Page 17 of Hate Wrecked

ROWAN

As the sun rises on the horizon, casting a glow over the secluded cove, I watch Riley stand at the water’s edge, staring at the dolphins, at the wreckage. The rhythmic lull of the waves seems to beckon her.

Without hesitating, she kicks off her shoes, then runs toward the sea. The sand clings to her bare feet, leaving a trail of footprints on the shore.

In the growing light, her silhouette tempts the parts of my past that I’ve buried.

I almost join her, wrap my body around her in the water, but I don’t.

I watch the dolphins swim away and Riley dip below the surface.

The ripples spread outward as she resurfaces, her smile radiant against the backdrop of blue, water clinging to her skin like liquid silver.

I’m jealous of the carefree grace she effortlessly displays as she floats on the surface.

It reminds me of the past, of her form in the pool, beckoning me to sin.

I can't help but be stuck stiff by the simplicity of the moment—the serenity of the cove, the sound of her laughter, and the way the water cradles her body the way I wish I could.

It's a fleeting—the weakness I feel as the cove becomes a vice I want to fall into, along with Riley's laughter. It makes me want to dip into the past.

As she swims back toward the shore, I’m grateful for the reprieve from the darkness of the bunker, and the stifling feeling we felt there. In the stillness of the warming day, I can almost believe we aren’t stranded miles away from civilization, from safety.

From who we used to be.

* * *

Under the scorching sun, Riley and I move the lifeboat to the other side of our small island, then load it with our supplies. We carefully stow water bottles, granola bars, the map, and a first aid kit. Our tent and suitcases follow suit.

More than once, I catch myself glancing toward the ship, wanting to swim out one more time, knowing it will bring a fight with Riley. Instead, I pull out my map, gazing at her. “We appear to have crashed on Hollow Island.”

“Remind me how many islands are there again,” she says.

“Technically, it’s around fifty.”

“Fifty?”

“Yeah, if you get scientific about it. But not all are what you or I would consider an island.”

“Where do we need to go?”

I point to a shoreline in the distance. “Falcon Island has the airstrip.”

“Do we need to move all of this? Once we radio back to the mainland, we could just come back here and stay, right? Maybe we don’t need to move the lifeboat.”

“I think it’s best we move to Falcon Island. This one is small. I don’t want to be on it when another storm comes.”

“Even though it has the bunker?”

“Falcon Island will have buildings.”

Riley glances at the shoreline in the distance. “Can we walk through that?”

I nod. “They’re called sandflats, and technically, yes, we could. But do you want to carry everything we have by hand?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

“Do you want to see what it’s like, at least? In case we need to come back here on foot?”

She nods, and we walk toward the shore. I enter the water first, and Riley follows. It’s clear blue, shallow, and bright. Overhead, birds caw and scream into the sky.

There are so many birds I can barely think, and Riley grabs my shirt as we sink further.

“How many do we have to cross to get to where we are going?” she asks. “I can see everything in the water. And I don’t know if that comforts me or not. Would seeing a shark coming for me be better than not knowing it was there?”

I laugh as she lets go, looking down. “A couple. Just watch where you step.”

She rushes to my side, water splashing. “What does that mean?”

“Just be careful.” I shoot her a sideways glance as we approach the north-south causeway that stretches between Echo Island and Tinker Island.

“Of?”

“Riley, Jesus. I don’t know. Jellyfish...bombs.” I say the last word under my breath. I’m not too worried about bombs, and I curse myself for letting that slip out.

“What do you mean bombs?”

“Riley, the Navy occupied this place for twenty years. You never know.”

“I think you know since you’re obsessed with this place. What island do we need to worry about?”

I take Riley’s hand, tugging her along. “The one we just left.”

She curses, rushing to the shore, dropping my hand. “You’re a real asshole, you know that.”

“And you’re a real crybaby,” I say, laughing.

She glares at me as I pass her. We wade across the sand flats to the next island.

And something about being away from our tent makes me feel incredibly lonely and scared, out here in the nothing with Riley, no shelter, the island—a beast we cannot tame.

The shoreline is breathtaking, but I can’t enjoy it.

I’m scared. I’m scared and in awe of this world simultaneously.

“Do you know which island…” she hesitates, swallowing. “Do you know where the murder was?”

