STRANDED!

  "Bones."

  She sighed. "Anything else?"

  "Not human bones." He disappeared into the hold, creeping forward and Oceans was able to climb down lower being careful to keep clear of the stagnant water. It was hard to see, even with the two torches.

  Marshall was stooped, examining something that gleamed in the darkness. He turned to her.

  "I think these are pig bones."

  "Ahhh." Was her slow response. Then she could see the bones that floated atop the murky water. Some pigs had escaped the wrecked ship, but not the slaves...

  Marshall made a strangled sound and then she saw him dart down the long aisle of the ship, water splashing in his wake. He was running towards something, not away from it but it still alarmed her. He reached out and grasped something that had been hanging on the far wall. She couldn't tell what it was but he took a few moments to light the far end of the ship before returning to her.

  In his hand was a machete.

  Neither felt the need to linger any longer and quickly climbed from the depths of the ship, continuing until they finally reached the light of the sun. By unspoken agreement, neither even wanted to take a moment to rest on deck. Marshall flung the torches out to sea and then dropped down to the sand. Oceans dropped down into his arms, not for a moment concerned that he wouldn't catch her.

  After placing her back onto her feet, Marshall immediately walked into the sea until he was submerged to his calves. He needed to rid himself of the feel of the slime from the lower hold within the cleansing tide of the ocean.

  "Baby, are you okay?" He asked when he looked back and saw her sitting on the sand.

  She nodded but her color was off. He hurried to her, kneeling beside her. Suddenly she turned her head and vomited.

  "Better?" He asked after a moment. She nodded. When she was ready to stand they moved down the beach at a quick pace, wishing to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the wreck.

  "Do you want to rest?" He asked thirty minutes later.

  "No." She was setting the fast pace. "Let's get home tonight. I don't want to sleep out here." Marshall nodded. It meant that he didn't have an opportunity to examine the machete. It was rusted but still in good condition. He kept it gripped in his hands loving the weight of it. With it, there was so much they could do...with it, he felt comfortable going out and hunting one of the larger wild boars. They needed more fat in order to make more soap, and some pork would be a welcome addition to their diet. Also the hide of the pig could be used for the baby, to line the cradle. The prickly hair could make a needle. There was so much that a large wild boar could afford them. Life could be a little easier on the Island.

  ~The Island~

  "That Island doesn't have any trees."

  "How can you tell from this height if an Island doesn't have any trees?" Jim McClelland responded in a dry tone to his wife's observation. "Looks like a tiny green patch to me."

  Madge McClelland looked at her husband, giving him a withering look. She was a fifty-seven year old woman, augmented, and botoxed into a 35 year old body. Her seventy-one year old husband had replaced his previous wife with her ten years before. She figured that he would be replacing her within the next five-or-so years. Her goal in life was to amass as much property and riches that she could from the multi-millionaire.

  Jim smiled to diffuse her. He did that a lot. The last thing he needed was for her to show her claws; especially since he had started an affair with a younger waitress. Now he just wanted to keep her occupied so that she allowed him his free time with his mistress. Jim didn't really want a Caribbean Island, couldn't see a reason for a man to own an entire Island for their own personal use—but she wanted it and that meant he could ship her ass off to the Caribbean for weeks on end. Besides, none of his other friend's had Islands. He liked the idea of the 'wow' factor he would get when he revealed it to them at the country club.

  Chevaz, was holding a file in his hands and pointing out several nearby Islands. The prices he was quoting made him want to grit his teeth.

  "What's further south?" Jim interrupted the man's sales pitch. He didn't like salesmen; maybe because he was one and knew how crooked he was.

  "Oh, those are freehold islands. Not very nice; rocky or no trees. Besides their outside of our territory-"

  Jim instantly interpreted that to mean, 'I will get no commission from the sale of them. And they are much much cheaper because of that.'

  "Swing over and let's take a look."

  Chevaz raised a surprised brow and cleared his throat. "Oh no, Mr. McClelland, we can't do that. That's out of our sales territory-"

  "Aren't I paying for this charter plane? And if I can't direct you where to fly then when we get back to Curacao I'm going to need you knock approximately three thousand dollars from my total bill."

  Chevaz cleared his throat and smiled. He truly hated these white American millionaires that thought they could bend the laws to their own favor. He would take this man's money, grin while he did it and laugh at his back before he realized that he was paying a greatly inflated price for a lump of volcanic rock that would send him and his American wife fleeing at the first sign of a tropical storm.

  "Certainly Mr. McClelland. Unfortunately there will be an additional charge for flying out of our prescribed territory, but it would be my pleasure..." Chevaz continued while Jim and Madge looked pleased as punch.

