Chapter 3

By: ThalrixVyre

Malory trudged through the dense jungle, half-listening to the distant sound of Cheryl's voice as it echoed back toward her. She wasn't about to sprint after Cheryl again. Not after the absurdity of the day they'd already had. If Cheryl wanted to chase some rabid monkey, she could damn well do it without dragging Malory along.

She kept her focus sharp, scanning the ground for anything that resembled edible plants. Years of experience in the field had honed her survival instincts, and even though she was irritated beyond measure, Malory knew that her best bet at staying alive was to stay calm and resourceful. Cheryl's idiocy would either get her killed or—by some miracle—lead them to something useful.

The jungle was getting darker now, the fading sunlight barely cutting through the thick canopy. Malory's feet were sore, her clothes sticky with sweat, but she wasn't going to stop until she had something to show for all this effort. Her mind wandered back to the first time she'd been dropped into a hostile environment—some mission in Eastern Europe, decades ago. Back then, she'd had nothing but a knife, a canteen, and her wits. She had survived then, and she would survive now.

Suddenly, a loud rustling noise from up ahead broke her concentration. Malory paused, her body tensing as she listened. Cheryl's voice carried through the trees, still annoyingly chipper.

"Ms. Archer! You're not gonna believe this!" Cheryl's excited tone had Malory rolling her eyes. She was ready to believe Cheryl had found something ridiculous—like another monkey or some random shiny object to obsess over.

But as Malory approached the clearing, she was met with a surprising sight. Cheryl was standing over a low-hanging bush, a wide grin plastered across her face. In her hands was a bundle of strange-looking fruits—dark purple, almost black, with a glossy sheen that made them look too good to be safe.

"I told you Mister Bananas would lead us to food!" Cheryl announced proudly, holding the fruit up for Malory to inspect. "He was totally right! The old gypsy woman knew this would happen!"

Malory stared at the fruit, then back at Cheryl, trying to suppress her disbelief. "You can't be serious," she muttered, leaning in to take a closer look. "You're trusting a monkey and some ridiculous fortune-teller with our survival?"

Cheryl nodded vigorously, her eyes bright with excitement. "Yep! And look—it worked! These are totally edible. I mean, probably. I haven't tried them yet, but they look like something you'd see in one of those survival shows, right?"

Malory pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly to keep herself from snapping. "You don't eat random fruit in the jungle, Cheryl. For all you know, these things could kill us in minutes. We need to test them first."

Cheryl pouted, clearly disappointed by Malory's lack of enthusiasm. "But they smell sweet! And they're shiny! Shiny things are usually good, right? I used to eat berries in the park as a kid, and I didn't die. So it's basically the same thing."

Malory glanced down at the fruit in Cheryl's hands, her mind working through the possibilities. They needed food, and this was the first promising sign they'd come across. But she wasn't about to trust Cheryl's insane logic about shiny things being safe to eat. Years of training told her to approach with caution.

"We'll take some with us," Malory said at last, plucking one of the fruits from Cheryl's hand. "But we're not eating them until I've had a chance to figure out if they're poisonous. If you eat one and die, I'm not dragging your body back to camp."

Cheryl, predictably, looked unfazed. "Psh, you worry too much, Ms. Archer. I've got an iron stomach. I once ate a whole tray of expired sushi, and all I got was, like, a mild case of vomiting. Nothing serious!"

Malory shot her a withering look. "I'm not taking any chances. You're an idiot, but I'm not going to let you get us both killed over some jungle berries."

Cheryl shrugged, clearly content with her monkey-guided foraging success. She shoved a handful of the fruits into her bag, bouncing on her toes like a child who'd just won a prize at the fair.

"Fine, fine. You're the boss, after all," she said with a playful smirk, clearly reveling in Malory's dominance over the situation. "But I'm telling you, these are definitely safe. The old gypsy woman wouldn't lie to me."

Malory didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, she turned back toward the stream, her mind already spinning with thoughts of what to do next. They needed to get back to their makeshift camp before nightfall, and these fruits—poisonous or not—would have to be dealt with carefully.

As they made their way back through the jungle, Cheryl continued to babble on about the old gypsy woman's prophecy, how everything was playing out exactly as foretold. Malory ignored most of it, her focus solely on the task at hand.As they made their way back through the jungle, Cheryl continued to babble on about the old gypsy woman's prophecy, how everything was playing out exactly as foretold. Malory ignored most of it, her focus solely on the task at hand. The humidity was suffocating, her shirt clinging to her skin as they trudged through the undergrowth, and all she could think about was how they were going to make it through the night.

