I awoke in another place. My eyes failed to open underneath a sticky layer of thin crust which melded my eyelids.

The mystical venom in my body seemed to wane the way melatonin sleep hormone wears off in the body as the sun rises. I could all of a sudden feel the very tips of my fingers tickle something soft like a cotton blanket.

With all my might, I wiggled them, and their awareness spread through my muscles across my arms. And though my whole body remained weak, it was able to receive the feelings of touch as they spread across my skin.

I remembered the last time my eyes were open was when I could see Jack nuzzling up to me from my breasts. And my head was lying on the unconscious Travis's cold stomach.

But now the skin on the back of my neck as well as my ears were able to sense the soft cushion of a smooth cotton pillow hold my head. Under my back was the softest cushion I remembered—it was the one Jack and I used to sleep in together, that is—before Craig and I . . . you already know.

Instead of Jack's head pressing on my breast, I began to realize (while my eyes were still closed in a field of blackness) that a new, lighter being laid their head on my chest. It was as heavy as a little pink sponge ball the size of your hand, and it weighed lightly over the blankets atop where my heart beat.

The bones in my ears vibrated to the mild rumble. . . of purring. And I could then justify the distinct smell which belonged to a little kitten, fur dried after the rain.

I moved my lips as I struggled to move open my still-stuck eyelids, and I caught the taste of salty sweat on my lips. The acrid taste of the yellow-bellied sea-snake was gone. . . yet I noticed now the stench of my wet hair that mopped over the side of my face, and wet the side of my pillow. I suffered a cold sweat through my feet, my palms, my armpits, my head—the aftermath of accidentally dragging Travis's body over a spot of poison where the snake had excreted its venomous glands.

Finally—as my eyes began to peel, I was then able to hear the tickling mutters of voices. My vision finally broke between my opening lids, and I found directly in front of my face which the pillow bent forward toward the door, was the silhouette of a breathing ball of fur. The kitten's face was cure, a little black nose, two slits for sleeping eyes, a total of eight downwardly curved whiskers, and a quiet purr that emanated a row of Zzz's over our resting bodies.

Someone had pulled the curtains, so the room was near perfectly dark. . . if it wasn't for the orange light breaking through the open door across the room. I listened to the sound of two voices, of which the owners both purposely kept quiet for secrecies sake.

But I knew the owners. . . the scheming tone of the political type—George, and the uncomfortably passive, nervous voice coupled with a booming bass tone—Brett, were both saying something behind the door.

As the whispers grew louder by way of time and carelessness, I managed to lean my head forward, and net more sound while I positioned my ears.

At that moment I could hear Brett say: "This is wrong. . . We can't do this."

But George followed with an urgent, patronizing tone-- "It's either them or all of us!"

Them or all of us? I wondered. What's going on? What are George and Brett talking about? I began to worry if Travis and Jack were okay.

Next, Brett argued against George, "But they're going to die here if we leave them without food!"

I wanted to say out loud, You're going to leave us? But I found the muscles inside my neck and mouth too tired and also too swollen to say anything. Trying to do so instantly shot a migraine through my temples and made me more tired.

Then George said to Brett, "The food's downstairs, I put it in the boat."

The food? I thought. The boat? I couldn't believe what I was hearing! So, George took the food! But. . . the boat? He took the boat? What boat? The one from the garage in the other house?

Brett paused before he said, "So what are we going to do? There's not much room on the boat, but we can still fit everyone, couldn't we? The boat wouldn't sink with all of our weight—would it?"

George grumbled, and then the door opened with an entrance of orange light seeping in through the hallway. I don't think they could see that my eyes were opened, as they drooped so heavily in my drowsy state. But I could see Brett's muscular silhouette as well as George's slightly shorter, pompously- good-postured physique through the open doorway while they stood on the landing and watched me sleep.

George said after a moment's thought, "I say we take Zara with us. . ."

I could feel my chest drum. Take me where? I thought.

"And what about Jack? And Travis?" Brett asked.

What about them? What is going on! I thought.

"We can't just leave them here. . ." Brett continued.

But George shook his head. "Travis is good as dead," he said. "That head wound has him out cold. As for Jack, there's no room for him on the boat. It's him or the food, and we're going to need all the food we can get. . ."

You can't be serious! I thought.

And Brett thought just the same: "You can't be serious," he said. "We can't leave on a boat without Jack and Travis! They'll die!"

But George walked up to Brett so they came face to face, and George challenged, "We take the girl and we go!"

They stared at each other for a moment. Through the pause, Brett turned his face to me, and to George, then to me again, and then sighed. He dropped his tense shoulders and he looked back to George in an obvious defeat of will. I wanted to scream once Brett said the words that changed everything:

"When?"

No! I thought. Don't let him take me, Brett! Don't be so passive! Take a stand! Save Jack and Travis, too! Don't desert them!

But to answer Brett's question When? George quickly and authoritatively answered:

"Now."

George rushed into the room, across the carpet and to my bed. Brett sighed and followed quickly. And George and Brett both worked to pick up my motor-dead body, as I tried to open my eyes wider, as I screamed inside at the top of my inaudible lungs--

NO! I screamed inside myself. LET ME GO!

The cat meowed, and rolled off my chest and onto the bedsheets in a little heap of fur.

"What do we do about the cat?" Brett asked.

George took advantage of this moment as they carried me across the carpet toward the door: I felt so violated! -- as he carried me, he placed his fingers purposely in an inappropriate place so that he could touch me where no man should touch a woman without her consent!

About the what they would do with the baby kitten. . . George simply answered-- "Leave it."

And they rushed me out the orange hallway, down the stairs, down some more stairs, until racing me to the spot on the water-level, second floor where I had pulled Travis in through the living room door.

The lights were all out—but through the window, in the moonlight, I saw a flashlight looking in at us over a banana-shaped figure in the water. It was boat!

And as they ran me out the archway and initiated to take me over to the boat—I was finally able to moan audibly as my attempt to scream started to break the surface of sound.

"We've got your girl right here," said George.

And a familiar voice belonging to the dark figure holding the flashlight from the boat said, "And where is Jack?"

I wondered why he didn't ask about Travis.

"Jack is upstairs, still asleep," said George. "Still won't wake up."

There was a dark pause, before the voice said, "Good."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This was terror. The three people were kidnapping me! The three were deliberately deserting the rest of our stranded family! And was beginning to feel the automatic tears stream down my cheeks as the molestation of George's silent, hidden fingers still crept like the legs of a spider between my legs--

The figure in the boat pointed his flashlight at boxes of food, and pushed them to the side to make space for George and Brett to pass me over to him. "There should be enough food for us if it's only us four," said the dark figure, "hold the flashlight for me, George."

And as I transferred from George and Brett's hands to the arms of the dark figure, the flashlight was passed over to George, and thus shined back on the dark figure, illuminating him out of the blackness. My eyes could finally open wide as I took in his face.

But I still could not scream. . . The face belonged to the boy I thought I'd never see again.