Kenna Esters's Arc

Chapter 7 of 13

Kenna walked back toward the shore with the cat's image still burning in her mind. The film canister felt small in her pocket. She stopped at the tree line when she heard the sound — a low, mechanical hum drifting in from the water. She crouched behind a wide fern and looked out. A metal ship was cutting toward the beach, its railings catching the sun. The surveyors were coming back. She pressed deeper into the flowered ferns. Bright blossoms hid her shape against the green. Two figures stepped onto the bow, clipboards in hand. Her chest tightened. She could shout. She could wave. She could be home by nightfall. But the film in her pocket held the felled tree, the wounded cat, the truth of what these people had done. If they saw her, they'd take the camera. They'd take the roll. The evidence would vanish before anyone saw it. Kenna stayed low. She watched the boots hit the sand, watched a man point inland toward the tower. Her hand closed around the canister. She let the ship unload without her. When the surveyors moved into the trees, she turned and slipped back into the jungle. Home was gone. The story was hers to finish.