The Castaways

by Jessika Fleck

  I nod.

  “These are the ones we find all the time. They grow all over.”

  “Got it.” Not so hard. I know these, we eat them daily.

  “Next”—she points with the stick—“plants.” From top to bottom she identifies the twigs and leaves: wild asparagus, amaranth, sugar cane, plantain leaves, and, of course, dried seaweed and kelp she must have brought with her from the cave-tree because we haven’t passed by any water. She explains where to find each and how to best eat them.

  “And this…” She picks up white flowers with yellow centers. “Wood sorrel. Well, that’s what Lewis calls them. We called it ‘tsee-nah.’” I take a deep breath, and she swishes her mouth from side to side. “It kind of means ‘a flower you drink,’ because it’ll help if you’re thirsty.”

  I nod again.

  She furrows her barely-there eyebrows. “Are you getting all this?”

  “I am, yes. Wood sorrel, cattails, amaranth. I’ve got it.” But really I’m so distracted. Distracted by my shrinking heart, by memories of sweltering Texas summers and Tawny’s bedroom and Mom’s lasagna, the way Dad’s always pushing his glasses up his nose, Lucky… All things Lucky. And then there are the present distractions. Little Bug’s focus, her patient insistence on helping me. Jude’s incessant chip-chipping away of the stump. The birds chirping. Waves rolling. Leaves jingling.

  Next, we go over poisonous plants. “Keep away from plants with milky sap, thorns, or any with clumps of three leaves.” She instructs me on how to collect water in a coconut shell or worst case scenario, a large leaf if we lose our drinking containers. And, finally, the little nature guru shows me how to build a fire.

  She’d have won a fortune on a reality show.

  By the time we get back home, I’m mentally and physically exhausted and so is Bug. With a yawn, she crawls into the cave-tree, no doubt to cuddle up atop her rug for a nap.

  Jude was silent the entire walk back. When he makes to enter the door after Bug, he pauses, searching his pocket for something. He then turns to face me, handing over several crudely carved, sharp pieces of wood bound together and a sort of slingshot-type tool. With caution, like I’m not sure if he means for me to take them or not, I reach over. He places them in my hand.

  “You already know how to use them, but you’ll find the sling-shot’s more effective. Just thought some protection was called for.”

  I’m speechless. So this is what all of his obnoxious chip-chipping was about? “Um, thanks,” I finally spit out.

  “Yeah, well, hopefully, you won’t need them to defend yourself, and you can use them to hunt if you need to.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Thank you. Really.”

  Jude inhales through his nose, widening his eyes and nodding his head. He turns to go through the hidden door, but again, he stops.

  “I don’t hate you,” he mumbles.

  I barely hear it. But I do. Head down, he speaks to the door. “I hate this fucking island. It takes everything I love, chews it up, and shits it out.” He sighs. “But I never hated you.”

  I swear he sniffs as he ducks into the tunnel and before I can say anything in return.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Maps

  I lie on my stomach atop my mat, studying. Tomorrow is the big day. Across from me is Lewis, also on his stomach, our foreheads inches apart, his eyes darting away from mine each time I answer a question about the maps between us.

  Tilly brought books with her. Her parents had sent her to live with her aunt and uncle to get away from the bombs. They were killed three days later.

  The day she showed up on the island, she’d been walking home from school but stopped to watch a puppet show put on by a band of street performers. They’d been going around, cheering up children, many of whom were in similar situations as Tilly. Mid-show, the bomb sirens sounded. Everyone scattered. Tilly ran home, planning to duck into her cellar, when the horrible whirling airplane engines charged overhead. No time to think, she bolted into an alleyway. Then another. Twisting and turning, she came upon a loosely boarded manhole. She climbed in to find a series of tunnels. Her knees scraped and shredded into bits as she crawled along the cold, damp stone in the dark, clutching hold of the leather strap of her books. The sirens and engines grew fainter, replaced by ground-shaking booms. Tilly picked up the pace, eventually escaping up through what she thought was the way out.

  Once through, she was on the island.

