On the Island (9781101609095)

by Graves, Tracey Garvis

  We wandered back to the beach. It was almost dark by then, so we stretched out next to each other on the sand, laying our heads on our life jackets. I thought everything would be okay. We’d bought a little time. They’d come tomorrow for sure.

  “I’m sorry about the fire, T.J. You worked so hard, and you did a great job. I would never have been able to figure that out.”

  “Thanks, Anna.”

  We fell asleep, but I woke up a while later. The sky was black, and I thought it was probably the middle of the night. My stomach cramped. I ignored it and rolled onto my side. Another cramp hit me, this one more intense. I sat up and moaned. Sweat broke out on my forehead.

  T.J. woke up. “What’s wrong?”

  “My stomach hurts.” I prayed the cramping would stop but it only got worse, and I knew what was about to happen. “Don’t follow me,” I said. I stumbled into the woods, and I barely got my jeans and underwear down before my body purged everything in it. When there was nothing left, I writhed on the ground, the cramps continuing in waves, one after the other. I was drenched in sweat. The pain radiated from my stomach down each leg. For a long time I lay still, afraid the slightest movement would cause more misery. The mosquitoes buzzed around my face.

  Then the rats came.

  Everywhere I looked, pairs of glowing eyes lurked in the darkness. One ran over my foot, and I screamed. I staggered to my feet and yanked my jeans and underwear back up, but the movement brought intense pain, and I collapsed again. I thought I might be dying, that whatever had contaminated the pond water wasn’t something you could survive. I stayed still after that. Exhausted and weak, with no idea where T.J. was, I passed out.

  A buzzing noise woke me. Mosquitoes. But the sun was up and most of the bugs, and the rats, were gone. I struggled to lift my head while lying on my side with my knees pulled up to my chest.

  It was the sound of a plane.

  I pushed myself up on all fours and crawled toward the beach, screaming for T.J. Rising to my feet, I stumbled toward the shore, trying with the last of my strength to lift my arms above my head and wave them back and forth. I couldn’t see the plane, but I could hear it, the sound moving farther and farther away.

  They’re looking for us. They’ll turn around any minute.

  The sound of the plane grew fainter until I could no longer hear it. My legs buckled, and I fell onto the sand and cried until I hyperventilated. I lay on my side, my sobs tapering off, staring out at the water in a daze.

  I had no idea how much time had passed, but when I looked over, T.J. was lying next to me.

  “There was a plane,” I said.

  “I heard it. I couldn’t move.”

  “They’ll come back.”

  But they didn’t.

  I cried a lot that day. T.J. was silent. He kept his eyes closed, and I wasn’t sure if he was sleeping or just too weak to talk. We didn’t make another fire or eat any breadfruit. Neither of us moved out from underneath the coconut tree, except when it rained.

  I didn’t want to be near the woods when it got dark, so we moved back to the beach. As I lay on the sand next to T.J., there was only one thing I knew for sure. If another plane didn’t come or we couldn’t figure out a way to collect water, T.J. and I would die.

  I dozed fitfully throughout the night, and when I finally fell into a deeper sleep, I woke up screaming because I dreamed a rat was chewing on my foot.

  Chapter 6

  —

  T.J.

  Day 4

  When the sun came up, I could barely lift my head off the sand. Two seat cushions from the plane had washed up overnight, and something blue next to them caught my eye. I rolled toward Anna and shook her to wake her up. She looked at me with sunken eyes, her lips cracked and bleeding.

  “What is that?” I pointed to the blue thing but the effort required to hold my hand up was too much, and I let my arm drop back onto the sand.

  “Where?”

  “Over there. By the seat cushions.”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  I lifted my head up and shielded my eyes from the sun. It looked familiar and suddenly I realized what it was. “That’s my backpack. Anna, that’s my backpack.”

  I stood up on wobbly legs, walked to the shore, and grabbed it. When I came back, I knelt down next to Anna, opened the backpack, and pulled out the bottle of water she’d given me at the Malé airport.

  She sat up. “Oh my God.”

  I twisted the cap off and we passed the bottle back and forth, being careful not to drink it too fast. It held thirty-two ounces, and we drank it all, but it barely took the edge off my thirst.

  Anna held up the empty bottle. “If we use a leaf for a funnel, we can collect rainwater in this.”

  Shaky and weak, we walked to the breadfruit tree and plucked a large leaf from one of the lower branches. Anna tore it until it was the right size and stuffed it into the mouth of the empty water bottle, making the opening as wide as possible. There were four breadfruits on the ground, and we carried them back to the shore and ate them all.

  I dumped everything out of my backpack. My Chicago Cubs baseball cap was soaking wet, but I put it on anyway. There was also a gray hooded sweatshirt, two T-shirts, two pairs of shorts, jeans, underwear and socks, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and my CD player. I picked up my toothbrush and toothpaste. The inside of my mouth tasted like something I couldn’t even begin to describe. I unscrewed the cap on the toothpaste, squeezed some onto my toothbrush, and held it out to Anna. “You can share my toothbrush if you don’t mind.”

  She smiled. “I don’t mind, T.J. But you go first. It’s yours.”

