Page 12 of Hate Wrecked

ROWAN

When I close my eyes, I don’t see the captain. I don’t see his eyes; I don’t see his lifeless body. I see my father. I see the way he looked when life was gone from him, when my mother wept on the hardwood floor, a mess. It was my job to step up. It was my job to be the man of the house.

I succeeded in escaping, first through books and then in America, where I hoped the past wouldn’t follow me. It’s caught up to me now.

The captain is a slight man, and for that, I’m thankful as we navigate through the jungle.

My mind tries to rescue me, pulling me back to when Riley and I first met, back to her obsession with that ridiculous movie Weekend at Bernie ’ s .

They carried that dead man around just as Riley and I are dragging one through the jungle.

Except there is no laughter, no jokes, and no plan exists beyond getting him out of the sun so that when rescue comes, we can tell them where to find him. So they can take him home to his final resting place.

I glance over at Riley and see tears on her face. She catches my eye and shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

She isn’t. Who would be fine right now?

We find the spot I scouted. It’s nothing really, some old bunker laid in ruins from the World War II occupancy.

I hope it will keep him safe until we find help.

What kind of scavengers live here? I push the thought away, untangling myself from the dead man’s arms as we reach the entrance.

“I got him,” I say, pulling his limp form from Riley.

She watches me, hands clenched at her sides, as I maneuver him into the dark.

“Will he be okay there?” she asks from outside the entrance, doubt covering her face.

I take him to the back of the dark bunker and lay him down, then look back at Riley.

“It’ll keep the rain off of him. In the morning, we’ll reassess.

We just need to get settled. At dawn, we’ll move to one of the other islands and get to the main one.

We need a good night of rest. We’re going to be sore from the wreck. ”

“Okay.”

It’s her default response. Okay. I ’ m okay. This is okay.

When I reach her, I place my hand on her shoulder, turning her away from the captain, back toward our campsite.

When we break the tree line, I feel the panic swelling inside me again. So I busy myself. When I touch the tent, it feels dry. “Help me with this?”

Riley walks over, and we make quick work of assembling the tent.

After, I look across the shoreline to the jungle. “Let’s look for firewood.” I have a lighter in my suitcase, and I pray it wasn’t ruined in the wreck.

Riley and I walk in silence to the tree line. When we walk under the leaves once again, and the shade envelopes us, I breathe. Death comes to us all, mother, daughter, father, son, captain.

I didn’t know that man. We barely had time to speak on the trip out, and he struck me as reserved, which I didn’t mind. I don’t know who will mourn him. Does he have a son like me? Will his absence leave a hole the way my father did?

Riley and I gather wood, making short trips to the campsite, where I show her the best way to stack it. I want us to be able to sit in the mouth of the tent and feel the fire, but I make sure it’s far enough away not to damage it.

Riley’s lips are pursed, her eyes red. I see her moving her hands like she is counting in her head. She presses her thumb to each finger, and her lips move slightly.

“Are you okay?” I ask her again.

She looks at me, her counting halted. “I’m just…trying to…steady myself.”

“You know what might help?”

She raises an eyebrow, and I walk to the water, motioning for her to follow. Again, I can’t stop myself from slipping into the past.

I walk to the edge of our world and scream into the sky. I know it may startle Riley, but I know she will remember. She has to remember. Right now, I just need to feel.

When everything has left me, my voice, my breath, and the despair, I fall to my knees.

I am a shell. I am empty. And I can feel myself shaking.

But, then, Riley’s arms wrap around me—delicate hands on my arms, her mouth near my ear, and I can hear her speaking, but I can’t make out the words.

She’s crying. She’s crying over what we had to do, and I should be holding her. I can ’ t, I shouldn ’ t…

I turn in Riley’s arms and pull her close to me. Her legs go around my waist, and we are as close as two people can get, rocking in our pain.

Death, close-up, is something you can never forget.

“They’ll find us, and we’ll tell them where he is. They’ll find us, and we’ll tell them,” Riley chants, over and over, like a prayer.