  Over the years, she’s refused her books be used for anything. They’re her books, her connection to home and protested having them used as kindling. I can understand that. Once she let Bug and Charlie draw on a few pages with charcoal. Mostly, she reads from them to the kids before bed—fortunately, one is a literature book, though I can assume they’d take anything if it was distraction enough.

  Another is a history book with a section on maps and map-making, several pages blank canvases. Lucky for Charlie and I, for our impending mission, Lewis is an excellent artist. He’s created the most detailed maps for us to follow, spending days in the forest, recording each major landmark, body of water, and food source. And he’s taken full advantage of playing mapmaker — being sure to school me nightly.

  Tonight is no exception.

  “Where’s the first place you’ll find water safe for drinking?” he asks, leaning up on his elbows, chin resting in his hands.

  “About nine miles northeast of the cave-tree. There.” I point at the small spring, thinking of Charlie and dragging the kid so many miles for water. I look at Lewis.

  He whips his gaze down at the map so I don’t see he’s been watching me. Glancing up, his cheeks are stippled of red. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath.

  “Correct. And…” He searches for another question, knowing we’d exhausted the need for this several nights ago. Still… “Ah, are these plants here edible?”

  I instantly recognize the spiked tongue-like stalks from Bug’s lesson a couple days before. “Bluetongue shoots? No, they’ll make our throats swell and kill us.”

  “Good… Good…” He nods, again searching, flipping to the next map, dark hair falling over his eyes. He sits up and brushes it aside, wrists and forearms thin, delicate, not that of a boy’s, but not near that of a man’s. Lewis holds up the second map so I can’t see it, peering over the top, his brown eyes innocent yet so wise. “And—”

  “Knock, knock,” Will cuts in, striding into the room and crouching down next to us. Lewis drops the map and his face falls, those bright eyes of his switching from hopeful to tired and incensed. Will smiles. Not a half smile, but a rare full smile. “Studying again, are we?” he asks.

  “Well, we want to be sure she’s prepared, her and Charlie.” Lewis straightens his shoulders.

  “Yes, for her and Charlie.” Will’s grin widens.

  They stare at one another. Each waiting for the other to leave.

  Stalemate.

  Lewis concedes. “I suppose if you don’t know it all by now…” He breathes in. “You’ll do fine Olive, I know you will.” He picks up the map and stacks it on the pile. Then he stands, shoulders slumped, like he’s saying good-bye.

  I sit up on my knees and grab his hand. “Hey, thank you.”

  Lewis stares at our hands. “Sure,” he says. “My pleasure.” He peers down at me, smiling, his lips closed, more pressed into a line.

  “I’ll say good-bye before we leave.”

  He nods, turns and leaves, and doesn’t glance back.

  “Poor kid,” Will says, shaking his head.

  “Well, you’re not being much help.” I glare at him.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He’s still grinning, smaller, but it’s there, twitching at the corners of his mouth.

  “Will, you embarrassed him.”

  He scoots closer, smile gone. With a deep breath, he says, “You’re right.” One of Will’s hands rests on his leg. He squeezes it into a fist and closes his eye. “I’m a jerk.” He opens his eye.
“I’ll give him some time, but I’ll talk to him; apologize.” And it’s as if he’s genuinely surprised at himself—like that other guy was an alternate version of Will.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine, but talking to him would probably help. He looks up to you.”

  “I will, I will…” His voice trails off, face serious, lines stretched across his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  I pull my shoulders forward and drop my head. Something inside of me shrinks because I have no idea what I’m doing.

  Will moves closer, sitting cross-legged in front of me, his bare feet blurring behind the tears burning and pooling in my eyes.

  “Hey.” He bends down, leaning in closer, trying to catch my sight. “You don’t have to do this. No one’s forcing you.” I shake my head, the motion freeing a couple of tears. They drop to my knees. I take a deep breath because I do have to do this. “If you don’t mind me asking, why’d you request—well, demand—to go?”