Malory had already mentally categorized their priorities: water, shelter, fire. They'd found the water—though she was still suspicious of Cheryl's monkey-assisted berry-finding efforts—but the fire was next on the list. She glanced up at the darkening sky, knowing they didn't have much daylight left. A fire would be crucial for warmth, protection, and, more importantly, keeping Cheryl from wandering off into the jungle after that stupid monkey.

"We need to find a way to start a fire," Malory muttered under her breath, scanning the ground for dry twigs or leaves they could use for kindling. "If we don't, we'll be sitting ducks out here in the dark."

Cheryl perked up, skipping a little as she caught up to Malory. "Oh, we need a fire? Why didn't you say so earlier?"

Malory stopped, turning slowly to face her. There was a warning tone in her voice as she asked, "I did."

Cheryl grinned, her eyes lighting up with that all-too-familiar manic energy. "I have matches."

Malory blinked, momentarily dumbfounded. "You have what?"

"Matches," Cheryl repeated cheerfully, digging into her bag. She pulled out a small, slightly battered box of matches, waving them in the air like they were some kind of prize. "See?"

Malory stared at the box, her eye twitching with barely concealed rage. "You had matches this entire time, and you didn't think to mention it?"

Cheryl shrugged, her expression completely innocent. "You didn't ask."

Malory's fist clenched at her side, the urge to throttle Cheryl nearly overwhelming. "I didn't ask because I assumed that if you had something useful like matches, you would have told me before I spent the last half hour trying to figure out how to start a fire in the middle of a jungle!"

Cheryl tilted her head to the side, as if the concept of sharing critical survival tools was somehow foreign to her. "Oh… well, yeah. But I thought you knew! I mean, I always have matches. You know… for fun."

"For fun," Malory repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. "You carry around matches for fun."

Cheryl nodded enthusiastically, her grin widening. "Yeah! I like starting fires. It's kind of my thing. Especially at, like, fancy parties or corporate events. The way everything just goes whoosh when it catches, it's pretty thrilling!"

Malory closed her eyes, taking a slow, deep breath. This was Cheryl Tunt—of course, she liked setting things on fire. Why hadn't she seen that coming?

"Give me the damn matches," Malory said through gritted teeth, holding out her hand.

Cheryl handed over the box with a proud little flourish, clearly pleased with herself. "You're welcome! I'm, like, super prepared, huh? I knew these would come in handy."

Malory snatched the matches from Cheryl's hand, glaring at her. "If we survive this, I'm going to need a very strong drink and some serious therapy."

"Or," Cheryl said brightly, "you could just, like, embrace the chaos! I mean, we're basically unstoppable now. We've got water, we've got matches—what else do we need?"

"A miracle," Malory muttered, turning back to the firepit she'd been preparing. She crouched down, arranging the sticks and dry leaves in a small pile, then struck one of the matches with a swift, practiced motion. The flame flared to life, and within seconds, the fire began to crackle, the warmth spreading through the small clearing.

Cheryl, of course, clapped her hands together as if Malory had just performed some kind of magic trick. "Yay! Fire! This is, like, the best survival trip ever. You're really good at this, Ms. Archer."

Malory shot her a withering look. "I'm good at this because I've had years of training and experience, not because I enjoy the idea of being stranded on an island with a pyromaniac who doesn't understand basic survival protocol."

Cheryl flopped down beside the fire, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Oh, come on. You're having some fun, right? I mean, this is basically a bonding experience. We'll look back on this and laugh someday, I bet."

"The only thing I'm going to look back on is how I managed not to strangle you on day one," Malory replied dryly, watching the flames flicker as the fire grew stronger.

Cheryl sighed dreamily, resting her chin on her hands as she gazed into the fire. "You say that now, but I know deep down you're having a great time. I mean, look at this—warm fire, beautiful sunset, just the two of us. It's like something out of a romance novel."

Malory groaned, standing up and brushing dirt off her pants. "This is not a romance novel, Cheryl. This is a survival situation, and if you don't stop talking about gypsy prophecies and monkey guides, I'm going to lose my mind."

Cheryl giggled, completely unfazed by Malory's growing irritation. "Fine, fine. I'll be quiet. But just so you know, if Mister Bananas shows up again, I'm following him. I think he's onto something."

Malory rolled her eyes, already regretting every decision that had led her to this point. "If you follow that monkey one more time, I'll feed you to the jungle animals myself."

Cheryl just smiled, settling in closer to the fire as the jungle around them grew darker. "I'll take my chances. You've got to admit, it's kind of exciting, right? Like, anything could happen. It's all just… so unpredictable."

