Chapter Seventeen
Joel
Eventually, I kiss the top of Zoe’s head and say, “Come on, let’s get ourselves sorted.”
She peels herself away from me tiredly. The two of us are soaked to the skin and covered in scratches and bruises. But we got here.
I kept her safe. She’s going to be okay. I feel such a sense of relief that it almost takes my breath away.
We’re not completely out of the woods yet, though. We still have no way of contacting anyone. We’re still in the path of the storm, and it’s raging overhead, furious and vindictive, apparently determined to rip the roof of the cabin off and tear us limb from limb. Rain hammers on the tin roof and the windows, and the panels of the roof rattle as the wind whips beneath the eaves. The thunder is so loud that each crash is deafening, and when lightning strikes, it lights up the whole room, as if Tangaroa is taking a photo of us with a flash.
“I’m going to visit the toilet,” Zoe says. “I need a pee.”
“Want me to come with you?”
She rolls her eyes. “I can manage.”
“I meant because of the weather.”
“I’ll be fine,” she says. “When I get back, we’ll sort out your leg.”
I look down at it; it’s still bleeding. “Yeah, okay.”
She takes the flashlight, goes to the door, opens it and peers out, then slips out and closes it behind her.
I stand in the center of the room for a moment. I’m tempted to crash out on one of the mattresses. I feel absolutely exhausted. It took every ounce of strength and willpower I possess to get us here. Swimming from the boat, towing the waterproof bag, and repeatedly making sure that Zoe wasn’t drowning, were the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. But I did it.
They say that every man cries out for his mother in his time of need, but for some reason I thought of my father repeatedly while I fought the waves, quoting Scripture at me. “Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord,” Romans 12:11. “If you faint in the day of adversity, your strength is small.” Proverbs 24:10. Always accusations; never words meant to reassure and lift.
Against my will, my eyes prick with tears. Even now, in my hour of need, he can’t offer me comfort.
I rub my nose, take a deep breath, and blow it out. I’m just tired. There’s no time for self-pity. I need to get the cabin ready for when Zoe gets back.
I open the waterproof bag and start taking out the contents and putting them on the table. The bag did its job well; the towels and thermal blankets are mostly dry. I toss them on the nearest bunk. At the bottom of the bag, I find what I was looking for—matches.
It’s not freezing in the cabin, but we’re both soaked and exhausted, and a fire is always comforting, plus we’ll be able to dry our clothing. I went camping often with Fraser, Linc, and other friends when I was at Greenfield, and Dad taught us the basics of making a fire and other survival skills.
There’s a pile of newspaper by the logs, as well as kindling. I start with two smallish logs, then crumple newspaper and stuff it between them. I pile kindling on top, and then more logs on top of that, leaving plenty of air to circulate. Finally, I open the damper to make sure air is flowing, hope to God a possum or other creature hasn’t crawled into the chimney to get away from the rain, then strike a match and light the newspaper at the bottom, and the fire leaps to life.
I wait until the kindling has caught, then close the stove door.
At that moment, Zoe opens the front door and enters with a gust of wind and a spray of rain.
“Ooh,” she says, “it’s still bad out there.” She fights with the door, gets it shut, and puts the latch across. “Oh, Joel, a fire!” She rushes over and bends to look at it. “You are clever.”
“No magic about it,” I say, conscious of how awkward I feel when she gives me compliments.
“Even so.” She straightens and gives me a hug. “You’re so smart and resourceful.” She looks up at me. Her hair is plastered to her head, and she looks exhausted, but she’s still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. “Thank you,” she says. “For saving me again.”
I take her face in my hands. “You saved yourself. You swam all that way, even though you’d nearly drowned the day before, and then managed to make it through the trees and up the hill. You’re amazing.”
Her eyes brim with tears. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Joel.”
“It was my fault we were in that predicament in the first place. I shouldn’t—”
“Joel!” She snaps loud enough to jerk me out of my wallowing. “It’s not your fault. We both knew bad weather was coming. We both fell asleep. It’s just one of those things. We adapted, and we made it through. We’re alive.”
“You’re right.”
“You need to get out of the habit of apportioning blame—it isn’t healthy or helpful. It’s not arrogant to admit you saved the day. It’s only boastful to talk about it non-stop and refuse to admit anyone else’s part in it. And it’s not being puffed up to accept a compliment. Humility is cool, but everything in moderation, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I brush my thumb across her lips. “Can I kiss you?”
Her lips curve up beneath my thumb. “Of course you can kiss me.”
I lower my head, close my eyes, and touch my lips to hers.