  I stare up at him, the blurry version of him. I’m fighting the tears, painfully managing to suck them back. They don’t fall, but are collecting and pooling. Before they spill over, I wipe my eyes with my arm, trying to pretend they never were. “Why?” I repeat his question. Will nods, not blinking. “I just know it’s something I have to do. Being here, getting to know all of you, being accepted into your family… I have this overwhelming need to protect what’s important and prove to myself I can fight back. I finally feel like I have something to offer, something to fight for. But…with Charlie coming along, I’m not so sure anymore. What if I fail? What if something goes wrong? If it were only me, that’d be one thing. But Charlie…” I bite my lip, trying hard to hold back the crying fit that’s knotted in my chest, but it’s slipping, ready to fling up and out of my mouth any second. “I’m… I’m…” And I can’t finish the sentence because the knot breaks. Instead, a horrible quake leaves my mouth as Will scoops me up and into his lap.

  Curled up like a child, I weep into his chest, his arms clasped around me as he whispers in my ear, “You can do this, Olive.”

  The King’s horn wails.

  I gaze up at Will and silently promise myself that if I make it up the mountain I’m bringing that damn horn back with me.

  Another pha-ooh sounds as if in answer to my challenge. It’s the loudest yet.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It’s Time

  Jude busts through the door, a mix of concern and dread sending lines branching away from his eyes.

  “It was close,” Will says, pulling away from me.

  Jude, that dragon tattoo on his neck eying me, nods. “If you and Charlie plan to leave, you’d better get going now.”

  Now or never.

  Will stands and proceeds to walk in circles, hands pressed into his forehead.

  I jump up so fast I get light-headed and have to bend forward, taking deep breaths and resting my hands on my knees. Okay… Okay…

  We’d planned to take our time. Prepare. Check and double check and then breathe and then triple check we were ready just to be sure.

  Once my head stops swimming, I stand upright to find Will marching toward me. He crashes into my body, taking my breath away and holds me so tight I’m back to light-headed.

  “It’s going to be all right. I promise.” His voice is soft, concerned yet strong. I nod, my face once again pressed against his chest. He pulls away, looking down on me. “I’m getting Charlie up.” He kisses my forehead and leaves. The sensation lingers, tingling even once he’s gone.

  Everyone’s been dragged awake and gathered around the trapdoor to the cave-tree. Bug’s eyes are half open, swollen from sleep, her hair an impressive ball of static. Next to her is Tilly, stress lines etched across her forehead, two long braids framing her face. Jude and Lewis stand to their right. Jude, unreadable. Lewis, someplace between crying and livid. Will stands between Charlie and I as we stare down at the door.

  Charlie and I are bid several “be safe’s” and “see you soon’s.” No good-byes.

  Everything is rushed. Set on fast-forward. I’m not ready.

  I get a quick embrace from Tilly. A baby bear-hug from Bug. A nod and approving half grin from Jude—which is more than I expected.

  I’m not ready.

  With an awkward side-hug, Lewis slips me a flat, dark green stone with a dip in the middle. A worry rock.

  But I’m not ready.

  “Time to go,” Will announces, those three words sending any sliver of confidence I have running out the door.

  With one last fleeting look at each one of my new family, Will, Charlie, and me descend one by one into the door, crawl through the tunnel, then emerge out the other side of our Lion’s den.

  The plan had been to leave mid-morning. Instead, it’s mid-night. The air is fresh, the breeze cool, that familiar forest scent of rusty dirt and green sweetness floods my senses. It’s the same air I’ll be breathing in for I don’t know how long. The thought terrifies me.

  Will must be picking up on my emotions because he’s lost his composure. Charlie and I stare as Will stands still, his face in his hands.

  He paces.

  He tells us to leave and then stops us.

  Twice.

  Finally, with a sigh that somehow spans time and space, he says, “I’m going. Charlie get back inside.”

  “No,” Charlie says, shaking his head.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s best this way.” Will leaves no room for Charlie to argue. Instead, the poor kid just glances away, bottom lip quivering.

  Oh jeez. I put my hand on Charlie’s sad, slumped shoulder. “Why don’t you wait over there. Give us a minute?”

  Without a word, he walks out of earshot, sitting on a large rock.