Malory sighed, watching the shadows stretch across the clearing as the firelight flickered against the trees. Unpredictable didn't even begin to cover it. But at least they had fire now, and that was one less thing to worry about.

Tomorrow, though? Tomorrow would bring its own set of problems, and Malory knew that Cheryl Tunt was going to be at the center of every single one of them.

The first thing Malory noticed when she woke up was the oppressive heat. It was barely morning, and already the jungle air felt thick and heavy, the humidity sticking to her skin like a second layer of clothing. She groaned, blinking groggily as the remnants of sleep slipped away. The fire had long since died down, leaving only faint wisps of smoke curling into the sky.

But then Malory became aware of something far worse—something warm, soft, and entirely unwelcome pressed against her side. Slowly, dreading what she would find, she turned her head.

Cheryl was curled up next to her, completely naked, her arm draped lazily over Malory's chest. Her hair was a wild mess, and her breathing was soft and content, as if she had found the perfect way to spend the night. Malory stared, dumbfounded, her mind struggling to catch up with the sheer idiocy of the situation.

"For the love of—" Malory sat up abruptly, shoving Cheryl off her with more force than was strictly necessary.

Cheryl yelped, tumbling backward into the dirt with a startled, "Wha—?!" She blinked up at Malory in confusion, still half-asleep, before rubbing her eyes. "What's going on? Is there a jaguar or something?"

"No, there's no damn jaguar!" Malory snapped, her voice sharp with irritation. "What the hell are you doing, Cheryl? And why are you naked?"

Cheryl looked down at herself, as if only just realizing that she had, in fact, stripped completely at some point during the night. A slow grin spread across her face, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. "Oh, yeah! I took off my clothes to conserve warmth. I figured it'd be, like, more survival-y if I cuddled up next to you."

Malory stared at her in disbelief, feeling her headache return in full force. "Conserve warmth? Conserve warmth? Cheryl, we're in a jungle. It's hot as hades out here. The last thing we need is to conserve warmth."

Cheryl sat up, still looking entirely too pleased with herself. "But isn't that what they do in survival shows? You know, when they're trapped in the wilderness and they need to share body heat to survive?"

Malory clenched her jaw, her patience hanging by a thread. "Cheryl, we are not in a snowstorm. It's over ninety degrees, and the only thing you're conserving is your ability to annoy me."

Cheryl shrugged, completely unfazed by Malory's anger. "Well, I was comfy. You're kind of a good snuggler. Just saying."

Malory's eye twitched. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm. "I swear, Cheryl, if you keep this up, I'm going to—"

"You're going to what?" Cheryl asked, grinning mischievously. "Strangle me? I wouldn't be mad about it, you know."

Malory groaned, running a hand through her disheveled hair. "Just… put your damn clothes back on and stop talking about strangulation. We've got enough problems without you parading around naked and making this worse."

Cheryl sighed dramatically but reached for her discarded clothes. "Fine, fine. But just so you know, I'm totally fine being the little spoon if we need to survive another night like that."

Malory shot her a withering glare. "If we survive another night like that, it'll be because I've figured out a way to get off this godforsaken island. Now hurry up and get dressed. We've got work to do."

Cheryl pouted but slipped back into her clothes, clearly disappointed that her plan to "conserve warmth" hadn't been met with more enthusiasm. Malory, meanwhile, stood up and dusted off her pants, already making a mental checklist for the day.

The jungle was coming alive around them, birds chirping in the distance and the soft rustle of leaves in the humid breeze. Malory knew they needed to get moving if they were going to have any chance of making it through another day.

But with Cheryl in tow, she suspected that every day on this island was going to be its own special kind of hell.

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"Is this what you wanted?" Malory asked, her voice low and rough. "For me to lose it? To take it all out on you?"

Cheryl nodded, as best as she could with Malory's hand still around her throat. "Yes," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. "Please… don't stop."

Malory hesitated for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. She could feel Cheryl's pulse beneath her fingertips, the heat radiating off her body. Every survival instinct told her to stop, to pull away and get a grip on herself. But Cheryl wasn't just letting her do this—she was begging for it.

Malory's grip tightened again, her eyes narrowing as she leaned in closer. "You're lucky I need this," she muttered, her breath hot against Cheryl's ear. "Because if I didn't, you'd be on your own."

Cheryl's eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan escaping her lips as Malory's hand squeezed just a little tighter. The sound sent a jolt through Malory's body—an electric pulse of power and control that she hadn't expected. Cheryl's skin was flushed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she clung to Malory's wrist, not to stop her, but to encourage her.