Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“You look angry,” Jackson says. “Should I tell the locals to hide their PlayStations?”
“Hilarious.” I scratch at my jellyfish stings with the tips of my fingers, trying not to break the skin.
He nudges my shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”
“I have a really bad feeling about our stuff going missing. What kind of animal steals a first aid kit? And mangoes that are readily available on the ground?”
“It might be weird if we only lost the first aid kit, but it was all in the same bag. There’s probably a pile of bandages in the dirt somewhere, discarded by whatever licked the tuna can clean.”
Maybe. It still doesn’t sit right with me.
Emmy rolls to her side and winces. I check her wound, and more green pus has started to form around the bone.
I need to clean her arm in the stream again and get her a new mango leaf.
The open yawn of her skin makes me wince, and I wonder if I can find a palm frond or something to pull the skin together.
“She needs to go to the stream again,” I say. “Can you look for more food while I take her?”
“Of course.”
We split up in the trees. Jackson squeezes my hand and kisses his sister on the cheek before he disappears on his own mission.
Emmy and I stumble to the creek, and I make quick work of her wound in the water.
She cools down much faster this time and protests loudly when I tie her gaping wound closed with long strips of palm frond, which I think is a good sign.
It means she’s alert enough to notice the pain.
But she’s more lethargic on the way back to the raft, and when she lies down, she’s babbling nonsense again intermingled with Jackson’s name.
We have to get her out of here.
After what feels like a long time, Jackson comes staggering out of the trees…empty-handed. He trudges toward me and frowns. “I couldn’t find anything.”
Frustration balls my hands into fists so tight, my knuckles scream in protest. “What do you mean you couldn’t find anything? There’s fruit everywhere.”
He holds up his hands, looking significantly more wary than a second ago. “I can go back—”
“No. I’ve got it,” I snap. “Someone needs to hike the beach to look for help anyway; I’ll see what I can find on the way back. Stay here and keep an eye on Emmy, if you think you can handle that.”
The moment the last part leaves my lips I regret it.
Hurt flashes across his face.
I close my eyes and try to relax my hands. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. The sleep deprivation is starting to get to me.”
“It’s okay. Do you want me to hike the beach for you?”
I force a smile and blurt out the first excuse I can think of. “No. Emmy’s going to want to see you when she wakes up. You’re better off staying here to keep the fire going.”
And I’m better off taking a lap before I bite his head off again.
He holds my stare for a long time before he nods.
I hurry down the left side of the beach before he can say anything else. We can’t turn on each other now or we’ll never make it out of this.
I keep to the hard-packed sand by the water to save my feet from the burning hot sand.
The beach curves in a gentle arc that seems to go on forever, long after I lose sight of the raft.
The sun climbs through the sky above me until I’m covered in sweat.
Eventually the smooth sand transitions to small rocks before abruptly climbing up to some kind of stone outcropping that hangs over the ocean.
I can’t see over the top—it has to be over twenty feet high—but I’ve already walked at least two miles, and I can’t turn back now without seeing what’s on the other side.
My feet slide on the smooth charcoal-colored rocks, and I shear off half my fingernails, but I eventually make it to the flat rock along the top.
When I stand, all the wind that had been blocked by the rocks hits me in the face and dries the sweat on my body.
The outcropping is surrounded with jagged rocks so sharp they look like teeth sticking out of the ocean.
The beach on the other side curves sharply inward in a long, almost pear-shaped inlet that’s miles long. The far end veers back in on itself and out of sight.
The whole stretch is nothing but water and jungle.
My shoulders sag, and I curl my bloodied fingers into fists at my side, breathing hard.
Fuck.
I debate continuing to the next bend, but it’ll take hours to get there, and I still have to explore the other direction and find us all food before nightfall. Turning back feels a lot like quitting, but it’s the smartest choice.
When I get back to camp, the fire is low, and Jackson is gone again.
Swearing under my breath, I throw more dry branches on the fire and stoke it back up. He’s still not back by the time I’m done, or after I’ve checked Emmy’s temperature.
I walk to the tree line and call his name, but the only response I get is a group of startled birds fleeing the canopy.
The sun is firmly leaning over the ocean now. If I don’t hurry, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow if I want to venture farther than Jackson made it yesterday. With one last look at the jungle, I set off down the right side of the beach.
Unlike the other direction, this end of the beach stretches out in a seemingly endless straight line after the first couple bends. I can see miles ahead without having to trek the same distance. I look for smoke, or footprints, or any sign of life anywhere in the distance.
There’s nothing but beach.
And worse, there’s absolutely no indication which way might be closest to civilization. They’re both equally wild. So even if we could get Emmy on her feet and try to walk our way to safety, we might end up traveling farther from help if we choose the wrong direction.
Defeated, I follow my sad solitary footprints back the way I came. As much as it sucks, staying in one place and trying to make ourselves as visible as possible is probably the smartest option. We may have to get used to this sweaty little patch of sand; we could be here a while.
Captain Keith’s story about getting stranded on the mainland replays over and over in my mind as I walk.
I can’t believe we ended up in the same position, minus the radio that saved him.
Not for the first time, I curse Ben’s very existence.
If him and his paddle board had fucked off, we’d be back home by now.
I’m not sure if I believe in an afterlife or not, and it’s probably bad form to wish ill on the dead, but I hope he’s somewhere getting his toenails ripped out one by one.
I stop by the stream and gulp down a few mouthfuls of water and splash my face before making a beeline for the mango tree. My tired legs have about reached their limit. All I want to do is gather as much food as possible and lie down before I collapse in the sand.
But when I get to the tree, all the fruit is gone.
I stare at the branches, not understanding what I’m seeing. This tree was full of fruit yesterday. How are all but a few rotting mangoes in the sand gone?