  I lean into Will, speaking just above a whisper. “What the hell are you doing? We don’t have time for this!”

  He glances at Charlie then back at me. “I thought I could let you go, but it’s too dangerous.”

  I drop my bag to the ground. “Are you freaking kidding me? You can’t do this, Will. We’re ready. And we’re going.”

  Jaw tight, Will tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth, looking over at Charlie again. My eyes follow. Charlie’s picking at the moss on the rock, blond waves covering the top half of his face. We hear him sniff.

  I gaze back at Will, his eye patch is slick like ink in the moonlight and the green of his right eye is more silvery, like a gemstone. “He needs this as much as I do. Maybe more.”

  Pha-ooh!

  My eyes go wide because it’s even closer now.

  Will kicks at the dirt and stares up at the sky, puffing a breath out his nose as if cursing the stars. “Fine. You’re right. I’m sorry.” He rakes his hands through his hair so it sticks up in all directions. “Go.” He motions to Charlie but doesn’t take his eye off me. “You’re up, bud.”

  Charlie runs over, smile stretched across his face.

  Will scruffs Charlie’s hair. “Sorry, buddy. You’ve got this.”

  Digging into his back pocket, Will produces his blade and hands it to me. I shake my head no, but he nudges it at me. “I want you—need you—to take it.”

  I nod, taking the blade, and put it in my pocket.

  Will steps closer, resting his forehead against mine. “You’re more a Lion than you know, Olive Maxi Gagmuehler.”

  I flinch. He steps back, nodding to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets. Will then turns his head to Charlie, who’s picking at the bark of a tree. In a motion so quick it doesn’t register, Will yanks his hands from his pockets, grabs me by the waist, and jerks me into him, tight, like he’s never going to let go. Breath heavy and warm in my ear, he kisses my earlobe then speaks.

  “Be safe. And come back so you can force me to rethink my rules.” His words are as weightless as snowflakes and my heart thumps into his chest where, I find, there’s a similar rhythm, his heart racing, working to keep up with mine.

  “I promise,” I say.

  With one last sque
eze, he moves away, slowly, grazing his face along my cheek, stalling where our noses touch and our lips are nothing but a breath, a gasp, a sigh, away from each other. And there’s that hint of mint. Does he always have it in his mouth? Because it’s there, his breath sweet with it and I’m spinning. Closing my eyes, I can almost taste the mint.

  “Take care, little Lion,” he says, pushing his forehead into mine, bringing one hand up to that place above my left ear, holding it there, then letting go of me.

  I nod, trying not to cry, begging myself to be strong in this moment when I’m terrified out of my mind. Why was this so important again?

  Pha-ooh. The King’s horn sounds as if in answer.

  Now or never.

  Will pulls me even closer. “Watch out for the sheep” —he whispers into my lips— “they’re assholes.” He steps away. “Go.”

  But I’m not ready.

  But now or never.

  We leave.

  I want to look back, but I don’t. I can’t. Because I know how much he’s dying to run after us, and I might just let him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Olive and Charlie

  Our gear, haphazardly thrown together in a rush, consists of a bag each, short spears shoved into the sides and water bottles made from the shells of gourd-like plants hanging from a loop of braided twine (another one of Lewis’s inventions). My pack is slung over my shoulder. Tilly stitched it together from my leather jacket, and really, for what it is, it’s beautiful. Charlie’s is crafted from an old sheep skin. We carry the bare minimum, because we’ll mostly be living off the island.

  We’ve been moving for hours, making as little noise as possible, choosing our steps carefully so we don’t run into whoever was blowing that horn so closely.

  It’s still dark, but an ever-expanding lip of orange sunlight is inching its way across the horizon.

  Based on Lewis’s map, Charlie and I are headed northeast, toward the first source of fresh water along our route. Before our test run to the mountain, the longest I’d ever traveled on foot was a 5K Tawny had talked me into running with her. And I did run. I sprinted the first mile to keep up wither her, threw up my bagel from breakfast, then walked the rest of the way. Tawny, being sweet Tawny, insisted she walk with me, but she’d have rather run it out.