“I suppose we should go invite Fred,” Richard says. “The question is, how do we get over there? We have no way of contacting him from here, and he’s the one with the raft.”
I’m about to volunteer to swim there, since a lot of it is shallow enough and there are a few other smaller islands peppered about, good places to rest if I get tired, when Daisy points into the distance.
“No need,” she says. “I think that’s him already.”
I quickly grab my binoculars from the bag and look through them. Fred is coming across the water in his dinghy, with Wilson at the very front of the boat. He looks like he’s got some equipment with him.
“It’s like he knew,” I comment.
It’s not long before Fred is close to shore and the goat is leaping off into the water. It runs, splashing through, straight toward us, until he veers to the side at the last minute, disappearing into the jungle.
“Ahoy,” Fred says. “Permission to come to your island.”
“The Island of Dr. Boner,” Daisy says.
“Stop,” Lacey warns her.
“Ah yes, it is rather phallic-shaped, isn’t it?” Fred says, getting out of the dinghy into ankle-deep water, and pulling it on shore. “Dale used to call it The Schlong but that was Dale for ya. Weird guy. I miss him. Don’t miss his smell. Oh, what in god’s green earth is that?”
Fred has spotted the vodka bottle.
“I found it!” Daisy says, holding it out for him. “My suitcase washed ashore. Have vodka and wine. Even some honey.”
“Honey?” Lacey says, sounding offended. “You never mentioned that!”
“I, er, left it on the island,” Daisy says, avoiding looking at me. She’s blushing. Fucking adorable. We’ll never look at honey the same way.
“We were thinking of having a shindig,” I tell Fred. “I was about to swim over and formally invite you.”
“Shucks, I’m honored to be invited. But I’m glad you didn’t swim over. Saw lots of sharks along the way. They’re in a mood today.”
“I’m sorry what?” Lacey says.
“Sharks?” Daisy repeats.
“Where?” I ask, not feeling so great about Daisy and I swimming to the island and back.
“Out yonder,” Fred says, gesturing toward his island and to the west. “They tend to stay near one of the barrier islands. See this whole atoll is roughly in the shape of a fish. The west over there, that’s the tail section. There are breaks in the reef where it opens to the ocean. That was done on purpose back in the day, when they wanted to open a channel up for boats to get through. Anyway, same current that brought your suitcase in also brought the sharks.”
Suddenly this little slice of paradise doesn’t feel so safe anymore.
“Is it just this side of the island?”
“Oh heavens no. I think there’s more up where you wrecked.”
And suddenly I need a drink.
Daisy must see this in my face because now she’s passing the bottle to me. All the times I went swimming there…
“But don’t worry,” he adds. “For the most part, they’re harmless. Mainly hammerheads, which look worse than they are. Don’t think I’ve ever heard of an attack. Tiger sharks on the other hand… Anyway, just stay out of the water for a few days, you’ll be fine. Okay, hurry up with that vodka son and pass it back. Been way too long.”
I absently take a big swig, barely feeling the burn, then hand it back to him.
“Anyhoo,” he says, eagerly taking the bottle. “Seems I had an inkling today was going to be special. I brought over some camping equipment and some extra food. Now that we have alcohol, I don’t think we’re missing a thing.”
Food? All of us castaways head to the dingy and peer inside.
There’s a camping stove, a small bottle of propane, and a grill.
And the food.
Which happens to be heaps of canned goods.
Shit.
I mean, we were running low so I am in no way complaining that we have food to eat, but at the same time, I know we’re all tired of the same old thing. At least in this mix though, there are some wild card items such as sliced olives, diced tomatoes, corn, mushrooms, tuna, sardines, even some tins of Spam.
“There’s a lot more where that came from,” Fred says. “We have a whole bunker full of this stuff out yonder. None’s expired either, so you can eat without worrying.”
“This is very generous of you,” I tell Fred. “But I can do better than the tuna and sardines.”
I grab a tin of sardines and then go over to the tree my fishing pole is resting against.
“Now that I have bait, I’m catching us lunch and dinner,” I tell them.
Daisy claps excitedly, like my number one fan. Hard to tell if she’s a fan of me or the potential fish, though.
While everyone goes about getting ready for the day and prepping for the party, I take the fishing rod and head down the beach, toward the west. Figure that with the current being the way it is, more fish will be at that end.