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CHAPTER EIGHT

HANK

Surely, Elliot has found someone. That’s why it’s taking him longer to get back.

I sit on the edge of the small valley, spring ephemerals blooming and bobbing in the breeze. There’s a creek where I’m soaking my feet, and after a good wash, my shirt is laid out on a rock to dry.

I swat a mosquito.

There’s really going to be no explaining this when I’m back to Seattle. I fell off the casino boat with my boss’s son. We’re lost at sea and shipwrecked, and with the sun already sinking in the sky, rescue today is unlikely.

On the damn casino boat, I felt like I was suffocating in small talk.

Now, I’m desperate to get back to my life.

I’m longing for the bitter coffee and dry pastries in the break room.

I’d give anything to be sitting behind my desk, clicking the keyboard, earning the dull satisfaction of checking off every box on a form.

Worry rises up the back of my neck. I stand and rub my hand over my face, wishing so badly for toothpaste, I can’t stand it.

“Uh-oh,” Elliot says as he walks out from the trees, carrying a flat rock in one hand. “Seriously? Nothing?”

My gut sinks.

“I thought for sure you would have…” I trail off. I think I might be sick. This is bleaker by the minute. But that’s no reason to abandon our plan.

“As long as we make smart choices, we can survive this,” I tell him, although we look a mess. In his dirty t-shirt and trousers, light stubble on his face, Elliot’s disheveled appearance from earlier has deteriorated as much as I have.

“I found some things to eat,” I continue as I turn, gesturing to the small pile I set out on a rock, itself on a much larger rock. “There are more edibles than this on the island, I’m sure, but these are a few I know to be safe.”

“Amazing,” Elliot says. He shuffles over to the rock while I pull my shirt on, and I get some satisfaction in taking care of what I can.

He places the stone he’s carrying down and immediately starts pushing through the edibles, bent slightly at the waist.

“More flowers. Lots more flowers. And some white mushrooms,” he says.

“Mostly just a few dandelions and some common violet. Encouragingly, dandelions suggest some regular human visits to the island in recent decades. The mushrooms are a bit odd raw, but fine.”

“My stomach is already weird.” Elliot pops a mushroom in his mouth and chews, clearly trying to not make a face.

“It’s like if you flavored a dirty dish sponge with rusty metal.

” He swallows. “But at least it’s not poison!

” He shoves some flower greens in his mouth and chews them. “Thank you, by the way.”

I eat a dandelion, chewing the bitter greens slowly. “Some of the flowers have enough kick to make your eyes water,” I acknowledge, my voice slightly strained. “But the raw clam mushrooms grow on you.”

“I tried to make shoes,” Elliot says, choking, and lifts his foot. There’s fabric from his trousers tied around it, and the remnants of smashed leaves stuck to his skin. “It didn’t work.”

I blink. “That’s a good idea. You just need the right plant.” I try to think back to the marshy area where the stream led down from the forest. “We’ll have to check for cattails. They’re edible, too.”

We stand around the rock, eating the sweet and spicy flowers and the musty mushrooms, although I take care that we ration some for later.

Elliot sits abruptly, clearly exhausted, and places his hands on his belly. “What now? I guess we make a rescue fire, right?”

“Since water is secured, shelter should be our next priority.”

“Shelter? Like what we’d need if we were stuck here for days? Seems like we should focus on getting rescued while we know the search party is out. We could spell something out on the beach.”

I shake my head. “For a rescue signal, it’s three equally spaced fires. We’d gather fuel, assemble pyramids, and ignite them. On high ground so planes and ships are more likely to spot the light. But shelter is more urgent because it keeps us warm and dry. And alive.”

“A fire would also keep us warm.” Elliot glances toward the sky, and his voice wavers. “What if the search party passes by and we don’t have the signals lit?”

He sounds sincerely frightened by that idea, and it causes me to hesitate. I don’t want to waste time and energy arguing with him. Shelter is the priority; there’s no doubt about that. But he might have a point that we want a way to signal the search party.

