The water made no sense.

Yoshi frowned. The pool felt as cold as the natural springs the last time he’d gone camping. But that had been in the mountains of Hokkaido, where the water came from melting snows. This place was a rain forest, the air so hot that Yoshi had stripped off his shirt hours ago, tying it around his waist.

He looked up. The waterfall tumbled down from someplace high in the mists, striking the stone outcrop in front of him and splitting into a hundred sprays.

Why was it so cold? Where did it come from?

Of course, the more important question was whether it was drinkable.

Swift-running water meant fewer microbes, he remembered from his father’s survival lectures. And ice-cold was probably better as well.

But the best argument for drinking it was that Yoshi was very, very thirsty. Besides, if the water here was unsafe, he and the other survivors were all doomed anyway.

Yoshi knelt and cupped a handful.

The cold made his teeth hurt, and the taste of minerals and vegetation filled his mouth. But every sip was a relief for his parched lips. He’d set off on this expedition with an empty canteen.

He didn’t need his father’s voice in his head to tell him that had been foolish.

Yoshi drank his thirst away, then filled the canteen. He turned on the radio again.

“Hello? Molly? Anyone?”

He waited. Nothing but static.

Yoshi sighed and took out the compass. Just like it had all afternoon, the needle spun in lazy circles. And he hadn’t been able to navigate by the sun, thanks to the ever-present white cloud overhead.

It was like this place was designed to make exploration impossible.

But as Yoshi took a slow drink from the canteen, a sound caught his ears. He frowned and picked up the radio again, holding it closer. Through the static came a soft burbling sound, beeps and tones that he could just hear over the roar of the waterfall.

Like a coded transmission.

Then he saw the compass in his hand—the needle was quivering, pointing straight at the waterfall.

He looked into the mist overhead, wondering again what was up there.

But a moment later, the beeping faded back into static, and the compass needle went back to slowly spinning.

He pressed the transmit button on the radio. “Hello?”

Yoshi listened. Nothing but static.

He pressed the button again. “Is anyone out there?”

Still nothing.

Yoshi sighed. Maybe he had imagined it all. His head was fuzzy from jet lag and no sleep. A cold swim might help.

No point in taking off his clothes. They needed washing, too.

Yoshi made his way to a dry rock that loomed over the deepest part of the pool. He took off his shoes and katana and laid them on the rock.

It took a long time, gathering his nerve to jump. Worse than the freezing water was the thought of leaving his sword out of reach.

For the last mile or so, Yoshi had heard a soft rustling underfoot. Like something was shadowing him, slithering low to the ground, at the edge of hearing.

Of course, it was probably just small animals moving through the undergrowth. Rodents or snakes, or those weirdly large insects he’d seen clinging to the tree trunks—bright green praying mantises with heads the size of pinecones.

Whatever was making the sound, it probably wasn’t interested in Yoshi. And now that the roar of the waterfall had swallowed the jungle’s sounds, the memory seemed like something else he’d imagined.

Yoshi reached one bare toe down into the water.

Bad idea. A shiver went deep into his bones, sapping his will.

Behind the roar of the waterfall, he sensed a larger sound. Something vast and sovereign, like the rumble of the sea.

He was just stalling, Yoshi knew. He heard his father’s voice.

Leap in, or admit you aren’t up to it. Don’t dither like a coward.

That was motivation enough—Yoshi jumped.

The freezing water enveloped him like a crushing fist. His muscles flinched all at once, squeezing the breath from his lungs. Here underwater, the roar of the fall was a thousand times louder, crowding every thought from his head. Shudders surged through him, and when his feet brushed the muddy bottom, Yoshi kicked himself upward as hard as he could.

He rose above the surface, sputtering for air, and swam straight toward the edge of the pool. He crawled out and lay there, panting and shivering on a mat of vines.

It took a while to recover from the grip of the cold. But finally he sat up, pulled his sopping shirt from around his waist, and laid it out flat.

Yoshi grinned at himself. He’d found water, and after hours of marching through the jungle and sweating, he felt clean at last.

But then the slithering sound came again.

It was barely there under the roar of the waterfall. But Yoshi had seen something, too—a movement among the vines.

His whole body tensed.

Was it a snake? Something poisonous?

He glanced up at the rock where his katana lay. Maybe three steps away.

But no sword could move faster than a snake’s strike. The best thing was to sit here, absolutely motionless.

Another rustle among the vines. Closer.

Even with his skin chilled from the water, Yoshi felt a trickle of sweat course down his back.

Suddenly, the rustling was everywhere, like an army of rats had emerged from holes in the ground. Yoshi stared, but couldn’t see anything through the red-tinged vines.

What was moving down there?

His heart beat faster, and he glanced again at his sword. The rock was bare, with no vines to hide scurrying creatures.

Should he just jump back into the water?

The thought of that icy cold enveloping him again made him shudder—and at that moment the trembling of the vines stopped.

Yoshi felt a tautness in the air. Like something was waiting for him to make the first move.

He couldn’t just sit here. His father’s voice came again …

Don’t dither like a coward.

Sudden determination flowed through his muscles, and Yoshi leaped up. His bare feet sank into the vines as he ran for the rock.

But as he jumped for the katana, he felt himself trip. His weight pitched forward, and he fell face-first toward hard stone. His hands came out and broke the fall, the skin of his palms scraping, his wrists screaming with pain.

He tried to free his feet, but something held his ankle. It was trying to drag him back away from his sword …

Yoshi reached for the katana, his fingers barely closing around the hilt. He waved it once to fling the scabbard away—the steel blade flashed.

He spun to face his attacker.