by Matayo, Amy
“Bugs. Biting ones. Sand fleas, I don’t know!” Dillon shrieks and immerses herself in sea water to wash them off. “They’re everywhere!” I hear tears in her voice but dunk my head under, praying nothing dangerous swims beneath us. They say sharks come close to shore in the early morning hours. Hopefully they don’t pick this particular spot to do it. Flashbacks of our previous ocean drift hit me all at once, and I leave the water. Irrational or not, I don’t want to be caught out there again.
“Are you okay?” I ask. The burning has stopped, but a few welts have formed on my back and legs. They itch, but I try not to scratch. It’s like trying not to flinch when a monster is screaming in your face. Nearly impossible and driving me insane.
“I think I got them all off.” I see her pace in the moonlight, rubbing her face, and gripping her hair. It hangs just past her shoulder blades in long, tangled blonde waves. Even now, she’s beautiful. Somehow the dirt and burn and despair only add to it. “Liam, I’m so tired. When is someone going to find us?”
The tears start, just like I knew they would. And once the faucet leaks it begins to flow in earnest. A person can only remain strong for so long before they start to crack. Without asking, I wrap my arms around her and pull her to me. It’s the only way I know to try and repair the damage. There’s a welt on her upper arm. I rub over it a few times, feeling helpless.
“I don’t know. I thought they would by now, but…I don’t know.” It’s all I can say, because I don’t know. Desperation and frustration whirl together until I can’t tell them apart. Dillon cries harder. “Hey, they’ll come. I know they will, okay?” I tilt her head up so that she can see my eyes, and I nod. “They’ll come. You don’t lose hope, and I won’t either.”
“It’s not that.” She shakes her head, tears flowing harder.
I frown. What could be worse than the need to be rescued? “Then what’s wrong?”
Dillon’s face scrunches up, and the sobbing intensifies. “I need to go to the bathroom, but I’m afraid to do it in the dark. What if more bugs bite me? Or a snake? I don’t know what to do, but I really need to go.”
She’s crying so hard, it takes work not to laugh. I suppose it’s unfair of me because I’m a guy and don’t share this particular issue; I can pee without fear of getting bitten by anything, and if I were desperate I could simply tell Dillon to turn around. A definite perk of being male.
“You want me to go with you?” This seems like a bad idea, but I’m at a loss here and want to help.
She pushes against my chest. “No, I don’t want you to go with me.” She shifts positions, looking painfully uncomfortable. I press my lips together. I’m telling you, it’s hard not to laugh.
“Tell you what. See that tree right over there?” I point to the closest one to us, off to the right. “Go on the other side of it. I’ll stand out there by the water, and you can yell at me when you’re finished. Deal?”
She nods, still clearly unsure but necessity pulling ahead in the indecision race. “Okay, deal.” She takes a few steps away. “But close your ears.”
I place two hands over both ears and turn my back to her. “Both ears are officially closed.”
“Okay, but stay there and don’t move. Okay? Liam, are you listening? Liam?”
“Do you want me to cover my ears or not?” I yell at her.
“Cover them! But stay right there.”
I do as I’m told and begin to count, deciding that if I make it to ninety, I’m going after her. At sixty-seven, I hear a rustle coming from her general vicinity. At seventy-nine, a definite cough. At eighty-eight, she says my name from right behind me.
“You had two more seconds before I was coming to get you.”
“If you had, in three seconds you’d be dead.”
I laugh. “Feel better?”
“Much.” She scans the water. I watch out of the corner of my eye as her shoulders sag in defeat. It’s become a common sight, the disappointment. As common as breathing or wondering about our next meal. I’ve never had to work so hard for food in my life. My idea of roughing it has always been fishing for ten minutes with a new lure I purchased at an outdoor store. Now I’m surrounded by fish with no way to catch them. I suppose I could try my bare hands. Maybe tomorrow.
“What time do you think it is?”