We were never meant to come here. I should have canceled the trip when I got the call from the captain who was supposed to take us here.

“I want you to do it too,” I say in answer to Riley’s words. We stay like that, in silence, the slow pull of the waves slowing my heart rate, easing the ache in me. I feel Riley wiping her eyes.

Eventually, she pulls away, avoiding my gaze. We haven’t touched like this in years— like lovers, like those who know and care for each other. Like people familiar with each other’s bodies, rhythms, and wants.

It’s a dangerous slope.

I grip her hips, lifting her off me, and I see the sideways glance she gives me. It’s a rejection to her. But, really, it’s just a rejection of touch, love, or the ghost of either.

Slowly, she walks to the water, letting the waves wash over her feet. Then, she screams. She screams into the sky. Her hair whips in the wind, and I have to remind myself we are not in the past. We are not on a cliffside overlooking a city. We are here. Now. In this hell. Together.

When she’s done, I walk to her side, place a hand on her shoulder. “It’s getting dark. We need to get everything situated while we can see.” We have a tent to sleep in. And in the morning we can explore the islands and find a way to alert someone on Falcon Island of where we are.

We are going to be okay. We will be okay as long as there is some way to send out a signal.

The captain said the atoll was managed by a man who lived here for eight years.

He had to have had a way to radio back to the mainland.

I take off toward our pile of belongings, and Riley rushes to keep up.

If this were the past, I would take her hand, pull her close to me, and tell her everything is going to be alright , and I ’ m here .

But I don’t. She offered me that scattered hope, and I want to take it, to believe it, but this is real life, and the only way we get out of this is if I am who I was trained to be.

The man who gets people to safety. The man who protects.

This isn’t a fairytale, and I am not her lover.

Never again.

When we reach our campsite, I assess our pile of wood. It’s just enough to get through the night. When we get to Falcon Island, we will find shelter.

My mind goes into overdrive as I move, planning and enacting scenarios in my mind.

Finally, I walk to my suitcase and open the side compartment, finding my lighter.

Thank God for a small miracle.

“Any layers you have, be sure to wear them tonight. I’m sure the temp will drop when the sun goes down,” I tell Riley as I start the fire. It’s slow to start, but soon we have a warm glow competing with the setting sun.

Riley packs her now-dry belongings back into her suitcase, except for a long-sleeved shirt that she quickly puts on.

When she sits down, she pulls her legs up into the shirt.

It’s reminiscent of something I used to do as a kid, and she looks so young while staring into the fire.

The wetness of her eyelashes reminds me that this is not a peaceful moment, nor a peaceful place to land.

We should both be terrified and prepared for the worst, but I push those thoughts away. Someone will come for us. Tomorrow, we will contact a rescue department and wait patiently for a boat to arrive. Twenty-four to forty-eight hours. That’s all it’ll be.

We watch the fire for a while. Minutes, an hour, I’m not sure. The sound of the ocean lulls, and I know a comedown is going to hit us soon. When I look at Riley, her eyes look drowsy, a mixture of fear and sadness and exhaustion.

I clear my throat and she glances at me. I look to the tent. “You can lie in there now if you want. I’ll watch the fire.”

Riley shakes her head, holding her arms out in front of her. “No, I want to enjoy it for a little bit.”

“Fair.”

“Tell me more about this place.”

I shudder out a breath and wipe my hands down my face.

“A family—the Fenwick-Lowe’s—had owned it since 1920.

During World War II, the Navy took over the island without permission from the family.

Around 6000 people lived here at its peak during those years.

When the family finally won the battle to regain their island, it was left in ruins.

They had no idea what kind of waste was being dumped, but the men here were warned not to eat the fish anymore, so something was happening. And it was overrun with rats.”

She shifts as I say this, as if the phantom feel of little bodies scurried over her.

“The family sold it to the US Government recently for around 37 million dollars. It’s been relatively uninhabited for years.

Except the manager the captain told me about.

I’m hoping he left supplies and a way to radio home.

The government has plans to build a research facility out here. I’m not sure when that will start.”

“What did the manager do?” Riley asks, voice low.

