The Raft (16 page)

I held my breath for a moment.

And then I let it out, told myself not to get my hopes up. The chance of there being anything in there of any consequence, of any help to me at all, was ridiculously small.

Even while I was telling myself this, I knew I would rip the lining to get at whatever it was. Because I still had hope. Dwindling, but still there.

I gently tore the lining until I could reach in. I felt something hard, about three inches long, and then, as I pulled it out, I saw the red top and yellow tube. My face crumpled as I couldn’t hold back the tears.

At last. At last.

My silver parachute.

Carmex. A roll-up tube of Carmex.

I kissed it and cradled it to my chest for a moment, thanking Max, thanking God, thanking whoever put that ditty bag on the beach. And then, with a snap, I popped off the cap and inhaled the camphor and menthol, then smeared the warm salve on my lips.

My smile stretched out my lips so far I had to apply Carmex again, just to cover them. The relief was soothing and immediate and I couldn’t stop smiling.

With a finger, I took some and dotted it onto my nose. I couldn’t believe it was possible that I’d ever missed the Carmex in the first place. But it had to have been there all along. Right?

Making sure I hadn’t gotten any sand in the tube, I closed the Carmex and shoved it deep in my pocket, then returned everything else to the bag and set it on the raft.

My excitement over the find gave me a little burst of energy. I walked a little ways down the beach before the burst waned and I plopped down in the sand to rest. Some lighters were within my reach, and I used a washed-up stick to drag some others close enough for me to grab them. I had found several when one caught my eye. At first, I didn’t even know it was a lighter, because it wasn’t like the others, it was decorated with a portrait of Marilyn Monroe. I stuck it in my pocket with the Carmex. When I felt rested, I stood up and kept walking.

As I rounded the beach where I’d washed up, I saw one albatross standing on the bank. She flapped her wings, caught a little air, and then landed again.

“You’d better go or you won’t make it.”

Not wanting to watch another one die, I kept walking. My stomach rumbled. And I turned back. She clacked her bill, but made no move to fly.

She was going to die, plain and simple. And if I didn’t eat soon, I would probably die too.

The Survival at Sea adage flashed in my head:
Eat any bird you can catch.

She was going to die anyway.

I took a slow step back toward her.

Could I catch her?

I took another slow step and she just looked at me.

I could try.

With a burst of energy I didn’t know I had, I leaped up the bank toward her, but with a rush of flapping wings, she flew over my head, out to sea.

I whipped around, disappointed at first, but then I watched her go. She flew about fifty yards, landing exactly where the other one had landed.

“Fold your wings!” I yelled. “Fold your—”

Very neatly, she tucked in her wings and sat there, floating.

“Wings…”

So she’d passed the first test.

She sat there for a while.

And then I saw a fin and groaned. The albatross was toast.

“Go!” I screamed.

She began to run on the water and flap her wings.

“Faster! Flap faster!”

The fin was nearly to the albatross, and the monster’s head burst out of the water and snapped, just as the gooney lifted off, flying again.

Lifting both arms in the air, I shouted, “Yes!”

And she flapped until she was gone from view.

Dropping to my butt in the sand, I sighed.

Maybe not everything on this island was doomed.

Maybe just I was.

fifty-two

I found a bunch more lighters and took them up to my signal fire. I tried each one before breaking them and sprinkling their fluid on the tinder.

I heard Starbuck growling. As I topped the dune, I saw her in the water, just at the edge of the beach. I ran toward her, stopping just far enough way so I wouldn’t startle her.

“Oh, no…”

She was wrapped up in light blue plastic fishing net. I hated to get any nearer and scare her, but on closer inspection, she was wrapped up in a whole network of the net, like she’d swam right into a pile of marine debris and become ensnared.

One flipper was free and she pushed with it, trying to get up on the sand, but it wasn’t enough to move her.

I wanted to help so badly, but didn’t know how.

Not again.

I sat down and watched her struggle. She was a little bit farther out in the water, but not making any progress toward getting untangled.

