Authors: Lexi Duval
He places them on the sand, positioning them carefully,
and I immediately know what he's doing. It makes my heart sink.
SOS.
He's writing the code in huge letters on the dry part of
the beach where the tide stops. In the distance, further down the
coast of the island, I can just about make out the twigs and branches
that spell out another word.
I can't see what it is, but I can imagine.
HELP.
“
Do you want some help?”
His face seems to light at seeing me, but looks tired
and weary. It looks as though he hasn't slept, the stubble on his
chin already thickening.
“
Sure. More hands the better. There's plenty of old
branches in the jungle. Get whatever you can.”
I move toward the treeline, his voice stopping me just
before I enter.
“
And watch out for snakes and spiders.”
Is he serious? And I didn't think this situation
could get any worse.
I move into the tangled mess of trees. It's lush, green,
and dripping with moisture. Some of the leaves gather pools of rain
and dew. I arch one leaf down, draining the liquid into my mouth, and
feel immediate relief from the heat.
I find more, and drink until I'm satisfied, not quite
taking in the importance of having such a readily available water
source.
“
The leaves must have filled with water during the
storm that took the plane down.”
Flint is emerging into the dim, crowded jungle from the
bright beach beyond.
“
It's the rainy season, so I guess we're lucky.”
His choice of words is poor, and he knows it. Because
the luck that's given us this easily accessible water, also put us
here in the first place and killed some of our colleagues.
“
Have you checked the rest of the island?” I ask,
trying to keep my mind off the crash, off Benjy and all the lives
lost.
“
No, not yet. I've been right down the beach to the
left until it stops at a cliff face. To the right it merges into
thick jungle. I haven't gone further into the island because I didn't
want to lose you for long or get lost.”
“
So...you don't know what's back there?”
He shakes his head, and starts lifting a branch from the
jungle floor.
“
Well, we might be on an inhabited island then? Should
we go?”
“
It's possible, but highly unlikely. There are
hundreds, maybe thousands of uninhabited island here. But, there's no
harm in trying.”
A glint of hope rises inside me. Geography isn't my
strongest suit, but it's surely possible that there's some indigenous
population somewhere here?
Once we've finished with the
SOS
sign on the
beach, we begin trekking through the interior of the island. It
doesn't take long for my spirits to grow as damp as the trees around
us.
Within about half an hour, we emerge on the other side,
onto a beach littered with craggy rocks and jagged stones. We go
left, and then right, and find the same, the realization soon
becoming clear that this island is nothing but a long rectangular
shape, with a pure white beach on one side, and a rocky one on the
other.
In between, lie hills covered in thick jungle, while to
the south the island climbs to a higher peak that offers a wide view
of the ocean around us.
We climb to the summit through the close net of trees
until we reach an open plateau at the top. Around us, there's nothing
but ocean, with a few dotted islands miles out on the horizon and
absolutely nothing else.
And it dawns on us both at that point, that this might
just be our home for a little while longer.
Chapter
Three
“
OK, so we've got water, for now, so that's not our
main concern.”
I'm nodding my head, letting Flint speak. I'm no
survival expert, but he seems to know what he's talking about.
“
And what is?”
“
Food. We've got water, shelter, so all we need is
food. There are plenty of coconut trees around, so that should be
enough to keep us going. All we need is a way to open them, like a
sharp piece of rock...”
“
OK, well I'm sure we can find something like that out
on the reef.”
He nods, peering out toward the sparkling ocean.
“
Good. Well, let's wade in there and take a look.”
We stand from our little shelter, nothing but a thick
canopy of leaves above us, and begin making our way toward the beach.
I'm still wearing the skirt and white shirt I had on in the plane,
with only my bra and panties underneath. The sun is so intense that I
need all the coverage I can get despite the heat.
Flint, meanwhile, quickly strips out of his tattered
pants and shirt, leaving him in only his underwear. His body is
tanned and primed to deal with the sun, and nicely toned and athletic
too. As he wades in the water, I can't help but think he belongs
there, his body the shape of a swimmer's.
The water is warm and offers some comfort from the heat,
and I immediately see fish darting here and there under the clear
blue surf. A little further out, perhaps 100 feet from the shore, I
spot some rocks and reef formations beneath the surface of the water.
Flint stops and turns to me, his muscular frame shimming
with salty water.
“
How well can you swim?” he asks.
“
OK, I guess.”
“
Right, well be careful. There's no knowing if there
are currents here, so don't go too deep out. The water looks calm in
the shallows, so try to stay there. And, well, there are probably
sharks out there too...”
“
Sharks!”
“
We're in the South Pacific, Libby. You get a lot of
sharks here. Tigers are the most concerning, although they are
unlikely to venture into the reef.”
He looks into my eyes, widening at the thought of some
horrific shark encounter.
“
How about you keep a lookout? We only need a sharp
piece of coral or rock. It shouldn't take long.”
I nod and plant my feet into the sand in the shallows,
and watch as he disappears under the surface of the sea like a
dolphin. He glides gracefully, moving out deeper toward the reef and
staying under for some time.
He returns to the surface periodically before diving
back under and disappearing from sight once more. All that remains is
his shadow, floating along the colorful ocean floor, searching for a
suitable implement.