  I brushed my teeth and then rinsed the toothbrush in the ocean and handed it to her. She squeezed more toothpaste onto it and brushed her teeth. When she was done, she rinsed it and handed it back to me. “Thanks.”

  We waited for it to rain and when it did, in the early afternoon, we watched the bottle fill with water. I handed it to Anna; she drank half of it and handed it back to me. After I finished it, we put the leaf back in, and the rain filled it up again. Anna and I drank that, too. We needed more, a lot more probably, but I started to think that maybe we wouldn’t die after all.

  We had a way to collect water, we had breadfruit, and we knew we could make a fire. Now we needed shelter, because without it our fire would never stay lit.

  Anna wanted to build the shelter on the beach because the rats freaked her out. We broke off two Y-shaped branches and drove them down into the sand, placing the longest stick we could find between them. We made a crappy lean-to by propping more branches up against each side. Breadfruit leaves lined the floor except for a small circle where we could build our fire. Anna collected pebbles to place in a ring around it. It would be smoky inside, but that might help keep the mosquitoes away.

  We decided to wait until morning to make another fire. Now that we had shelter, we could collect wood and store it inside the lean-to so it could dry.

  It rained again and filled our water bottle three times; I had never tasted anything so good in my entire life.

  When the sun went down, we took the seat cushions, life jackets, and my backpack into the lean-to.

  “Good night, T.J.” Anna said, laying her head on one of the seat cushions, the fire pit between us.

  “Good night, Anna.”

  Chapter 7

  —

  Anna

  Day 5

  I opened my eyes. Sunlight filtered between the cracks of the lean-to. The pressure on my bladder—something I hadn’t felt in a while—confused me for a second, and then I smiled.

  I need to go to the bathroom.

  I left the lean-to without waking T.J. and walked into the woods. I squatted behind a tree, wrinkling my nose at the strong smell of ammonia coming from my pee. Wh
en I pulled my pants back up, I cringed at the dampness between my legs.

  T.J. was awake and standing next to the lean-to when I returned.

  “Where were you?” he asked.

  I grinned and said, “Peeing.”

  He high-fived me. “I need to go, too.”

  When he came back, we went to the breadfruit tree and scooped up three lying on the ground. We sat down and ate our breakfast.

  “Let me see your head,” T.J. said.

  I leaned over and T.J. combed through my hair with his fingers until he found the cut.

  “It’s better. You probably should have had stitches, though. I can’t see any dried blood, but your hair is so dark it’s hard to tell.” He pointed to my cheek. “The bruises are fading. That one is turning yellow.”

  T.J.’s appearance had improved, too. His eye was no longer swollen shut, and his cuts were healing well. He’d fared better than me thanks to his seat belt. His face—very handsome, though still quite boyish—would bear no permanent scars from the plane crash. I didn’t know if I could say the same, but I wasn’t concerned about that at the moment.

  After breakfast, T.J. made another fire.

  “Pretty amazing, city boy,” I said, squeezing his shoulder.

  He smiled, adding small pieces of firewood and coaxing the flames higher, clearly proud of himself. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes and said, “Thanks.”

  “Let me see your hands.”

  He held them out to me, palms up. Blisters covered the raw, calloused skin, and he winced when I touched them.

  “That has to hurt.”

  “It does,” he admitted.

  The fire filled our shelter with smoke, but it wouldn’t go out when it rained. If we heard a plane, we could knock down the lean-to and throw green leaves on the fire to create smoke.

  I had never gone so long without a shower, and I smelled horrible. “I’m going to try and clean up,” I said. “You have to stay here, okay?”

  He nodded and handed me a short-sleeved T-shirt from his backpack. “Do you want to wear this instead of your long-sleeved shirt?”

  “Yes. Thanks.” The T-shirt would fit me like a dress, but I didn’t care.

  “I’d give you some shorts, but I know they’re too big.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “The shirt will really help.”

  I walked along the shore, stopping to take off all my clothes only when I could no longer see T.J. or the lean-to. I scanned the blue, cloudless sky.

  Now would be an excellent time for a plane to fly overhead. Surely, someone would notice the naked woman on the beach.

  I waded into the lagoon, and the fish scattered. The sunburn on my hands and feet had faded into a dark tan, which contrasted with my white arms and legs. My hair hung to my shoulder blades in a rat’s nest of tangles.

  I washed my body with my hands, and then retrieved my clothes from the shore, rinsing them out in the ocean. I finger-combed my hair and wished for a ponytail holder.

  Slightly cleaner when I came out of the water, I put my wet underwear and bra on and pulled T.J.’s T-shirt over my head. It hung down to midthigh, so I didn’t bother with my jeans.

  “I know I’m not wearing pants,” I explained when I returned to the lean-to. “But I’m hot, and I want to let them dry.”

  “No big deal, Anna.”

  “I wish we had something to catch fish with. There are tons of them in the lagoon.” My mouth watered and my stomach growled.

  “We could try and spear them. After I get cleaned up, we can look for some long sticks. Our firewood supply is low, too.”

  T.J. came back to the lean-to five minutes later, with wet hair, wearing clean clothes. His arms were wrapped around something large and bulky.

