Free Fire & Flood by Victoria Scott Page A

to run, and it seems this guy has a handle on the animal. The answer hits me when I realize he’s not carrying his massive egg. His Pandora hatched. My brain stutters trying to comprehend this, that a lion was inside an egg . I glance at the animal and wonder at the possibility. He’s bigger than I ever imagined a lion would be in real life. For one small moment, I feel envy.
    The guy’s got a good Pandora.
    Shame fills my chest, and I absently stroke Madox’s egg inside my bag.
    His eyes travel down the length of my body, and I recall that my wet scrubs still cling to my skin. His gaze finally lands on the feather in my hair, and his eyes narrow. Looking up, he jabs a finger at me. “Stay away from me.”
    I plan to do just that, but when the guy turns to leave, I spot something in one of his bags. It’s electric blue cloth, and I know instantly what it is.
    He’s found a flag.
    “Wait.” I remember the deal I made with myself, that if I found another Contender, I’d suggest we search for base camp together. This isn’t exactly the kind of person I’d hoped to partner with, but it’s better than traveling alone.
    “Wait,” I repeat, stumbling after him. “Maybe we can, you know, help each other.” The guy walks quicker, but I keep talking to his broad back. “I mean, when we get close, it’s every person for themselves, but in the meantime, why not have company?” I pause, trying to think of what skills I possess. “I can be funny.I mean, I used to make my best friend, Hannah, laugh so hard, she’d pee. I can entertain you while we walk.”
    The guy flicks his hand and the lion at his side turns on me. He throws his head back and roars so loudly, I can feel it in my bones. I see every thick tooth in his mouth, and a bolt of fear twists my stomach.
    I raise my hands slowly. “Okay.”
    The guy moves away and the lion trots to catch up with his owner.
    I’d like to yell how sorry he’ll be, how when my Pandora hatches, he’ll beat up his Pandora. I look into my bag and smell the sour odor. It’s getting stronger, and I wonder if Madox is already gone. If he never hatches, I’ll be alone. And as much as I hate to admit it, I fear isolation worse than the jungle itself.
    The guy has food, but more important, he has a flag. Maybe he already knows the way to base camp. He certainly looks like the kind of guy who treks through jungles for fun. I remember once, in my Business Basics class at Ridgeline High, my teacher got on this rant about research and development. I don’t remember the details of his spiel — I was more concerned with the text Hannah had sent me about a jewelry sale at Forever 21 — but it was something about how McDonald’s puts all this time and resources into finding the absolute perfect location for a new store. They believe if they buy the right real estate, the burgers will sell themselves. The kicker was that other burger joints just watch to see where McDonald’s puts a store, then they plop a store nearby and save themselves a boatload of cash on all that blasted research.
    At the time, this story seemed pretty shady; I mean, those other stores seemed like copycats, and that’s just lame.
    But now I’m standing here in a jungle in the middle of God knows where, watching a convict and his lion tramp through creepy-looking plants and all I’m thinking is: Homeboy’s got a flag. He’s got the right real estate . So maybe all I need to do is follow his ass.
    And so I do.

    For two days, I follow this guy … and I learn that I have no business competing in this race. Not when Green Beret is here, sniffing out berries that I assume are safe to eat, or listening for strange sounds I don’t recognize, or finding safe places to sleep I never would have seen.
    To give myself credit, I don’t think the guy knows I’m following him. I’ve stayed far enough behind that the jungle masks the sound of my footsteps. I eat what he eats (which is Disgusting with a capital D ), I