A hint of orange skips along the surface of the water, but the sun hasn’t appeared yet. For being so early, I’m surprisingly awake. But I’m also aware that we need rest if we’re going to survive this place. I still have no doubt that we’ll be rescued any minute now; I’m also beginning to face the possibility it may take longer than we planned.
“I’m not sure. Five, maybe six in the morning. We probably should try to get a little more sleep.”
She rubs her arm up and down. “I’m not sure I can with the bugs.”
I nod. “I know. Let’s try, and first thing in the morning I will figure out how to light a fire. We probably should have done that already so a plane could see us if they fly over.”
Her eyes go round in the moonlight. “Do you think one might have already and missed us? I can’t believe I didn’t think about a signal fire. They always build fires in the movies.” She chews her lip like we’ve made the earth’s biggest screw up. We probably have, but I shake my head.
“I’ve looked all day and night for a plane, and we haven’t missed one. Come on, let’s try to sleep.” I walk back over to the life jackets and drag them closer to the water, thinking maybe the bugs won’t be as present this close to the surf. In reality I have no idea, but I have to try something. Dillon looks exhausted, and I know I am. With the sun rising and the threat of getting a worse sunburn, this seems like the best bet.
I lie down and rest my head on the vest, using it as a pillow. My body screams for a blanket; the breeze is a chilly one, and combined with the spray from the surf, I’m not sure how much sleep we’ll actually get. Dillon lies next to me and turns on her side, curling up into a ball with her knees tucked into her chest. Her teeth chatter, though I don’t think I’m supposed to hear it. I listen anyway, helplessness washing over me in ways I don’t allow during the day. I can’t take care of her, and the feeling isn’t welcome. Tomorrow I’ll try to fix it.
With this on my mind, I eventually fall asleep.
The sun is up, and I’m especially warm and comfortable. These are the first two thoughts that greet me when I open my eyes, so I blink into the clouds and try to decipher them. I shouldn’t be this comfortable lying on the sand with bug bites on my skin and broken shells digging into my back. That’s when I realize it.
Sometime in the night, I either pulled Dillon to me or she came willingly. Either way, she’s lying on my chest with her cheek pressed against my skin, sound asleep. One arm is wrapped around my waist, the other tucked under my side. She’s breathing deeply, her eyelids move as if she’s having a dream. If only I could climb inside her mind and see the story for myself. Instead, I watch the rise and fall of her chest for a minute or two, then decide I should probably divert my gaze. The triangles of her bikini top leave little to the imagination, and right now I don’t need to be imagining anything. It’s wasted effort. My mind is already too busy creating all kinds of never-gonna-happen scenarios. Never is a long time. Never?
Hopefully not never.
I turn my head slowly as not to wake her, fully aware that one of my hands is tucked under her butt. That isn’t helping me right now. I swallow and count the waves as they roll in and out, in and out. She has a nice butt, firm and round in my palm and—
I grind my teeth together and breathe through the effect she’s having on me, matching my inhales and exhales with hers. This works until she shifts and tucks her face into my neck. Her breath has nowhere to escape except straight onto the sensitive skin right behind my ear. Just block it out, I tell myself a few times. It works until I start to think about her butt again, and my gaze dips to places it shouldn’t. I can’t help it. Her cleavage is right there and any ma
n with a pulse would look too.
I shiver, and that—of all things, wakes her up.
“Is it morning?” She pushes her hand against my chest to raise up a little and look around, then seems to realize she’s pressed on top of me. She jerks to a sitting position and tucks her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“I’m glad you did.” I sit up next to her and place my hand on her shoulder. “I woke up sweating a little, which was a whole lot better than freezing the way I was when we fell asleep.”
Her eyes widen. “It was so cold. I didn’t think tropical islands were supposed to be cold. Everyone always talks about heat and sun, never the cold. That’s false advertising.”
I smile. “Who knew you couldn’t trust the media? What a shock.”