“Everyone wanted a piece of this place over the years. People would come out here without permission. Claiming it as their own. So the family asked him to live here. To make sure anyone who visited knew the rules. He lived here alone from 1992 until recently.”

“Do you think he was lonely?” she asks.

I wonder if she feels lonely with me beside her. The expanse of my despair is long and blue. I’m scared. But more scared for her.

“He had two pet dogs. Two cats. And a hundred chickens. They kept him company. But he wrote that it has been hard to assimilate back into the real world since he has been home.”

“Maybe he had it right. The real world…sometimes it feels like a curse.” Her voice is a whisper, holding bruises.

“Maybe,” I whisper. “They call these islands cursed.” We never should have come.

When she doesn’t speak for a while, I try to reassure her.

“Tomorrow we’ll get as many supplies as we can from the boat.

Then we will move to the next island. We will have to be in the water.

But it’s shallow between land masses. It may be a pain to haul everything above water, but we need to move. ”

Riley nods, then stands, walking to the water.

I watch after her, call her name, ask her where she’s going.

“To scream into the sky,” is her only reply.

* * *

Our exhaustion causes us to sleep in later than I’d wished, but I tell myself we needed the rest.

The day rolls on swiftly. Against Riley’s concerns, I swim back to the boat three more times. Gathering supplies. Stripping it bare of what I can. We fight on the shore the way we used to on the shores in California.

Before I swim out, I tell Riley we’ll need to spend one more night on the island before we move, so she gathers more wood from the jungle, scraps to burn. Once, while I’m on the boat, I hear her scream into the sky again, and somehow, it makes me smile.

When I’m satisfied that I’ve collected enough valuable items from the boat, I ensure our tent is secure. The scent in the air has me worried a storm is approaching.

Riley watches me from her spot on the sand. She is cross-legged, wiping her eyes, running her hand through her hair, a nervous gesture I remember from years ago.

As the sun slowly descends, I pull out my lighter, starting our fire.

The stars come out as the sun leaves us, and Riley moves closer to the warmth but keeps her distance from me. I wonder if our fighting on the shore, or if the events of the day have drained her.

I think of the captain, alone in the bunker, dead. Who will miss him?

I didn’t know the man; I’ll never know the man. All I know of him was the picture of the woman in his boat.

After I’ve settled, I sit down, eyeing Riley across the fire, my body aching. “Thanks for your help today. We’ll get some rest and move islands tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll find a way to radio back home. And this nightmare will be over.”

Riley looks into my eyes and nods her head. She casts fleeting glances at the tent and the boat in the ocean, her eyes darting around. Her energy is palpable. Scared. Withdrawn.

“Are you glad I came now?” she asks

I laugh. Shaking my head. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because look at us.”

“It would have been you, alone out here, if I hadn’t come,” she says.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’m aware.”

“And if you had just got on your plane, you wouldn’t be here. You would be back in the States, safe.”

“Am I not safe with you, Rowan?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a sigh. “Why must everything be a fight with you?”

Riley shakes her head. “You started the fight earlier. And if I weren’t here, you never would have gotten the captain to shore yesterday.”

At this, I shut the fuck up. Because I wouldn’t have. I nod my head, clearing my throat. “Well, when I get home, I probably won’t have a job anymore.”

“Why?” Riley asks.

“You really think your mother is going to keep me on when I let you come with me? When my last task was to get you on that plane, and I failed?”

Riley rolls her eyes. “She won’t fire you.”

“Are you going to be the one to fight for me again? That would require you talking to her.”

Riley eyes the bag by her feet. The one I saw her shove her mother’s manuscript in. “Maybe I will.”

I stretch out on the sand, angling my body toward the firelight.

I’ll take it—a small indication that she will forgive Desi.

I close my eyes briefly, listening to the waves and pushing away every intrusive thought vying for center stage in my mind.

When I open my eyes, I see Riley watching me, studying the shadows on my face, chest, and down.

I need to get off this damn island.

Nothing good will come from this.

Nothing good ever comes from being alone with Riley Williams.