Shipwreck Island

  John knelt down beside him, holding up a long blade.

  Nacho handed him the flint. “Okay, now you need to take—”

  “Nacho,” said Marco. “Why don’t you just do it?” He didn’t think his brother would, but he was tired of it taking so long.

  “Okay.” But Nacho just stood there, not saying anything. “I’ll be right back.” He ran over to a jug of water and poured some into his hands, rubbed them together, and wiped them on his shorts. He looked up to see everyone watching him. “I wanted to wash off the hand sanitizer.”

  “That’s a first,” mumbled Marco.

  “It could be flammable,” said Nacho. He grabbed a thick bunch of the coconut husk, cradling the scratchy fluff in his hand. He took a deep breath and blew it out. “Okay. Just strike the blade on the flint, like really quick, so the spark will go onto the husk.”

  “Careful!” called Yvonna.

  John carefully struck the flint and a spark fell into the husk. Nothing happened.

  Nacho said, “I wasn’t ready. Try it again.”

  “Seriously?” said Marco. “I don’t think you know what you’re doing.”

  Nacho ignored him. He took a wider stance, squared his shoulders, and told his stepfather, “Try again. I’m ready.”

  Once again, John struck the flint and a spark hopped into the husk. Nacho immediately held the husk up to his face and blew gently.

  Bits of the husk glowed red and a wisp of smoke drifted up.

  Nacho blew again, and a flame burst up. He quickly crouched down and set the husk on top of the kindling, then added more husk and small sticks, feeding the flame until it was snapping.

  “You did it.” Marco sounded surprised. “Way to go.”

  Nacho grinned and looked up at his brother.

  John said, “Good job!” and Yvonna clapped.

  Sarah sat down beside the fire, watching the flames grow as Nacho gradually added more and more wood to the flame. Finally, she said, “That’s a great fire, Nacho.”

  He looked up at her. “Thanks. I’ve been studying and I knew what to do.” He lifted and lowered a shoulder. “I just wasn’t sure that I could do it.” He looked very pleased with himself.

  John said, “Since we have a fire master here, it might be time to do some exploring.” He looked toward the trees.

  “You’re not thinking of going in there, are you?” asked Yvonna. She frowned. “It might not be safe.”

  He shrugged. “Better to find water before we really need it.”

  Yvonna said, “I don’t think you should go off on your own.”

  Ahab sat next to Sarah and she put her face in his neck. She didn’t want to have to worry about water or how long they would have to be there. She just wanted to be at home. Instead, there she was, on a stupid island, listening as her dad and stepmother argued about him going into the trees alone.

  “Okay,” John said. “You’re right. I won’t go alone.”

  Yvonna said, “Thank you.”

  “Ready to go?” John asked.

  Sarah nodded and stood up, then froze. Her dad’s eyes were trained on Marco. He wasn’t even talking to her. She watched as her dad and Marco disappeared into the trees.

  Yvonna asked Sarah, “Why don’t you help me set up camp?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I’m going down to the beach.”

  “I really think you should stay here.” Yvonna frowned.

  Nacho said, “Yeah, you can help me arrange the medical and cleaning supplies.”

  “No, thanks.” Sarah grabbed Ahab’s collar and walked down toward the water.

  Yvonna called after her, “Stay where I can see you!”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. She wasn’t about to let her stepmother tell her what to do. “Come on, boy.” But Ahab seemed more than content to go wherever she did. She let go and he stayed right by her side, wagging his wet, sandy tail. She sighed. “You are totally going to need a bath, aren’t you?”

  As if he heard her, he charged right into the waves, let them pummel him a bit, then ran back out. “No!” Sarah held up her hands just as Ahab started to shake his fur, drenching her with seawater.

  “Ugh.” She wiped off her face with the bottom of her shirt, then gave Ahab a stern look.

  He simply wagged his tail, staring at her with an open mouth as he panted.

  “Maybe we should go exploring too, huh, boy?” Sarah glanced back up at the beach at Yvonna and Nacho, who were busy setting up camp under the monkey pod trees. “They won’t miss us.” She started to walk away from the area, toward the edge of the trees. Ahab didn’t follow.

