Chapter Five #2
When she takes over, Tech tugs my sleeve, and I follow him to the front of the boat. He puts one foot up on the bench and outstretches his arm. “That one,” he tells me. “Dead center.”
I squint as if it’ll help me see it better, and then I actually can see it.
I smile as my heart begins to thrum with excitement.
Up ahead is a small island, and right through the middle is a path of damage that the storm cut through the trees.
The newly uncovered beach is littered with branches and shells.
My smile fades slightly. There are no buildings here.
“Go around back!” Tech calls to Shawn, whirling his hand in a loop.
As we circle the island, I strain as I try to find anything structural hidden between the trees.
All I can make out is a patchwork of overgrown palms and thick foliage.
It’s your typical deserted island, nothing unusual.
Nothing promising. My stomach tightens in disappointment, and even the cuts on my arm begin to sting again.
“I’m sorry, Tech,” I say, turning to him. “But I don’t think this is big enough to be Rum Runner.”
He shakes his head, a fierce energy in his voice. “You’re just not seeing it,” he argues. “It could have been bigger. Four decades ago, it could have been twice this size.”
“I know, but—”
“Noa, look,” Shawn interrupts, her voice a sharp contrast to the heaviness in the air. Her eyes are locked ahead, wide and excited.
I follow her gaze, and when I see it, my breath catches in my throat.
“No way,” I whisper, stepping forward, my heart pounding faster. There, just up ahead, I can see faint outlines of geometric shapes among the softness of the trees.
Rooftops, half sunken in the sand. Faded, crumbling like a forgotten world. I shield the glare of the sun with my palm, trying to get a better look. There are at least five buildings, all huddled together. They’re small, too small to be a hotel—but still, unmistakably man-made.
Unfortunately, their placement is so close to the beach, it means they can easily become resubmerged at any moment, lost again with a high tide. Tech was right. This is our chance.
“Grab the anchor,” Shawn commands, killing the engine. “I don’t want to get to—”
Before she can finish, the boat slams into a sandbar, and everything goes sideways. Tech and I are thrown forward. I crash into the metal railing with a jolt that knocks the breath right out of me. My shoulder explodes with white-hot pain as I bounce backward and hit the deck, hard.
I lie here a moment, staring at the blue sky as I assess my condition. I don’t think anything is broken, but my shoulder throbs.
Tech moans from beside me, rolling over on the deck. “Fuck,” he mutters.
Shawn rushes toward us, her hand pressed to her chest where the steering wheel has left a bright red mark, her baseball hat gone and floating away in the water behind her.
“You okay?” she asks worriedly. She offers to help me up, and I wince as I do. Tech is a bit slower, but otherwise there’s no blood or crooked bones.
“I think I’m good,” I tell them, testing the range of my shoulder. “But even if I weren’t, I’d have you put me back together with fishing line and duct tape. Actual hospitals are out of our network.”
I try to make a joke of it, but the words are flat. It doesn’t matter, though. We all know the dire straits our families are in financially. None of us could afford a hospital bill right now. Hard to make that funny.
Shawn hops out of the boat, splashing through the water as she searches for her hat until she finds it floating a few feet away. I rub my shoulder, feeling the dull ache settle in, and Tech and I get out to survey the damage to the boat.
I wince when I notice the dent in the hull. Well… that’s not good. But at least it didn’t crack. It’s still seaworthy, for now, which is awesome because the idea of the coast guard needing to rescue us would be pure fuckedness. This boat is stolen. Don’t think they’d let that slide.
“I’ll be able to fix this,” Tech says, slapping the side of the hull with confidence. “Chances are, this early in the season, the guy might not even be in Cape Hope yet.”
I nod, but it doesn’t feel reassuring. “That would be ideal,” I say.
Shawn comes over to us, splashing through the water as her eyes scan the shoreline.
The sound of water slapping against our legs cuts through the still air, the noise too loud for this secluded spot.
As I turn toward the island, the potential of everything hits me harder.
It looks real now, as if before it was just a mirage.
Did we seriously just find Rum Runner Island? That would… that would change everything for us. I fight back my laugh, my nerves and excitement, and turn to Tech, expecting to see the same.
