“You didn’t. I just…I…”
A sob steals my breath. I dash the teardrops from my cheeks, but they continue to fall. I feel completely overwhelmed as all the emotions I forced from my mind while I tended to Ian rushback.
Scooting a bit closer on the sand, Beck reaches out tentatively and pats my hand, as though he’s not quite sure whether touching me will make things better or worse. I get the sense he’s afraid to make any sudden moves. That comforting a crying girl isn’t something in his everydayrepertoire.
I look at his large hand covering mine. The stroke of his strong fingers against my skin is lighter than a feather, but I feel it in every atom of my body. Our eyes meet, green on green, and something inside mesnaps.
I don’t consider my actions. I don’t talk myself out of it. I don’t give him any warning atall.
In a blur of limbs, I launch myself against his chest and bury my head in the hollow of his shoulder, my whole body convulsing with the strength of my sobs. My arms wind around his neck, my torso aligns with his, my hair splays out in a mahoganycurtain.
I don’t care that, up until this moment, I’d have considered him the last man on earth I’d ever go to for comfort. He’s here, and he’s warm, and right now, just for a second, I need someone to put their arms around me and keep me from flying apart into a millionpieces.
He goes still, at first, but then… his hands wind their way around me in an embrace, his chin settles against the top of my head, and he holds me so tight, I feel my soul begin to stitch backtogether.
“You’re not alone,” he whispers when my tears begin to subside from sobs to sniffles. “AndIan…”
I pull back to look into his eyes, not daring toask.
“His fever broke a half hourago.”
Chapter Ten
H O PE
Ian’s pallorchanges so quickly, I think my eyes are deceiving me. He’s still not awake, but his color is vastly improved. The pale, clammy sheen of fever has faded from his face and, while his breaths are still labored from the pain of his injuries, for the first time since the crash I don’t find myself listening intently to his every wheeze, half-convinced the next one might not come atall.
I spend the remainder of the afternoon by his side, watching him sleep, sponging water and whisky between his dry lips in small increments, and checking his pulse. It’s definitely stronger than it was yesterday. Another goodsign.
Up till now, his health has been our main source of anxiety, as well as the focus of almost all our attention. Now that his condition seems to be improving, there are other things to attend to if we’re going to survive here until someone findsus.
Or whatever’s left ofus.
That starts with food, shelter, and water. Basic needs, but undeniableones.
The scary reality is, our rations have all but run out. The coconuts Beck collected from beneath the trees were a vast disappointment — we managed to bash them open against the sharp coral rocks only to find dry, inedible pulp inside. The fresh green ones remain far out of reach at the top of the palm trees, and no amount of trunk shaking seems adequate to knock themloose.
My stomach rumbles frequently as I move around the camp, clearing rocks and plant debris from the sand. I long for a rake or a broom to speed up the process. It’s shocking, the tools you take for granted when you grow up in the most consumer-friendly country in the world. I can recall very few times in my childhood when I needed something and it wasn’t already on hand. If I required an item we didn’t own, the absolute worst case scenario was a quick drive to the local superstore. Or, if things werereallydire, a few clicks on a web browser and free two-day delivery, straight to mydoorstep.
Nothing was out of reach. The whole world was at mydisposal.
I didn’t realize how easy I had it, until I was ripped violently from that reality. How pampered and soft we humans have become, far removed from the struggles our distant ancestors faced in simpler times, before WiFi or medicine or machines. Before microwaves or lighter fluid or flashlights. Before drive-thru meals, ready to eat in five minutes or less. Before shopping malls stocked with every itemimaginable.
I grew up in a world of instant gratification, member of a generation that grows impatient when our internet browsers buffer too slowly to stream the latest binge-worthy show. Here, nothing is instant or easy. There are no shortcuts, no superficial struggles. The island has stripped it all away, cut out the gratuitous like a knife paring down an apple until only the coreremains.
Food. Shelter.Water.
Breathe. Sleep.Survive.
I’ve begun to experience bouts of lightheadedness whenever I move too fast. Taking slow sips of water, I tell myself it’s an ice cream frappe from my favorite restaurant back home. Thick and creamy andcold.
This would be more convincing if I wasn’t sweating so profusely in the intenseheat.
Unwilling to stray too far from Ian’s side, I replenish our wood stores to keep the fire burning and sort our belongings into some semblance of order. I try not to look too closely at the disturbed patch of earth beneath a nearby palm, where Beck buried theleg.
When the tide goes out, I wander down to the exposed shallow pools at the edge of our cove, marveling at the sight of the tiny ecosystems contained within their rocky limits. Barnacles and mussels stick up like spikes. Crabs bury their bodies beneath the sand, until only their eyes are exposed. Tiny minnows dart in and out of swaying fancoral.
It’s a whole world inminiature.