The Altruism Trial

Chapter Seven: The Forest

The Story So Far: Riley sinks into a state of depression--wondering if it’s worth trying to find food or water. However, the curious sounds in the forest continue to pique his interest to the point where he decides to investigate. And then, a message appears on his tablet.

Things that blow big time:

- Hungry

- Thirsty

- Tired

- Sunburnt

- Cut on my right leg still hurts - Monsters in the forest

- Brianna won’t be able to come

to my hockey game

- Neither will I

11:45 AM

There’s a glare on the screen. The sun is right above me now. I scurry over to the jet and bring the tablet down into the shade. The blue light flashes again. The message appears.

Persevere, Riley, and keep submitting daily entries. You have earned a score of four. Are you an Altruist yet? I tap on the discussion icon, and type in a response. Who are you? I am EOTS. I am your Trial Navigator.

A crab crawls over my foot. I fling my leg back, catapulting the creature in the water. So, you’re speaking to me again? I reply, recalling the last time this thing sent me a message it wanted me to talk to someone. Yes, the tablet beeps.

I rub the sand off my fingers. My heart races. Can you help me? Yes.

Really? You can get me off this island? Do you know where I am?

Yes.

I wait, assuming it’s going to tell me more—that it is going to send a rescue team out to me.

There isn’t a cloud in the sky. The ‘help’ sign in the sand has been washed up by the tide. I realize I should move the word higher up on the beach. Perhaps adding rocks will make it stand out more. Maybe, change it to SOS?

Are you there? I text. I’m baffled that this tablet has been able to communicate with me this whole time. I also don’t get how the batteries haven’t died. Since receiving this thing in the mail, I haven’t had to charge it at all. In fact, come to think of it, this thing didn’t even come with a charger.

Are you there? I type again.

Yes.

Are you able to help me? Yes.

How? I say.

The light flickers blue again. Go into the forest and raise your score. Are you an Altruist yet? Will you press the red button? 2:00 PM

I still haven’t gone into the forest. I received a message earlier saying that ‘the test failed’ and that my current score is three.

Whatever.

Forget that, I ain’t getting eaten by some crazed monster in there. Besides, my stomach hurts.

I’m going to make a hockey stick out of some driftwood I found on the other side of the rocks.

Gotta keep up my skills for when

I’m rescued.

3:45 PM

Found a flat boulder about the size of my bedroom. I just had to clear away some gunk and dead wood. I’m now slap-shotting stones into the water with my makeshift hockey stick.

Still no rescue team.

What a joke. Don’t they know who I am? 5:39 PM

Rolled up my shirt and wedged it between the glass and the frame of the cockpit so that the condensation can soak into it. Managed to squeeze out some more water that way. Booya.

Still no rescue team—probably organized by a bunch of baboons. September 27th 10:56 AM Not sure why this stupid tablet

doesn’t weekend? indicate I’m totally what day missing it is. Is all it the the all NHL that pre-season bad. As long games. as I’m I guess rescued it isn’t in time for the Penguins’ season opener. anymore? Why aren’t I leave you talking my twentieth to me message no reply. on Why the do EOTS you want but am me getting to go into the forest? September 30th 6:35 PM

I ate my first crab today. Tasted like salty eggnog, but it helped quench my thirst a little—which was weird.

The cut on my right leg isn’t getting better. I can’t stop scratching it. October 4th

Sometime in the afternoon, I think. Nobody is coming. Nobody cares. Missing the season opener too. This sucks. October 13th Morning.

Crab, seaweed, window water, crab, seaweed, window water.

Heard weird noises in the woods again.

Searched for the bridge piece again. October 20th

Sliced up my hand trying to crack open a coconut. Not trying that again. Broke my hockey stick today as well. Took me all day to fix. November 1st

I guess I can share this now, considering no one will read my stupid journal entries. Here goes.

I’ve cried pretty much every day since I got here. I hate crying.

My score is down to two.

I want to go home.

November 6th 10:35 AM Just woke up.

Today is Brianna’s birthday—been thinking about it for a couple of days actually. I wonder if she’s thinking about me. I don’t know why, but I think I’m ready to go into the forest. I don’t care if there are creepy things moving about in there—i don’t care if they get me. I think I’m ready.

The blue light flickers on the tablet. A message appears from EOTS. Congratulations.

What do you mean? I type back.

You have indicated through your log entry that you plan to proceed into the forest.

I guess, I reply.

Please proceed and continue to enter your logs. Your score is now five. Are you an Altruist yet? Will you press the red button? Best wishes. 10: 42 AM

I’m bringing my tablet with me just in case EOTS decides to talk to me again. Maybe he knows something—or she?

I’m also bringing my hockey stick because—well, you never know.

I push through the thick brush and hold my breath, half expecting a giant furry creature to jump out and haul me up into the trees. Perhaps it will share my limbs with its family.

I take a few more steps. There’s almost an eerie silence.

I exhale and look out through the branches. The cool air moves the thick growth about, slowly— gracefully. Somehow, my heart settles—somehow there is a soothing calmness about the stillness in here.

I’m no longer nervous.

Just a bit farther, EOTS message appears. 10:53 AM A shadow moves to my right.

I see something.

A girl—a young girl—maybe my age—appears through the thick. She’s wearing a faded yellow shirt a few sizes too big and torn jean shorts. Her hair is sun-bleached. She doesn’t see me.

I lower myself, tucking my legs and arms behind some jagged rocks.

Who is she? I wonder.

My face heats up.

The girl carries a basket, woven out of leaves from the palm trees— it’s tied to a rope around her waist.

Behind her, a boy follows—again, about my age, maybe a couple years older. He looks thin—too thin. Do I say something? Are they going to hurt me?