Page 41 of Rule 4: Never Get Stranded with a Sports Reporter

“Yes.” He nods multiple times. “That’s me.”

Puddles shimmer where the rain was, and rain-drenched palm fronds drip water in slow, steady drops. Mangled flowers scatter the beach—drooping hibiscus petals, trampled orchids, and frangipani blossoms drifting this way and that over the rain-darkened sand.

I continue to peer at the ocean.

And then...

Hope moves through me. “That’s it!”

“Cal?”

“Look!” I run toward the water. My bare feet crunch over smashed shells and pebbles. I rush into the ocean. It sloshes against my ankles and stings my feet. I wave my arms in the air, because I’m sure the first aid station at the hotel can fix me up like new.

“We’re here!” I shout. “We’re here!”

“Cal!” Jason shouts, but I ignore him. The only thing I care about is having the boat notice me.

The boat is only a dark sliver in the distance, moving quickly. It disappears.

All the joy, all the hope vanishes, extinguished as easily as when I used to use my fingers to smother out candle flames as a child. I turn to Jason. His face is paler than before.

No. There’s hope. There must be.

“The other side!” I run from the water, ignoring the pain in my feet and Jason’s startled expression.

Then footsteps follow me, battering the fallen twigs and leaves. “Cal!”

I flee deeper into the jungle, toward the other beach. Palm fronds and banyan leaves crowd the path, brushing down my back like zombie fingers as I run. The thick floral scent is too sweet and utterly inappropriate, like I’ve been swept into a perfumer’s machinations and am about to be pounded into liquid, poured into glass bottles, and shelved for rich people to sniff on paper tabs in airports.

My feet scream. I’ve cut myself a dozen ways. The mud squelches beneath me.

It doesn’t matter. All that matters is the boat. All that matters is being rescued.

Speed is essential.

The boat will spot us on the other side, and then we’ll be sailing back to the resort.

Maybe the boat even spotted us and was moving so quickly because it wanted to dock on the other side. That’s possible.

I ignore the fact the boat isn’t slowing.

The strip of light on the other side of the jungle becomes lighter and lighter, until finally I’m stepping into the open air.

I hurry toward the shore.

The boat isn’t docked yet, because I don’t see any men in orange vests carrying metal sheets for us.

“Cal!” Jason yells, but I ignore him.

He can say whatever he wants to say once we’re safely on the boat.

Except when I swing my gaze around, there’s no boat.

And when I enter the water again, there’s no boat.

Not even in the distance.

“Where is it?” I ask.