The valley opened before you like a trap — wide, green, nowhere to hide.

Behind you, the Indominus roared. Not close. Too close.

Zach grabbed your hand and took off running, pulling you alongside him. “We have to get to the waterfall!”

There was no time to question him. The beast was tearing through trees, ripping the jungle apart like paper, and you were a speck — running, slipping, bleeding — in its path.

The ground shook with every footfall. You barely managed to dodge a falling tree branch, the bark splintering behind you. Zach didn’t slow down. Neither did you.

The waterfall roared louder now — the sound of crashing water ahead, safety or death depending on what waited beneath.

And when the trees parted and the cliff appeared, Zach looked back at you just once.

His hand gripped yours like a lifeline.

“Jump!”

You went with him.

⸻

The river hit like ice — sharp, breath-stealing, violent.

You plunged deep, tumbling into shadows and bubbles and cold.

Underwater, everything was muffled chaos. Light flickered from the surface above, and your instincts screamed to swim for it, to breathe, to live—

But Zach yanked you back. Shook his head hard. Don’t. Not yet.

And you saw it — his eyes locked on yours, the fear in them sharp and real. But also steady. He pointed upward — just barely — and even through the blur, you saw the shadow. The Indominus. Waiting. Circling.

⸻

Your lungs burned. Panic clawed at your chest. Your body screamed to move, to breathe, but Zach still held your hand, grounding you there in the silence of the water.

You counted the seconds. Lost track. Your head throbbed.

And just when you couldn’t take it anymore — The shadow vanished.

Zach nodded sharply.

You both kicked upward — breaking the surface in a gasping, sputtering rush, air searing your throat like fire. You choked, coughed, clung to each other.

Zach pointed toward the riverbank. “Come on—”

The swim was clumsy, every muscle screaming. Your arms barely worked. But you made it — crawling up the rocks like something born again. Mud under your nails. Shaking. Soaking wet.

Zach collapsed beside you, still breathing like the world had tried to crush him.

He turned to you, still panting, and pushed a soaked strand of hair out of your face.

“I thought—” he stopped. Swallowed hard. “I thought we weren’t gonna make it.”

You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to.

Because you had made it.

Barely.