Chapter Six
Brian swallowed his mouthful of crab, roasted coconut, breadfruit, and sweet papaya.
The latter two they’d discovered growing on trees farther down the beach and ate daily.
The crab had been a lucky grab he’d made in the shallows by the reef, and it was a bitch and a half to kill it, crack it, and cook it.
Still, it was a welcome change of flavor.
They sat on their flannel blanket near the campfire, watching the sun disappear, leaving a symphony of red and pink streaking across the sky in its wake.
“They’re not coming, are they?”
With a sigh, Brian peeked at Troy next to him.
Even though they ate well considering they were on a desert island, Troy’s ribs were starting to protrude and shadows darkened his eyes.
Stubble covered his face, and they were both tanned and dried out from the sun, never mind the saltwater.
In two weeks, Troy looked so much older and wearier than the clean-cut young man who’d boarded the plane in Sydney.
Lying wouldn’t help anything, so Brian said, “Probably not.”
Troy’s gaze remained on the horizon, his dinner untouched in its coconut shell, the makeshift seashell spoon still sticking out of the top. His knees were tucked to his chest. “It’s been two weeks. And there’s…nothing.”
“Search and rescue is very difficult,” Brian said quietly. “Especially in the ocean. The vastness…” He rubbed at the thickening beard on his face. “It’s hard to comprehend.”
Not moving, Troy still didn’t look at him. He was defeated in a way Brian hadn’t seen before. In a way that made his belly churn. He hated that the optimistic light had faded from Troy’s eyes.
“We never even see those white trails jets leave behind. I know they’d be too high up to spot us, but it’s like…we’re at the end of the Earth. Or like we time traveled, and the rest of the world is just…gone.”
Brian tried to think of something—anything—comforting. “But we never know when a smaller plane or ship might spot us.”
Troy looked like he needed a hug, but would that be too…
weird? Brian tried to think of the last time he’d hugged someone and realized with a pang that it was Paula on her birthday, an awkward press and back pat that had only lasted a moment.
He’d isolated himself so much that he second-guessed hugging, which was pretty pathetic.
He toyed with his coconut bowl, pulling off strands of the coarse husk, wishing he knew the right thing to say and do.
“What if they never come?” Troy whispered.
“Then we survive. They’ll find us eventually.”
Troy looked at him sharply now. “You don’t know that. They probably think we’re dead. You said that yourself. It’s been two weeks. When planes go missing, it’s because they crash, right? How often do they find survivors eating coconuts?”
He took a sip of rainwater, his throat dry. “There are crashes with survivors. That does happen.” He scratched the back of his neck, the phantom rush of fire prickling his skin.
“But in crashes like this? In the middle of the ocean? Middle of nowhere? Does anyone survive?”
“Not usually, but it’s not impossible. In 19—”
“Please don’t. No history lesson right now.”
“Fine. But we’re living proof that it’s possible. We’re here.”
“We’re nowhere! We might as well be on Mars.
The rest of the world is gone. Like they forgot about us.
” Troy nodded at the signaling mirror where it sat on its designated rock, next to the stone they’d been scratching as a calendar.
“We keep flashing that fucking thing around, and no one’s there. It’s pointless.”
“It’s not. We never know. There could be a ship that we can’t see miles away. A plane.”
“But they think we’re dead. Wouldn’t you?” He jabbed his finger toward Brian. “Wouldn’t you think we’re dead?”
Brian kept his tone even and calm. “Yes. I would. The search has probably been called off. If we crashed in water and somehow survived, we would have drowned or died of thirst and exposure in a matter of days. With a raft, the odds go up, but are still negligible. And the odds of finding land and making it down safely are ridiculously small. Paula flew the hell out of that plane. It’s a miracle, really. ”
Shoulders sinking, Troy visibly deflated, the burst of fury gone. “A miracle. I prayed for it while we were crashing. Begged God to save us. I don’t know if anyone’s listening.” He blew out a puff of air. “Do you believe in God?”
“No.”
Staring up at the stars as they blinked into sight, Troy was quiet for a few moments.
“We went to Catholic school before we got the show, and church on Christmas and Easter. I never really thought about it. It was routine, saying the hail Marys and all that. But when you do think about it, it all just seems…”
“Unlikely?”
A faint smile tugged on Troy’s lips. “Yeah. I’d like to think it’s true. That there’s a heaven. I don’t know.”