  “Look what I found in the water.”

  “What is it?”

  He set the object down and spun it around so I could read the writing on the side.

  “That’s the life raft from the plane.” I knelt down next to it. “I remember seeing it when I was looking for the life jackets.”

  We opened the container and pulled the raft out. I ripped open the attached waterproof bag and took out a sheet of paper that listed the contents. I read it aloud:

  “Raft canopy, located inside accessories case, features two roll-down doors and a rainwater collector in the top of the roof panel. Custom packs available including radio beacons and emergency locators.”

  My hopes soared. “T.J., where’s the accessories case?”

  T.J. looked in the container and pulled out another waterproof bag. My hands shook as I tore into the plastic, and as soon as I made a big enough hole, I turned it upside down and dumped everything onto the sand. We rifled through it, our hands bumping into each other as we examined each item.

  We found nothing that would lead to rescue.

  No emergency locator. No radio beacon, satellite phone, or transmitter.

  My hopes plummeted. “I guess they figured the custom pack was an unnecessary upgrade.”

  T.J. shook his head slowly.

  I thought about what might have happened if we’d found an emergency locator.

  Do you just turn it on and wait for them to come get you?

  Tears filled my eyes. Blinking them back, I began inventorying the contents of the accessories case: knife, first-aid kit, tarp, two blankets, rope, and two collapsible sixty-four-ounce plastic containers.

  I opened the first-aid kit: Tylenol, Benadryl, antibiotic ointment, cortisone cream, Band-Aids, alcohol wipes, and Imodium.

  “Let me see your hands,” I said to T.J.

  He held them out, and I put antibiotic ointment and Band-Aids on his blisters.

  “Thanks.”

  I picked up the bottle of Benadryl. “This can save your life.”

  “How?”

  “It’ll stop an allergic reaction.”

  “What about that one?” T.J. asked, pointing at a white bottle.

  I glanced at him and looked away. “That’s Imodium. It’s an antidiarrheal.”

  He snorted when he heard that.

  The life raft inflated with a carbon dioxide canister. When we pushed the button, it filled with gas so quickly we had to jump out of the way.

  We attached the roof canopy and rainwater collector. The life raft resembled one of those bounce houses my niece and nephew loved to jump around in, though not nearly as tall.

  “This should hold about three gallons of water,” I said, pointing at the water collector. Thirsty again, I hoped the afternoon rain came early.

  Nylon flaps hung down on the sides and attached to the life raft with Velcro. Leaving them up during the day would allow light and air inside. The roll-down mesh doors provided a small opening.

  We pushed the life raft next to the lean-to and put more wood on the fire before walking to the coconut tree. T.J. cut the husk off a coconut. He split it open by sticking the blade of the knife into the coconut and hitting the handle with his fist. I caught the water that spilled out in one of the plastic containers.

  “I thought it would be sweeter,” T.J. said, after he took a drink.

  “Me, too.” It tasted slightly bitter, but it wasn’t bad.

  T.J. scraped out the meat with the knife. Starving, I wanted to eat every coconut on the ground. We shared five before my aching hunger dissipated. T.J. had one more, and I wondered how much food it took to fill up a sixteen-year-old boy.

  The rain came an hour later. T.J. and I got soaked, smiling and cheering, watching the various containers fill to the top. Grateful for the sheer abundance, I drank until I couldn’t hold any more, the water sloshing around in my stomach when I moved.

  Within an hour, we both peed again. We celebrated by eating another coconut and two breadfruits.


  “I like coconut better than breadfruit,” I said.

  “Me, too. Although now that we have a fire, maybe we can roast it and see if it tastes better.”

  We gathered more firewood and found long sticks for spearing fish. We threw the tarp over the top of the lean-to and tied it on with the rope for added protection from the rain.

  T.J. carved five tally marks on the trunk of a tree. Neither of us mentioned another plane.

  At bedtime, we built the fire up as high as we could without burning down the lean-to. T.J. crawled into the life raft. I went in after him, wearing the shirt he’d given me for a nightgown. I closed the roll-down door behind me; at least we’d have some protection from the mosquitoes.

  We lowered the nylon flaps and attached them with the Velcro fasteners. I spread the blankets out and put the seat cushions down for pillows. The blankets were scratchy, but they’d keep us warm when the sun went down and the temperature dropped. The seat cushions were thin and smelled of mildew, but it was luxuriously comfortable compared to sleeping on the ground.

  “This is awesome,” T.J. said.

  “I know.”

  The life raft was a bit smaller than a double bed. Sharing it with T.J. would leave only a few inches between us. I was too tired to care.

  “Good night, T.J.”

  “Good night, Anna.” He sounded drowsy already, and he rolled onto his side and passed out.

  Seconds later, I did, too.

  I woke up in the middle of the night to check the fire. Only glowing embers remained, so I added more wood and poked it with a stick, sending sparks into the air. When the fire burned strong again, I went back to bed.

  T.J. woke up when I lay down beside him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I put more wood on the fire. Go back to sleep.”

  I closed my eyes, and we slept until the sun came up.