“You can’t be that hard to use,” I say to it, and when I realize I’m talking to an inanimate object, I get a little nervous.
Is this how insanity begins?
“Okay, alright,” I say out loud. “We’re going to work together, you and I.”
Not much better, Harper.
Deep inside, in the darker recesses of my brain I’m currently denying, I know there might come a time I use this thing for more gruesome tasks than splitting open a coconut.
“Come back, Cy,” I whisper, swallowing the lump in my throat as I raise the machete. I prep the coconut and swing the machete hard, hitting the coconut straight across the middle the way I’ve see him. It cracks just a little, a few dribbles of water leaking onto the shell beneath it. I lift the machete and slam it down again, this time cracking the thing in half.
I lift the coconut shell half and drink it greedily, feeling pretty damn badass about using the weapon to open the coconut all by myself. I swear it even tastes better, having been procured by my own two hands. Maybe I can even build a fire.
I look out to the woods. Yeah, that’s not happening anytime soon. The woods are absolutely soaked.
How long has he been gone? Is he coming back? I stand in the doorway and frown, looking down to where the beach is. I’m sure I could find my way back here from the beach.
I don’t like that I’m so in my head. It’s weird, having no one to talk to and nothing to do with myself.
“Hello,” I say quietly, just to hear the sound of my own voice. I clear my throat. “Hello,” I repeat. My voice sounds scratchy from disuse.
What if I get to the beach and he goes back to the shelter? Will he wonder where I am?
A lump rises in my throat again. I haven’t been here long, but it feels like an eternity, and I miss the guy. I miss the arrogant, bossy jerk. I don’t like being alone. And if I’m honest? I’m afraid.
Could I take care of myself? Yes. Do I want to?
Hell no.
And maybe it’s contrary to everything I’ve worked for, to everything I write about. But when I advocated for the modern woman, there was no chance of being stranded alone on an island. And it isn’t that I need him just because he’s a man. I mean, another woman here would be helpful, too.
I frown.
Why are there no other women?
I make it to the beach, grateful now that the sun has come out as quickly as the rain came. It’s hot as hell, the sand already scorching hot on my bare feet, but it feels good after the cold of the rain. It’s a surprise to me how quickly the temperature changes, but it’s indicative of us being in a tropical climate. I shake my head. Duh. I ate coconuts and mangoes. Of course, we’re in a tropical climate.
I make my way to the inlet.
“Hey.”
I nearly jump out of my skin when I see Cy sitting by the edge of the pool. He has an angry-looking gash on his arm, which he’s bathing by the water.
“Cy! Oh my God what happened to you?” I run to him, my thankfulness that he’s okay quickly overshadowed by concern.
“Yeah,” he says, but he’s dejected. “I missed the helicopter. No idea if it was even real or just a vision.” He looks to me. “Was it a hallucination? Did you see it, too?”
A little pang of sadness hits me in the chest. He’s been here so long; he’s got to be feeling hopeless, questioning his own sanity like that.
“I did, Cy. It wasn’t just in your head.”
He sighs. “Yeah.” He quirks a smile. “But God, it’s good to see you.” He lifts one arm for me to come over to him. I sit beside him and dip my feet into the water.
“It’s good to see you, too.” I don’t tell him that I worried he didn’t make it, or that I went through the mental gymnastics of having to fend for myself here. “What happened? Why are you cut?”
“Tree limb hit me. I should’ve known better than to run out in that. It’s too fucking dangerous.” There’s a note of resignation in his voice that wasn’t there before.
“Yeah. Why was there a helicopter anyway?”
“Who knows?”
“I was thinking if there was one, that we couldn’t be as far from civilization as we might think. Right?”
He shakes his head. “Not sure if that’s true. Military helicopters can fly a lot further than regular ones, and even regular ones can fly up to three hundred and fifty miles. Far enough that no matter where they originated, it’s not possible for us to get there without knowing where we’re going.”
I don’t protest. He was in the Navy. He ought to know.