The Raft

  I gave up on the flipper and went to her back end. The net there was even tighter, and I couldn’t get even a finger in.

  She was still struggling, trying to get up the beach. I needed something to cut the net off.

  I splashed back through the water toward the raft, but had to stop halfway to sit down and catch my breath before finally reaching it. There was a big pile of marine debris near the raft, and I’d only looked for lighters. Maybe I’d find something sharp. Sharp enough to cut the net.

  With a stick, I dug through. I pushed over a board and stopped. I wiped the sweat off my forehead and bent down. With two fingers, I plucked out what looked like a knife.

  It was just a piece of rusted metal, wickedly jagged on one side, but it looked like it would cut. There wasn’t any other option, so I got a safer grip on it and headed back for Starbuck.

  She was a little farther out in the water. Ignoring her cries of warning, I splashed around behind her and slipped my knife in between the net and her flipper and started sawing, careful not to cut her. Luckily, she was so tangled that she couldn’t get her head close enough to bite me.

  The plastic was tough, but I managed to cut one piece off. The work was draining, and I had to stop and wipe my forehead off and catch my breath. Finally, I had her flipper loose.

  But the rest of her was still hopelessly tangled, and now, in addition to trying to get herself loose, she was trying to get away from me.

  In as soothing a tone as I could muster, I said, “I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to help you.”

  In spite of her very vocal protests, I moved around to her side, putting myself between her and the beach, and started sawing at the net on her back. And then she stopped making noise. And splashing.

  I stopped what I was doing and stepped back so I could see all of her with my one eye.

  Her head sagged in the water.

  The light blue plastic had become a noose around her neck, strangling her, and my loosening the back had only made it possible for the net to tighten more around her neck as she struggled.

  “No!”

  I pushed on her. “Starbuck!”

  She didn’t move.

  She was gone.

  I stepped back until my feet hit the beach, then dropped to my knees. “Not again. Not again. Not again!” I threw the knife off to the side.

  The waves gently pushed her up onshore.

  I was the only one left.

  My empty stomach cramped. And an absolutely unthinkable idea made its way into my head.

  I shook my head. No, I wouldn’t do it.

  To get rid of the thought, I got up and ran, ran away from Starbuck, dead on the beach. I ran, ran back to the raft, where I threw myself down on the sand.

  I was dizzy and could barely breathe, and I lay there until my heart stopped pounding.

  My lips were dry again. I reached into my pocket for the Carmex and instead, my fingers curled around something else. I pulled out the Marilyn Monroe lighter.

  More out of habit than hope, I flicked the wheel with my thumb.

  A spark sputtered.

  I nearly dropped the lighter at first, but managed to hold on. Afraid it wouldn’t light up again, I held my breath as I flicked the wheel once more.

  Another slight hint of a spark.

  I exhaled. “Please please please.” I looked up at the sky. “Third time’s the charm, right?” My hand trembled, so I gripped my wrist with my other hand to steady it.

  “Come on.”

  My thumb slid the wheel and a flame popped up, wavering, but steady. I held it for a moment, then let it go out.

  Lifting the lighter to my lips, I kissed Marilyn Monroe.

  I had fire. I had fire.

  fifty-three

  Suddenly, my unthinkable idea by the beach didn’t seem so unthinkable. If I was going to save myself, I had to think selfishly. I’d already proved that—hadn’t I?—when I’d put Max in the water to save myself. But he had been gone. I hadn’t killed him. A fine line, yes, but one I had to live with if I was going to … well … live.

  Starbuck was gone. I wouldn’t let the monster take her. I needed her more.

  Maybe I wasn’t worth the saving. Maybe my life wasn’t worth Max’s. Maybe my life wasn’t worth Starbuck’s. But if it wasn’t, why was I still alive?

  Their deaths would be worth nothing, mean nothing, if I didn’t make it. Max had saved me. He gave me a chance to live. And if I didn’t take that chance and run with it …

  I walked to the bank and looked out over the water, thinking. Something caught my eye down the beach.

  A huge green sea turtle, nearly the size of a table top, had crawled up on the beach and lay there, sunning itself.

  My gaze went to the henna turtle on my ankle. I bent over and traced it with my hand. The tattoo was in terrific shape, the one part of me that was actually not any worse for wear. My aumakua.

  The sea turtle lay there, content.

  A sign?

  I shrugged. Maybe. It was whatever I wanted it to be.

  Back at the raft, I put the Carmex and the lighter in Max’s ditty bag, then put the cord around my arm. The trip to the beach took a while. I had to stop three times to rest. Once there, I found my makeshift knife and stood over Starbuck, my heart pounding.

  I shook my head.

  Not Starbuck. Not anymore.

  I wanted to apologize. Instead, I started to cry and said, “I want to live. I just want to live. You get that, don’t you?”

  And I sawed off a piece of meat, stuck it on the end of my knife, and started to carry it back to my signal fire.

  I got dizzy and stopped, leaning over to put a hand on my knee and take a break. “No rush.”

  I looked at the top of the dune. Had it always been that far away?

