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isn’t even one bottle of liquor on board. Tristan knows I don’t drink while flying—it makes me sick—so he didn’t buy anything. We could use it for disinfection purposes if the small bottle of rubbing alcohol runs out. I shudder. That’s no way to think. We won’t need another bottle. Heck, I hope we won’t even need this small bottle. We’ll be rescued in no time.
    When the rain stops, we go outside, and are delighted to discover we've collected a decent amount of water. The baskets I made out of leaves yesterday have pulled apart, but the ones I made today hold water perfectly. I want to drink water at once, but Tristan stops me, insisting that we boil it first. I argue that rainwater should be pure, but he says there's a good chance there were microorganisms on the leaves I used to make the baskets. I finally agree, though my throat aches with thirst. I also ask why we couldn’t just boil the muddy water from the bottom of the hill and drink it before, but he says he doesn’t trust the muddy water not to make us sick, even boiled.
    We build a fire with the wood we sheltered under leaves, and boil the water using the empty soda cans as containers. Since we have just four cans, it takes forever to sterilize enough water to still our thirst. Tristan also proclaims the huge grapefruits we gathered safe to eat, so we feast on those. After we're done, Tristan points out that we need to build some kind of shelter where we can keep the wood safe from rain. The large leaves we covered the wood with protected it, but we need something more substantial.
    We find what looks like gigantic bamboo trees nearby and use the slim trunks as pillars for a shelter then cover them with the same thick leaves I used to make the baskets. When we finish, it's almost dark. The shelter will keep things dry, but I suspect that if a heavy storm comes along, it will knock the shelter flat in no time.
    My stomach begins to grumble after we're done. "We could've used a few more of those fruits," I say, rubbing my stomach.
    "I can go get more."
    "No. It's almost dark. You said the forest is more dangerous when it's dark."
    Tristan frowns as he looks through the trees, making the hair at the nape of my neck stand on end. Not because he's hesitant or frightened. On the contrary. It frightens me because he isn't frightened. Not one bit. People without fear are a danger to themselves. My parents weren't frightened of anything. That's how they got themselves killed.
    "Don't go in, Tristan," I urge, gripped by panic. "Please don't."
    His eyebrows shoot up. He’s puzzled by my reaction, obviously. Realizing my fists are clenched, I hide my hands behind my back.
    "I'm not that hungry.” A loud stomach grumble follows my statement. "I can wait until tomorrow."
    "Okay," Tristan says, scrutinizing me. I breathe relieved.
    A bird soars above us. Even though it's almost dark, I recognize it by the bright yellow plumage on top of its head. "Look, that's a yellow-crowned Amazon parrot. I have a friend who's had one for years." The bird descends in circles, until it lands on Tristan's arm. "Hey, it seems to like you. I thought wild birds would avoid humans."
    "So did I. Can you look away?"
    "What?"
    What happens next stuns me. He opens his mouth, no doubt to explain himself, just as the bird opens its wings to take off. Tristan turns to the bird, raising his free hand. I think he’s going to caress the bird or stop it from flying away.
    Instead, he breaks its neck.
    I scream, covering my mouth with both hands, buckling forward, and throwing up. Tristan's saying something but I just signal him not to come close to me. I back off, sitting on the airstairs, refusing to look up.
    "Sorry. I meant to warn you," Tristan says. "It's just—”
    "That was brutal," I cry.
    "We need to eat," Tristan retorts.
    "Just give me five minutes."
    But it takes me more than five minutes to pull myself together. By the time I get up from the airstairs, the now featherless bird