“You don’t need to know. Not tonight, anyway.”
“Guess not.” He put his bowl next to Brian. “You can finish mine. I know it’s early, but I’m going to turn in. Got a headache.”
“You should eat first.” Brian handed him the bowl back. “The crab tastes good.”
Troy was already on his feet. “Not hungry.”
“Troy, come on.” Brian thrust out the bowl. “We can’t fool around with this. We’re both down weight, and with the shape you’re in, your metabolism is sky high. Those shorts are hanging off you.”
“I’m fine. I told you, I have a headache.” He turned toward the teepee.
Brian shot to his feet and blocked the way. “So eat half of it at least.”
Rolling his eyes, Troy huffed. “Seriously, dude?”
“Seriously. We cannot afford to get sick. We have enough to worry about without willful malnutrition. We need to eat as much as we can every single day. We don’t know if the fruit or fish will suddenly dry up. If the nightly rain showers will stop.”
Troy stilled. “You think that might happen?”
“I have no idea. I never thought I’d see a cyclone come out of nowhere after the rainy season was over. There are no guarantees.” He shook the bowl. “So eat.”
With a sigh, Troy took it and sat back down with a thud. Holding the seashell, he scooped up the mash of crab and fruits, chewing silently and staring into the fire. Brian sat next to him and crossed his legs before he finished his own dinner.
A few minutes later, Troy showed Brian his empty bowl. “Satisfied? Can I go to bed now?”
Swallowing his last mouthful along with a spike of irritation, Brian nodded. After Troy disappeared inside their shelter, Brian went to add more wood to the signal fire by the SOS. Uncoiling the pocket chainsaw, he sawed through an uprooted small tree they’d dragged out of the jungle.
The heat of the day lingered in the absence of the sun, and in the light of the stars and fire, he sawed out his frustration. Sweat dripped down his neck, his hair dampening as the pile of wood grew.
When the aggravation with Troy’s moping faded, a swell of panic ripped through Brian without warning, the thought of how they might die here filling his mind.
He stared at the chainsaw in his hands. How easy it would be to cut himself in a lapse of concentration.
Their meager medical supplies wouldn’t last. The simplest infection in a wound could kill them.
Another storm could come, or one of those sea snakes might bite, and it would be curtains.
He counted his breaths until his heart slowed. Troy was right that the rest of the world seemed a lifetime away. Even Paula’s death was distant. Brian thought of her family in Auckland and the parents whose names he didn’t remember. Even if he could talk to them, what would he say?
Keeping busy, he carried the wood to the shelter they’d constructed just inside the jungle using fronds and their orange rain ponchos to keep the wood as dry as possible. After he finished stacking and covering, Brian returned to their campfire and gazed toward the shelter.
He hated seeing Troy like this, and was very tempted to try talking more with him, even though Troy clearly wanted some space.
Looking up at the stars, Brian told himself sternly to let Troy do his own thing.
He barely knew the guy, even if it didn’t feel that way.
Besides, he should be delighted to have some alone time.
Yet as he sat there by the fire, gazing up at the vast expanse of stars and the waxing moon, he didn’t feel the emotional release and recharge of his batteries he normally would being alone after spending so much time with someone.
When he was married to Alicia, it had been a bone of contention that he liked taking walks on his own, or curling up with a book for hours in an empty room. She simply hadn’t understood why he’d felt the need, and that it wasn’t about her at all.
His girlfriend Rebecca had been a bit of an introvert herself, and maybe that had been part of the problem in the end. Who am I kidding? I was the problem. She tried to help after it happened, and I wouldn’t let her. Wouldn’t let anyone.
Looking back, he could see that he’d gone far beyond enjoying some alone time to basically becoming a hermit once he’d fled to Australia.
It hadn’t been healthy, hiding away in his tiny apartment and only coming out to work.
He flew enough to get by and supplement the generous severance the airline had given for signing a piece of paper promising not to sue.
Leaning back on his elbows, Brian yearned for his Kindle and the escape to another life, another world. But all he could do was worry about Troy.
After another miserable hour, he unzipped the suitcase and uncapped their dozen water bottles, standing them up in the sand.
It had rained almost every night, a short downpour that fortunately gave them plenty of drinking water for the time being.
They’d found a sad little stream inland but wanted to conserve their water purification tablets.