Page 6

CHAPTER SIX

HANK

I place the last stick on the ground. “This is roughly the shape of the island,” I say.

Elliot tilts both of his eyebrows up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously what?”

He gives me a skeptical glance. “We’re on a penis-shaped island? That’s what you’re telling me?”

“It’s not shaped like a penis,” I object.

I did not just spend five minutes making a large penis out of rocks and sticks.

“If it’s a penis, then what is this?” I ask as I point to the biggest cove, a lopsided indent in the ball sack?—

Not the ball sack! The island.

Elliot shrugs. “Every penis is different, Hank.”

I sigh, frustrated to lose the thread, but decide there’s no point in arguing.

“Fine,” I tell him, regaining my focus. “We’re here at the corona of the glans penis now.

We’ll need to walk down the shaft. At the scrotum, we can peer around each testicle.

The far side of the island is rockier and looks difficult to navigate, so we won’t try to penetrate the bushy taint.

Ideally, we’ll find assistance before we get there. ”

“Go look into the butthole for help. Got it.” Elliot studies the map. “Should we split up, each take a side to save time?”

I rub the back of my head. “We really shouldn’t separate. We’re already in a weakened state.”

“Just our luck, we’ll have crashed onto an island inhabited by a violent cult. Or a classified military operation.” He swats a bug. “Or wolves.”

“I’m more concerned about falling branches and twisted ankles.”

Elliot nods. “Cool. We’ll try not to worry about a cult.”

He stands there, one hand over the colorful heart tattoos on his arm, nervously tapping his fingers. He’s kept his gold earrings through this all, little flashes of his style even though we’re both ragged.

I notice the dark specks of his brown eyes, the slight bump on the bridge of his nose, and the peachy undertone of his light, tan skin. He mentioned that he’s gay last night, and if I were his age, I’d probably think he was quite cute, too.

I push away those thoughts and double my resolve to step up and get us home. We’ve been exposed to the elements for nearly a full day now. It’s a nice, dry afternoon, moderately warm, but we’re both miserable, and every minute counts.

“Come on,” I tell him. “Before we go. I found something.”

I lead Elliot back a bit into the woods, beyond some towering Garry Oaks.

“Oh hey!” he says, excited. “You found pretty flowers.”

“Violets,” I say with a satisfied smile. “Early blue violets specifically, I think. But either way, they’re edible!”

“Delightful,” Elliot says and plops himself down in front of the patch of delicate purple flowers with their butterfly-shaped wings and dark, round leaves. He plucks one and smiles at it. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a flower. Or do you just eat the leaves?”

“All of it,” I say. I pinch one at the stem and pick it, then brush it off before popping in my mouth. “Not bad,” I add as I chew. “Sweet. And the leaves are a bit like lettuce, although mucilaginous.”

Elliot shoves a few in his mouth. “Delicious, gluey lettuce,” he says as he rips out a handful of the patch and devours it.

“Brush them off first,” I caution him. “Check for bugs.”

Elliot makes a blech face, but then reconsiders and shrugs. “Protein, right?” Although he does slow down and check the next violet before consuming it. “And you’re sure these flowers aren’t poison?” he asks casually.

“I wouldn’t eat random flowers if I didn’t know for sure they were safe.”

“No, I don’t imagine you would.” Elliot plucks another violet. “I feel like I know you, although in another way, I still barely know anything about you.”

“It’s because we’re strangers who looked into the soul of death together,” I point out.

He snorts. “I guess that’s what trauma bonding is.”

I shake my shoulders, trying to lose some of the tension. Of course I’m traumatized by what just happened, but I manage to throw myself back into survival mode and not think about it further.

With a deep breath, I steady. “At least we’re not facing this alone. Two have a much better chance of survival than one.”

Elliot nods. “Totally.” He fills his pockets with some of the flowers he’s picked and gives me a handful, too. After I accept it, I nod down the island, and we both start walking, heading carefully toward the beach.

I totter from side to side as I walk on rocks and sticks with achy, slow steps.

“We might not really know each other,” I say. “But it would be prudent to exchange some practical information. Your legal name is Elliot Peterson, I assume?”

“Yup. And what about you?”

“Henry Hansley.”

“Hank Hansley!” Elliot says, perking up like he’s just heard good news as we walk onto the sand. He sees the chagrin on my face and throws his hands over his mouth. “I’m so sorry. I just like the name. Really!” He lowers his hands. “And I hate mine.”

I rub the back of my head. It’s not news that my name is alliterative and a little funny-sounding. But I believe Elliot when he says that he truly appreciates it. He might be a little flighty, but he doesn’t strike me as unkind.

“Thank you,” I say. “And I think Elliot is a beautiful name, for the record. Can you remember a phone number if I tell you one?”

“Absolutely not. Can you?”

“I’m an accountant.”

He laughs. “Of course.” Elliot gives me a number, which I file away. “That’s my roommate Marko. I know he’s worried sick.”

“My mother has certainly called in all of my aunts and uncles for support at this point.”

My thoughts go to my parents, my friends, and especially Angie.

Guilt sloshes in my empty gut. This isn’t the first time we’ve shenaniganed ourselves into trouble, but it is by far the most dire.

I hate putting everyone through the worry, but I can concern myself with apologies once I’ve made it home alive.

Elliot pops another small flower in his mouth as we stumble back to the rocks. I glance around for a plant that might work to wrap and protect our feet, but have no luck. “Do you know anything about search parties from your wilderness training?” he asks.

“Not much. I imagine they send a plane. We might have been blown quite far off course by the storm, so we shouldn’t assume they’ll reach us immediately.”

Elliot nods, and we walk down a stretch of dry land. Gulls call out from the sky, and he pauses, bending at some more flowers.

“Yum,” he says. “Floral candies.”

“Don’t eat those,” I caution quickly. “They aren’t violets.”

“Are they poison?”

“I have no idea. Possibly.”

He considers them for a moment like he might still eat some, which horrifies me, but apparently decides to trust my advice.

We trudge along a while longer in silence, taking slow and painful steps.

My stomach aches, and my legs feel like they’re about to fall off.

I enter into a miserable trance, thinking about nothing but my hunger as we stumble over rocks and fallen trees, closer and closer to the end of the island without any sign of civilization.

After rounding another bend, we reach a section of jagged cliffs.

“The scrotum,” Elliot says, nibbling a violet.

I glance around. There’s a valley before the cliffs, and I can see straight through to the ocean on the other side of the island. Sitting on a rock, I cross my arms over my chest.

“Let’s think carefully,” I tell him. “There are a few easy spots to climb, it looks like. They should provide a clear view.” I gesture. “We can start with this end.”

Leaning back against a tree, Elliot frowns. “Do we need to climb multiple cliffs? Wouldn’t it make sense to divide this task?”

Splitting up is a bad idea, but each of these vantages should be visible from the other. We would save some considerable strength, too, if we split this particular labor.

I close my eyes, considering, but my brain is fuzzy, and my stomach rumbles loudly.

“Okay,” I concede reluctantly. “We’ll climb opposites sides. But you have to be careful, and no going off-course. We meet back up right here in the valley, got it?”

Elliot offers me his hand. “Deal,” he says.

I frown as I shake it. “Deal,” I mumble.