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Chapter one

Darla

“ H ey Kevin, buddy, you’re looking extra leafy today, how about you do a girl a solid and drop a coconut for me?” I plant my hands on my hips and stare up at him expectantly. But he just stands there, his leaves swaying in the wind like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Keviiiiiiiiin,” I whine. “I know you can hear me, stop playing hard to get and give me a damn coconut!!” When he still doesn’t respond, I huff. “Fine! Have it your way, let’s see who has the last laugh when I get Steve to help me. STEVE!” I scream, searching the sand around me.

“Steve, you crab sucker, where did you go—ouch!” I cry out as I stub my toe. Grabbing my foot in pain, I hop around and look down to see what attacked me.

“Damn it, Steve!” As the pain recedes, I bend down to pick him up. Steve, the rock, might be my second best friend on this island, but sometimes he could be a real pain in my foot.

“Alright, Steve, let’s see what you can get me today.

” I pull my arm back and toss him at the tree, hoping to knock at least one coconut down.

When he makes contact and one of them sways, I squeal, wrapping my arms around Kevin’s trunk and trying to shake him.

Of course, that almost never works. Have you ever tried to make a tree move? It’s not easy.

“Hey, Kevin? I’m not trying to cop a feel or anything, buddy, just looking for some dinner,” I tell the palm tree as I wait for the coconut to fall. After about ten seconds, I realize it’s not gonna drop and I let out a huff of frustration.

“Now I have to go and find Steve again. Thanks a lot, Kevin!” Luckily my rock buddy isn’t far, but as I pick him up I’m assaulted by a coconut on the head.

“Dammit, Kevin!” I growl, rubbing the back of my head and looking up at him in anger. “That was attempted murder! I will be filing a complaint with your superiors!”

Grumbling obscenities at him, I pick up the dropped coconut, shove Steve into my bag, and head back home.

The jungle is quiet this afternoon. The ocean is calm and the lack of wind makes the sounds of my footsteps heavy on the dirt floor.

I don’t like the silence, it reminds me too much that I’m alone here, it’s why I talk to my surroundings.

Even one-sided conversations with inanimate objects were better than thinking about my reality.

Stepping into my clearing, I do a quick assessment and am pleased to see everything looks untouched.

Deciding I want toasted coconut today, I assemble some wood I’ve already collected in my fire pit and manage to get it lit, all within five minutes.

I can’t help but smile, feeling proud of how far I’ve come.

There is no way I would have been able to start a fire that quick when we first crashed on this deserted island.

Luckily, dad had been a boy scout as a kid, and remembered all sorts of useful stuff, like how to build a fire, how to make rope from vines and tree bark and how to tie knots that will hold.

It helped that he was smart as a whip, too.

If it wasn’t for him, we would have died within weeks of being here.

And if he hadn’t spent the next four months teaching me everything he knew, I never would have lasted the next fifteen years without him.

Once the fire is lit, I grab my coconut. I manage to get it cracked in three hits on the rock, savoring the water inside before I split it in two.

I sigh happily at the refreshing taste, then grab my knife to slice her up.

“Sorry, little coconut, this is about to get a little murdery,” I tell her as I make the first slice through the white flesh.

“I’d say I won’t make a habit of it, but I’m pretty sure I ate your brother for dinner last night.

He was probably a dick anyway, amIright? ”

I finish slicing her up and grab my frying pan, a scrap of metal I found washed up a decade ago.

I had to bang it into a relatively flat shape with curved edges, but it works for my needs just fine.

I toss the flecks of coconut in and place it on the fire, letting them heat, then grab my waterskin and take a sip of water.

I lay back on the jungle floor, staring up at the canopy of trees and my home.

The original tree hut that dad and I had started to build together, is in rough shape now.

I just used it for storage anyway, but it would be annoying if it collapsed and all my treasures came crashing down to the jungle floor below.

Mo-Mo would have a field day with that, he’s always trying to steal my stuff, even though he’s supposed to be my best friend.

That’s what I get for choosing a lemur as my island bestie .

“Eep!” I hear his trill and sit up, watching him swing towards me. “Figures you arrive just as the food is heating up,” I chide him as he drops to my shoulder, rubbing his head into my neck in greeting.

“Mo-Mo, you will not believe the day I’ve had.

First, Bob almost shit on me again, then I thought I found a cell phone, but it turned out to be a seashell, then I fell asleep on my napping rock and that gang of crabs tried to assassinate me, again .

Then I stubbed my toe on Steve and got into a fight with Kevin, and uh…

I think he actually won this time.” I frown, rubbing the sore spot on the back of my head.

“Where were you, anyway? I could have used you as backup, you know? You could have climbed up there for me. Why are you always making me hunt on my own?” He grunts and I roll my eyes. “I know, I know, you were busy with your lady and your buddies again, weren’t you?”

I use a stick to move the coconut around, trying to get an even coating of toasty goodness as the smell wafts towards us. Mo-Mo leans forward, his cute little nose sniffing the air. “A little bit longer, buddy.”

“What do you say tomorrow we head to the cliffs? I want to see if Bob’s got any eggs I can steal for dinner. He deserves it after trying to shit on me again.” There are a few seagulls who live on this island, but Bob was the absolute worst.