“No. The couple’s remains were found in a container that washed onto the shore. I don’t know which shore.”

“I can’t tell if you really don’t know or if you’re protecting me.”

I smile at her, checking out the shoreline, and glancing back at the path we just traveled.

“I wish I could say I don’t know why you’re so fascinated with it,” she says, “but how many of us are fascinated with death?”

I don’t respond, concentrating on the task at hand. I pull out my map to orient myself. “I believe the next one is the one we’re searching for. There should be shelter and a way to radio home. Once we know it’s the right one, we’ll grab our things and head there. Then, we will get back home.”

I almost see Riley smile at that, but half an hour later, back on the island where the captain is buried, she is scowling as she wipes her brow. We have a long day ahead of us. I give her a moment then ask, “Are you ready?”

She nods, her eyes filled with apprehension as we push the lifeboat away from the shore, the water’s gentle resistance yielding to our effort.

As it floats freely, I secure the paddles in their holders and take a moment to study the map again.

We found Falcon Island, so now it’s just a matter of getting our belongings there.

The main island is safer, and I’ll feel better about weathering any storms once we are there.

“We’ll head toward Falcon Island,” I say, tracing the route with my finger. “There should be buildings there—better shelter. Less creepy shelter than the damn bunkers. Gerald lived on the island for years. Surely, he had a way to radio back to the mainland.”

Riley squints at the map, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Fuck, I hope he left a working radio.”

Together, we start paddling as the sun beats down on us, beads of sweat forming on our foreheads as we move the lifeboat forward. The sound of our paddles slicing through the water mingles with the distant calls of seabirds.

As we approach the island, the promise of discovery, of hope, beckons. The lifeboat glides onto the sandy shore, and we disembark on solid ground, enjoying a temporary respite from the uncertainty of the open sea.

We unload our first batch of supplies in silence, securing everything beneath a tarp in the trees, then jump back in the boat for another trip.

It's a day filled with labor, the weight of supplies heavy as we trek between islands, ferrying essentials to our makeshift camp at the edge of Falcon Island.

The sun beats down relentlessly, yet the silence between us is heavier.

Riley and I carry our burdens in tandem, and her eyes reveal a shared mix of hope and hurt.

I want to ask her where she is going when she looks off into the distance, but we have too much to do.

On Hollow Island, I can't help but steal glances at the stranded yacht, a magnetic pull drawing me toward its frame.

Riley senses the unspoken desire to swim out to it again, the restless yearning for what it holds.

A conflict simmers beneath the surface—practicality against the beckoning call of the ship.

As we return to our small refuge for the last time, Riley reluctantly concedes to my plan. I plunge into the water, the yacht looming larger with every stroke. Entering its depths, I salvage what I can one last time.

Returning to Riley, I see the understanding in her eyes when she sees the cooler, heavy with canned goods.

Yet, it's the photo I found in the captain’s quarters, waterlogged and salt-stained, that carries a weight I know I must share.

I hand it to her, let her run her fingers over the image.

“It was the captain’s. I’m going to go bury it with him. ”

I leave Riley to her thoughts as I venture to bury the memento with him.

Returning to Falcon Island, Riley and I become a flurry of activity, our belongings piling up as we spring into action. “I’m going to gather wood for a fire. Can you set the tent up on your own?” I ask.

She nods. “I can try.”

“Okay. I’ll be just over there. Yell if you need help.” I walk off into the trees as she eyes the rolled-up tent.

When I return with firewood, I see she hasn’t been able to set up the tent alone.

“Give that to me,” I say, reaching for one of the rods in her hand.

She gladly hands it over and steps back. Half the tent is up, but it’s not secured to the ground, so the other half is sticking in the air.

I work in silence, pushing her away when she tries to help. When it’s done, I stare at the stretch of land in the distance. The sun is going down, so we don’t have time to explore more of Falcon Island.

“Are you looking forward to sleeping in one of the buildings on this island?”

“No,” she admits. “How many bugs do you think are in them?”

“I don’t know.”

“And arachnids . I fucking hate spiders, Rowan, you know that.”

“I do know that. But if a storm comes in, and they often do, we are going to need more than this tent. Do you want to be soaked? You slept in the bunker.”

“The bunker scared me too.”

“And you did it.”

“Because I was with you.”