Maybe I could go behind her, where she couldn’t see me, and try to get some of the net loose.

You’ll have to go in the water.

I waited until she was looking away from me and then ran down into the water, just up to my knees, trying not to splash. I kept looking behind me for shadows under the surface.

The net was so tight that I could barely slip my hand between it and her back flipper. As soon as I touched her, she flinched and tried to turn her head to see me, but she was so entangled, she couldn’t. She must have started struggling immediately when she got caught, which just made the net wrap tighter around her.

I gave up on the flipper and went to her back end. The net there was even tighter, and I couldn’t get even a finger in.

She was still struggling, trying to get up the beach. I needed something to cut the net off.

I splashed back through the water toward the raft, but had to stop halfway to sit down and catch my breath before finally reaching it. There was a big pile of marine debris near the raft, and I’d only looked for lighters. Maybe I’d find something sharp. Sharp enough to cut the net.

With a stick, I dug through. I pushed over a board and stopped. I wiped the sweat off my forehead and bent down. With two fingers, I plucked out what looked like a knife.

It was just a piece of rusted metal, wickedly jagged on one side, but it looked like it would cut. There wasn’t any other option, so I got a safer grip on it and headed back for Starbuck.

She was a little farther out in the water. Ignoring her cries of warning, I splashed around behind her and slipped my knife in between the net and her flipper and started sawing, careful not to cut her. Luckily, she was so tangled that she couldn’t get her head close enough to bite me.

The plastic was tough, but I managed to cut one piece off. The work was draining, and I had to stop and wipe my forehead off and catch my breath. Finally, I had her flipper loose.

But the rest of her was still hopelessly tangled, and now, in addition to trying to get herself loose, she was trying to get away from me.

In as soothing a tone as I could muster, I said, “I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to help you.”

In spite of her very vocal protests, I moved around to her side, putting myself between her and the beach, and started sawing at the net on her back. And then she stopped making noise. And splashing.

I stopped what I was doing and stepped back so I could see all of her with my one eye.

Her head sagged in the water.

The light blue plastic had become a noose around her neck, strangling her, and my loosening the back had only made it possible for the net to tighten more around her neck as she struggled.

“No!”

I pushed on her. “Starbuck!”

She didn’t move.

She was gone.

I stepped back until my feet hit the beach, then dropped to my knees. “Not again. Not again. Not again!” I threw the knife off to the side.

The waves gently pushed her up onshore.

I was the only one left.

My empty stomach cramped. And an absolutely unthinkable idea made its way into my head.

I shook my head. No, I wouldn’t do it.

To get rid of the thought, I got up and ran, ran away from Starbuck, dead on the beach. I ran, ran back to the raft, where I threw myself down on the sand.

I was dizzy and could barely breathe, and I lay there until my heart stopped pounding.

My lips were dry again. I reached into my pocket for the Carmex and instead, my fingers curled around something else. I pulled out the Marilyn Monroe lighter.

More out of habit than hope, I flicked the wheel with my thumb.

A spark sputtered.

I nearly dropped the lighter at first, but managed to hold on. Afraid it wouldn’t light up again, I held my breath as I flicked the wheel once more.

Another slight hint of a spark.

I exhaled. “Please please please.” I looked up at the sky. “Third time’s the charm, right?” My hand trembled, so I gripped my wrist with my other hand to steady it.

“Come on.”

My thumb slid the wheel and a flame popped up, wavering, but steady. I held it for a moment, then let it go out.

Lifting the lighter to my lips, I kissed Marilyn Monroe.

I had fire.
I had fire.

fifty-three

Suddenly, my unthinkable idea by the beach didn’t seem so unthinkable. If I was going to save myself, I had to think selfishly. I’d already proved that—hadn’t I?—when I’d put Max in the water to save myself. But he had been gone. I hadn’t killed him. A fine line, yes, but one I had to live with if I was going to … well … live.

Starbuck was gone. I wouldn’t let the monster take her. I needed her more.