She bumps my knee with hers. “I’m just saying it isn’t fair.”
“No it isn’t. I guess we’ll just add that to the list of unfair things about this situation.”
She runs a hand through her hair. Her fingers catch halfway down because of the knots all through it. “I wish I had a brush. My hair feels dry and awful.”
I’m silent, thinking. “I have an idea if you’ll let me.”
She eyes me with wariness. “What’s your idea?”
“Calm down, Princess. Coconut oil.” I pick up a section of hair and rub it between my fingers. “It worked on our lips, so maybe a little will work on this. It’s pretty bad.”
She grimaces. “I’m glad I don’t have a mirror. I must look awful.”
“You look great.” She does, even if a little rough around the edges. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m the same. She smiles, but it’s halfhearted because she’s distracted by the view. Or lack of. There’s still no ship, no plane. Worry creases her brow a little more today than yesterday.
“There’s nothing we can do but wait, Dillon. Wait and hope. It’s only been two days, and there’s bound to be a search party by now. But in the meantime, let’s try to make our situation better, okay?”
She nods again, but her gaze remains unfocused. I snap my fingers in front of her face to wake her up, and she swiftly bats them away. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to get your attention. Now do you want me to work on your hair, or not?”
She sighs. “Fine, yes. But after you’re done I’m going to explore this place. If we’re here another night, we need a better place to sleep.”
I like her feistiness. Her parents give off the impression that she’s helpless, but I knew there was a spark of independence in there. Maybe if I keep pushing for it, that side of her will show up more often.
“I’ll look with you. Anything beats sitting here, doing nothing.” I walk over to the empty coconut shells and grab them. A little dried milk has settled at the bottom, so I scoop a little out and rub my hands together. Sitting down behind her, I begin the task of untangling her hair. The process isn’t as smooth as I imagined and takes longer than I hoped, but a few minutes later most of the knots are gone. I remember reading once that you can extract coconut oil by heating the shell over a flame. The oil around the skin melts and collects, making it easy to see when it cools. If I can manage to build a fire, maybe that would work.
Without it, Dillon’s hair problem won’t be solved until we can find some shampoo and a brush. Highly unlikely, but maybe we can figure that out in time.
Better yet, maybe they’ll find us before then.
Whoever they are. Where is Chad? Surely he’s told everyone by now. It’s a telepathic plea for help, one I’ve sent a hundred times in the past two days, more to ease my anxiety than anything else. No matter how old we get, I’ve always been his little brother. The one he rescued from Wal-Mart when my four-year-old-self wondered to an aisle on the other side of the store and wound up lost. The one he physically defended in high school when a football player threatened to kill me for kissing his girl. Chad punched him in the face, broke the guy’s nose. Our classmates talked about it for weeks. Chad was a whole foot shorter but a heck of a lot braver.
We’re close. I have no doubt he’s doing everything he can to find us.
“That’s about as good as I can manage,” I say, resting my hands on her shoulders. Her skin is smooth and soft. My fingers want to explore, they even twitch with the desire, so I move my hands to the sand where they belong. I keep thinking about the way she felt lying on my chest. My skin is still warm at the spot, still buzzing with the need for more.
Time for another distraction.
“Let’s go get breakfast. I’m starving.”
We make much quicker work of knocking down bananas this morning, and in only a handful of minutes I’m peeling back the skin on the first one. I polish off four in rapid succession, and I’m still hungry. I’ve never even liked bananas all that much, and I hate coconut…a bit of dramatic irony considering our current circumstance. My mother once ordered a coconut cake for my fifth birthday, and I’ve loathed it since. Who does that to a kid? Chocolate, that’s where it’s at.
Speaking of things I hate, I’m thirsty and the sky is still a picturesque shade of clear, bright blue. I’ve never despised the sun more than I do right now.
I’d kill for chocolate cake.
