Chapter 24 #2
To my surprise, my hands were steady when they hovered over Hunter’s thigh as I readied to play the role of his Guardian Angel or Angel of Death.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered an apology in advance for hurting and perhaps murdering him.
Clenching my teeth, I jabbed the needle into his leg.
Hunter groaned, and I winced as if the pain shot through me too.
Turning his head to the side, he mumbled something like chic, or sheet, or maybe shit.
Definitely shit. Then I repeated sanitizing (I had only one needle) and stabbed Hunter’s other thigh with a tetanus injection.
After tucking towels and a blanket over Hunter, I spent the entire night on the chair near the bed, watching Hunter shiver and moan, either getting better or dying.
I smelled like a sweaty horse’s ass, and my shirt stuck to my skin, but I wasn’t willing to leave him, only getting up to bring fresh pots of cold water for the washcloth.
My mouth had an acrid taste, and I remembered my earlier episode in the morning by the lake and that I hadn’t had any food all day.
I pulled my legs to my chest and set my chin on my knees, watching Hunter’s chest move reassuringly up and down.
The cats curled up by Hunter’s side and slept near him until Hunter had to lean over and throw up in the bucket I’d prepared earlier (the first aid book mentioned this in the side effects of Penicillin).
By morning, Hunter had stopped quivering and sweating, his breathing had normalized, and while the swelling in his hand hadn’t gone down, his forehead felt cool to my touch.
I disposed of the bucket contents I left on the porch overnight, started the fire, took a quick shower, and changed into clean clothes. Hunter slept through the day, only waking up when I gave him antibiotic pills with some water.
It was closer to midday when Hunter shifted in the bed with a groan and pulled himself up against the headboard.
“Hi,” I said, dragging my exhausted body from the couch and finding a spot at the corner of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Very tired.”
“You can’t be tired. You slept for two days,” I said with a smile, my gaze sweeping over Hunter’s face. It had gained back some of its normal color, but his eyes were sunken in, and purple moons underneath them could easily be mistaken for bruises.
“Thank you for saving my life.”
“I had to return the favor, right? You save my ass. I save yours. Now we are even.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, dimples appearing on his stubbled cheeks. “If I recall it correctly, you owe me one more favor.” He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his good hand, then looked down at his damaged one. “Damn, that’s not very appealing.”
“I don’t want to jinx it, but I think the swelling went down a bit.” It was most likely my wishful thinking, and my tired eyes playing a trick on me. “Does it hurt a lot?”
He moved his fingers and sucked up a hiss through his teeth. “Not at all.”
I laughed. “Are you hungry? I have coconut water, filtered like you showed me, fruit salad, and boiled eggs.”
“Not a grilled fish?” he said in a teasing tone.
“Um, no to that. You haven’t taught me how to use the spear, and there is no way in hell I’m going near those snakes.” I nodded at his hand. “The last two days weren’t fun at all.”
“Boiled eggs and fruit sound great.”
Over our meal in bed, I filled in Hunter on everything I’d done in the last days. He shared with me the unhinged dreams he had, and that he could hear me talking to the cats and lizards.
Leaving our dirty dishes on the table, I climbed onto the bed next to him. My hand held his undamaged one, our fingers interlocking. I closed my eyes with the thought that tomorrow I’d try to get a fish for us. It would be a surprise for him. And for me for sure.
In the early morning hours, Hunter was halfway back to normal.
His hand was sore, the skin looked like he burned it, and agonizing pain shot each time he moved his index finger and thumb, but he was mobile.
While he was in the shower, I walked to the beach with the spear, determined to catch a fish—but in the regular bay and not the small lagoon.
Debating if I should first go for a quick swim, my gaze scanned the calm ocean.
And what I saw took my breath away. A sailboat.
I jumped, lifting my arms and waving them like a maniac. “Help!” I shouted with all the power in me. There was no way anyone on that boat could hear me. I needed something to get their attention. It would take too long to build a smoke signal. I needed something quick.
“Hunter!” I yelled, twisting to look at the jungle and then back to look at the ocean. “There’s a boat!” I called louder, backing into the line of trees and sprinting to the hut.
Hunter had promised that Bambi would come looking for me. It was her. She had come to rescue me. I needed to send a distress signal to the boat and not let it leave without us.
Dropping the spear on the porch, I rushed back, yanked on my shorts and the first shirt I saw on the couch. “Hunter!” I called out again so loud my throat hurt.
Throwing the top drawer open, I rummaged through all the crap inside, searching for the flasher pistol. Slamming it closed, I opened the next one and tossed shirts out onto the floor until I found an orange gun at the bottom.
I bolted down the stairs and back to the beach, my feet stumbled over each other as if I were drunk. The boat was on the horizon, but closer to the curve of the island.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” My hands trembled, and I dropped the cartridge. I picked it up and tried again. I shoved the flare shell into the barrel, closed the gun, cocked the hammer, aimed the loaded pistol at the sky. Turning my face away, I pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
With my eyes shut, my finger pressed again.
Nothing.
Panic surged through me as the boat skimmed the curve of the island, barely visible behind black rocks.
Damn it. I studied the gun and noticed a button on the side.
I pushed it, threw my arm up, and discharged the flare, its boom deafening me for a brief moment.
The bright yellow flame burned for less than ten seconds and died out.
There was no way someone could have seen that.
I reloaded the gun and sent out another one for good measure.
I knew I shouldn’t use more and saved the other two shells for the next time.
The boat receded from view, and I held my breath, hoping and begging for it to turn around.
The tight, scared feeling wedged in my ribs that the people on the boat hadn’t noticed my signals.
Each second moved at a glacial speed, obliterating any hope of mine.
I readied to run to the cliff and try the gun again, but dread gave way to relief as the boat returned.