After a few minutes, he's swimming back to me under the
light ripple of waves, and emerging into the shallows with a sharp
slice of rock in his hand.
“
This will do,” he says, before leading me back
toward our camp and the few coconuts we've gathered.
It's strange how quickly you set your mind to the task
in a situation like this. It's been only two days since I woke up
here, and in some strange way I'm already starting to come to terms
with it all.
Flint assures me that we'll be rescued. That it might be
days, weeks, but no longer. I still see some doubt there, but his
words remain adamant, and I have to believe that he's right. So
instead of moping around and losing my mind, I set all my focus on
surviving here until the time of our rescue comes.
In our little base camp we've already gathered a few
coconuts from the jungle. One, which had split open when falling,
we've already eaten. The milk inside was just about the most
delicious thing I've ever had after being denied any food for nearly
two days. The flesh, too, tasted better than it had any right to,
especially since I've never liked coconut.
Flint holds one coconut against the base of a tree, and
begins lightly chopping at the hairy outer shell.
“
Careful,” I say, seeing how close he's getting to
his hand.
“
I've got this, don't worry,” comes his response.
Within a few minutes of careful cutting, he's made a
slice large enough to get his fingers inside and rip the thing open.
Some of the milk is lost as it suddenly splits, but most remains
inside.
He passes me a half – the larger half – and we enjoy
our first coconut breakfast together. I'm sure it will be the first
of many coconut based meals.
For the rest of the day, Flint sets about trying to
improve our shelter. He uses the same sharp piece of rock as a
rudimentary ax, chopping palm leaves and vines and creating an
enclosed space, a bit like a tent, that he says should block out the
sun and the rain and help keep us cool.
I try to help where I can, and find myself learning a
lot about lashing things together and fashioning things from natural
resources.
“
My dad used to do a lot of this sort of stuff,” he
tells me when I ask him how he knows all of this. “He was a bit of
a survivalist, knew how to be self sufficient.”
I find that odd, considering the guy was one of the
richest men in the world. I'd always assumed that billionaires could
do nothing with their hands because they've got so many pairs of
hands to do everything for them.
“
I was sorry to hear about his death,” I say.
Flint's dad had died not long ago, perhaps a year, in a
car accident in LA. It was all over a news and was big on the
national press. Hard to miss if you lived anywhere across the US.
“
Thanks,” he says, his voice hollow.
I can imagine that the papers are having a field day
with our current predicament. Father killed in a car accident. Son
now killed in a plane crash.
The thought sends a shiver through me; the idea that we
are simply considered dead, sucked down to the ocean depths within
the belly of the plane. I don't know where we hit, but if the ocean
was that deep, surely they'd have no way of descending into the
blackness of the ocean to recover the bodies?
So...even if they did find the plane, or knew where it
went down, does that actually mean they'd be able to recover it? Or
even know who's down there, caught in that steel trap?
For the rest of the day, the thought consumes me, and I
go into my shell. Flint seems to do the same, perhaps the both of us
thinking the same thing but unwilling to voice our concerns.
By the day's end, when the sun begins to set and the
silent darkness of night descends, the shelter is all done and
looking more homely than I can reasonably have expected.
“
It's amazing, Flint,” I tell him, keen to thank him
for his efforts.
“
Wait til it starts raining, then we'll see how
amazing it is.”
That night, we find out. A deluge pours from above,
providing a stern test for the shelter that it dully passes.
Thankfully, our shelter remains under the canopy of leaves above,
which take on a lot of the brunt of the storm.
The winds pick up, and howls outside, slashing across us
and making our new home rattle and shake. But nothing more.
By morning, when we wake to another day of blue skies
and scorching sun, the shelter remains standing, a little misshapen
but still liveable for now.
Flint inspects the minor damage, considers things for a
moment, and then spends the day making sure the entire thing is more
steadfast and durable. I suspect it's just as much about keeping busy
as anything else.
As he works, and I help, I consider the man, stripped of
his position in the world, down to nothing but his bare bones. Out
here, on this idyllic and isolated island, he's not a billionaire or
a celebrity. He's not famous to the trees and the birds and the fish
in the sea.
He's just a man, trying to survive, trying to keep busy
and maintain the hope that somewhere, out there, people are searching
for us.
And that one day soon, we'll be found.
Chapter
Four
“
How did you know my name was Libby?”
It's nighttime, and we're locked together within our
shelter, the air growing cooler as the hours pass. Flint lies next to
me on the palm leaf covered floor of our natural tent, his tattered
suit jacket under his head as a pillow.
He's wearing nothing but his underwear, his body shining
as the starlight cuts in through the opening from the beach. I'm
wearing my shirt, my skirt, ripped and fashioned into a suitable
outfit for the beach, the arms torn off the shirt, and the skirt
shortened to be more comfortable in the heat of the day.
Already, I can see a beard forming on Flint's face. It's
only been a week, but he's already changing, his face growing a bit
more haggard and worn, his skin deeply tanned and darkening by the
day.
I'm slowly catching up, but my skin is naturally lighter
and more prone to burning. Without any sunscreen, I've moderated my
time under the scorching star, and now my body is gradually growing
accustomed to the intense rays.
Flint looks at me in the moonlight, his blue eyes
shining out of the shadow of his face.
“
We never met on the plane,” I continue. “I never
told you my name.”