with curiosity and she rushed for the entrance, "Are you coming" she asked,

"Inside there?" Arnold asked.

"Yeah."

"Do you know how dangerous caves are? They could literally fall on you at any moment! And who knows what's lurking inside"

"well let's find out," Doris claimed, grabbing a tighter hold of her feathered hat.

"I can't believe this" Arnold muttered to himself. He creeped over to the entrance of the cave, watching as Doris took further strides into the unknown.

"I think I can see something" she called out, her voice echoing off the walls.

"That's nice," Arnold dismissed.

"Come look at this—"

"What's wrong?" Arnold called out, "Doris?"

What followed a second of silence that felt like a lot more time, was a sharp cry from inside the cave.

"Doris!" Arnold called out, this time much more urgently.

He took a small and slow step into the cave but jumped back a little when he heard a second scream. He took urgent steps forward. Doris glowstick had fallen and showed no sign of the old lady anywhere.

"Marco" Arnold called out.

A pained cry responded. Arnold hurried towards the noise, tripping over something on his way. He felt something skitter over his hands as they touched the ground which made him scream. He gathered himself backup again, his hands shaking just a little.

"Marco," he said once again, approaching the pained cry that followed.

He threw a glowstick in the direction of the scream and he saw a hand catch it.

"Doris," he yelled, running towards her, "Doris, what happened?"

"The- the bugs," her voice was urgent but pained "My ankl-le."

Arnold dropped his glowsticks on the ground to help her up and the little creatures ran away from the neon light. He threw a few more into the direction of the exit, jumping and moving around as he felt something crawl on his ankles.

He smacked the area of his ankle, immediately cringing as he felt something gooey ooze from it. He imagined some sort of green toxic waste now on his legs.

Arnold reached his hand down for Doris to take it.

"I can't get up... It hurts too much," Doris said slowly.

While Arnold wasn't the most heroic of people, he swore he could feel the superhero music playing as he lifted her off the ground bridal style. Of course, the imaginary music ended as he remembered his little to no upper body strength that made carrying even a frail seventy year old a challenge.

He weakly limped to the cave entry however, Doris in his arms. Everything felt like slow motion in such a moment of danger and stress.

As soon as they were outside, Arnold placed Doris onto the ground, trying to be as graceful as possible.

"can you walk?" Arnold asked.

"I don't think so," her strength coming back just the slightest.

"I'm going to have to piggy back you," he stated, helping her up.

"That's not very glamorous" she complained,

"that's your concern right now?" he couldn't help but chuckle a tiny bit at her attitude even in the face of death.

"It's always my concern, darling."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Markus Fleur

DIARRHEAL DISEASE