Forty-seven percent. Forty-six percent. Do I dare hope for a whole minute to pass before my phone drops down to forty-five percent? Remember how I explained Google's definition for infinity? Yeah, well I'm experiencing another one right now except instead of being transported to a tropical paradise deep through the windows of Zach's lush eyes, I'm trapped in a hellish eternity of sitting on a numb mangrove for what feels like hours if not decades. 

My phone that I had been using as a small light much like Zoe and Zach, is now dropping in battery percentage faster than the beat drops at a classic end of the school year house party. Miserably, I switch off the torch on my phone and stare up at the galaxy of burning stars in the night sky above me. It's pretty and in a strange way its comforting to look at it. Unfortunately, I'm in no mood to take note of 'pretty' things.

"I think we should be alright to go back now," Roberto eventually says, breaking the tense silence. 

His tone alone conveys to me that we have something in common - boredom. While we've probably only been here for fifteen minutes, the dank rot of the mangroves and silence we've all been sucked down into is driving us both a little insane. The density of the forest means there's no reception here and as a result, entertainment availability on our phones is practically non-existent.

"They're still there," Zoe responds, toneless. In times of crisis such as these, Zoe has the remarkable ability to think with the utmost amount of logic. 

"And how'd you know that?" Roberto's voice is sarcastic, mocking. I think we all know his words aren't out of spite, rather out of irritation for the anti-climatic flop the night has dramatically turned into.

A long, tan arm stretches into the night, pointing towards a clump of mangroves indecipherable to my eyes, "Because I can still see the red and blue lights flashing."

As the two of them argue in hushed tones and aggressive flickers of the eyes, Zach and my own heads turn to each other the way they would've in similar situations in the past. It's the sort of look that's conveyed only when two people need to show each other they're not alone to the main conversation they're outsiders to. 

Eventually I give him a small smile which he returns. The adrenaline that had been racing around my system has since withered away into the night and I'm left felling exhausted and wanting nothing more than a hot shower and my cosy bed. 

The volume of Roberto and Zoe's passive-aggressive argument increases and Zach, sensing an approaching storm interjects, "Isn't there another way out of here?"

All voices stop for a second until Roberto answers, "Yes," just as Zoe replies with her own forceful, "No."

Roberto's head whips back to Zoe's, "There is! The one I found with Blake and Shauna that time. I told you about it." 

Zoe shakes her head right back at him, "No way. You guys were covered in so many cuts and bruises after that! And weren't you guys half-pissed on Tequila then? Another point, you did that in the day, it, in case you have not noticed, is very much night now. You'll never find it again!"

"Whoa, ye of little faith!" Roberto places a hand to his heart as if physically pained from her blunt words, "I remember it well enough. I got us this far from the bonfire didn't I? I can find it again."

"We're going to get lost if we try following your crazy goat path! Let's just wait for another fifteen minutes and they'll probably be gone by then."

"No way, our path takes us straight back to the edge of town and is only a ten minute walk."

Zach and I share a second worried glance. The two of them could be fighting for ten minutes themselves. Zoe's idea is smart and logical. However, if Roberto's path is legit then we'd get back to the hotel much faster and avoid any potential run-ins with any lingering officers. 

"Fine, you stay of here and wait to get nipped in the arse buy a venomous spider or get arrested by the cops. Whichever one finds you first, I don't care. Evans and I'll go the fast way and get the hell out of here. Even the chick can come if she wants to."

The thick smell of tension fills the air and chokes in my throat. As if on command, Zoe and Roberto both look to see Zach and I's reactions. Now that the sun has dropped and the bonfire is far away from us, there is a distinct frosty chill in the air. However, both Roberto and Zoe's eyes are fuelled with a fiery glint that I don't particularly want to cross with either of them. 

Zach's the first to cave and clears his throat in a way I don't attempt to decipher, "Maybe we should at least go and see what Roberto's path looks like?"

All three sets of eyes then swivel to rest on me. Personally, both options sound pretty awful and I don't want to announce any small opinion I might have to these people. While it is a relatively small choice, the same wisps of tension that float around me, promise this is much more of a question of loyalty rather than anything else. And when I think about it like that, it doesn't take long for me to formulate the words, "I'm leaning more towards Zoe's idea," and then as an afterthought, "But I don't think we should split up."

"So?" Roberto looks back at Zoe. 

The moment stretches out for an uncomfortable amount of time. The tension wisps turn poisonous and suddenly every second is filled with the brutal sound of snapping bonds of trust and the brewing of intense loathing. On mine and Zach's side of the mangrove tree we're piled around, the same telepathic thought is fired back and forth across the dank air: who's going to break first?

Eventually a distinctly annoyed, distinctly female, distinctly Zoe sigh pierces the night, "Fine. Let's find this weedy path that's no doubt covered in animal crap. If we get lost, don't say I didn't warn you." 

Roberto, clearly not bothered by Zoe's words, grins, switches on the torch on his own phone and leaves. One-by-one we all turn to follow closely behind him. Our pace is much slower this time, fuelled only by our impatience to leave the gnarly forest and not out of adrenaline-fuelled self-preservation.

Somehow I've managed to end up walking directly behind Zach. We used to talk. We used to talk a lot and while our current situation both emotionally and geographically doesn't scream conversation hot spots, we're a far cry from the people we used to be with each other. I'm torn between wishing we could just sit down and figure things out and being happy not to speak to him ever again. I know what Zoe would say, she'd tell me to move on - in fact she did tell me to move on. And a part of myself wants to do that too. So what is this strange thumping happening in my chest? Is it just the lingering part of my heart that will belong to him forever? Or is more than that? 

A sudden shriek erupts through the darkness and all heads whip around to watch as Zoe stumbles over an unexpected root, teeters between the pull of gravity and her own strength of will, before eventually coming to a stop in a perfectly vertical position. As if I had just watched a gymnast recover from a dangerous manoeuvre, I resist the urge to clap. If it had been myself in those heels, I know my final position would've definitely been a horizontal one, face first. 

"You alright?" I hear myself asking Zoe.

She nods back while flicking on her phone's torch, "Yeah." 

"What are you looking for?"

"Just trying to see what I stepped on. It was really squishy." 

From my peripheral vision, I see Roberto and Zach share an amused glance. I can tell what they're thinking: girls. I resist the urge to glare.

Before I get the chance to decide whether to help Zoe look for her 'squishy' root or not, a second shriek pierces the air. Like the first, this squeal is a reflex, filled with surprise and even a little bit of fear. Unlike the first one, the shriek has not been conjured out of Zoe's concern for her own well-being, rather someone else's.

Instinctively, I follow the beam of Zoe's light to find the cause for all the screaming. Half buried in the ground, bent in unnatural angles and tinted in a blue hue most people should never have to witness, is the top of distinctively human corpse. Without meaning to, I let out a scream of my own. Thick bile rushes into my mouth an spots pulse along the edges of my vision. For one nauseating moment I think I'm going to faint.

 It's a girl. A young girl. A girl with golden pigtails wrapped in hot pink ribbons . . . it's the girl who was playing on the beach less than a week ago. 

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A/N:

And, as some would say, the plot thickens . . .

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