I notice the man’s brown shirt has the gold serpent embroidered onto the pocket. When I glance down, I realize mine has the same.
“Where are we?” I ask him.
He waves an arm behind him. “The starting line.”
I really study the area for the first time. Trees tower overhead, growing so close together that their leaves create a thick canopy. When the two men let me out of my box (did I really just say that?), there seemed to be so much light. But now it doesn’t seem that way at all. Though there is enough light to see, everything is cast in shadows. A heavy fog lounges above the trees, not helping matters. Even the air feels different, like oxygen is more abundant here, but also somehow thicker.
The thing that shocks me most is the plants. They are everywhere, in every shape and color imaginable. I have trouble finding a spot that isn’t covered by long, looping vines or fat palm leaves. The forest is entirely carpeted in green — a canvas of life. I breathe in the rich scent of earth and vegetation. The woman’s voice inside the white device said we’d compete across four ecosystems. Remembering this, I suddenly realize this is no mere forest — it’s a jungle.
“We’re in a jungle,” I say to the man with the eyebrows. But he’s already gone.
I turn in a circle and count more than a hundred people in brown scrubs. Some have small tan bags, like mine. Others have enormous bags, and some have none at all. The ones with no bags carry eggs in their arms. I glance down at my own bag. Then I hook the single strap over my head and hang it over one shoulder. Sticking a hand into it, I rub the egg and try very hard not to feel claustrophobic among these trees. Many of the people around me seem okay with what’s happening. Not me. Every muscle in my body aches for home. Since the race hasn’t even started, I feel this doesn’t bode well for my competitive edge.
I hear a hissing sound that I recognize from inside the box. Spinning around, I realize it’s a semi’s brakes clicking off. The two men are climbing inside the crane. All the boxes have been removed from the beds of the two semis, and now the vehicles and monster crane are rolling away from us — going somewhere that isn’t here. I have to fight the impulse to race after them, begging for a ticket home. I’m not cut out for this, I realize. I should be in my lavender-painted room, giving myself a milk-and-avocado facial, wrestling my hair into a messy but fashionable updo. My hair, which is completely gone now.
The two semis pull away and follow the crane at a snail’s pace. They’re leaving us here. What if this is all a sick experiment in which someone somewhere gets off on ripping people away from their homes and dropping them in precarious situations with no hope of survival? How do I know the Cure is real? And is everyone else here racing for the same thing? We’re all totally susceptible, the perfect targets to scam. Just dangle a cure no one knows anything about and say, “Run, monkey, run!”
The woman from the device didn’t begin to answer the questions I have, and I’m guessing no other Contender knows much about this race, either. Yet here we all are.
I have to leave this place. Now.
I push my way past a blur of faces and race toward the retreating trucks.
“Wait,” I yell. “Wait!” The Contenders turn and watch me with visible disgust, but I don’t care. I can’t be left out here with nothing to go on besides “the winning prize will be the Cure.”
I’m only a few yards away from the semi in the back when a commotion ripples across the Contenders. They’re all moving, shifting their weight, and searching their bags. When I spot a handful of people near me place white devices in their ears, I realize what’s happening.
I stop running and gasp. It isn’t hard; it’s like the air wants nothing more than to fill my lungs. This is the jungle, and apparently its goal is to make everything grow. I fumble in my bag, pushing my egg to the side, until I feel the smooth plastic. Pulling my device out, I see the light is blinking. It taunts me to make a decision: keep chasing down my only way out of this hellhole, or stop and listen.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Around me, more than one hundred people raise their arms and press the buttons. I wonder what the message is. Turning back to the trucks, I realize they’re moving too quickly. I could catch up, but I’d have to run and I’d have to run now.
As the trucks pull farther and farther away, noises from the jungle amplify. I turn and face the lush, green landscape. In the midday heat, I make out birds calling to one another, and a long, sharp, whooping sound. I can hear the foliage rubbing together, even though there’s not a trace of wind. A short, low roo-mp, roo-mp sound repeats over and over, and somehow, while listening to all the different melodies, a small smile parts my face. This place … it’s miraculous.
Cody would love it.
In a daze, I place the white device into my ear.
I push the red blinking button. When the woman speaks, she sounds almost excited. It’s eerie to hear her normally robotic voice so animated.
“We’ll wait a few more seconds while everyone tunes in,” she says.
I wonder how long she’s been saying this, and how she could possibly know whether everyone is tuned in. There must be some sort of tracking capability built into the device. Glancing over my shoulder, I note that I can see still the trucks. I could still make it out.
“All right, I think that’s quite long enough.”
Was that a few seconds? I need her to wait. I need more time to decide. My pulse quickens and sweat beads across my arms.
“If you are hearing this message, then you have successfully completed the Pandora Selection Process. It also means you are now at the official starting line.”
Around me, Contenders whoop with excitement. Seriously? They’re about to plunge into a wild jungle, and that brings them happiness? Once again, I realize how out of my league I am. I don’t even have a change of clothes, for crying out loud.
“As you may have realized, you are on the outskirts of a rain forest. This will be the jungle part of the course. You will have two weeks to arrive at the jungle’s base camp. You will find this base camp by following the path of blue flags.”
Contestants glance around, immediately looking for the first blue flag. As for me, I’m watching the taillights of the semi and having a massive coronary.
“If you are the first to encounter a blue flag, you may remove it, but you may not remove the stake it is attached to. Doing so will result in immediate disqualification.”
I wonder why anyone would want to remove the flag to begin with. No one else seems concerned by this.
“While the Cure will be awarded to a single winner at the end of the last ecosystem, we will bestow a smaller prize for each leg of the race. The prize for the jungle portion will be monetary.” The woman pauses dramatically. “I’d like to officially welcome you to the Brimstone Bleed. May the bravest Contender win.”
That’s it? That’s all she’s going to say? Because it seriously sounds like she’s wrapping up. So why aren’t I running after the trucks? Why am I not chasing after my only way out of this jungle like my life depends on it? I know the answer — though I wish I didn’t. Cody would do this for me. I am his only hope. I have to believe his cure exists. My only other option is to return home and watch my brother die. If I could even get back home.
I glance around frantically, looking for someone to tell me what to do. The Contenders have formed a long line, the kind you see at the start of a marathon. A few yards down from where I stand — I see him. My throat tightens when I realize his cold blue eyes are locked on me. It’s the guy from the Pandora Selection Process. The serial killer–looking dude who I thought was going to kidney punch me. He glares in my direction like he might take this opportunity to finish what he never started. I raise my hand in a small wave, hoping it says something like: See? Look how friendly I am!