Outside, it feels almost as if the taniwha has crawled out of the ocean and made its way up to the hut. It rages around us, rattling the tin roof and hammering on the windows. It cracks and roars and claws at the door, its fury unmeasurable. But here, inside the cabin, it’s dry and warm, and we’re safe from its wrath.
Zoe leans on my chest, and I slide my hands into her wet hair, then wrap my arms around her as I deepen the kiss. I slide my tongue into her mouth, and she meets it with a thrust of her own. Although her murmur is lost in the rumble of thunder above us, I feel it reverberate through her.
When I eventually lift my head, her eyes are sleepy, and she gives a satisfied sigh.
“You look shattered,” I say, stroking her cheek with my thumb.
“We should get sorted,” she says. “Then maybe we can catch some sleep.”
“Yeah. Come on.”
“First of all we need to sort out your leg.”
She makes me sit in a chair, then finds the first aid kit. Kneeling in front of me, she washes the wound with an antiseptic wipe from the kit, places a gauze pad over what has turned out to be a deep scratch, and wraps a bandage around it, tying it securely. She does a good job, and the bandage looks as if it’s going to stay in place. She gives me two paracetamol, and I take them without arguing.
When she’s done, I check the fire is burning well and add another couple of logs. Zoe retrieves a pail of water from the tank outside, and we pop a couple of the purification tablets in and leave them to work, as there isn’t much bottled water left. We get out the food and drink, draw the chairs up to the fire, and sit and eat a couple of pies while we warm ourselves.
“What’s our plan?” Zoe asks.
I pick up my phone. Amazingly, it’s still working, but of course there’s no reception. “Tomorrow, when the storm has cleared, we’ll head west and see if we can find the houses at the other end of the island.”
“How long is it, do you think?”
“I’m not sure. Three kilometers? Not huge.”
“That seems doable.”
“Yeah.”
“So we’ve just got to get through tonight.”
“Yeah.” I look at my phone. “It’s nearly seven p.m. It won’t be properly dark for another hour or two. But I guess we might as well try to get some rest.”
“I don’t know if I can sleep with all that noise.” But her eyelids are drooping, and she looks exhausted.
“We might as well try. Come on.”
We make sure the lids are on the containers, then investigate the bunks. The mattresses have plastic covers, and they look clean and relatively comfortable. We have one thermal blanket and two towels. Zoe stands there watching, shivering slightly, as I unpack the blanket and shake it out over the bottom bunk.
“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” I tell her.
“This is hardly the time,” she says, teeth chattering.
I chuckle and retrieve my dry tee and hoodie from the waterproof bag. “Come on, get those wet things off and we can dry them in front of the fire. You can wear this T-shirt.” I give her one of the towels and turn away.
I’m too tired to worry about being modest, so I strip off my wet clothes and toss them aside, dry myself as best as I can, then pull on my dry swim shorts. I take the wet items and drape them over the back of the chair close to the fire.
Zoe joins me, placing her wet tee, shorts, and underwear over another chair. She’s wearing my T-shirt, which is a little big for her and hangs just below her butt. Her legs are bare, and she’s still shivering.
“Here, put this on.” I give her the hoodie.
“Don’t you need it?”
“I’m fine. I run hot.”
She takes it and pulls it on, giving me a shy smile as she tugs it down over the tee.
“Sit down,” I tell her, gesturing to a spare chair.
She frowns, but sits. I pick up the towel, stand behind her, and start drying her hair as best as I can. Then, I collect the comb I threw in the waterproof bag.
“When did you put that in?” she asks, amused.
“It was right on top of my stuff, and I chucked it in at the end.” I draw it through her hair gently, doing my best not to pull too hard. Her hair is quite tangled, but I work slowly, separating the strands and easing out any knots.
She sits quietly, and when I glance at her, I discover that her eyes are closed. Smiling, I continue, while the rain beats on the window, and the thunder continues to roll.
“It doesn’t seem to be easing up,” she comments, her voice a little sleepy.
“No. We could even be hitting the tail end of a tropical cyclone. It’ll probably be like this for a few more hours.” Her hair is gradually returning to its usual sleek curtain. When I’m done, I bend down and kiss the top of her head.
She gets up and beckons me to sit. “My turn.”
I gesture to my short hair. “It hardly seems worth it.”
“Do as you’re told.”
I chuckle and sit. She takes the comb and draws it through my short hair, and I close my eyes and sigh.
She tidies up the top, then puts the comb down. The next thing I feel is her hands in my hair, and she starts to give me a head massage.
