On the Island

  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. When 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 seatbelt. 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 it down 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 mid-thigh 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 rain water 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 l
ife.”

  “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 anti-diarrheal.”

  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.”

  A bit smaller than a double bed, sharing the life raft 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.

  Chapter 8 – T.J.

  I woke up with a hard-on.

  I usually did, and it wasn’t like I had any control over it. Now that we weren’t almost dead, my body must have decided all systems were a go. Sleeping so close to a girl, especially one that looked like Anna, pretty much guaranteed I’d wake up with a boner.

  She lay on her side facing me, still asleep. The cuts on her face were healing and lucky for her, none of them looked deep enough to leave a scar. She’d kicked off her blanket sometime during the night, and I checked out her legs which was the wrong thing to do considering what was going on in my shorts. If she opened her eyes, she’d catch me staring so I crawled out of the life raft and thought about geometry until my hard-on went away.

  Anna woke up ten minutes later. We ate coconut and breadfruit for breakfast, and I brushed my teeth afterward, rinsing with rainwater.

  “Here,” I said, handing the toothbrush and toothpaste to her.

  “Thanks.” She squeezed some toothpaste on it and brushed her teeth.

  “Maybe there will be another plane today,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Anna said. But she didn’t look at me when she said it.

  “I want to look around some more. See what else is on this island.”

  “We’ll have to be careful,” she said. “We don’t have shoes.”

  I gave her a pair of my socks so her feet wouldn’t be completely bare. I ducked behind the lean-to and changed into my jeans, to protect my legs from the mosquitoes, and we walked into the woods.

  The humid air settled on my skin. I passed through a swarm of gnats, keeping my mouth closed and swatting them away with my hands. We walked farther inland and the smell of rotting plants grew stronger. The leaves overhead blocked almost all the sunlight and the only sound was the snapping of branches and our breathing as we inhaled the heavy air. Sweat drenched my clothes. We continued in silence, and I wondered how long it would take us to clear the trees and come out on the other side.

  We came upon it fifteen minutes later. Anna trailed slightly behind me, so I spotted it first. Stopping short, I turned around and motioned for her to hurry up.

  She caught up to me and whispered, “What is that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  A wooden shack, roughly the size of a single-wide mobile home, stood fifty feet ahead. Maybe someone else lived on the island. Someone who hadn’t bothered with an introduction. We walked toward it cautiously. The front door hung open on rusty hinges, and we peered inside.

  “Hello?” Anna said.

  No one answered, so we stepped over the threshold onto the wooden floor. There was another door on the far side of the windowless room, but it was closed. There wasn’t any furniture. I nudged a pile of blankets in the corner, and we jumped back when the bugs scattered.

  When my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I noticed a large, metal toolbox on the floor. I bent down and opened it. It held a hammer, several packages of nails and screws, a tape measure, pliers, and a hand saw. Anna found some clothes. She picked up a shirt and the sleeve fell off.

  “I thought maybe we could use that, but never mind,” she said, making a face.

  I opened the door to a second room, and we crept in slowly. Empty potato chip bags and candy bar wrappers littered the floor. There was a wide-mouthed plastic container lying next to them. I picked it up and peered inside. Empty. Whoever lived here probably used it to collect water. Maybe if we’d explored the island a little more, walked farther and found the shack earlier, we wouldn’t have been forced to drink the pond water. Maybe we would have been on the beach when the plane flew overhead.

  Anna looked at the container in my hand. She must have made the same connection because she said, “What’s done is done, T.J. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

  A moldy sleeping bag lay crumpled on the floor. In the corner, propped up against the wall, stood a black case. I flipped open the clasps and lifted the lid. Inside was an acoustic guitar in good condition.

  “That’s random,” Anna said.

  “Do you think someone lived here?”

 
“It sort of looks that way.”

  “What were they doing?”

  “Besides channeling Jimmy Buffet?” Anna shook her head. “I have no idea. But whoever it was, they haven’t been home for a while.”

  “This isn’t scrap wood,” I said. “It’s been cut at a lumber yard. I don’t know how he got it here, boat or plane I guess, but this guy was serious. So where did he go?”

  “T.J.,” Anna said, her eyes growing wide. “Maybe he’ll come back.”

  “I hope so.”

  I put the guitar in the case and handed it to her. I picked up the toolbox, and we retraced our steps back to the beach.

  At lunchtime, Anna roasted breadfruit on a flat rock next to the fire while I cracked coconuts. We ate it all – the breadfruit still didn’t taste like bread to me – and washed it down with coconut water. The heat from the fire, plus a temperature that had to be near ninety, made it hard to sit inside the lean-to for very long. Sweat trickled down Anna’s red face, and her hair stuck to her neck.

  “Do you want to get in the water?” I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth. She’d probably think I just wanted her to strip in front of me again.

  She hesitated, but she said, “Yes. I’m burning up.”

  We walked down to the shore. I hadn’t changed back into my shorts, so I took off my socks and T-shirt, and stepped out of my jeans. I wore gray boxer briefs.

  “Pretend they’re my swim trunks,” I said to Anna.

  She glanced at my underwear and cracked a smile. “Okay.”

  I waited for her in the lagoon, trying not to stare while she took her clothes off. If she had the balls to undress in front of me, I wasn’t going to be a jackass about it.

  I got hard again, though, and hoped she didn’t notice.

  We swam for a while and when we got out of the water, we dressed and sat on the sand. Anna stared up at the sky.

  “I thought for sure that plane would make another pass,” she said.

  When we got back to the lean-to, I threw some wood on the fire. Anna took one of the blankets from the life raft, spread it on the ground, and sat down. I grabbed the guitar and sat down beside her.