  I had to stop again before I reached the base of the dune, and then had to drop to all fours and crawl up.

  Kneeling beside the signal fire, I held the lighter out. “Please work. Please, please work.”

  I cupped my hand around the dry grass, flicked the wheel, and the tinder sparked. A little breeze blew through, igniting the fire, and soon my pile was ablaze, the smoke invading my sinuses. But I didn’t turn my head. The smell was so welcome.

  I couldn’t cheer. I didn’t have anything left to cheer with.

  The fire grew quickly.

  I set the ditty bag to the side and sat there, watching the fire. Then I stood and held the heaviness at the end of the knife over the flame.

  The flesh sizzled in the flame. I pictured myself chewing it, swallowing.

  And then I let it drop.

  “Max?”

  He was there and I laid my head in his lap and gazed at the fire.

  “I don’t want to live that much,” I told him. “Not that much.”

  Together we watched the fire build and build, until the flames went high and the smoke went up into the clear blue sky.

  And he told me more.

  Max

  We were about halfway into the drive home, Taylor Swift blaring, of course, when Brandy fell asleep on my shoulder. I was going through the curvy part of the drive and Brandy kept slipping off. She looked so uncomfortable, so I nudged her, and told her to move over by the window and use my jacket for a pillow.

  Her seat belt clicked open as I turned back to the road and saw an antelope in my headlights.

  I tried to swerve as I braked. But I slammed into the antelope. We went into a skid, headed for the closed construction lane. The tires squealed and Brandy screamed. I put out a hand to protect her just as I lost control. The windshield shattered. We rolled.

  The top of the truck was the bottom and then the top again as metal crunched. I don’t know if I yelled. I don’t remember.

  We stopped then, halfway rolled over. The truck teetering back one more time, its top on the ground. The engine had stopped. Taylor Swift was still singing and the dashboard lights were still on. I smelled gas. And heard water.

 
Hanging upside down by my seat belt, I reached down and felt water. We were upside down in a creek.

  She didn’t answer. I reached out to touch her. I couldn’t feel her. My head was stuck, so I couldn’t look. I reached up and undid my seat belt. I fell to the ceiling and rolled her way, trying to keep my head above the rising water.

  Brandy wasn’t there.

  I crawled out what remained of the windshield. Later, I was in a lot of pain, but right then I screamed her name over and over. I moved away from the truck, knee-deep in water, and made it to the road.

  Brandy lay where she’d been thrown through the windshield as soon as we’d rolled, just off the road.

  I ran to her, flung myself down beside her. Yelled her name.

  Oh, God.

  Her neck was at an impossible angle and I held her hand to my chest.

  I yelled for help. We were in the middle of nowhere. We’d passed one car in the last hour. I felt in my pocket for my cell phone. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely push the numbers. I waited for 911 to pick up.

  A woman’s voice. She kept asking questions. I kept answering.

  We were a long way out. She was sending help, but it would be a long time. Too long. She told me to hang on.

  Brandy didn’t move.

  I already knew. Still, I held my head to her chest. No heartbeat.

  I already knew. Still, I held a hand in front of her mouth and nose. No breath.

  With a hand, I touched her cheek. Warm and sticky.

  I held her to my chest and started to rock as I sobbed, my face in her hair, smelling her. How could she be gone if she still smelled so good? I straightened her hair, pushing it back over her shoulders like she liked it. It was so soft. So soft.

  I heard a sound.

  The antelope I’d hit lay in the road, about ten yards away from me. Another, this one with horns, stood over it, looking down. Then he looked at me as I lay in the road, holding my dead girlfriend.

  The mountain night was cold enough that his breath was a puff as it came out his nostrils. He was motionless, staring at me.

  He didn’t need me to tell him not to love. Ever.

  fifty-four

  I said, “I’m sorry, Max,” and started to cry. But when I reached up to wipe away my tears, there were none. My face was dry.

  There were a few pages left, but I was so tired, I couldn’t see straight anymore. I lay down on my side and fell asleep.

  When I woke up, I was still tired. So tired.

  My throat was so dry, I could barely swallow.

  I rolled on my back and looked up at the sky. Cloudless. Again.

  That color blue used to be my favorite. I’d grown to hate it.

  What was the last thing I’d had to drink?

  Days before, the last water from my makeshift bowl.

  When had I last felt the urge to pee?

  I couldn’t even remember.

  I licked my lips. So parched. I pulled out the Carmex and covered them.

  All I could do was watch the smoke spiral in the breeze.

  Max said, “You can’t let the fire go out.”

  I looked at the small pile of wood only steps away. “I’m too tired.”

  “You have to.”

  I got to my hands and knees and crawled over to the pile. I grabbed a piece in each hand and crawled back, then tossed them into the fire, which quickly renewed itself.

  I collapsed on my back again, staring at the blue above me.

  If I get out of this …

  “I will…”

  What?

  I will be happy with my life. I will feel lucky, because I am. I am lucky, just to have a house and food and water and parents who love me …

  “But I don’t have any of those things.”

  I’m not lucky at all. Not anymore.

