23. Adrian #2
“We should make some kind of signal,” he mutters, more to himself than to me, it seems at first. He glances at me. “Like fire? Can you start a fire without matches?”
“I absolutely can do it without matches.”
He perks up for a second before that moment of excitement drops, and he squints at me. “Without anything else too?”
“Well… I’ve never tried it myself, but I hear people have done it by rubbing two sticks together.”
“We’re doomed,” Dylan says.
I smile at the tone. “Give us some credit. You’re the brains, I’m the brawn. Between us we can do at least… What? A week?”
“You’re giving me a lot of credit.”
“Am I?”
“I almost died on a camping trip once,” he says.
My lips twitch. “It was poison ivy.”
“Also known as death. Of the will to live. It took much less than week for that to happen.”
“Congrats. Here’s your chance to break that record.”
“If there’s poison ivy, I’m warning you now, I’m noping out.”
“You can’t. You signed a contract.”
“No, I didn’t,” Dylan scoffs.
“Yeah, you did. In blood, I might add.”
He stares at me like I’ve gone insane.
“Are you talking about that blood pact from when we were kids?” he finally asks.
“Yup. And as far as I can tell, noping out is not having my back. Breach of contract. Leave me here alone, and I will fucking haunt you for the rest of eternity.”
He rolls his eyes. “God forbid I break the pact.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
He’s silent for a while, but then he snorts and starts to laugh.
And I smile.
I once got lost in the woods when Dad took me fishing.
I was seven, went to pee, didn’t know how to get back after I was done.
I panicked. Dad found me an hour and a half later.
After he’d taken me home, made me hot chocolate, and fed me sandwiches and cookies he talked me through what had happened.
The one thing that really stuck out was when he told me survival was mostly psychological.
Stay positive and don’t panic—the two most important things.
“I do have your back,” he says softly. “I’m not sure how much good that does you, but I’ll do my best.”
“You’re an overachiever, so I’m not worried. We should make a plan.”
“A plan other than that we want to get out of here?” Dylan quirks his brow at me.
“Smartass. I mean for today. What are our priorities?”
He purses his lips. “Fresh water?”
I nod in agreement. “And some kind of shelter if we can manage that.”
“Okay,” Dylan says. “Sounds doable. I think.”
He starts to get up.
“One more thing,” I say, and he stops and sends me a questioning look. “Take off your clothes.”
He stares at me like I’m speaking a foreign language. “What?”
“Your clothes. You have too many on. It’s hot. You’ll get heatstroke like that.”
For some reason, he doesn’t look enthusiastic about the prospect of wearing less clothing. I don’t get it. These long pants can’t be comfortable right now.
“I’m fine,” he says.
“No, you’re not. Just take the pants off. It’s not like there’s anybody here.”
I look at him expectantly. He does nothing.
“Why are you being weird?” I ask. “It’s just me.”
It takes another moment of hesitation before he sends me a tight smile. “Yeah, I know. I’m just…”
He waves his hand around, and I kind of get it. This is an impossible situation we’re in. Something that doesn’t happen in real life. It makes sense that not every action or thought is logical or makes sense right now.
Dylan peels off his pants and glances around while still holding them, looking lost. Where’s the wardrobe in this fine establishment?
“Just hang them on a branch for now,” I suggest.
He does that, stops, and seems to consider something. A second later, he peels off his T-shirt and drops it on top of his pants. Then he limps down to the water’s edge and doesn’t stop walking until he’s navel-deep in the water.
My mind is slow to catch up, but when it finally does, I grin.
Plane crashes combined with lack of water and food make me slow because this is the first time it hits me that this might be a way to help cool down. We’re surrounded by water. Deep blue ocean.
I follow him to the shore and watch as he dives in. He’s under for a long time before he emerges again. He wipes the water off his face, his chest expands with a deep breath, and his shoulders relax.
He looks good in there. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Dylan shirtless. I mostly remember the skinny, lanky version of Dylan. This one’s got abs and muscles. He’s still wiry, but not in the angular, gangly way teenage Dylan was.
He’s grown up in the years he’s been gone.
Another change that’s happened without me.
“What?” Dylan asks when he sees me looking.
I don’t know what. I’m not really sure how to explain that missing-out feeling I get when I think of him lately.
“You’ve been working out,” I say.
He looks down at his body like it’s something he’s never seen before. “I guess?”
“You guess?” I laugh. “You’re all in shape and shit. Look at you. You’ve got a six-pack.”
Even with the sunburned cheeks, his flush is obvious.
“Shut up,” he mumbles.
I whip my own shirt off and wade into the water. Right as I’m about to reach Dylan’s side, he flicks a quick look my way, and his cheeks go even redder. He draws in a deep breath and goes under again.
I bite back a smile. Teasing Dylan is a good distraction from how fucked up this situation really is.
He’s always been the first person to downplay his own achievements and dismiss compliments of any kind, so in turn, I’ve always considered it my duty to loudly point out every accomplishment and give lots of compliments.
I dive in too. I feel too unsteady to swim, and it’s probably not a good idea to waist energy on it anyway.
The water is too warm to be refreshing, but it’s a definite upgrade from sitting on the beach and letting the sun bake us into crisps.
And I can wash off the dirt and sweat and sand on my skin. It’s a relief to feel clean again.
Once we’re out of the water, we sit in the shade of the trees and let our clothes dry.
“Small planes have some kind of tracking system on them too, I bet,” Dylan says after a while.
I swallow and glance up at the sky. It’s bright blue and completely empty.
“It wouldn’t make sense for them not to have any,” I say. It’s not really an answer, but it’s the best I can do.
Dylan nods. “Rescue missions take time to pull together,” he adds quietly.
I nod too and move closer to him so our sides are pressed together.
It’s… it’s just that if it’ll take a long time to find us… We don’t have any supplies. If we can’t find water… Well, we won’t be here when they do find us in that case. Or maybe we will. Just not breathing.
I press my palm against my chest. My heartbeat is getting really fast, and I’m not sure if it’s panic or dehydration or something else and?—
My thoughts are about to spiral out of control, but then Dylan’s hand covers mine, and he squeezes.
I snap my head toward him.
He doesn’t say anything.
We just sit there.
And share the same fear.
What if nobody comes?