  "Oh my god, Jim!" Madge exclaimed a while later. "That is a darling Island. And it's huge! You can have a full golf course, honey." Jim's interest perked.

  "That's bigger then some of the others." He wondered how much it would cost. It was under the UK's territory. He would find out, but not from Chevaz.

  "Ohhh...it's occupied." Madge pouted before she remembered that doing so would form lines around her lips.

  Chevaz referred to his folder. "No...this shouldn't be occupied."

  Jim huffed, wondering how Chevaz kept 7000 Islands straight within his little folder. "Well tell the pilot to bring her in closer. There's something glinting on the sand, maybe it's just debris."

  The pilot pulled the small jet closer towards the Island. Chevaz and Jim exchanged looks. It was Madge that spoke their thoughts.

  "Doesn't that look like the wreckage of a plane formed in the shape of an arrow?"

  ***

  It wasn't easy to land the plane on the rocky beach. Chevaz contacted the MPI's fearing that they would crash against the rocks and their little plane would be among the wreckage that had been so diligently positioned to indicate survivors.

  Once the plane was settled on the beach, the pilot and the McClelland's hurried out to the beach. It was Chevaz that lingered behind, reluctant to leave the safety of the plane. The pilot had a gun, yet Chevaz wanted to wait for the Maritime Police International. However no one paid any attention to him. Madge gripped her oversized hat to keep the aging sun from touching her face and exclaimed once again how 'darling' the island was.

  Jim took charge, as was his nature. "Well its clearly pointing there, I guess we should go see what we see."

  Madge hurried back into the plane. "Let me get my purse—oh, and a bottled water."

  "Why? You don't think a band of wild monkeys are going to pick-pocket you, do you?"

  She gave him that same withering look and he responded with an apologetic smile.

  They walked for a while. Once upon a time, before Madge was the wife of a millionaire, she was a lanky tomboy that had grown up in the Kentucky hollows. She enjoyed the long walk along the sandy beach.

  Jim did not. But he would be damned if he would be shown up by his wife and the younger pilot, so he persevered. Chevaz had not come along, opting to stay behind with the plane for the authorities.

  And back at the plane, Chevaz was anxious because it had been more than an hour since the trio had left. Though he was in radio communication with the pilot, he still worried. It was a long way back to the plane should something happen to them out there. The Maritime
Police hadn't arrived and what if there really was a band of wild monkeys...

  Jim kept peeking at his wife. Damn! She was tireless. And she didn't whine much...hmmm, maybe he would keep her for a while longer. But his heart was pounding in his chest. What if he had a heart attack trying to keep up with them?! It was hot as hell! They had already passed one abandoned camp. The pilot had gone digging around and found coconuts. To Jim they looked like green footballs, but the Pilot said that someone had cracked them open and dug out the insides. And so the million dollar question is, why move further from the wreckage?

  The pilot was excited. He was convinced that there were still survivors on the Island and he thought it would be cool to be the one to find them and not leave it to the MPI's to get all the glory. Maybe there would even be money involved. And as long as the American's didn't object he would continue.

  Madge was busy envisioning the house, the pool, the tennis court—even the younger grounds keeper that she would be having an affair with. This was the Island that she absolutely had to have. As soon as Jim bought it she was going to get a golf cart out here to drive around so that she could decide just how to decorate!

  "I smell smoke." The pilot said. He stopped walking.

  Jim sniffed. "Smells like a barbecue." Thank god! Hopefully soon he would have a legitimate excuse to stop walking. Now that there was an end in sight, they walked quicker, the smell of cooking meat becoming stronger. It wasn't much longer that a small hut could be seen nestled within the trees at the edge of the beach.

  "Jesus." Jim mumbled. Someone was living here, had built a hut and was barbecuing meat! As they neared the small encampment they noted the neat clearing. There were several large clay pots and bowls, and cups; obviously all man-made. The items set neatly on platforms that kept them from the ground. Also on the platforms were wooden cooking and eating utensils, including twisted bits of metal.

  Hanging from a nearby tree were beautifully woven baskets; one filled with strange, exotic looking vegetables, the other contained delicious looking fruit. There was a fire pit nearby, lined with small rocks and then larger ones that looked perfect for sitting.

  Strung from one tree to another was a man-made rope woven from vines that formed a perfect clothes line. Several articles of cloth hung from them, secured by wooden pins. On the ground was a beautifully woven grass mat, large enough to be someone's area rug.

  And on the woven mat slept a man a woman. The woman was topless. A thin skirt hung loosely around her narrow hips. A man slept beside her, spooning her body in an obviously protective manner. One of his large palms cupped one of her full breasts, a plum-dark nipple peeked between the space of his fingers. The man's face was buried in the curls of her wild yet exotic hair.

