Page 18 of Hate Wrecked

ROWAN

“So, a man lived here by himself for eight years?” Riley asks, after a much-needed night of sleep after our exhausting day of moving supplies to Falcon Island.

“Yeah. His name was Gerald Extroix. He was going to stay a year and never wanted to leave,” I reply, unzipping the tent.

“Well, he did eventually,” Riley remarks, a hint of skepticism in her voice.

“Yeah. Maybe he was lonely,” I say, reaching into the tent for our belongings.

“Would you be able to stay here for years?” she asks.

I climb halfway into the tent, retrieving my bag. “Maybe. I know you wouldn’t be able to.”

Riley crosses her arms. “What does that mean?”

I glance at her, then pull her bag out and drop it in the sand. “You couldn’t put the tent together on your own. And you wouldn’t survive out here without running water, alcohol, and other shit.”

Other shit... like the pills you took before we left.

Despite being able to work together as a team, the tension between us is still palpable. Riley insists she'd be fine, but I can see through her bravado. The challenges of island life would be harsh on her.

“You’re wrong. I would be fucking fine, Rowan.”

“Maybe you would be,” I reply, my attention focused on our task.

As we dismantle the tent, I feel Riley's gaze on me. The dynamic between us has shifted, and I can't help but wonder if this is how we communicate now, how we will communicate until we radio home. Volleying between delicate balance and hardened exchanges.

We spend the morning loading our lifeboat with supplies before pulling it ashore for our exploration of Falcon Island.

I sense Riley's eagerness to move farther away from the captain’s body.

The reality of our situation is sinking in, and decisions about our future on this atoll will demand careful consideration.

When we finish, I smile at her, hoping for forgiveness so we can move forward as a team.

She smiles grimly at me in return.

“Are you ready?”

She glances down at her tennis shoes, checks the small rucksack on her back, and nods.

“Let’s check out the airstrip then,” I reply, jogging ahead.

There’s a dilapidated old airstrip just beyond the clearing. Riley runs ahead, gazing at the sky as if she could summon a plane by sheer will. I don’t want to crush her optimism, but no plane is coming.

Not to this place.

She spins in a circle, shielding her eyes from the sun. “When do you think this was used last?”

“I’m not sure,” I reply, catching up to her.

She looks over at me. “Why don’t you know?”

“I’m sure it’s in my notes, back home.”

She drops her hands, looking down the runway. “What will you write about, exactly? About the murders? Or?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Not a true account, but maybe use it as inspiration.”

“You could write about this,” she says, motioning between us.

“This what?”

“Us being stranded here.”

“We’ll be picked up in a day or two. We just have to find a radio. Not much to write about there.”

Her eyes darken as she looks away. That’s a lie. We both know that’s a lie. Our ship crashed into the reef. A man died. We buried him. That’s not nothing. It’ll never be nothing; we will carry scars for the rest of our lives.

I want to apologize, but I don’t. So, instead, I just keep walking, taking the lead. Riley rushes to catch up.

This is where we need to be: Falcon Island, where Gerald lived for years.

I cast fleeting glances at the shore and the ocean beyond.

It’s breathtaking out here, but I can’t appreciate it.

I need to get Riley back home safely to her family, to the people who love her. I need to atone for this grave mistake.

I’ve been trying to keep a brave face for Riley, but an unsettling feeling is churning deep inside me.

I’m afraid something terrible is going to happen.

I can feel the disappointment building within.

I felt this way as a child, that I could sense terrible news before it happened.

I was always right, though my mother said that wasn’t true.

Maybe she thought I was making it up, but I can feel dread in my bones before the nightmares begin.

“This is amazing,” Riley exclaims next to me. “Airplanes land on this? I would freak out if I were on a plane landing on this.”

The ground beneath us is solid, but vegetation has begun to take over, growing through the cracks.

When I look at Riley, she’s smiling, her eyes alive. Maybe she doesn’t feel the dread, the knowledge that this island won’t be our salvation.

I hate to take that from her. So, I point ahead. “I think there’s something you’ll like at the end of this runway.”

Riley squints into the distance. “What? More ocean? I’ve seen enough of that.”

I laugh despite my best effort not to. Something about Riley always makes me want to smile or laugh when she isn’t pissing me off. And she isn’t pissing me off right now.

“No. Something else.”

She grabs the map from my hands. “Is it on there?” she asks.

I shake my head. “No, in here,” I answer, pointing to my head.

“You obsess when you obsess, huh?”

I don’t know what to say. What else have I been passionate about besides stories, protecting people, and wanting her? Nothing.

I move to the other side of her, and she eyes me.

I want her to be on the side where the plane wreckage is.

I want to point it out to her. But instead, she observes the tree line, looking at me, then at the sky when the birdsong gets too loud.

It’s like they’re telling us to go or warning us this place isn’t safe for us.

I will write our time here into permanence. No matter what happens, I will write a happy ending for this, even if the papers get washed away in the waves.

When I see the plane, every other thought flies out of my head.

And when I look at Riley, when I see her eyes take it in, I can’t help but reach for her hand.

“Follow me.”