22. Dylan #2
First, I wrestle off my sweater. Normal people might wear shorts and a T-shirt when they’re headed on a tropical vacation.
Not me. I just had to try and look cool and collected, so Adrian would somehow figure out that I’m a new Dylan.
The kind of Dylan who’s definitely not in love with him or anything.
The kind of suave, sophisticated guy who’s totally over stuff and not carrying any torches for anybody at all, even if that somebody never knew about the torch.
Smart idea, Dylan. As always.
The sun is baking the top of my head. I packed a baseball cap. Shit knows where that is now. Bottom of the ocean. Along with my sunglasses. The sand is so pristine and white that looking at it hurts my eyes.
I glance behind me. The shore turns into a wall of green about twenty yards away. Trees, bushes, and shrubbery grow in wild abandon, large leaves fanning out and creating a makeshift roof to shield the ground from the blazing sun.
And it is blazing.
Suddenly, I’m even thirstier than before. Hotter, too. I pull the collar of my shirt off my sweat-damp skin, trying to fan myself with the fabric. It’s useless. About as useless as the hot breeze rolling in from the ocean.
It suddenly hits me that wildly growing plants aren’t a good sign. In a way. I mean, it’s a good sign if natural beauty is your priority.
If it’s finding civilization, though…
I force that thought away.
It’s a tropical climate. Stuff grows fast. That’s all.
“Okay. This should do, I think.” Adrian walks out of the bushes with a sturdy Y-shaped branch.
He holds out his hands to me. I take them, and he pulls me to my feet, careful and without any sudden movements.
I school my features not to reveal anything about the next round of sharp knives stabbing into my foot.
I stagger a bit, but then I find my balance again.
He passes me the makeshift crutch with an expression that’s all doubt and comes to stand right next to me.
Probably so he can catch me when I fall. The usual.
I put the crutch under my arm and let some of my weight go through it experimentally. It doesn’t feel good, but it doesn’t feel excruciatingly painful either. There’s a throbbing pressure in my ankle, but it’s bearable to a degree.
When Will was thirteen, he broke his leg and had to move on crutches for weeks.
Adrian and I stole them a few times just because we both wanted to know what it was like walking with those things.
And time ourselves and see who’s faster.
My point is it’s a good thing we had that practice, because walking with one crutch on sand and uneven ground is not fun, nor is it for beginners.
We go excruciatingly slowly, but Adrian doesn’t complain. He doesn’t say much of anything, except to point out things on the ground I might trip over and ask me if I want to rest every five minutes or so.
We move inland for a while, no idea how long, since all of my focus is on keeping myself upright.
I let Adrian take the lead. He’s better at navigating than I am, since Eric used to take the whole family on hikes regularly.
By the time they unofficially adopted me into their fold, Adrian already had ten years of hiking expertise under his belt.
Pretty soon I’m breathing heavily, and sweat is running down my back not in rivulets, but straight-up rivers.
The farther we walk, the quieter Adrian gets.
I’d pester him to talk to me, but I don’t think I can waste the meager energy supplies I have left on speaking.
It takes so much effort just to put one foot in front of the other.
At some point, the ground beneath my feet starts to slope. I think we’re moving upward. Not by much—it’s not like we’re conquering a mountain—but there’s definitely elevation of some sort. I can feel it in my good ankle.
I keep looking at my feet, so I won’t trip and fall.
That’s my only goal.
That and finding people. Or water. But preferably people. Indy talks a lot about visualizing your goals, and while I’ve so far scoffed at that, right now, I’m fully on board if it gets me up this hill without me giving up.
I imagine houses and cars and tall glasses of ice-cold water.
And people. People who will help and get us out of here.
And it’s all just around the corner, if I only keep putting one foot in front of the other.
I’m so deep in my thoughts, so detached from reality, that when Adrian stops, I walk into him from behind.
Some of the haze lifts, and I blink. “What? Did you find it?”
I’m not sure what I mean by “it,” but I suppose any of the things I’ve been fantasizing about will do.
“Sit,” he says. “We need to get some sort of idea of our surroundings, so I’m gonna climb that tree.”
He points to one slightly to our left.
I’m painfully thirsty, and my ankle has shifted from throbbing back to stabbing pain, so I slowly sit down and lean my back against a tree trunk.
Adrian goes to the tree he picked out earlier and starts to climb. I watch him, still with that strange out-of-body feeling.
Because none of this feels real.
It must be a dream.
There’s no way we were in a plane crash. Survived a plane crash.
A fucking plane crash!
Things like this don’t happen to people. Okay, planes do crash, but not the ones I’m on.
So no. No, this isn’t real. In a little bit, I’ll wake up in my bed, and then later I’m going to FaceTime Adrian and tell him about the crazy dream I had last night.
In the meantime, dream-Adrian has disappeared from view. I lean my head back against the trunk and wait. Either for Adrian to get back or me to wake up. Either one will do.
It takes Adrian forever and a day to come back down. I watch him walk toward me, mouth set in a grim line, a deep frown on his face.
He stops in front of me but doesn’t say anything.
“What?” I finally rasp. “What did you see?”
He opens and closes his mouth a few times, but no sound comes out.
He shakes his head and looks around wildly. I can see his Adam’s apple move as he swallows.
“Nothing,” he says.
I push myself to sit up straighter. My mouth is so dry speaking is difficult. “What do you mean, nothing?”
He lets out some kind of choked laugh. “I mean nothing. Dylan… it’s an island. We’re on an island. A small, tiny, fucking minuscule island.”
I stare at him, my mouth falling open too, but he’s not done yet.
“And there’s nobody else here.”