Uncharted: An On the Island Novella: (A Penguin Special from Dutton)

by Tracey Garvis Graves

  Captain Forrester was waiting for me. “Good morning,” he said. “Ready to go?”

  “Yep.” I followed him through the cabin door and once again buckled myself into the seat next to his and watched as he went through his preflight routine.

  “I made a few calls,” he said. “I can get the lumber you wanted. The man I spoke with said they’ll cut it for you. Can you give me a list of what you want? Probably won’t be until next week, though. That okay?”

  “Sure.” I fished a piece of paper out of the pocket of my shorts. “Here’s a list of everything I’ll need. Just send the invoice to my email address. You should receive a wire payment within twenty-four hours.”

  He looked at me strangely and said, “Exactly what kind of business are you in, son?”

  “Dot-com,” I said, answering him quickly. For some reason—maybe because he’d been so helpful and so nice—it was important to me that he didn’t think I’d earned my money by dealing drugs or from some other sketchy activity. “But I’m not in the business anymore. I sold my interest in the company right before I came here.”

  “So you had partners?”

  “I had three.” Scott and I had grown up together; he’d moved into the house across the street from mine when we were in first grade. I’d met Tim and Andrew my freshman year at UCLA. The four of us formed an online company after graduation, to sell advertising space over the Internet. We registered our domain name and took advantage of low interest rates and market confidence. Everyone we knew was scrambling to come up with the next big thing and we were every bit as eager to join the Internet gold rush.

  “It must have been a pretty successful company.”

  “We did okay,” I said.

  The company hadn’t been my first online venture. I’d already had great success selling things on eBay, before the auction site really hit the mainstream. One of the first things I sold was my sister’s old Barbie doll collection. I offered her a sixty-forty split and sold the whole lot for five hundred dollars. It had been so easy—nothing more than a few mouse clicks—and after that I was hooked.

  I spent my weekends combing newspaper ads and driving to estate sales, buying up anything I thought I could sell for a profit. I didn’t have enough room in my dorm, so I carted it all back to my mom’s house and stored it in my old bedroom or the garage or anyplace else I could find to put it. My mom had remarried three years after my dad died—to some deadbeat I hadn’t liked or trusted since day one—and my piles of inventory drove him nuts. I told him I’d pay their mortgage if he stopped complaining, and since he was frequently unemployed he wisely agreed. He shut up after that.

  I couldn’t believe how much money I made during my senior year of college. Most months I earned in excess of twenty thousand dollars, and the only reason I didn’t earn more was because there were only twenty-four hours in a day. I had always done well in school, but I had to pull frequent all-nighters in order to balance my business demands with my course load and assignments.

  After I graduated with my business degree I decided that I wanted to expand, to do something on a bigger scale. Something that didn’t require collecting and storing such a large amount of inventory. Selling online advertising space seemed like the perfect solution, and I joined forces with Scott, Tim, and Andrew, who were equally enthusiastic. That was the first mistake I made.

  Like many start-ups, we spent ninety percent of our fifteen-hour workdays that first year trying to generate publicity for the company. Publicity for a company that had yet to produce anything. We went after venture capital aggressively, and investors couldn’t wait to give it to us. They didn’t seem to mind taking a risk on us, and why wouldn’t they? We were four confident, well-educated rising stars with a slick business plan. It didn’t hurt that a national business publication had dubbed us “four to watch.”

  We’d poured a lot of our seed money into our office space and it was Scott’s idea for us never to be seen in anything other than suits and ties, even on the weekends. I hated that, and protested loudly, but I was outvoted, and suddenly we were all dressing like bankers.

  The nice cars and the expense-account lunches and dinners came next. I hated those, too. I wanted to be in front of my computer working. Creating. Not telling everyone how great we were going to be. Once again I was outvoted, and I bought a BMW and parked my truck in my mom’s garage.

  To me, it all seemed like smoke and mirrors. We started having a lot of heated disagreements, and finally I asked them to buy me out. We’d raised a staggering amount of business capital by then, and I asked for three million dollars. In exchange, I’d sign away my right to any future profits. They thought I was crazy, and Scott even pulled me aside and tried to talk me out of it; I think he felt guilty. But I had a bad feeling about the direction of the company and just wanted out. I had plenty in the bank already, and three million on top of it meant I could go anywhere and do anything I wanted.

  Captain Forrester’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Do these former partners of yours know where you are?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, because I hadn’t bothered to tell them. I didn’t know if I’d ever see those guys again. Not even Scott, my childhood friend. He’d been the one to change the most, and it was his urging that usually resulted in the riskiest business decisions. He had big goals, but I highly doubted his ability to execute them.

  “Sounds like the company was doing pretty well,” he said. “Any regrets?”

