Since walking the beach doesn’t immediately put us into that dense forest, I feel relieved and a childish bit of hope of finding a fishing path leading from the ocean.

Walking along the rocky beach goes much slower with two injured in our group. Bay hobbles along as best he can, trying to look as though every step doesn’t hurt. Though Minnle is able to move on his own, we can all tell by the way he clutches his side that he needs care. But I know Minnle. If we suggest he stay behind while we look for help, he’ll just get angry. Besides, we’ve all heard tales of Wilds. To be left behind, injured and alone, is as good as burying someone.

We have to stay together. We have to keep moving.

After moving a sadly short distance, the sun climbs higher and higher in the sky, making those with spare pieces of clothing fashion head-covers and dip them in the water to keep cool. As I dip a sleeve into the salty water, Iris startles me when she shouts, “I don’t believe it!”

I turn toward the forest with my hands ready, preparing myself to flee into the ocean. As I do I see that Iris is not pointing at something in the forest, but out at the rocks in the ocean.

It’s William.

Smiling and uncontrollably shouting in delightful surprise, Iris and I race out into the rocky shallows. William is floating toward shore, one arm holding onto the shattered remains of our mast, the other with his quarterstaff hooked in his armpit. Waves push and topple him about as he fights for control in the current.

“Burin,” William says with a relieved smile when Iris and I swim out to help him. “Good. You’re okay.”

“We’re okay? What about you?” I ask, half laughing with relief and shock that the man’s alive and seemingly unharmed. His eyes even lack the contours of exhaustion the other members of the group all have. “How are you even here?”

William half shrugs, still with an iron grip on the mast. “I pulled through.”

We reach shallow enough water for the three of us to walk and William slowly pulls his arm from around the mast.

“Were you out there all night? How did you live through that?” Iris asks.

“Just kept swimming,” William says nonchalantly as he stands up and leans against his quarterstaff, sighing with satisfaction.

“I see you kept your stick,” I say with a smile.

“Yeah. I kept something else too. Didn’t mean to, though.” William reaches down to the drifting remains of the mast, his lifesaver, and tugs at a tangled piece of rope. He unties some of the knots and reveals a green cloth. “I figured it would come in handy when we met Meng.”

William unfurls our flag, Henderin’s flag. I bite my lip. “The flag of Meng.”

“Or at least it will be, once he sees it,” Iris notes. “And once he lets us start our colony here.”

“One thing at a time,” William says. “Who else is here?”

I tell William about those who survived and those who did not as we walk onto the shore toward the others. Cautiously, fearful she might hurt him, Mally runs up and hugs William. “I can’t believe you’re alive,” she says.

“Well, believe it,” William says, doing his best to smile as he casts a worried glance at our two injured members. “How are you two feeling?”

“Oh, you know me, can’t complain,” Bay says, wobbling on his crutch.

Minnle gives William one of those “don’t ask” glares. It makes William look all the more concerned.

“We’re looking for a better harbor,” I say. “Someplace Meng might have used when he came here. Did you see anything?”

William shakes his head.

“Well, guess we’ll just have to keep looking then,” I say. I laugh awkwardly as I remember my moistened sleeve rag, wrapping it around my head. “I still can’t believe you’re alive, William. I mean, I hoped you would be but you went overboard miles offshore.”

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William shrugs and starts walking in the direction we need to go, using his quarterstaff as a walking stick. “I wouldn’t be a member of this group if I couldn’t do the impossible, Burin,” he says. “That’s why we’re finding Meng, right?” William shows the group the flag. They all smile as he takes a stray bit of rope and ties it around his quarterstaff, waving it like a flagpole.

“True, true.” I look back to the group, smiling as I indicate for us to follow William further down the shore.

We walk down the beach, feeling in much better moods now that our numbers are at a level I had assumed would survive. William volunteers to run ahead as a scout. All of us are relieved he volunteers for this, given our two injured members make our trek slow-going. Still, all are concerned that William needs rest.

When I see him running back toward us as fast as he can after rounding a rock ledge, I know it’s either tragedy or excitement that awaits.

“….it it’s here! I found it!” William shouts as he stops in front of us. “Around the corner. You’re not going to believe this.” A smile fills William’s face from ear to ear.

“What? Is it Meng?” I ask.