So tired that it’s difficult to think, I decide to compromise.

“Okay. Fine. With your lighter, we should be able to make some efficient fires. But we need to get started immediately so we have time enough to seek shelter before nightfall. Fires first, but shelter before dark will take priority if time starts to run out.”

“Cool.” Elliot says and rubs his belly again before standing.

I take a moment to explain how to identify the right kind of wood, dead branches that aren’t too rotted, and Elliot nods along. When we head into the forest, we wander side by side.

“You really do know a lot about this stuff,” he says. “I wouldn’t have known to make three fires.”

“It’s what I do for fun,” I tell him as I see a flash of blue and black through the trees, waterfowl passing by with a loud flutter.

“Survive the elements?”

“Naturalism. I like to learn about ecosystems. Look at wildlife. It’s how I occupy my free time. And since I’m a safety-minded person, I’ve picked up some relevant skills on the way.”

Elliot breaks a branch in half before tucking two pieces under his arm. “Sounds like a fun hobby.”

As we gather sticks, I remind myself to play nice and make conversation.

“What about you?” I ask. “I don’t know what you do for fun or for work.”

Elliot follows me up a bend. “I make art on commission for people off the internet.”

“Oh. That’s entrepreneurial. Good for you. What kind of art?”

“Erotic. Illustrative scenes with kink content, usually featuring pop culture figures and archetypes. I’ve got my own style, but it always reflects the source material.”

I blink and turn back to him. “Pardon?”

Elliot shifts the branches in his arms. “Like a client might have a kink for, say, giant-sized wasp women stinging men in suits. Or some clients want regular variations on similar content. A superhero in peril with a boner in his costume, go.”

I tilt my head to the side, trying to figure out if he’s pranking me. “Seriously?”

He nods before going back to work. “I always knew I wanted to be an artist. The specific career I sort of stumbled into.” He reaches toward his side like he’s going to grab a phone, and his face falls. “Shit. Right. Anyway. I can show you when we’re back, if you want.”

I’m trying to understand what I think about everything he just said.

I’m not sure if I’m squirming because of the specific examples he gave, which make me want to giggle although I’m sure that’s rude, or if I’m just thinking about Elliot and curious if he’s into such things himself. Which isn’t my business, of course.

I break a stick. “That’s very unusual, Elliot,” I finally offer, and he laughs.

“It is,” he agrees, but looks a little queasy.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Before I can answer, he drops his sticks. “I’ve just…” He hobble-runs toward the woods. “Sorry! It’s my stomach!”

“I… Uh…” I feel like I should go after and help him, but quickly realize how bad of an idea that is. Instead, I gather up kindling, busying myself until he returns a few minutes later.

“Could those mushrooms be toxic?” he asks. “Because something is coming out of me, and it’s not normal.”

“They’re not poisonous, although you could have an allergy,” I tell him. “Perhaps the dirty water you drank in the boat gave you some issues?”

He frowns, not liking that, but not arguing either.

“I might need to move a little slow,” he says and turns his eyes up to the darkening sky. “How much wood do we need for this?”

“We’ve already made a good start. Let’s drop this off at a high spot. We have some time before dark. On the way, we can check for cattails. Making shoes would definitely speed us up.”

The risk of a night on the island gives me the extra motivation I need. I rise to my feet, nervous energy pumping as my stomach aches with hunger. Elliot steadies himself before getting up, too.

“Thank god you’re a wilderness man on the side,” he says. “Otherwise, an illustrator and an accountant would make a terrible survival team.”

I laugh. I’m not sure why, but the phrase wilderness man makes me feel funny. Capable, like he just gave me a compliment. Although that tingly feeling only goes over me for a moment before the grim reality of our circumstances returns, grounding me.

The world tilts. I realize I’m dizzy, and my head is aching again. I put my hands on my knees until I’m steady.

“All good?” Elliot asks, rubbing his belly.

I give him a thumbs-up and stand. “Let’s do this.”