Mo-Mo grunts and I take that as his agreement to come with me. When the coconut pieces look ready, I use a stick I fashioned into a large spoon to pull them onto a large banana leaf.

I fan them for a minute so they’re cool enough to eat and straight away Mo-Mo’s grubby little hands reach in and snatch up as many pieces as he can hold, jumping up to a waiting vine and climbing to a tree limb where he can eat them in peace .

“Oh, cool, you stole my food. Again . This friendship is a little one-sided, buddy,” I tell him as I eat the few pieces he left me.

When I’m finished, I make sure to put the fire out fully with some dirt, not willing to risk a forest fire or the destruction of my home in the surrounding trees.

I put my knife, McStabby, in the sheath I made from boar hide that hangs at my hip, then move over to the tree on my left, untie the rope from the branch and give it a hard yank, releasing my ladder.

“Night, Mo-Mo!” I yell before climbing up to my treehouse deck.

I pull the rope ladder back up and secure it in place.

It seems pointless, there is nothing on this island that can climb except the lemurs, and they don’t need a ladder to get in my tree.

Lucky for me, they live on the other side of the island, so I didn’t have to hear their chattering all day.

Mo-Mo comes to visit me at least once a day, and I really appreciate his company. Even if he is a food stealing little weasel. He’s the only one I have here. The only living being I’ve been able to somewhat communicate with in fifteen years.

I enter my kitchen hut first, making sure that everything’s where it should be.

It’s basically all homemade cooking and eating utensils, and some poorly constructed plates and bowls made from wood or hollowed out rocks.

I open the basket, made from woven banana leaves, and see I still have a handful of bacon left.

I call it bacon cause it comes from a pig, but it’s really more of a jerky, and since it comes from a wild boar, it’s not exactly the same thing.

I grab two pieces and immediately take a bite out of one. “Mmm, Mr. Piggy, you are delicious!” I hum in appreciation as I close the kitchen door and head to my main hut .

I push the wooden door open and step inside, closing it quickly behind me. Immediately, I let my shoulders drop in exhaustion.

Out there, in the jungle, I’m Zee, the forager, the hunter, the survivor. My dad used to call me that, Zee. Short for Xena the warrior princess. But inside here, in my own safe space, I’m just me, Darla. A twenty-eight year old woman who is slowly losing her mind.

I pull Steve out from my pouch and toss him on my bed, which is a pile of boar hides filled with leaves, then strip off my clothes.

I found they lasted much longer if I didn’t sleep in them.

And after getting used to it, I actually find I prefer it now, it gives my body a chance to breathe. Not that my clothing covered much.

The jungle is hot and humid, so I made myself something that’s a mix between a sports bra and a crop top.

It’s all made out of boar hide. On the bottom, I wear a mini skirt.

I tried making shorts, but I couldn’t get the inner seam right.

I really wanted shorts. Thigh rub was a serious issue here in the beginning.

But eventually, my skin seemed to grow accustomed to the constant rubbing just as I got used to the heat.

I lay them out over the back of my terribly made chair, grab McStabby and jump into bed. Laying back, I pick up Steve and study him.

“Did you have a good day today, Steve? What do you mean you just laid around all day? Am I the only one who cares about surviving out here? What? You’re tired? How can you be tired if you haven’t done anything?! Fine, fine, go to sleep.” I place him on the floor by my head and stare up at my roof.

It’s taken me years, but I finally have a roof that doesn’t leak, even if it was pouring out there, I’d be bone dry in here.

Turning to my right, I stare at the wall and trace my fingers over the marks, one for every night I’ve been here.

There were far more than I could count, over five thousand if my math was correct…

Which it might not be. It’s not like I had any form of education past age thirteen.

One day dad said we had to go on a little trip.

If either of us knew this is how it would end up, we would have never left the states.

I shiver as certain memories press in, the same way they do every night.

The hut starts to get dark as the sun sets and I grab one of the hides and pull it over me.

I don’t like being out in the jungle in the dark.

There’s too much risk of injury as it was.

And hurting myself is a serious fear I have.

What if I injure myself so badly that I can’t move?

Would I starve to death? Would Mo-Mo bring me food? Would I die from an infection?

“Hey, Steve?” When he doesn’t answer, cause, you know… he’s a rock, I continue.

“How many more marks do you think I have in me?” I ask as I use McStabby to start carving a new line.

“Ten? A thousand? What if I become an old lady here, and one day, I trip on you and break my hip? Who’s gonna help me up?

” The good thing about talking to inanimate objects is that they can’t talk back.

They can’t judge you or tell you that you’re a loser.

But it also means they can’t comfort you or make you feel better.

I place my McStabby under my pillow made of more boar hide stuffed with leaves, and get comfortable on my side.

I close my eyes and try to think of something, anything, to distract me from the nightmares that plague me every night.

I blindly reach out and grab Steve, hugging him close to my chest. Even fifteen years later, the memory of those men and what they did still plague me every damn night.

“I wish Mo-Mo was here,” I whisper into the darkness, knowing that when I eventually do fall asleep, there will be nobody here to chase the nightmares away. And once again, for the five thousand and somethingth time, I will wake up alone, on this deserted island.