  Sometimes I thought about the millions I’d walked away from. A local newspaper had done a story on us, and they’d listed everything in detail: our salaries, assets, projected earnings. We looked like we had money to burn. It didn’t help that they took pictures of our offices and one of Scott standing next to his Range Rover. Suddenly, everyone knew our business. And it was funny how people changed when they found out you had money. How they acted like you owed them some of it and didn’t deserve to keep it all simply because there was so much. My sister had been the first to ask. She said if it wasn’t for her letting me sell her Barbie dolls, I would never have been successful. It was bullshit, and we both knew it, but I gave her the money anyway, thinking it would be a one-time request. That was the second mistake I made.

  “No. No regrets at all,” I said.

  When we reached the island we carried the fresh supplies to the beach, mostly food and water and fuel for the stove. I smiled when I opened a box that contained canned goods and toiletries and noticed the snorkel mask and fins tucked in next to them. “Hey,” I said. “I meant to ask you for these. You must have read my mind.”

  “I figured you could put them to good use. There’s some of the best snorkeling in the world here.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something thoughtful for me, and I felt oddly choked up. “Yeah. This is great.”

  He looked around at the boxes and said, “Well. That’s all of it. I’ll be back in about a week with your lumber and tools. I’ll bring what I can and fly in the rest as you need it.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

  He smiled and said, “You’re welcome, son.”

  We shook hands and after he lifted off I watched him until he was no more than a speck in the sky.

  Chapter 7

  Owen

  Journal entry

  June 18, 1999

  I’ve spent most of the last two days snorkeling in the lagoon, stopping only when the dolphins joined me. Everything looks so clear when I view it through the mask. The colors of the fish are brighter and I can see things I couldn’t see before, like their stripes or other markings. I’ve ventured out to the reef a few times. The water color gets steadily darker, and once it’s no longer light blue I know I’m in deep, open water. It makes me nervous because I remember the warning about sharks.

  I read the first five chapters of the house framing book I bought in Malé and made a few sketches. I’m anxious to get started. Tomorrow
I’m going to pick a spot to build.

  June 19, 1999

  I can’t wait until I have my building supplies because I found a great spot in the woods. It’s not too far from my camp on the beach, and the trees should give me some extra protection from the storms, as long as none of them fall on my house. I’ll have to clear the surrounding vegetation, which will be backbreaking work, but I’ve already used the shovel to dig up some of the undergrowth.

  June 20, 1999

  I saw a shark today. I went snorkeling after lunch and spent over an hour near the reef. I was so mesmerized by everything I saw that I didn’t notice the shark until it swam right up beside me. I think it was a reef shark. It took everything I had not to panic.

  • • •

  I jumped when the satellite phone rang. The only reason I heard it at all was because I’d reached inside the tent to grab a shirt out of my duffel bag when the call came through. I wasn’t used to hearing the sound of a phone—I wasn’t used to hearing any sound other than the crashing of the waves—and it took a second for me to figure out what was happening. I managed to find the phone, buried beneath my clothes, and grabbed it before he hung up. The display read FORRESTER.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Oh, good. It works,” he replied.

  “Uh, did you think it might not?” I asked.

  “The guy who sold it to me said it can be a bit temperamental.”

  “Oh. Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.” It didn’t really bother me that the phone might not always work. The trips back to the mainland were my safety net. Even if something happened—if I got sick or injured—I knew the seaplane would return, eventually. I switched the bulky phone to my other ear. “What’s up?”

  “The pressure’s dropping. There’ll be a storm tonight. Nothing severe, nothing you can’t handle. Just didn’t want you to stress out and think I’d left you there to ride it out on your own. You’ll get a lot of rain. Some wind. Nothing too terrible, though.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “No problem. Your lumber and tools will be ready tomorrow. I’ll fly it over in the morning.”

  “Did the wire come through okay?” I hoped my voice didn’t sound as anxious to him as it did to me.

  “Your wires always come through just fine,” he said. “No need to worry. I’ll see you tomorrow. Take care tonight.”

  “Thanks. I will,”

  • • •

  That evening, shortly before the sun went down, the winds picked up and the water churned in the lagoon. Lightning streaked across the sky and I could almost feel the drop in barometric pressure. I waited nervously, and when the full brunt of the storm arrived I watched the nylon sides of my tent ripple and strain at the seams, but luckily everything held and after several hours the storm died down. It was the worst night I’d had since coming to the island because I felt vulnerable and completely at the mercy of the elements.

  Maybe by the time the next one rolled in I’d be well on my way to building something better equipped to withstand whatever Mother Nature had in store for me.

  • • •

  I was sitting on the beach eating breakfast when I heard the drone of the engines. When the seaplane landed in the lagoon I waded out to it and we spent the next half hour unloading all the building materials from the cargo hold. Once we’d carried everything to shore he asked, “How, exactly, are you going to build this house by yourself?”

  “Slowly, and with a lot of trial and error,” I said. “I bought a book. That should help a little, I hope.”

  “Just how long are you planning on staying here? I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you’d make it this long. But you seem to like it here,” he said, chuckling. “So now I’m curious.”

  “I don’t know. Is there a problem if I stay? My visa is open-ended. Do you think anyone would care that I’m still here?”