“Close enough. You’ll just have to see. Come on.”

Like kids heading to a festival, we all pick up the pace to round the rock ledge of the beach. Even Bay is able to move faster and when we turn the corner we all gasp.

It’s more like a chute than a bay, jagged rocks and loud breakers on all sides with a slim passage down the middle not five feet across. The wind seems to blow even faster here, despite the land having a moon-shaped semblance of a harbor. In such a churning, bubbling bay I’d be hesitant to even step foot in, we all are shocked to see a boat tied up on the rocky sand.

No one says a word until we stop right next to it. I can hardly believe it till I put the flat of my palm against the sun-charred planks. A thick, black surface of boat tar covers the thick hull of the twenty-five-foot vessel. A single mast lays on top of the craft, hooked in a loop and ready to be raised if needed. I can only assume the sail is inside the tiny cabin.

“Look at this,” Iris says, pointing at the stern. I look where she’s indicating and see a thin pole of bamboo sticking out. Many more line the craft at random locations, all leading to a rope near the steering arm. “It looks like it’s removable.” Iris pulls at the bamboo.

“Don’t touch that,” William says, smacking Iris on the hand. “That thing holds it together. Look, see how the planks line up. This has to be Meng’s ship. There’s not a single nail holding it together.”

Mally and Horal climb on top of the boat and fiddle with the rigging, Mally sticking her head inside the little cabin. “Why would Meng make a collapsible boat?”

William shrugs. “I’m sure he had a reason. He’s Meng.”

I tap my fist against the hull, feeling the sturdiness of the small craft, and say, “He sure is.”

We came to this island in a ship twice as big, the finest we could get in all of the best shipyards. The rocks of Wilds destroyed it while we were barely in sight of the shore. Yet here Meng had what looked like a homemade toy boat and sailed it through the breakers with barely a nick.

“At least we’ve got a way out now,” Bay says.

“What? Steal Meng’s boat?” Iris asks.

“Why not? He lives here, it’s not like he’s going to be using it.”

We all stare at the little ship in awe. The thought of piloting it makes us even giddier. “Let’s just find Meng first, okay?” I suggest.

The others, excited as much as since we first boarded the Henderin, agree.

“So we definitely know this is where Meng made port. Can anyone see a path or anything?” I ask.

We search the edge of the forest, no one venturing too much past the ferns and shells lining the trees. It takes awhile, long minutes of hoping spent as we search. After only a short while we start thinking the island weather has washed away all traces of Meng’s presence, till I see something a few yards into the thicket: a snapped limb.

One of the trees, a massive palm with strange branches covered in thick leaves, sits at a sharp angle near the boat. On the lower side of its trunk, I spot a little branch that had barely grown before it was snapped off. The break has barely the semblance of human touch, so I call out for the rest of my group to inspect it.

Everyone nods, congratulating me on the discovery and eager to see where this path leads.

“Hold on, hold on,” I say as we get ready to chart a path through the woods. “We don’t know where this leads. It could be toward Meng’s home but it could be just a hunting path or something. We should scout out some more and see if there are any other signs that Meng’s been here.”

William shakes his head and nudges himself around me. “Don’t bother. Meng’s in there and we’re going to find him,” he says as he steps lightly through the underbrush and into the thick, wild trees.

Smiling, the group follows William, and I have no choice but to do the same. Still, I sense that eerie quiet I felt earlier. And I can’t help the feeling that something knows we’re here. I reach up to the biggest tree I can find and snap off a stout, straight limb. Pulling out my knife, I begin whittling away the tip, shaping a spear. If only I’d not lost my woodworking tools to the sea I could make a far superior weapon.

The others make their own spears as we walk into the forest, following Meng’s path.

It’s at this moment that I take a slow step forward and suddenly realize that the sandy soil is rushing up to meet me. A muffled sense of pain shoots through my face as I land flat on the ground.

I’m in a wash of numbness, my skin feeling packed with mucus and my muscles evaporated into utterly useless sacks of puss. I want to vomit. I want to stand.

I want to sleep.

Around me I hear muffled shouts and cries of anguish. Something is going on around and above me. All I can see is the gray blur of my eyes at ground level. All I can feel is the revolting sensations running up and down my spine.

My head… spin… fall… feel… poison — poison!

I’ve been poisoned!