  Sarah stopped and waited for him. “Come on.” She slapped her hand on her leg a few times. “Let’s go.”

  Ahab took one long look back at Yvonna and Nacho and whined a little bit before trotting over to Sarah. She headed around the curve of beach, and soon she was out of sight of the camp.

  Just being alone made her feel a little better. She felt like she’d gone for days without one shred of privacy, and she was amazed at how simply getting out of sight of everyone else made her relax. Ahab stayed at her heels as she walked along the beach, which seemed to stretch for close to a mile, always lined with palm trees.

  “This place is bigger than I thought,” Sarah said. She picked up a piece of driftwood and threw it out into the water. Ahab stayed by her side. “Not much of a fetcher, huh?” She sat down on the sand and Ahab plopped beside her, his snout on his paws. “I’m sorry about your master.” Ahab didn’t move, but his eyes turned up to gaze at her. “Maybe I’m your new master, huh?” Ahab lifted his head and panted, his long pink tongue lolling about.

  Sarah smiled. “I’ll take care of you, boy. I promise.” She stroked his head. “You’ll like California.” She sighed. Unfortunately, California, and home, felt a world away.

  Suddenly, Ahab did an about-face, staring at the line of trees about ten yards from where they stood. He growled.

  Sarah froze. “What?”

  Vines filled the dark space between the trees, and she couldn’t see anything. Then, there was a rustling. She quickly knelt by Ahab and hugged his neck, her heart pounding. The dog growled again, his throat vibrating against her skin, but he made no move to run.

  With a rush, a kangaroo bounded out onto the beach, paused to look at them, then bounced off down the beach, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

  Ahab whined as Sarah felt her mouth drop open. She looked up at the hot sun and wiped some sweat off her forehead. She needed some water. And some food. Most definitely a nap. The sun was obviously making her see things that weren’t there.

  Because she’d seen marsupials before, many times.

  But never one with claws the size of a lion’s.

  Sarah was eye level with Ahab. “Let’s keep this to ourselves, okay, boy?”

  Ahab looked at her with puzzled eyes, then, with one large swath of tongue, licked her face in agreement.

  16

  Marco was content to follow John through the trees. Roots and vines curled everywhere, making the footing rather tricky. The undergrowth was thicker in some places than others, so he found himself having to walk with his eyes on the ground. They had walked about half a mile when Marco ran right into John’s back, not realizing he had stopped. “Ooomph.”

  “Sorry,” said John. “It’s just…”

  Marco looked up. “What is it?”

  John was staring ahead. “What does that look like to you?” His gaze was trained up high, above the treetops. What had looked like a simple green mountain from the beach had taken on a different shape now that they were closer.

  Marco gulped. “Is that a volcano?”

  “That was my first thought,” said John. “It’s probably extinct, otherwise it wouldn’t be so green.” He smiled at Marco. “Nothing to worry about.” He shrugged. “It’s not every day you see a volcano.”

  Marco nodded. “I guess not.”

  John started walking again.

  Marco conti
nued following, but this time he stole glances up at the volcano now and then. The green peak seemed quite far away from where they were, which made him wonder exactly how big the island was. Marco’s heart pounded a little faster, and not just from the walking. If the island had a volcano that seemed so far away, then there was a huge part of the island left to explore. There could be anything on the island: hopefully water, maybe food of some sort, but there could also be other things that weren’t so pleasant. Other—possibly dangerous—things.

  They came to a clearing, edged by trees whose vines dripped down to the ground. John pointed to the far end of the clearing, which was bordered by a hillside. “Look at that.”

  “A cave?” asked Marco.

  “I think so,” said John. He looked around, and then headed over there, Marco close on his heels. John stepped inside and immediately came back out. “Too dark. I didn’t even think to bring a flashlight.”

  Marco let out the breath that he didn’t even know he’d been holding. Although he wouldn’t refer to himself as claustrophobic, he was not exactly a fan of enclosed spaces, so he was hardly disappointed that they wouldn’t be exploring the cave.