Instead, I crack open a coconut and we take turns taking sips of milk. It’s bland and not at all what we’re both craving, but I have an idea for later. I’m not sure why I didn’t think of it yesterday.
“Okay, look for a few sticks while I open the rest of these.” I point to the three remaining coconuts in front of me. We’ll need to get more later, but for now this will work. I need to get them open quickly just in case.
Dillon scans the ground around a tree, then picks up a stick and examines it before tossing it on the ground. “Why are you opening them now? Shouldn’t we wait until we need them?”
I shake my head, sweat dripping from my eyebrow and splashing on the sand in front of me.
“I’m going to open them all, drain the milk into the bag, scrape out the insides, and set the empty shells out to collect water when it rains. It still won’t be enough, but if we’re careful and ration them well, then maybe we can make the water last until tomorrow.”
“If we’re still here tomorrow, I might kill myself.”
It’s a joke, but I can’t bring myself to laugh.
“Please don’t say that, Dillon. The only thing that would make this unbearable right now is if something were to happen to you. I can do this if you’re here with me, but not if I’m by myself. If something happened to you, I would probably die myself.” Even the idea fills me with a desperate loneliness.
The words were meant to encourage her, but the moment I hear the way they sound in the open, I understand them for what they are: a confession. Right now, Dillon is my world. The only thing that matters. I have no idea if that lasts past our hoped-for rescue, but right now that’s a question that doesn’t need an answer. A man needs to feel like he has a purpose, and on this island Dillon is my purpose. She is my world, and keeping her fed and safe is my mission.
When I glance up at her, the look on her face tells me she heard it. My meaning. She’s sober with a Mona Lisa smile, stunned but emotional. All we have is us. We didn’t choose it, but no one asked our opinion.
She doesn’t look me in the eye when she speaks. “I won’t say it again. You’re right. If something happened to you…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to. She takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. “Will these work?” She holds up two sticks for my inspection. A subject change that rescues us both.
I nod. They’ll work fine as long as I can make them work. “Perfect.”
“Good. Then start building a freaking fire.” She drops the sticks at my feet and piles her hair on her head.
I turn away and smile to myself so she can’t see my reaction.
There’s my girl. The determined, independent one. I knew she had it in her.
I take another swin
g with a rock, and a coconut cracks open.
Smoke is beginning to billow up from the two sticks I’m rubbing together when Dillon bursts out from the trees. She wearing a bewildered look on her face, but it’s what she’s carrying in her hands that really has me confused.
“What is that?”
“It’s a lawn chair. I found a bunch of them in a shack back there.” She indicates behind her with her head. “There are dozens of them stacked inside. I just can’t figure out why.”
Lawn chairs? I drop the sticks and walk toward her, then take the chair from her hand to inspect it. It’s blue and long, the kind that folds three ways and are normally used for sunbathing. It’s covered in cobwebs and dust, but on one end there’s a label. I try to read it, but the words are worn down and nothing is legible.
“Show me the shack.”
I look up at the sky but there is still no sign of a storm cloud. With a glance at the coconut halves to make sure they are still upright and ready to catch rain, I turn and follow her thirty, maybe forty feet to the middle of the island. Up until now we’ve stayed on the edges near the shore. When Dillon said she planned to explore, she really meant it. In this part of the island, brush is everywhere, covering the ground and making walking extremely difficult. I step on twigs and underbrush as we go; nothing too painful but I’m still worried. One bad cut could make either one of us seriously ill.
Dillon marches steadily onward, so I stay with her. A lizard runs in front of my foot, and I have to hop to avoid stepping on it. I watch it go, and then look up.
We’re facing a shack.
Even though we’ve only been here two days, it’s still odd to see something on this island that I don’t recognize. The building is tiny and run down—no more than ten by ten and made of rotting wood, mud, and thatch. There’s a gaping hole in the top where the roof has caved in, but most of the structure is still standing. It looks very unstable and not at all safe.
“You went inside?” I asked.