God.
And then what? Sail off in shark-infested waters… where? We could die before we got anywhere.
“Cy!” I scream, my voice dying seconds after leaving my mouth. I shield my eyes and try to peer out into the woods where he fled, but I can’t see anything but wind and trees. I’m already soaked, rivulets of rain plastering my hair to my cheeks and forehead, my dress sodden. Reluctantly, I step back inside and shut the door. I can’t do anything out there.
Where did he go? He was trying to attract the attention of the people flying the helicopter, but without fire or any way to get a signal to them, how would they even see us?
And as I pace around the cabin, I make myself think about what it would be like if he didn’t come back. What if I’m all alone here?
What if… what if the other man really has turned into a savage, and he and I are the only ones on this island? I snort to myself, momentarily amused. As if Cy’s any better.
He is, though. I know he is.
How has he built those fires? Do I even know how to do it if I had to?
How would I catch the fish he’s talking about?
I’d have to… clean them and… I dunno, scale them or something. Whatever you do with fish before you can eat them.
I shudder. If he dies, I’m becoming a vegetarian.
Am I really thinking like this? He can’t die. He won’t die.
I walk back to the door. How did they even construct this thing? I couldn’t build a house of cards, much less a real shelter with a real working door. How would I fix it if it somehow broke?
Oh, Jesus God, I cannot be the only person on this island. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I will go crazy. I’ll go literally insane.
And then a pang hits my chest so hard and fast, tears spring to my eyes.
I don’t want him to die.
I like the barbaric guy. I really like him. And even though I’d give fucking anything to get off this island, if I have to spend it here with him, there are worse ways to be stranded. I miss him. I want him back. The loss is a physical pang in my chest. I blame whatever force has driven us together to tear each other’s clothes off for what I’m feeling now.
I don’t love him. I can’t love him. But hell, if a part of me doesn’t want these feelings I have inside to go there.
I pause my pacing when the torrential sound of rain and wind stops as suddenly as it started. Is it over that quickly? I stand in the middle of the darkened room, listening. It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
The quiet after a storm should be peaceful, not like this. Utter silence devoid of the sound of birds twittering or wildlife scurrying through underbrush. This silence is deadly.
I open the door and tentatively peer into the woods in front of me. The storm that came so suddenly ravaged the woods around us. Huge, massive limbs are strewn about everywhere, full tree trunks uprooted, like a giant just went through here having a temper tantrum.
At least we’ll have firewood when it dries.
“Cy!” I yell, then clamp my hand on my mouth. Screaming for him when the other man is still out there is fucking stupid. I might as well put a spotlight on me.
If I’m alone… if I’m the only survivor…
A sob rises in my chest, and I have to swallow it down. I’m letting the island get to me. There’s no reason to believe that either of them—Cy or Will—didn’t make it.
I’m probably not alone. He’ll probably come back.
To my right, a pile of coconuts litters the ground like overgrown hail, and a hundred or so more paces in front of me lies a bed of fallen fruit. I pick them up and haul them back to the shelter. I’ll have food for days. I shiver, and then remember I’m soaking wet. If I’m going to be taking care of myself here, I need to use my head and some common sense already.
I strip out of my drenched clothing and pull on dry clothes, grateful I have at least these two items of clothing to wear for now. I find some low-hanging, wide branches, and hang my wet clothes up to dry, when I realize I’m super thirsty. I haven’t had any plain water today, just the coconut water earlier, and Cy said one of the most important things for survival was staying hydrated.
Dammit, how do I get to the fresh water area from here? I shake my head. I can drink some coconut water until he gets back.
If he gets back.
I go back to the shelter and take a coconut in my hand and shake it, as if hearing the sloshing of water inside assures me this is a good one. I eye his machete, the huge, ominous knife, as if it’s a snake about to bite. I stroke one finger along the handle, like I’m trying to make friends with it or something.