  “Well, I suppose they’d have to find you first. Most seaplanes take a more direct route on their way to the resorts. Anyone flying in this vicinity would need a reason for being so far out on the northern rim. So if they did come across you, then they’d still have to decide you were worth stopping for. Most pilots probably wouldn’t take a second look, to be honest. It’s not that unusual for tourists to visit the uninhabited islands. They just don’t stay as long as you have. Unless you were standing on the beach with a roaring signal fire and a giant SOS drawn in the sand, a pilot probably wouldn’t bother to investigate.”

  I nodded my head. “Okay.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

  “I guess I’ll stay here until I have a good enough reason to go someplace else.”

  Chapter 8

  Owen

  It wasn’t easy building a house by myself. I stopped frequently to consult the book that lay open at all times, sometimes literally scratching my head as I tried to figure out what to do next. I didn’t have anyone to hold the boards steady, so I had to rig a system using tree stumps propped up beside the framed sections to hold them in place. I lost track of how many minor injuries they inflicted when one of them hit me in the head or fell on my foot.

  It was tedious and laborious, but that didn’t really bother me. While I worked I let my mind wander, and sometimes, when I pulled my watch out of my pocket, I couldn’t believe how much time had passed. I’d never done anything that physical before, and my muscles ached in new places every day. One day I was so sore I could hardly lift my arms over my head when I took a break to go swimming. But the muscle soreness soon faded, and I made slow and steady progress.

  As the weeks went by I spent more and more time in the woods. I no longer noticed the mosquitoes, the spiders, and the heat. Often I’d work until it was fully dark and the rats came out, but even they didn’t bother me too much.

  I remember being amazed the first time I realized that I’d somehow turned the pile of lumber I’d carried into the woods one board at a time into something that sort of looked like a house.

  • • •

  In mid-October, I picked up the satellite phone and pressed the button that said FORRESTER. When he answered the first thing he said was, “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” I answered. “Everything is fine. Great, actually. I just wanted to tell you that I don’t want to visit the mainland this month. I was hoping I could give you my list over the phone and you could bring everything to me. Maybe stay for an hour or so.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Tell me what you need.”

  “I need more lumber for sure. I’m low on nails and screws, too. Oh, and wood glue. I should have been using that from the start. As for everything else, just bring the same things you’ve been bringing. Maybe a little more food. I’ve been really hungry lately.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Lumber and food. I can do that.”

  “Thanks. See you soon.”

  • • •

  When the seaplane landed in the lagoon a few days later, I could hardly contain my excitement. It wasn’t because I had a visitor—not really—because by then being alone felt natural. Sure, I took comfort in knowing that being on the island for five months hadn’t turned me into some weird recluse or anything. I still had the desire for companionship and conversation. But I wanted to show someone what I’d built with my own two hands. I felt proud of what I’d accomplished so far, although by all accounts the wooden structure was hardly that impressive. But it was the first time I created something that was tangible. That I could see in all its dimensions. Walk around the perimeter. Step inside and be surrounded by four real walls.

  I waded out to the plane. He shook my hand and clapped me on the back. “Should have told me to bring some scissors, son,” he said, laughing. “Looks like you could use a haircut.”

  I’d skipped the haircut the last time I spent the night on the mainland. I had every intention of visiting the barber but then decided I’d rather spend the afternoon drinking in the hotel bar with some tourists from Germany. My attempt to keep up with
them resulted in me passing out in my hotel room and sleeping through until early the next morning. When I awoke with a pounding head I swore I’d never drink again.

  I ran my hands through my shaggy hair. I’d picked up a small mirror in the hotel gift shop, and I’d been making more of an effort to shave, but I had at least a week’s worth of stubble on my face. “Yeah, I’m not all that well-groomed these days.”

  “Eh, who gives a shit,” he said.

  “Obviously, not me,” I said, laughing. “Did the wire . . .”

  “. . . Come through okay? Yes. It came through just fine,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get this stuff unloaded. I want to see what you’ve been doing since I was here last.”

  • • •

  When everything was once again stacked on the beach I led the way toward the center of the island. I turned around and watched his face when we reached the house. His eyes grew wide, and I could tell that what I’d done had surpassed his expectations. He walked in a circle around the entire house. “I can’t believe you did this all by yourself,” he said. “I’m really impressed.”

  “It was pretty slowgoing at first, but I’m getting faster. Framing it was the hardest part. I put it together in sections on the ground, but I didn’t have anyone to help me lift them into place. I figured it out, though.”

  “You’ve done a great job,” he said, using his forearm to wipe sweat from his face. “You built your very own fortress in the woods.”

  “Well, fort anyway,” I said, laughing.

  “I don’t think men ever quite outgrow their desire for one.”

  “No. I guess they don’t.”

  • • •

  I decided to fish for our dinner. It didn’t take long to catch and clean three decent-size fish, and soon they were sizzling in the frying pan. “Can I help you with anything?” he asked, lowering his large frame to the ground near the camp stove.