For a moment, she thought she was still inside her dream. The cannibals on the island were checking her to see if they’d fattened her up enough on coconuts to put her on a spit and roast her for the celebration of the marriage of their new king. She grabbed the stick and shoved it away, before letting out a short scream that sounded more like a hiccup. When she opened her eyes, she saw not a dark- skinned tribesman with a bone through his nose and crazed bloodshot eyes, but a man in a helmet, leaning over her with the bright sun behind him ringing his head with a halo. He had tanned skin, citrine green eyes, long brown hair, and a short goatee. He wasn’t poking her with a stick—he was nudging her with the barrel of a rifle, shoving it into her ear and along the side of her cheek.She bolted upright and inched backwards, slamming her head into the base of the fountain. “Stop!”“Ooh! She speaks. She lives.” He kept the gun trained on her, the muzzle just inches from her face.
