Page 15

Motley Crew

Easton

T he waves are choppy as we round the cove to where the Rock Candy used to sit. It’s fucking weird seeing the full wall of the bluff without the yacht there. I’m not sure why I’ve even fucking come. But talking them out of going didn’t seem like it was going to happen.

Last night, that... yeah. Last night was one of the craziest things—if not the craziest thing—I’ve ever done. And I’ve done some shit. Most of it while drunk and out of my mind after a big team meet. But nothing like that. Yeah, I’m still processing.

We should all be back at camp, not on this damn tender, but here we are on our little four-man journey, not processing what went down.

And we’re not there with Haley this morning because we have to do this now.

Now—when the WaveRunner has been sitting there for the last three weeks and those poor people have been there for a long time. Yeah, but the waves bounce us up.

“We’ve got enough fuel?” I shout into the wind at Zane. He’s got his hand on the tiller of the outboard motor.

“Yeah, we got a shit ton for this trip and more stored back at camp. That was Dante’s idea. Scary brilliant, that bloke is,” Zane says. His eyes flick to mine and then back at the horizon. Zane’s deep in thought too. His Britishness always goes up by ten factors when he’s thinking too hard.

Calvin and Sam sit in the row in front of me, searching the cove.

We took the binoculars. That was the most discussion we had after Sam unilaterally declared we should be searching for it and then Zane added his little side quest. He spent all morning making a crate out of one of the storage containers, carefully replacing the lid with one made from bamboo he’d woven together.

It’s tied down next to two spare plastic fuel containers.

I don’t know if Zane’s ever tried to catch a chicken. It’s not as simple as walking up to one and grabbing it. And that’s with ones used to people. But then, Zane will probably just flash his gleaming smile and the chicken will jump into the container and pull the lid shut itself.

I laugh, thinking about a ten-year-old Emily chasing chickens.

Every time she caught one, it would flutter from her hands, squawking and jumping.

More than once, we spent the night on the neighbor’s farm in Maine.

I had to help with the chores. I think it was Susan’s way of trying to teach me responsibility.

I told her I hated it, but I fucking loved it.

That’s probably the only reason I was allowed to continue to go.

That, and Emily and I were on our own. I’d have taken shoveling shit for weeks on end to not have to listen to the sound of Susan’s voice.

I think she finally figured out how much we loved it, so we weren’t allowed to go anymore.

Frustration rises up from my toes. This whole thing is tied to Dad and money, of course. It’s always about money. At least with my family. Damn, my dad has horrible taste in women.

I try to think of my mother, but I can’t even remember what she sounded like, only a faint memory of her smell and that she loved Christmas.

The house was alive. We had money back then, fucking wealthy compared to everyone else in the area, but nothing near what Dad has now.

That was back before he made a new company with Harding.

Back when everything was only Rockwell Tire, no Rockwell-Harding financial.

I blink into the sun. I’m searching the coastline and the horizon of the ocean. But there’s nothing here. Nothing at all but water, surf, and rock. It’s bright and hot.

“Hey!” Zane yells forward to Sam and Calvin. They turn. “I’m going to keep going if you two are okay with it.”

Sam waves back. “Yeah, let’s go. The less fuel we use, the better.”

“On it.” Zane steers carefully past the cave where we’d tied up the WaveRunner. It’s a large cave when it’s low tide. Sam and Calvin have their heads down, watching the vanishing reef below the boat as Zane pulls us out deeper into the ocean.

We run next to the bluff. And my stomach hardens.

The last time I was here, we were outrunning the pirates on the WaveRunner, praying they didn’t see us.

My hand reflexively goes to my arm and my shoulder.

The bullet went through my bicep. But most days I’ve got a deep ache in the back of my shoulder.

I change positions and lean back, stretching my arm out.

The damn neuropathy sends tingles through the fingers of my right hand.

I shake it out, swallowing down the urge to swear into the tender’s spray.

The rock wall towers up next to us. I crane my neck back.

It’s fucking impossible to think that I ever thought I could climb up there with a useless arm.

But we’re here, alive. And that’s how we’re going to stay.

The boat skips on the waves. I’m gripping with my good hand, and I send the fingers of my other hand through my hair, smoothing it back. Chicken Beach emerges from behind the cliff. The WaveRunner is there, lying on its side. And relief crests over me.

“It’s there,” Zane shouts, but he sounds a little upset.

There’s two schools of thought: Calvin and Zane were hoping it was still there. But Sam and I were both hoping it was gone. If it was gone, it meant the pirates came back, searched for it, didn’t find us, and got the hell out of here with it. I don’t think it’s a good idea if we take it now.

It’s low tide, but there’s no reef to speak of around the long sandy spit.

Zane pulls up as close as he can get. Calvin jumps off the front, and Sam slides into the water.

The outboard motor tilted up, we pull up onto the sand, high enough that the boat won’t move with the tide.