  His long hair was almost white, which gave indication to his race more than the sight of his sun darkened skin ever could. She was black and he was most probably white.

  Jim felt himself become erect with an intensity and speed that hadn't occurred in years without the aid of a little blue pill.

  Madge bit her lip lightly and examined the young shirtless man and the way his bermuda shorts hung so low on his hips. The round of his ass was visible and her eyes lingered there before scanning the chiseled, wiry muscles of his back.

  Jim cleared his throat and the couple lurched awake. The man's hand closed around a machete that no one had seen. Jim saw that the woman's eyes had grown large as if she was staring at three ghosts. Then suddenly she began to cry, like a child that had been frightened by well meaning parents. The man's arm tightened around her protectively.

  Marshall's heart was pounding in his chest. He stared at the three figures standing in front of him; the woman was so white that he could barely believe that skin could be so white—that anything could be so white. "Is this real?" He murmured. Madge, Jim and the pilot let out relieved chuckles.

  "Yes, my dear. We are real, and you are rescued." Madge spoke, leaning forward. Marshall pulled Oceans into his arms as if he was unsure of what to expect. The pilot watched them curiously before allowing his eyes to scan the clearing that was their home.

  "How long have you been here?"

  Oceans' tears had dried up, but she couldn't stop trembling. "One year and…almost 5 months.”

  "Jesus." Jim said. “Just the two of you?”

  Marshall looked over to a nearby hut and then shook his head. “Three.”

  Oceans scampered to her feet, not seeming to consider her partial nudity as she headed for the hut. A short moment later she reappeared holding a naked infant that was now nursing at her breast.

  “Oh my god…” Madge exclaimed. “You gave birth on this Island?”

  Oceans met her eyes and nodded slowly, her silence speaking volumes. Madge had always heard that women forgot childbirth as soon as they held their babies in their arms. But somehow she didn’t believe that this woman had forgotten anything.

  ~The Birth~

  Oceans’ stomach continued to grow despite the fact that she thought it could not possibly get any bigger. She was no longer allowed to get in and out of her hammock without assistance and Marshall barely allowed her out of his sight.

  She had put the finishing touches on a large, oblong, basket which would serve as a crib two days before and now it was dry and set. It was deep enough so that the baby couldn’t possibly roll out of it and now it was time for the coup de grace.

  Marshall examined it thoroughly, testing its strength and running his fingers along every smooth inch of it. He smiled at his wife. They had exchanged vows on the beach one evening as the sun set over the horizon. The beach was their church, the island their universe.

  “This is your best work ever.” Marshall said proudly.

  She beamed. “We can carry it during the day and suspend it at night.”

  He unfolded the boar skins that he had worked so hard to perfect over the last several months. First went down the fur layer which cushioned any hard edges. And then went the skin that he had spent unknown hours making as supple as cloth.

  The couple stared at their child’s crib in pride. Oceans looked up at him. “Honey, we’re going to have to come up with a name-”

  Marshall was shaking his head. “How do people know what to name their baby before they even set eyes on him or her? I mean, I have to look into our baby’s face to see what name he or she should have.”

  Oceans slipped her hand into his. “Did I ever tell you how I came to be called Oceans?”

  “Your Dad, right?”

  “Mhm.” She had been thinking more and more about her mom and dad, but especially her father. She had been stranded so soon after his death and in so many ways his death had to take a back seat. Now, a year later, thinking of Daddy didn’t bring such a sharp sense of loss. Her longing to hear his voice was now replaced with an ability to recall his words and stories without a sense of sorrow. Her favorite was how he had carried her to the ocean when she was a toddler and taught her to swim. He loved the ocean as he had loved her.

  ‘This is where the world begins, Oceans…’

  And that was the truth, because this is where her family had been created.

  “You’re right. We won’t know our baby’s name until we look into his or her precious face.”

  That would happen a month later.

  Marshall was cleaning the machete. He kept it sharpened to a razor’s edge and because of it they now had an abundance of fresh meat. They easily preserved meat in salt and then hung it in the hut to dry away from flies and other insects. Marshall wanted to build a hut just for the purpose of storing meat. He didn’t want any predator to be attracted to their hut due to its smell.

  He had several plans. He wanted to build them a real bed. He wanted to sleep each night with his wife and he wanted her to be able to safely nurse their child as they slept. As it was now, he thought it much too risky to allow a newborn into their hammocks, especially because it was set so high off the floor of the hut.

  With the machete he
could build a tree house…

  “Marshall, I’m ready to get out of bed!” Oceans called.

  He hurried into the hut where she was laying there clutching her pelvis.

  “I have to pee, hurry!”

  He chuckled. “Honey, you know I’m not going to make fun of you if you pee on yourself.”