Chapter Nine
Cillian
Jules’s brows pinch together, and the twist of his mouth hints at embarrassment? Shame? His gaze slides towards land. Yasop and Darren are walking down the beach, maybe a mile off. Jules sinks further into the water, chin submerged.
“We broke up two weeks ago,” Jules mutters. “It’s not exactly comfortable having to sleep next to him.”
I tilt my head, but Jules avoids my eyes. He’s been excellent at maintaining eye contact till now. He’s holding back, but what little he gives me I can act on.
“I can’t do anything about the yacht, but this I can solve.”
The pinch in his brow becomes more severe, wrinkles forming.
His eyes briefly find mine, but only for a second, and he’s looking down the beach again.
“We’re all stuck here together.” He turns to the yacht.
“I don’t want to make it awkward.” To the open ocean.
“I can’t believe I’m even complaining.” Finally back in my direction, where he stares at my chest, eyes darting side to side like he’s following the inked lines at great speed.
“It’s such a stupid thing to be upset about. We’re shipwrecked.”
Upset?
“I need to keep an eye on you because of your concussion, so I’ll sleep in the same lean-to.”
Jules’s darting eyes still. They flick up and meet mine. His mouth opens then shuts, the alarm fading from his face. His eyes are the same blue as the ocean. Pride prickles at getting to ease some of the stress out of them. Like I’ve accomplished some good. It feels important.
“Is that better?”
Jules begins to nod and stops with a groan, hands darting to cup his neck. Eyes shut, he murmurs, “So much better, thank you.”
“Do you mind if I feel the back of your head?”
There’s a tender spot and a bump where he hit it on the railing, but it’s the heat in his neck that worries me more. “Sleeping on the ground isn’t doing you any favours. Or sneaking off to help the second I turn my back.”
“It’s not doing anyone any favours.” Jules ignores the second thing I said. “Have you camped much before?”
I stare at him, and he stares back, unabashed. I rub my hands down his neck, feeling for more bumps.
“Seán’s family took me in when I was fifteen, and every summer since I’ve gone with them on their annual camping trip. Usually it’s a good…three weeks? Four? Of being in the wilderness.”
“That’s a lot.”
“It’s different when you have equipment.” I think of the survival knife Seán’s dad gifted me when I turned eighteen. It was carefully stowed in a cubby in the main cabin. I wonder if it’s still there.
I find a tight knot where his neck meets his shoulder, and Jules winces.
Painkillers… I eye the yacht in the distance, and Jules touches my wrist.
“If I’m not allowed, then you’re not allowed.” Jules’s anxiety has been completely replaced with stubbornness.
A smile threatens to form.
“I’m serious.”
“Agreed. Yacht’s off-limits.”
We return together, and I shrug my shirt back on.
It smells like ocean water, which is an improvement from the stench of sweat that had been clinging to me for the past day.
Given the heat of the sun, it won’t be long before I’m in need of another bath.
First thing this morning, Seán warned everyone to stick to the shade—the last thing we want is anyone getting heatstroke—but even the shade is hot and humid.
“Can I help with something today?” Jules asks.
I catch the immediate no that wants to come out. If I refuse to give Jules a job, he’ll find one for himself. “I want to get a fire lit. We don’t technically need the heat right now, but throw on some fresh plants and we’ll get a smoke signal going.”
Jules swats his arm, killing a mosquito. They were brutal during the night, but not nearly as bad as the sand flies.
“Smoke will help with the bugs too,” I add.
“Then I vote it’s the camp’s top priority.”
“This way, I noticed a downed tree we can gather dead branches from.”
I lead a little way down the beach, sticking to the shade of the canopy. A rough arrow of stones marks the spot.
The felled tree is deciduous, and there are plenty of thick branches to gather. “You can pick up loose branches, nothing too heavy. Alright? That’s all. Try and do more, and I’m assigning Mathieu to you again.”
I watch Jules out of the corner of my eye as he gingerly retrieves a long branch. He lifts one end, and, realising it’s too long, sets it aside and retrieves a small branch. Satisfied he isn’t pushing himself to move in a way that would cause harm, I start gathering too.
“What does flint look like?” Jules asks.
“It’s black or dark grey. Usually it’s got a lighter coating that’s dull, kind of chalky.
” I set a handful of dead branches into the pile, wary of the bugs we’re turning up.
I’m aware of Jules’s bare feet. Aside from myself and Seán, nobody else has shoes.
I’d give Jules mine in a heartbeat, but they’re several sizes too big.
He’d only trip. “Keep an eye out for snakes. If you see movement, back up and tell me.”