And then we’re standing around the WaveRunner, staring at it like we’re doing a damn autopsy.

“It wasn’t hit. At least, not what’s visible,” Calvin states after brushing the sand off the sides. It’s sunk a few feet into the beach.

I grab the shovel out of the tender and start digging. Each shovel has my shoulder crying out.

“Let me do it,” Zane says.

I ignore his hand. “I’ve got it.” I dig out the front, then stand up, my shoulders still hunched. I’ve made a dent, but the other side still needs to come out.

I take a breath, but Calvin’s hand lands over mine. “Give me the damn shovel,” he says.

I let go and stand back and watch. Zane’s on his knees digging with his hands. Sam grabs the handlebars and Zane the back of the seat. We push it out onto the compact sand.

It’s a mess. The key is rusted into its slot.

“Is it worth it?” I stand back.

Calvin glares like I’ve said to pull the plug on his grandmother’s life support. “If we can get this working, we can use it to get fruit, fish, eggs. It uses a hell of a lot less fuel.”

I shrug. Because I still think we should leave it be. Let the pirates think we died.

“Shut up.” Calvin crouches.

I throw my hands up. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You said enough back at camp. Them coming back is going to happen. It won’t matter if this is here or not.”

“Your opinion, and I disagree.”

Sam stands back, his hands on his hips. “I don’t think it’s going to matter. This has got more sand in it than Penny’s fur at the end of the day. No way it’s going to run.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” Calvin smirks up at him.

“Fine, you play with it. Help me find some chickens.” Zane cocks his head to the jungle.

“Sure.” I follow Zane up the beach as it rises to the jungle.

How much time are we going to spend here?

I just want to get back to Haley. It’s got to be at least one—I check the sun as we dip into the jungle.

We fight through thick vegetation. The memory of that morning surges back at me. “Where did you find the eggs before?”

“This way.” Zane turns the opposite direction to where Calvin and I ran.

It’s coming back in waves. The thud of our steps, the tearing of my skin. The bile rising up my throat.

This side of the island must not get the same breeze as back at camp. It’s damn humid, and bugs are buzzing around my ears. I swat at my neck, and my shoulder cries out, on fire. “Fuck.”

“You good, mate?”

“Peachy.”

“I don’t see any signs of the chickens yet.”

“Yeah.” I clench my eyes tightly closed. It isn’t helping anything. We need to find some damn birds and get the hell out of here. “They can be tough to spot. Look low.”

Zane shoots me a no shit look.

“You found them before. We can find them again.”

“That’s the spirit.” He gives me a verbal slap on the back.

We move through the jungle, and it’s at least ten minutes before I realize that neither Zane or I are making any noise.

There in the underbrush beneath some ferns, I spot some dark red and brown feathers.

I point and make hand signals that seven months ago would have had me scoffing.

Zane follows my instructions, circling around the side.

I dart my hand under the fern and snag the leg of a hen. I pull her out upside down. She’s squawking, batting her wings against my legs. I do like the farmer used to do and tuck her under my arm. Her neck cranes up to me.

That’s when I see it. She’s sitting not on a nest of eggs but a nest of chicks. Ten or more scramble out around my feet, missing the warmth of their mother.

“Shit, shit.” Zane’s eyes are wide. “You did it.”

“Yeah. Take your shirt off, tie one end shut, and get all the chicks into it,” I say.

Zane does, dropping flat to the ground and filling his shirt. “They’re so cute.” He pivots on the path, going back the way we came.

“Wait.” There’s peeping coming from a few steps away. “Fuck, there’s another nest.”

I’ve got a hen under each arm. Zane’s cradling his shirt as we come out onto the beach.

“What the hell have you guys been doing?” Calvin yells.

“Wanking off,” I say, sounding more like Zane than myself. “What the hell does it look like we’ve been doing?”

“Hold this. Don’t drop it.” Zane passes the chick bag to Sam. “It’s chicks,” Zane answers before Sam asks. Zane grabs the bin from the tender and pulls the lid off it. He takes the chicks out of the shirt one at a time, carefully placing them in the tub.

“Get the lid ready. I’m going to drop the hens in together.” As long as I’ve kept pressure on the birds, they’ve been mostly quiet.

“No, wait, give me one.” Calvin takes the one from my bad arm.

He flips it over. Holding its wings and back with one hand, he draws a line from the beak down with the other.

The chicken closes its eyes in a trance.

Calvin lays it down in the bin of chicks.

The little balls of fuzz gather around it.

Calvin takes the second one and does the same thing. Zane affixes the lid.

“We got what we came for,” I say. “How’s this hunk of junk?” I point to the WaveRunner.

“Well, we’re not going to be running it anytime soon. But I can fix it,” Calvin says.

“A man of many talents—chicken and motor whisperer.” Zane laughs.

I want to say not everything is worth fixing, but then that kind of wrecks Calvin’s entire personality. And I’m still not sure how I feel about him. Even after last night. Which I’m fucking confused about.