Her fingers move slowly across my scalp, pressing and kneading. Ohhh… that’s heavenly. I take a deep breath and let it out, releasing as much tension as I can. My head tips back and rests on the back of the chair, and she moves a little closer. She strokes her fingers across my forehead, down my nose, over my cheeks, and around my jaw, before returning them to my scalp. She draws them lightly through my hair, letting me feel her short nails, and then massages gently again. It’s absolutely blissful, and I’m unable to stop a light groan escaping my lips.
She giggles. “Is that nice?”
“Mmmmmm…”
“Poor boy,” she murmurs. “Having to rescue me twice in two days.”
I don’t consider that I rescued her either time, but I decide not to argue in case she stops massaging me. She has the best touch, light and yet just firm enough, and I feel as if I’m ascending into paradise as she continues to stroke around my head and neck, making me tingle all over.
When she eventually stops, I feel as loose and boneless as a strand of seaweed.
“We should try to get some sleep,” she says softly.
I sigh and get up from the chair, and check on the fire one last time. Then we go over to the bunks. “I’ll take the top one,” I tell her.
“Aw,” she says. “Come on. We can both squeeze into the bottom one and share the blanket.” She cups my face. “Just to sleep, I promise. But it’d be nice to cuddle up, don’t you think?”
I’m not about to argue. “Yeah.” I switch off the solar light. I roll up the driest towel to use as a pillow and make sure the thermal blanket is ready. Then I climb onto the bunk and move up against the wall. She sits on the edge, swings her legs over, and turns to face me. There’s just enough room for the two of us to fit. I pull the blanket over us and draw it up to our shoulders, then I open my arms. She moves right up against me, and I wrap my arms around her. Now we’re snuggled tightly together.
“My legs are cold,” she murmurs.
“Put them between mine.”
She does, and I tuck the blanket around them. She feels warmer in the hoodie, but I make sure the blanket covers her back, too.
“You’re so warm,” she whispers.
“Like I said, lots of body heat. I have my own inner furnace.”
“Mmm.” She nuzzles my neck. “How do you still smell so nice?”
“Skill.”
She chuckles, then jumps as lightning temporarily lights up the room through the cracks in the shutters. Thunder crashes overhead a few seconds later, loud enough to make the windows rattle in their frames. “Jesus,” she mumbles.
I tighten my arms. “It’s all right. We’re safe here.”
“I don’t know if I can sleep.”
“It’s okay. We’ll just lie here a bit and rest.”
She sighs, tucking her head back into my neck.
Gradually, the light through the shutters grows darker as night sets in. Although Zoe’s breathing grows more even, I know she’s not quite asleep because she stirs whenever there’s a loud crack of thunder. It feels as if the storm is going to go on until the end of time.
But of course, nothing lasts forever. Time ticks by, and while I lie there and count the time between each flash of lightning and answering roll of thunder, it begins to increase—three seconds, four, five. Now not every streak of lightning is accompanied by thunder, and when it does come, it’s not quite as loud. The storm is moving away.
Zoe has been still for a while. Her breathing is regular and deep. I think she’s finally fallen asleep.
I stroke her back lightly in the semi-darkness. The firelight makes the shadows on the wall dance. The room is pleasantly warm, and Zoe’s legs and hands are warmer too, beneath the thermal blanket.
I think about being on board the boat, and how frightening it was as we sailed so close to the Black Rocks. It was even more terrifying when we jumped—or in Zoe’s case, fell—into the ocean and had to swim to shore. There were several moments when I didn’t think we were going to make it. I think about when I tore my leg on the reef—the pain was sharp and severe, and for a horrible moment I thought I’d done some serious damage. As it happened, it wasn’t too bad, but I will get it checked out tomorrow.
I hope the walk to the houses isn’t too far, and that somebody’s home. Maybe we’ll get a phone signal, as well. I don’t know if anybody has missed us. It’s possible someone’s noticed that the boat hasn’t returned, although they’d probably assume we’d just moored up on one of the islands. I doubt anyone has spotted the deserted Codfather out by the Black Rocks. Maybe it has already sunk. I feel a twist of regret, along with a stab of guilt. The insurance will cover it, no doubt, but it was a nifty little boat, and it’s a shame to have lost it.
I think about it landing on the rocks and splintering, the broken pieces drifting down to where the Relentless lies on the reef. If I was a boat, I’d like to end up as a wreck. It seems appropriate. Maybe when I die, I should ask to be buried at sea, or for my ashes to be scattered on the water.
My mind fills with the sensation of the cool, green water closing over my head. I don’t feel fear at the thought the same way other people do. I find it oddly comforting, the notion of becoming a part of the ocean, joining the fishes and the wrecks on the seabed.
But I don’t want Zoe to end up down there. I’m so glad I got her to safety.
I tighten my arms a fraction more, close my eyes, and let sleep take me.