few IQ tests over the years, and the ‘superior intelligence’ results have been waggled in my face in response to low grades. But now my 137 IQ is probably the lowest on this island.
“Okay then, teach me,” I say. “Tell me what to do.”
Gwen rolls her eyes and groans. “Teaching you and telling you what to do are different things. If I could confidently decide on a course of action, and take it, I’d be a Point. But I’m not, I’m a Support . Did you even finish testing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you receive any hand-to-hand combat training?” Gizmo asks. The words ‘hand-to-hand combat’ sound funny coming from him, but the implications aren’t funny at all.
“No.”
“Flight simulator?” Gwen asks.
“What? Are you serious?”
“What about psy-controls?” Daniel looks from me to Gwen. “That comes before flight sims, right?”
“I don’t even know what psy-controls are,” I say, feeling suddenly inadequate.
Gwen squints at me. “Three weeks, you said... Why would they group you with us?”
“If they had no other choice,” Daniel guesses and raises his hands to me, placating. “No offense.”
I give my head a slow shake. “I’m as confused as you.”
Silence returns to the beach. I close my eyes. My mind feels dulled by the morphine. Maybe this will all make more sense when it wears off? I doubt it. So I let my thoughts drift. I hear the waves, gentle and soothing. The stiff shaking of plastic in the ocean breeze. And nothing else. No hum of civilization. No signs of life beyond this beach.
Sig.
My eyes snap open. “How long was I out?”
“Six hours,” Gwen says.
“What time is it? How long until nightfall?”
Gwen turns her head toward me, eyebrows furrowed. She’s confused by the sudden determination in my voice. “Four in the afternoon.”
Daniel has a slight grin on his face. “This time of year, sunset will come in roughly five hours.”
I push myself up and am consumed by dizziness. I hold still, wait for it to pass and then move again. Getting to my feet feels like it takes the same effort as clinging to that water-propelled palm trunk last night, but I manage it with just a single stumble. Once I’m up, I stretch, take a deep breath and say, “Pick up your gear and Mandi.”
“What?” Gwen says. “Why?”
“We don’t know what caused that wave,” I say. “We don’t know if it will happen again. If we’re treating this like a worst case scenario, the beach isn’t a safe place to be. We need to find shelter in the next five hours.” I point up past the ruined hillside, where the trees were untouched by the wave. “Up there. Tomorrow, we’ll find food and water.”
And Sig.
“There isn’t time to sit around waiting for me to feel good.” I pick up one of the go-packs that I had been leaning against, put it around my shoulders and strike out inland, focusing all 137 points of my IQ on not face-planting in front of everyone.
As the others gather their gear, and Mandi, I hear Daniel whisper, “See, that’s why she’s here,” and I’m glad at least one of us has faith in me.
8
“Why did you dip your hair in orange?” It’s about the tenth question from Gizmo since we struck out from the beach, but it’s the first I bother to answer.
“I like orange.” Probably not the insightful answer he was hoping for.
“I like green,” he says. “But I wouldn’t put it in my hair.”
I step over a fallen palm that’s leaning on a large rock, blocking our path like a security gate. I pause to help Gizmo climb over, lifting his light frame under the armpits. He smiles as I put him down, like we’re out for a casual nature hike. Daniel handles the obstacle on his own, leaping it with his hands on the trunk, whispering a ‘Wha-cha’ sound effect in time with the jump. While I haven’t felt like a kid in a very long time, it’s clear that Daniel and Gizmo are not only young in age, but also at heart. Gwen accepts my
“Okay then, teach me,” I say. “Tell me what to do.”
Gwen rolls her eyes and groans. “Teaching you and telling you what to do are different things. If I could confidently decide on a course of action, and take it, I’d be a Point. But I’m not, I’m a Support . Did you even finish testing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you receive any hand-to-hand combat training?” Gizmo asks. The words ‘hand-to-hand combat’ sound funny coming from him, but the implications aren’t funny at all.
“No.”
“Flight simulator?” Gwen asks.
“What? Are you serious?”
“What about psy-controls?” Daniel looks from me to Gwen. “That comes before flight sims, right?”
“I don’t even know what psy-controls are,” I say, feeling suddenly inadequate.
Gwen squints at me. “Three weeks, you said... Why would they group you with us?”
“If they had no other choice,” Daniel guesses and raises his hands to me, placating. “No offense.”
I give my head a slow shake. “I’m as confused as you.”
Silence returns to the beach. I close my eyes. My mind feels dulled by the morphine. Maybe this will all make more sense when it wears off? I doubt it. So I let my thoughts drift. I hear the waves, gentle and soothing. The stiff shaking of plastic in the ocean breeze. And nothing else. No hum of civilization. No signs of life beyond this beach.
Sig.
My eyes snap open. “How long was I out?”
“Six hours,” Gwen says.
“What time is it? How long until nightfall?”
Gwen turns her head toward me, eyebrows furrowed. She’s confused by the sudden determination in my voice. “Four in the afternoon.”
Daniel has a slight grin on his face. “This time of year, sunset will come in roughly five hours.”
I push myself up and am consumed by dizziness. I hold still, wait for it to pass and then move again. Getting to my feet feels like it takes the same effort as clinging to that water-propelled palm trunk last night, but I manage it with just a single stumble. Once I’m up, I stretch, take a deep breath and say, “Pick up your gear and Mandi.”
“What?” Gwen says. “Why?”
“We don’t know what caused that wave,” I say. “We don’t know if it will happen again. If we’re treating this like a worst case scenario, the beach isn’t a safe place to be. We need to find shelter in the next five hours.” I point up past the ruined hillside, where the trees were untouched by the wave. “Up there. Tomorrow, we’ll find food and water.”
And Sig.
“There isn’t time to sit around waiting for me to feel good.” I pick up one of the go-packs that I had been leaning against, put it around my shoulders and strike out inland, focusing all 137 points of my IQ on not face-planting in front of everyone.
As the others gather their gear, and Mandi, I hear Daniel whisper, “See, that’s why she’s here,” and I’m glad at least one of us has faith in me.
8
“Why did you dip your hair in orange?” It’s about the tenth question from Gizmo since we struck out from the beach, but it’s the first I bother to answer.
“I like orange.” Probably not the insightful answer he was hoping for.
“I like green,” he says. “But I wouldn’t put it in my hair.”
I step over a fallen palm that’s leaning on a large rock, blocking our path like a security gate. I pause to help Gizmo climb over, lifting his light frame under the armpits. He smiles as I put him down, like we’re out for a casual nature hike. Daniel handles the obstacle on his own, leaping it with his hands on the trunk, whispering a ‘Wha-cha’ sound effect in time with the jump. While I haven’t felt like a kid in a very long time, it’s clear that Daniel and Gizmo are not only young in age, but also at heart. Gwen accepts my
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