But instead, he’s doubtful. Tentative. I feel myself sink, and turn back toward the island, trying to see it from his point of view.
It’s then that I realize how small the buildings truly are. Most are even smaller than the Surf Shack. That doesn’t mean it’s not Rum Runner, though. At least, I don’t think it means that. Either way, we found something completely random and cool. And we risked a lot to get here.
“Well?” I ask, hoping to bring up the excitement level. Hoping to make it all mean something. “Are we going to check this place out or wait for the sharks?”
Tech nods and starts walking. Shawn and I exchange a worried look and follow behind him. I know how much this means to him, to me too—I want to stop this war with the Collective. But for Tech, it’s more than that. He’s trying to clear his family’s name.
He wants so badly for this to be true. He needs it.
Shells crunch under our feet as we make our way onto the beach, the sand dark swirls of mud and debris—not the pristine white of Paradise Beach that we carefully comb for tourists each morning.
This is raw, jagged, and beautiful in its own right.
It makes me feel connected somehow, connected to nature in a way I can’t explain.
The first building we come to is barely standing. Just a few beams of wood and a shadow of what was once a roof. Less than three feet of the structure is still visible, the rest buried in the sand. It was a shanty, a crudely built home, perhaps. But even in its prime, I doubt it was much.
A couple of yards away is another, just as broken down, and then farther back toward the trees are more, their exposed walls only holding the shape from the way they’re buried in the sand. Nothing here leads me to think it’s connected to Rum Runner. And I’m trying really hard to make a connection.
“Check this out,” Tech calls from down the beach. His voice is high, and I hear a spark of hope there, the same one I’m still clinging to, despite the doubt that’s been gnawing at me since we arrived. That sound means he’s found something.
I jog through the sand, Shawn’s footsteps pounding behind me, and when I reach Tech, I see what he’s found. At first, it’s just a glimpse of a building tucked behind the mangroves. But compared to the others, it’s a palace.
Tech looks back at us, smiling. “This is brick,” he says, tapping the wall. “That has to be important, right? Otherwise it would be wood like the rest of them.”
I nod, still not letting myself fully believe it. “You would think.” I survey the brick structure, the walls filthy with algae and moss. The lower level is buried in sand, but there’s still enough here to show the true size. Now, this is promising.
Shawn crouches beside one of the windows, wiping away grime from the glass still set in the frame. As she cups her hands to peer inside, I wait nervously. Tech fidgets beside me, wringing his hands.
“Does it look like a hotel in there?” I ask, wanting this to be it.
Shawn pulls back to clean the glass again, takes another look, but then shakes her head. “I can’t tell,” she says. “It’s too dark inside.”
That’s not the answer I was hoping for, but I try not to show my disappointment.
Tech waves us along, and we walk around the side of the building, searching for a way in. Then we see it. A door, mostly buried beneath the sand.
“It’s here,” Tech says, dropping to his knees to start digging it out. His hands move fast, desperate. Could this be it?
I kneel beside him, my hands trembling as I help.
The sand sticks between my fingers, clinging to my sweat.
Shawn comes in right beside me, scooping out the sand with her forearms. Still, the progress is slow.
For each bit of sand we pull out, more comes tumbling in from the sides. Frustrated, I look over at Tech.
“This is going to take too long,” I tell him. “We have to beat the tide.”
“I know, I know,” he agrees, his face serious. Determined. “Let’s just get a few feet down and then I’ll kick it in.”
I dig harder, faster, feeling the sting of sand under my nails.
But I keep going. We expose more of the door, but from what I can see, it looks sturdy as hell.
Maybe the saltwater has worn it away over time, eaten away at the hinges.
It’s entirely possible the door has lost some of its strength by now.
Finally, there’s enough space for us to crawl through, and Tech starts kicking at the door.
His sneaker slams against the wood, making me flinch with each loud bang.
At first, the door doesn’t budge. Once there is the first crack, Tech adjusts his stance and starts hammering right against the center.
His forehead is damp with sweat, and I reach over to swipe the sleeve of my sweatshirt over it before it can drip into his eyes.
“You’re doing great, Tech,” Shawn calls out, playful yet still encouraging. “Just make sure the opening is big enough for my boobs to fit through.”