  John pointed. “Well, look at that.”

  Nearly hidden under an especially thick section of vines was a wooden structure. “Is that a … house?” Marco asked. Who would live on a deserted island? “Let’s go see!” He headed that way.

  “Hold on now!” John followed close behind.

  The structure wasn’t especially large, maybe fifteen feet wide by twenty feet long, and the wooden roof came to a peak not more than ten feet in the air. But to Marco, it certainly looked like a house.

  A small porch popped off the front of it, and Marco put a foot on the boards, testing them before he put his full weight on.

  John said, “Careful.” He put a foot on the porch himself. “Seems sturdy.”

  Marco stepped closer up and bounced a few times. “Coming?”

  “Better let me go first.” John covered the few feet to the front door and knocked.

  “You think someone lives here?” Marco looked around. The place seemed rather run-down, with moss on the roof and a bird’s nest in one corner of the porch roof.

  John shook his head. “Just being polite.” There was no knob on the door, so he pulled on a string sticking out of a hole, and pushed the door open, then stepped inside.

  Marco pushed his way in behind until he was standing on the solid wooden floor. A roughly hewn wooden table with two chairs lay to his right. Two wooden plates, two glasses, and silverware sat at each place, dried bread and moldy meat on each plate.

  Marco wrinkled his nose. “Looks like someone got interrupted during dinner.”

  “I think we should leave,” said John. But then he looked down, and stared at his feet. Their footsteps had left marks in the layer of dust.

  “What?” asked Marco.

  His stepfather scratched his head. “This floor. It’s … oak.”

  “So?” Marco wondered what that had to do with anything.

  “Oak isn’t tropical.” John shook his head. “It wouldn’t grow here. So someone … whoever built this place … brought this wood from somewhere else.”

  That didn’t matter much to Marco, who stepped over to the window and pulled aside a ratty curtain. While the trees outside shaded the place, a bit of extra light came in so they could see the small room. A ramshackle wooden structure, about seven feet long, took up the better part of the far wall.

  Marco asked, “Is that a bed?”

  John scratched his head. “It kinda looks like it, but it’s far too long. Unless an NBA player used to live here.”

  Marco checked out the rest of the room.

  The back wall had a rustic fireplace made from rough black stone, and ashes still lay inside. John knelt and touched them with his hand. He looked a bit sheepish as he shrugged. “I was only checking. Ice cold.”

  Just as Marco stepped closer to the fireplace, a rush of wings flew out of the opening and he yelled, startled.

  John fell backward on the floor and his glasses fell off.

  Marco froze as he got a glimpse of the bird that flew past him on its way out the door. He asked, “Did you see that?”

  John found his glasses and put them back on. “What? Was it a bird?”

  Marco was silent for a moment. Then he nodded, because to say what he was thinking—That didn’t look like any bird I’ve ever seen—would have sounded dumb. He still felt like he was in motion from the boat; maybe that was going to his head, affecting his vision maybe. After all, no bird has …

  He shook his head, pushing away the thought, because it simply could not have been real.

  “What kind?” John asked.

  Marco’s heart pounded. He said, “I have no idea.”

  John smiled. “Maybe it’s in that bird book of yours.”

  Marco looked out the door the way the bird had flown. “Yeah. Maybe.” But something told him that he wouldn’t find that bird in that book. Or in any book for that matter. His hands had begun to tremble. He wanted to leave that place.

  John got to his feet, then pulled out a chair and sat down. “Solid. Someone knew what they were doing.”

  Marco asked, “Do you think whoever lived here … still lives here?”

  “No,” said John, maybe too quickly. His eyes moved slowly over the table, the place settings, then lingered on the abandoned meal.

  “Maybe there was a storm,” said Marco. “And the people had to leave right away?”

  “Maybe,” said John. “Or … maybe the people here were waiting for a boat, like we are, and it came during dinner. Whatever happened, no one has been here for a long time.” He tilted his head to the fireplace. “That obviously hasn’t been used recently. I mean, if birds are nesting in it…” He stood up. “I’m going to look around outside. You coming?”

