Rearranging the bulbous part of the stick under my arm, I hopped forward hesitantly.
Estelle moved with me, gasping a little as my weight landed then relaxed on her frame.
She didn’t speak, so I didn’t either.
I forced myself to concentrate, not on Estelle and her sexy-perfect strength, but on coordination and the agony of hobbling on an unsupported broken leg.
Shuffle by shuffle, we traded forest for sunshine.
We made our way to the beach that would become our new home.
I just didn’t know how long it would be home for.
If I had known...who knew what I would’ve done differently.
Chapter Fifteen
...............................................
E S T E L L E
......
He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me.
How could a stupid petal tell me the heart of another?
He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me.
How could I fall for stupid lines stolen from others?
He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me.
I don’t believe in love. I do believe in love.
But not with him.
Taken from the notepad of E.E., aged nineteen.
...
I SWALLOWED MY fears for the billionth time and kept my fake smile in place.
We’re not going to make it.
Yes, yes we are.
I couldn’t cry because Conner and Pippa never stopped watching me.
But it didn’t stop my runaway wretchedness.
Galloway’s eyes were like missiles tracking my every move. My skin still tingled where he’d hugged me to hop through the forest. And I couldn’t stop reliving the pressure of his erection on my lower belly. What possessed him to do such a thing? And why didn’t I mind nearly as much as I should?
For the past hour, we’d split one muesli bar between the four of us and washed it down with two mouthfuls of water from the bottle in Duncan’s backpack. We’d found it when we’d foraged for the other bags, littered like candy wrappers a few metres away from the crash site.
We hadn’t found my jacket or Amelia’s tote, but we had found the survival kit that the pilot kept strapped beneath his seat.
The food had been heaven-sent and I’d tried to forgo my mouthfuls of water, stating I’d had some from the storm, but Galloway wouldn’t accept it. The meagre food hadn’t given us much energy—if anything, it had aggravated our hunger and made it worse.
Better get used to it.
After our quick meal, Conner and I had returned to the helicopter and stripped the cabin. We’d hauled back the well-worn leather cushion from the bench seat, three life-jackets, and a piece of mangled fuselage that I envisioned doing something with but had no idea what.
The beach had turned into a wasteland of broken, mismatched items that I hoped would somehow keep us alive.
Sitting on my haunches, I surveyed the spread gear. “We have a few good tools to at least make a shelter.”
I think.
I don’t know.
Galloway scoffed while Conner nodded hopefully.
Pippa sat quietly with her thumb in her mouth watching everything I did. The intensity of the little girl’s gaze threatened to destroy me knowing she looked to me to keep her safe. At least, we’d found her stuffed kitty, Puffin. She hugged him as if he’d squirm away and vanish.
My heart stuttered at the thought of providing basic necessities for them. They were still young enough to believe that adults had all the answers and that was almost as naïve as believing in Santa Claus.
Adults didn’t know what they were doing—we were just good at faking it.
But there would be no leeway to pretend here. It was achieve or die. Attempt or perish.
My attention zeroed in on Galloway; sympathy still flowed from the struggle he’d gone through getting to the beach. He’d hated, positively hated that I’d seen him vomit while hobbling the last stretch. He’d shoved me away and fallen to retch in a bush.
Not that much came up.
The pain was too much for his system.
He couldn’t make eye contact as he finally let me touch him again and guide him the rest of the way. No wise cracks. No surly comments. Just utter silence.
I respected his feelings and didn’t say a word, just helped him rest on the sand. Even now, a few hours later, I hadn’t brought it up.
Galloway kept his eyes closed, his fists clenched from pain while his skin alternated between flushing with adrenaline and whitening with agony.
As a group, we weren’t doing so well. With my broken ribs, Conner’s mangled wrist, and Pippa’s bloody shoulder, we were in no state to hammer together a home or hunt for dinner.
It’s not as easy as the storybooks.
I had a secret obsession with all things survival. I used to love watching castaway movies and read every book in the genre. I adored the idea of being alone and finding utopia in the most unlikely of places.
But that was before it happened to me.
That was before my comfortable window seat in my apartment with a crisp glass of iced tea became a wild Fijian island with no signs of help.
The characters made it sound so easy. Fishing with earrings, hacking at coconuts with ice-skates. Luck seemed to shine on them.
But us...
Will we be so able?
My eyes drifted over the ragged survivors who’d become my family. We were all too hurt to manage. And if we were too hurt to build and hunt, we would eventually grow weaker and sicker until being rescued no longer mattered.
No...
Launching upright, I held my ribs and marched toward the shoreline. Tears I could no longer stop trickled down my face as I begged the empty horizon for hope.