That same nagging sensation eats at me, and I wander in a big circle, searching for something else to bring back.
Every fruit tree I find is cleaned out except for a cluster of trees filled with bananas.
I consider climbing one of them—even though I fucking hate bananas—but even the shortest one is more than twenty feet tall, and there are no branches on the trunks.
Climbing that high, as tired as I am, would be next to impossible.
I’d probably break something in the process and then we’d really be screwed.
I loop through the area a dozen more times, and the only thing I find is a guava tree with three lonely little fruits on it.
I owe Jackson one hell of an apology.
Itching with frustration, I take my three small guavas and stomp back to the beach.
I’m going to have to find a way to fish, but the sun is already going down, so that’ll have to be a mission for tomorrow.
At least tonight Emmy has something to eat, even if my own stomach is curling in on itself with hunger.
I can wait.
I push my way through the brush and almost drop the guavas.
The beach is covered in smoke. It billows from the fire pit with a hiss as a wave washes up on shore and kisses the far side of the stones.
The ocean put out my fire.
Fuck.
Fuck.
It’s high tide. I built the fire too close to the ocean.
I could cry. I almost do. Haven’t we had enough rotten luck for a lifetime? Now, instead of sleep, I have to somehow gather the strength to start all over again and build a second fire. Only this time I also have to lug everything back farther from the water.
A single tear falls down my face, and I scrub it off.
I walk to the raft and place Emmy’s three guavas inside where they’re safe.
I find Jackson sound asleep beside his sister, with his arm slung over her side.
The sight of it sends an ache through my chest and makes me want to kick something at the same time.
It’s not fair, and I know it’s not fair, but I’m trying my best to keep us all alive, and they’re sleeping.
I’m so grateful for the ways Jackson has shown up for me in this nightmare of an experience, but I’m getting really tired of doing everything by myself.
I’m in a foul mood as I drag the stones away from the water. I dig a larger hole this time, about five feet wide, and spend a good hour dragging additional rocks from the forest until I have a base big enough for a real bonfire.
It takes me seven more trips into the jungle to gather enough dry material to make a new fire. A much bigger fire. This one will go out over my dead freaking body.
I practically collapse beside the stones. My body is screaming at me to lay down and rest, but I ignore it and get to work.
Armed with plenty of dry materials this time, the fire catches along the leaves and then the smaller branches in record time.
Soon it’s roaring so hot, it irritates the sunburns on my face.
When I’m out of dry branches, I chuck in the driftwood that wouldn’t catch before, and the fire is so hot it chars the wood straight away, sending thick black clouds into the air.
I add the rest of the green branches. The smoke coming off the fire reminds me of the fire on the boat.
Someone’s bound to see this. They have to.
And then we can go home.
The thought feels so foreign to me. Home. I can’t even sort out how many days it’s been since we left the marina. It feels like it could be five or it could be fifty. I’d agree with either number. Especially here. This beach is the kind of place where hours quickly bleed into days.
The muscles in my arms and legs throb. I finally sink to the sand and let myself rest while I admire the smoke kissing the clouds. The midday sun beats down on me, and sweat rolls down my back but it feels so good to sit.
The raft moves, and a moment later Jackson climbs out. He has dark circles under his eyes, and he’s paler than the last time I saw him.
“You’re back,” he says, sounding as tired as he looks. “And you moved the fire?”
I consider telling him the ocean killed the last one, but he’ll just feel bad for falling asleep. He clearly needed the rest, and it’s not like he could have stopped the tide even if he’d been awake. “Yeah I wanted it to be more visible. And farther from the water.”
He nods, but he looks worried. “You need to check on Emmy.”
The way he says it has me sprinting for the raft.
Before my hand touches her face, I can feel the heat.
Her whole body is shaking with fever again.
She’s turned in her sleep, and the wound on her arm is pressed against the bottom of the raft.
I nudge her onto her back so I can see. She’s ripped off the scab.
Green goo oozes between scraps of mango leaf and the palm frond ties.
I rip off the makeshift bandage, and the skin underneath smells like it’s rotting. I turn my head so I don’t gag.
I send Jackson off to get more firewood while I drag his sister back to the stream.
Emmy protests the entire way, but I plop her into the water anyway.
The cold clearly makes her uncomfortable, and she makes all kinds of noises.
More than she did the last time. Significantly more, but the longer she soaks, the more she quiets.
I wonder if the fever is making her skin sensitive.
If it is, there’s not much we can do about it.
I hate to make her miserable, but this is the only way we can lower her fever at the moment.
I carefully wash the goo and the pus from her wound while she soaks, and before I help her out of the stream, I tie a new mango leaf to her forearm. I walk her back into the raft, and she grabs my hand before I step out to let her rest.
“Hannah.”
I fold myself beside her. “I’m right here.”
“Ben…”
My stomach sinks, and I gently brush the wet hair from her forehead. “I’m sorry, Em. He’s gone.”
Her forehead wrinkles, and her hand tightens on mine. “No…he…”
She doesn’t finish her sentence before she’s out again. She took so long to ask about him, I thought maybe she wasn’t going to. Or that she didn’t care what happened to him. Preferably the second option.
The urge to sleep crawls over me, and with Emmy passed out, the fire raging, and Jackson nearby, there’s no reason to fight it. I fold my arms under my head and try to get comfortable.
As soon as I close my eyes, I hear a sound that doesn’t belong. I jolt upright. It’s like a buzzing, but not a natural one. Not a jungle bug or a bird.
It grows louder, and I climb out of the raft. When I stand, dots dance along the edge of my vision, and I grab the raft canopy for support until they clear.
I turn my head, trying to place the direction of the sound, and finally piece together what I’m hearing.
A helicopter.