  Marco nodded and began to follow John out the door. But then he stopped. Something glittered under the bed. He walked over and squatted beside it. Whatever it was lay a few inches under, so he reached in and his hand closed around something small and cool and smooth. He pulled it out and opened his hand.

  On his palm lay a glass bottle of some sort, with a pyramid-shaped stopper and strange gold legs. Something inside the bottle—perfume?—swirled. He pulled out the stopper, held up the bottle to his nose, and sniffed. A lovely scent, like some exotic flower he’d never smelled before, invaded his senses.

  As did a woman’s voice: Come back.

  “Mom?” Marco looked at the door.

  No one was there.

  “John!” he yelled.

  A distant “Yeah! Over here!” came from outside.

  Marco’s heart began to pound. He knew he had heard something. He shoved the stopper back in and rolled the bottle over in his hand, looking for a mark of the maker, a name. All his mom’s perfumes had names on them. But there was nothing.

  The outside of the bottle was completely blank.

  Once more he held the bottle up, removed the stopper, and sniffed.

  Again, that heavenly scent. And, again, the woman’s voice. Please come back.

  Suddenly, the walls pressed in on him. His chest felt heavy and he couldn’t breathe. Marco shoved the bottle into the pocket of his board shorts and ran outside. He stooped over, hands on his knees, sucking in air until his head felt clear.

  Marco stood back up.

  He had to be imagining things. First, that … bird. Then the woman’s voice. Maybe the sun and the heat … maybe he needed to drink some water. With a quick glance back at the house, he headed over to John, who stood under a tree.

  John cradled something in his palms as he glanced up at Marco. He frowned. “You look like you saw a ghost. What’s wrong?”

  Marco caught his breath and shook his head. “Nothing. Just … I thought you’d left. I didn’t want to get lost.”

  “I wouldn’t leave you,” said his stepfather, sounding a bit insulted, maybe even hurt, at the
idea.

  “I know.” Trying to change the subject, not wanting to think about what he’d heard—or thought he’d heard—Marco looked down at John’s hands. “Wait. Are those … are those what I think they are?”

  “Yeah.” John’s hands were full of acorns. Slowly, his eyes traveled from his hand, to the trunk of the tree, then up to the branches, laden with more of them. He looked puzzled. “What in the world is an oak tree doing on a tropical island?”

  Despite the heat of the day, Marco felt a chill run up his arms.

  John dumped the acorns on the ground and wiped his hands on his shorts. He looked back over at the small house. “Well, at least we know there’s an option. I mean, if we find ourselves having to spend more than one night here, we’ll have an actual roof over our heads.” He smiled at Marco and patted his arm. “I mean, whoever used to live there won’t mind, right?”

  Marco nodded slightly.

  “Better head back, your mother will wonder where we are.” John turned the way they’d come, but Marco paused and looked back at the house. He noticed a wooden barrel by the side of the house, in the shadows of an overgrown tree that kept it nearly hidden. “Hey, what’s that?” He pointed.

  John headed over and Marco followed. By the time he got there, John was already lifting the lid. He grinned. “Rain barrel.” He dipped his cupped hand into the water and then lifted it to his nose. He touched his tongue to the water, then dumped it on the ground.

  “Is it bad?” asked Marco.

  “Nope.” John smiled. “It’s fresh, not seawater. We better boil it, just to be safe. We can come back tomorrow with some containers.” He frowned. “Is that…”

  “What?” asked Marco.

  “Do you hear that?” asked John.

  Marco listened for a moment. He heard running water, but the water in the rain barrel was absolutely still.

  John took a few steps behind the house and swept aside a curtain of vines. “Well, would you look at that.”

  Marco followed John through the opening in the vines and froze. A clear, crystal stream flowed at their feet. Lining it on either side were trees laden with fruit: mango and papaya and guava, so ripe that some were bursting. John squatted beside the stream and cupped some water in his hands. He lifted them to his nose and sniffed. Then he stuck out a tongue and tasted. He shook out his hands and stood back up. “I think this is better water than the rain barrel. We still have to be safe and boil it, but this is amazing.”