“Got it.” Jules stops, frowning. “I haven’t noticed any rocks like that. Is flint the only stone that works?”
“For starting a fire? No, any hard rock can do it. Jasper, agate, chert. Quartz works too.” I realise where this is going as Jules scans the forest floor.
“You strike steel against a stone harder than it to get little shavings of superheated metal. Those are your sparks, and those light the fire. Unfortunately, we’re lacking the steel part for the ‘flint and steel’ technique. ”
Jules’s eyes dart to me, mouth forming an O.
“I’ll show you what we’re going to do instead.” I pick up a large dead branch with a natural hollow. “Unfortunately, it’s a lot more annoying than your way.”
Back at the camp, Seán has a flexible bamboo stick and several lengths of strong vine laid out next to it.
He sees my dead piece of wood and is pleased when I hand it over for examination.
Jules and I stack the rest of our collected deadwood into a pile, next to where Seán has an abandoned bird’s nest and dried grass fibres ready to go.
I walk Jules through the process of rigging up a bow drill, letting him hand me things as I work. It takes Seán and me a good hour to get it into decent working shape. It’s clear that was the easy part, as the frustration begins afterwards.
“The concept is simple,” I explain, sweating through my newly washed shirt.
“Fashion a bow. Loop a stick into the middle of the string. Saw back and forth. Friction leads to heat, heat leads to embers. Problem is, with a rigged-up thing like this, it’s hard to get consistent friction.
” I tell myself that this is still better than just rubbing our hands raw, sawing the stick between our palms. The last time I tried to light a fire that way, I gave up before the stick was even warm.
My shoulders are burning, and I lean back on my heels to catch my breath.
“Can I?” Jules is squirming where he’s sat himself down, cross-legged in front of me. He’s cradling the bird’s nest in his palms.
“No, you’re not allowed.”
“Charles?” Mary volunteers her boyfriend, who rises from where he’d been flat out on his back. He approaches, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “Time to show the missus what I’m made of.”
That gets an affectionate laugh out of Mary and draws a grin from Jules. I like Charles very much.
Seán watches, fingers plucking at his sling.
I catch his eye and give him my best stern look—I’ve been practising it all day on Jules—until the tension releases from his face and he holds up his good hand in surrender.
He backs off, accepting that he can’t help, and he’d better be accepting that it’s fine that he can’t, too, or I’ll be having words with his dad when we’re rescued.
Mathieu sits next to Jules, who has set the nest down in favour of turning over the leaves surrounding him and scanning the edge of the camp carefully. “Looking for bugs?” Mathieu asks.
“Quartz,” Jules says. “Cillian said you can use it as a replacement for flint. We don’t have steel,” Jules adds, when Mathieu starts looking around too. “I was just curious. I haven’t ever thought about how hard a rock is before…”
“Me either,” Mathieu says. Their eyes meet, and they start laughing. I smile to myself.
Everyone takes turns sawing, gathering and resting.
Sweat drips from Mathieu’s lip as he saws.
“Smoke,” Jules says.
I leap up from where I’m resting and dash over.
A steady tendril of smoke rises out of our prepared notch in the hollow branch.
Jules offers me the bird’s nest, and I carefully slide the ember into it, blowing softly.
Within a few seconds, the entire thing starts to smoke, and then there’s a little orange flame.
I place it carefully into the prepared fire pit and blow some more. My heart is in my throat. It catches, and a rush of endorphins floods my system.
“Alright!” Mary whoops. Mathieu throws both hands up over his head as he lets out an exhausted groan of delight. When he’s done shaking out his arms, he leans in towards Jules and me, both bent close to the fire.
“I feel victorious,” Mathieu confides.
“You should.” Jules matches Mathieu’s low, conspiratorial tone, eyes dancing. “You’re our Prometheus.”
Mathieu’s smile is all affection, eyes for no one but Jules. I notice Darren’s irritated gaze studying Mathieu and Jules. Noting their closeness. Surely, by now, it is obvious to everyone.
“Won’t it just go out once it rains?” Darren asks.
Jules’s entire demeanour shifts, tension replacing his lightness. He leans back on his heels and glances at Darren. “We have a shelter built for it.”
Darren nods. “Good job.”
Something in his tone irks me. Jules quickly looks away from Darren, and my discomfort grows, something in the back of my head is nagging at me. I stand up and look from Jules to Darren, holding his gaze until he looks away first, and then move on.
We arrange the lean-tos around the fire, so each is orientated to block the wind but still has proximity to its warmth.