Page 10

CHAPTER TEN

HANK

I barely sleep all night.

The gnawing anxiety and fear has caught up with me. It’s like my mind is blank and busy at the same time. All I can do is lie here, miserable and cold, and watch the storm rage as my bite burns and itches.

It’s not fear of death that has me by the throat, at least not only. It’s the inevitable consequences I’ll face if we do survive. I’ve disappeared over the side of a boat with my boss’s son, and I’ll likely return sick and wounded. On top of everything, I’m putting the people I love through hell.

Elliot and I are sprawled together in our underwear, and the steady rise and fall of his chest is giving me something to focus on.

Despite my irritation with him, and with myself, the presence of his body provides me some comfort.

As he snores quietly, I check my hand and monitor my own heartbeat, but don’t see any signs that the bite is worsening.

Something fuzzy and gray happens. The kind of sleep where you’re always partially awake. By the time the sun is rising, the storm has slowed to a drizzle.

My body aches with exhaustion. I need water, and as light reaches our cliff, I become self-conscious about how disgusting I am. Itchy and grimy. I give Elliot a gentle push as I pull myself away.

He doesn’t smell awful himself. Like sweat, but also somehow woody, and the scent of the sea is in his hair.

I stumble down the incline and away from our cliff in my underwear, the rain dribbling down in the gray morning.

My first attempt at cattail shoes has already fallen apart, and I kick off the scraps on my way.

After stopping at the creek for a big drink, I continue to the beach to bathe.

There’s a chill in the wind and the water, and since I’m already cold, I walk straight in and throw myself into a wave.

I float underwater, my body bobbing in the current, and blow bubbles.

I’m alive. I didn’t die last night.

The cold catches up with me and I stand abruptly. I throw my head back and let out a guttural brrrr , shaking as everything moves through me.

Rain falls on the cove, returning, and a thought occurs to me like a light bulb switching on.

“Bivalve mollusks.”

I stick my head back under and look around, blinking into the cloudy drift, and then stand up again.

Seaweed, too. I’ve been so wrapped up in the moment, I hadn’t even thought about all the food available underwater.

“Hey!” Elliot yells out from the shore. “Found you!”

I turn. He’s also still in his underwear, standing at the edge of the water. I wade back to him, unsteady on the sharp rocks.

What unexpected complication will Elliot present this morning, I wonder?

“I was scared when I woke up and you weren’t there,” he says immediately.

“Oh.” I’m thrown to hear that, and a strange tremble goes through me. “Sorry to worry you.”

He’s hardly the person I would choose to go through this experience with, but the constant brushes with death have done something to form a bond with us. Our survival is linked, and I find myself glad to see him there, understanding the sentiment.

Elliot shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’m glad you’re okay.” He hesitates before continuing. “And I just wanted to say clearly—you were right that we should have found shelter first. Sorry that I insisted otherwise.”

Grateful to hear that, I nod. “Thank you. We’re both doing the best we can,” I say diplomatically.

“And I’ll make sure to trust your expertise a little more,” Elliot says. “You’re the guy with the wilderness experience, right? How’s your hand, by the way?”

“Purple and enlarged,” I say, holding up my slightly swollen hand. “It’s burning a bit, but somewhat functional.”

Elliot turns his palm up to the drizzling rain. “I guess there won’t be a fire this morning.”

“The rain could break at any moment. We can prepare for when it does.”

Elliot tightens his brow, determined. “Okay. Then we should spread the wood out so it will dry. I can do the heavy lifting so you don’t irritate your injury. Or should we find better shelter first?” He swallows and says the next part like he’s forcing himself to. “I can gather rocks, if need be.”

Glad that he’s all in on my plan today, I nod. “I think the temporary shelter is good for now. Spreading out the wood sounds like a great first step. But has your stomach settled?”

Elliot smiles again. “Nothing but regular old starvation pangs.”

“Okay,” I say as I summon my energy. “Breakfast?”

“More mushrooms and dandelions?” he asks.

“Even better. It’s almost low tide. We’ll have seaweed for breakfast. Maybe shellfish, too.”

Elliot’s eyes light up. “Really?”

The joy on his face helps to boost my mood.

“Come on. I’ll show you what I know about sea lettuce and clams. Maybe we’ll be lucky and find a feast.”

“This is so cool,” Elliot says, walking straight into the water. “Tell me what I’m looking for.”

For the next hour or two, we busy ourselves gathering seaweed in our underwear.

The idea that sea water is good for wounds doesn’t quite hold, but in this particular case, it seems to ease my bite.

Elliot stays out in the waves, going from rock to rock in his search for the sea lettuce.

I meet him there and take the leafy algae to carry to the creek, letting it soak in the fresh water until it’s bright green.

When we eat, Elliot describes the flavor as piquant , which I like, and the air warms, although the rain keeps pattering on and off.

A boat sails far in the distance, and a plane soars overhead just a bit too high to see us.

“We’ll probably spot a search plane today,” Elliot says.

I nearly voice my skepticism, pointing out that no plane came yesterday. But we’ve taken a step in the right direction, so I give him a firm nod. “We very well might.”

“Back to our cliff sweet cliff?” he asks.

“There’s no place like rock,” I say, and he laughs.

We walk slowly back toward our dry spot. The algae is nutritious, and I’m slightly revived, but still too tired to think clearly.

My thoughts bounce through the past couple days, reliving the terrifying moments in flashes. So much has happened. I’m still trying to process it all.

When we arrive to the cliff, I see that Elliot has laid our clothes out again, spread in the dry area. He walks straight over and pinches his pants.

“Still damp,” he says. “But we could gather rocks in the rain.” His mouth twitches, and I think he’s suppressing a sigh. “I guess. Should I try to make us new shoes from the rest of the cattails first? I know you can’t tie a knot with one hand.”

“Good idea. And as I consider it, a fresh rain does lower our fire risk substantially. Maybe we can skip the rocks for now.”

Elliot turns his attention to the cattails as the rain sprinkles down. “Cool. In that case, let’s forage and stock up for our big day first.” He gestures toward my foot, ready with a fabric tatter.

I hitch my underwear up and stick my foot out, appreciating the teamwork. Our odds of survival feel marginal today, a marked improvement. When Elliot quickly and efficiently starts to tie the makeshift shoe in place, I even smile.

“Foraging it is,” I agree, “and then on to the fire.”