  My face crumpled and I sobbed invisible tears. Invisible tears that were a sign.

  I covered my face with my arms. “I’m not gonna make it. I’m not.”

  Would my parents ever know what happened to me?

  Would anyone?

  I rolled on my side. An albatross skeleton lay not far from me, feathers still clinging to the bone. Maybe I would end up like that. Maybe it would be years before anyone stumbled across my body. Maybe, when someone did find me, they wouldn’t even be able to tell who I was.

  I put my hands together, praying.

  Was I? Not really. When I was little I did say my prayers every night. But when it was just me, and I was older, without Mom and Dad putting me to bed, I stopped.

  Midway didn’t even have a church. We did have a white cross though, on an edge of the island, overlooking the lagoon. A metal plaque on it said something about the cross being 140 miles from the international dateline and that, traditionally, the world’s last Easter sunrise service was held there every year.

  Every Easter, the residents of Midway did gather at the cross at sunrise. Sometimes someone read from the Bible or said a few words. Usually we sang a hymn.

  This year I had slept in.

  I slipped my hands under my head and shut my eye.

  I could bargain with God. Isn’t that what people did in these situations?

  “Dear God…” I stopped.

  Somehow praying now, when I really needed something, seemed too little too late. Besides, if God was up there, He could make His own decisions. Truth was, I had no strength to plead my case.

  I hoped sleep would find me fast.

  fifty-five

  My dreams were of cats. Spitting. Then snakes. Hissing.

  The spitting and hissing seemed so real.

  My face almost felt wet.

  My eye opened. My face was wet.

  The sky was cloudy and there was rain.

  I sat up and put my open mouth to the sky. Just drips, barely enough to dampen my lips.

  After a while, my neck cramped and I looked back down.

  Steam. There was steam coming from my fire.

  “No!” I lunged forward and grabbed the end of a stick from the fire. I started pushing the charred wood around. “Come on, come on.” But there were no more flames, and the wood was all wet.

  I looked back up at the sky, at the dark clouds moving off to the east.

  How had I missed the rain?

  My hair was damp. I stuck some of it in my mouth and sucked, trying to get out any moisture I could. I felt my camisole. Damp as well. Frantic, I yanked it over my head and twisted it, trying to wring whatever was there into my open mouth.

  Not enough. Not enough.

  I hugged myself and cried more dry tears. There had been rain, enough to put my fire out. But not enough for me to get a drink.

  I didn’t bother to put my top back on and just fell to my side.

  My face smashed in the sand as I watched the last bit of steam rise from the fire.

  The signal fire. The fire that was supposed to save my life.

  Suddenly, I felt a chill. I put my top back on and looked around for my hoodie. My gaze drifted to the horizon.

  Then I gasped.

  A white ship with blue writing, right in front of me.

  Was it really there? Was it just a mirage?

  A hallucination brought on by dehydration?

  I froze. If it was a hallucination, I would die. Die from disappointment.

  So I told myself it wasn’t real. And I sat and waited to see if I was right.

  fifty-six

  My imaginary ship didn’t move, just sat there. Anchored out at sea. I couldn’t read the blue letters, but had seen enough to know it was a NOAA ship.

  I knew what NOAA stood for. National Oceanographic and … something …

  I tapped my forehead. “You know this.” I couldn’t even think straight. Funny, that my imaginary ship would be a NOAA one. Coast Guard would have made more sense though. For a rescuer.

  I sat up straight.

  Coast Guard would have made much more sense. And wouldn’t a hallucination make sense? I mean, it woul
d be a fantasy, right? Something I would want to see. Like Coast Guard. NOAA was just dumb.

  There on the top of the dune, I hugged my knees and watched. A boat lowered into the water. And came toward the island.

  It’s a hallucination.

  Max stood at the bottom of the dune and looked up at me. “It’s not a hallucination.”

  I told him, “But that’s all you are.”

  The boat got closer. Say it was real, just say it was. Had they seen my fire?

  The boat neared the beach on the farthest point of the island from me. Wouldn’t a hallucination have them land closer, be more convenient? Two people hopped out and pulled the boat onto the beach and more people got out. They just stood around.

  If it was my hallucination, wouldn’t they come right for me?

  Maybe they were real.

  I stood up. My legs collapsed beneath me and I rolled down the dune, landing at the bottom by Max. I could no longer see the boat or the people.

  Because they weren’t there.

  I laid my head on my arms, not wanting to get around the dune. Not wanting to look out at the sea. Not wanting to see … nothing.

  If that’s all it was, a hallucination, why exert myself? I was done.

  “But it’s not a hallucination.” Max crouched in front of me. “Robie, you have to do this. You have to get to the beach.” He backed up slightly. “Come on. Come with me.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  He nearly shouted at me. “You can. You can.”

  I got up on all fours and crawled a few feet, then fell forward onto my face. “I can’t.”

  “Get up!” He backed up, beckoning to me.

  Up on my knees again, I followed him until I was nearly around the dune.

  Walking ahead a bit, he turned to me. “Just a little farther. You can do this.”

  I looked up at him. “Are you saving me again?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “This is all you.”