Maybe I wasn’t worth the saving. Maybe my life wasn’t worth Max’s. Maybe my life wasn’t worth Starbuck’s. But if it wasn’t, why was I still alive?

Their deaths would be worth nothing, mean nothing, if I didn’t make it. Max had saved me. He gave me a chance to live. And if I didn’t take that chance and run with it …

I walked to the bank and looked out over the water, thinking. Something caught my eye down the beach.

A huge green sea turtle, nearly the size of a table top, had crawled up on the beach and lay there, sunning itself.

My gaze went to the henna turtle on my ankle. I bent over and traced it with my hand. The tattoo was in terrific shape, the one part of me that was actually not any worse for wear. My aumakua.

The sea turtle lay there, content.

A sign?

I shrugged. Maybe. It was whatever I wanted it to be.

Back at the raft, I put the Carmex and the lighter in Max’s ditty bag, then put the cord around my arm. The trip to the beach took a while. I had to stop three times to rest. Once there, I found my makeshift knife and stood over Starbuck, my heart pounding.

I shook my head.

Not Starbuck. Not anymore.

I wanted to apologize. Instead, I started to cry and said, “I want to live. I just want to live. You get that, don’t you?”

And I sawed off a piece of meat, stuck it on the end of my knife, and started to carry it back to my signal fire.

I got dizzy and stopped, leaning over to put a hand on my knee and take a break. “No rush.”

I looked at the top of the dune. Had it always been that far away?

I had to stop again before I reached the base of the dune, and then had to drop to all fours and crawl up.

Kneeling beside the signal fire, I held the lighter out. “Please work. Please, please work.”

I cupped my hand around the dry grass, flicked the wheel, and the tinder sparked. A little breeze blew through, igniting the fire, and soon my pile was ablaze, the smoke invading my sinuses. But I didn’t turn my head. The smell was so welcome.

I couldn’t cheer. I didn’t have anything left to cheer with.

The fire grew quickly.

I set the ditty bag to the side and sat there, watching the fire. Then I stood and held the heaviness at the end of the knife over the flame.

The flesh sizzled in the flame. I pictured myself chewing it, swallowing.

And then I let it drop.

“Max?”

He was there and I laid my head in his lap and gazed at the fire.

“I don’t want to live that much,” I told him. “Not that much.”

Together we watched the fire build and build, until the flames went high and the smoke went up into the clear blue sky.

And he told me more.

Max

We were about halfway into the drive home, Taylor Swift blaring, of course, when Brandy fell asleep on my shoulder. I was going through the curvy part of the drive and Brandy kept slipping off. She looked so uncomfortable, so I nudged her, and told her to move over by the window and use my jacket for a pillow.

Her seat belt clicked open as I turned back to the road and saw an antelope in my headlights.

I tried to swerve as I braked. But I slammed into the antelope. We went into a skid, headed for the closed construction lane. The tires squealed and Brandy screamed. I put out a hand to protect her just as I lost control. The windshield shattered. We rolled.

The top of the truck was the bottom and then the top again as metal crunched. I don’t know if I yelled. I don’t remember.

We stopped then, halfway rolled over. The truck teetering back one more time, its top on the ground. The engine had stopped. Taylor Swift was still singing and the dashboard lights were still on. I smelled gas. And heard water.

Hanging upside down by my seat belt, I reached down and felt water. We were upside down in a creek.

She didn’t answer. I reached out to touch her. I couldn’t feel her. My head was stuck, so I couldn’t look. I reached up and undid my seat belt. I fell to the ceiling and rolled her way, trying to keep my head above the rising water.

Brandy wasn’t there.

I crawled out what remained of the windshield. Later, I was in a lot of pain, but right then I screamed her name over and over. I moved away from the truck, knee-deep in water, and made it to the road.

Brandy lay where she’d been thrown through the windshield as soon as we’d rolled, just off the road.

I ran to her, flung myself down beside her. Yelled her name.