Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

Sam startled awake and threw the windbreaker from his face at the sound of Donovan’s excited cry. “Land! Look! The shore!” Donovan began unlocking the oars on either side of the raft. He scrambled into position, gesturing for Sam to sit behind him. “We can make it before sundown if we work together!” His heart smashing in his chest, Sam grabbed an oar and began paddling with all his strength.

After about twenty minutes of concerted rowing, the raft landed gently against the sandy shore of a tiny island, complete with tall slender palm trees swaying in the breeze. Both men were breathing heavily, sweat rolling down their temples and staining their T-shirts. Dropping the oars onto the sand, they sagged against the sides of the raft as they recovered their breath.

After a while, Sam hauled himself to his feet, swaying a bit as he tried to get his balance after hours of bobbing on the sea. Hoping he was reasonably steady, he climbed out of the raft and onto the sand, which seemed to roll beneath his feet. Unbuckling his lifejacket, he dropped it into the raft.

“I wonder if it’s inhabited,” said Donovan nervously. He had remained in the raft. “What if someone attacks us?”

“You mean like natives dressed up in feathers and bones, carrying dart guns?” Sam managed a grin. “From the looks of this island, I’d say it was unpopulated. We can explore in the morning. Meanwhile, let’s get this raft farther up on the shore. The tide may be coming in soon.”

Donovan heaved himself over the side, groaning as he stood, his jeans stiff with dried salt. He unbuckled his lifejacket and took a deep breath.

Together they dragged the raft over the cool, wet sand toward the dry, white powder where tall grass met the shore. The raft didn’t pull smoothly, thumping and bumping as if something were stuck beneath it. As they lifted it to see what was catching, they found a long flat rubber container that ran the length of the raft and half its width.

“It’s a supply container,” Donovan cried excitedly.  “More stuff. Let’s see what’s in it.”

Together they flipped the raft over. They knelt on either side of the raft, pulling at the clasps that held the container shut and hopefully watertight.

Inside they found, among other things, a large tarp, a pup tent, thermal blankets, a flashlight, extra batteries, a can of insect repellent, two utility knives, some rain ponchos and caps, fishing gear, plates and cutlery, matches, a small jar of instant coffee, two more boxes of energy bars and two two-gallon plastic water jugs.

Sam felt a huge weight lifting from him as he took in the contents. He looked over at Donovan, who was grinning at him, the relief evident in his face. Together they tried to release the rubber container from the bottom of the raft, but it appeared to be an integral part of it and wouldn’t come off. They finally gave up and hauled the upside-down raft to a place under the palm trees.

Donovan reached for one of the water jugs. Twisting off the cap, he tipped the jug and took a mouthful before handing it off to Sam. “We better ration this until we find a fresh water source,” he said.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, silently praying they would find that source, and quickly.

They decided they would each eat an energy bar to keep up their strength. Sam tore open the wrapper of his and took a large bite. Still hungry but at least not starving, they began to sort through the supplies.

Donovan pulled out two baseball caps, tossing one to Sam. Tearing off the salt-stiff bandana, Donovan fitted the cap over his head. Sam caught the other cap, but, as the sun was going down, he just tucked it into his back pocket.

As they bent again over the supply container, Sam saw something else—a thin blue plastic card, not much larger than a credit card, with a small circle and hole in the center of it. The other side was a mirror. Taped to it was a piece of paper, which Sam carefully pulled off and smoothed open on his lap.

Scanning the page, he said excitedly, “This is a signal mirror.” Quoting the page, he read, “‘Best results are achieved when the air is clear and the sun is well above the horizon. Signal flashes can be seen even when you cannot see the aircraft, boat or other means of rescue. When signaling with no specific target in sight, be sure to continually sweep the horizon to maximize your chances of being seen. A flashlight can be used in conjunction with the mirror at night to shine the signal. The pinpoint flash can be seen for up to one hundred miles.’”

Donovan picked up the flashlight and pushed the button to turn it on. Nothing happened. He repeated the process and when it still didn’t work, he unscrewed the bottom of the flashlight. The batteries that fell out were corroded, a brownish green residue covering one of them. “Good thing we have extras.”

“Yeah. But before we try out the signal mirror, let’s get situated before it gets too dark.” The sun had just dropped below the horizon, bathing the island in a golden glow that quickly darkened to purple blue twilight. The air was alive with sound—croaking bullfrogs, insects and the rush of the waves lapping the shore. The heat of the day was easing, and it would have been a peaceful paradise, except for the fact that they had no idea where they were, whether they could survive on their own while they waited for rescue, or if they would ever be found.

“I’ll set up the tent,” Donovan volunteered.

“Okay. I’ll see if I can collect some kindling for a fire.”

~*~

As Donovan put the tent together, he thought about how lucky he was that Sam had pulled him from the ocean. The guy was so calm and positive, and it had helped keep Donovan from slipping into total panic mode. He couldn’t help but observe that Sam was a good-looking guy, with blond hair that hung in loose waves nearly down to his shoulders. His closely cropped beard was a darker blond, his eyes a clear golden brown.

Donovan got the tent upright and set the supplies inside. Stepping out of the tent, he put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the area. In the morning, assuming they weren’t rescued, they would look for a fresh source of ground water.

“Sam,” he called, wondering how he was faring with the kindling. “How’s it going?” He waited a moment, but Sam didn’t respond. Deciding he must be out of earshot, Donovan busied himself with digging a shallow pit for the fire and gathering pebbles to ring around it.

As he worked, he thought back to the get-together at a pizza joint about two months prior to the cruise, just before he and Marissa had broken up. He’d been sitting with a group of friends, Marissa among them. At the time, someone had posed the question, “If you had to go to a deserted island, who would you want to be stranded with, and what one thing would you bring with you?”

They’d all thrown out various ideas, most of the single ones choosing some sexy movie star, their one item naturally being a speedboat. Marissa had said, snuggling against Donovan, “I’d want to be with my honey, of course. But the one thing I’d bring was that book, Women are from Venus, Men are from Mars.” She’d made a face, adding in a teasing tone, “Maybe on a deserted island I could actually make him take the time to read it so he could finally figure out what women want.” She had supposedly been making a joke, but if so, it had fallen flat, an uncomfortable silence ensuing.

It had been a longstanding bone of contention between them. She argued that Donovan didn’t understand or appreciate women, which was why he was intrinsically incapable of making a commitment. It wasn’t that he didn’t try. Women were just so confusing to him, half the time saying one thing, but meaning another.

He used to wonder if Marissa was so unhappy, why did she keep him around? The reason, he knew, was because she’d set herself up as his savior. She would be the one to make him change. All he had to do was put himself into her capable hands.

It hadn’t worked, and it was his fault. Something was wrong with him when it came to women. He enjoyed their company and liked the sex, but somehow he could never quite make the emotional connection women seemed to require. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to—it was more that he didn’t know how. Several had accused him of being incapable of love, and in his heart of hearts, he feared they might be right.

Not that any of that mattered right now. Little details like sustaining a relationship with a woman paled in comparison to being stranded on a deserted island god only knew where. At least he wasn’t alone.

~*~

Sam pushed his way through a thicket of bamboo and scrub, glad for the protection his jeans afforded him. The place was rich with vegetation, a good sign. Along with the bamboo, there were many flowering plants and ferns. Sam moved farther inland in search of twigs and sticks for firewood, which he piled into the sling he’d made of his windbreaker.

It was getting dark as he returned to the beach with enough kindling from the brush and bamboo to start a nice blaze. Donovan was sitting on the cooling sand, letting handfuls of it slide through his fingers. As he saw Sam approach, he jumped to his feet. “There you are. I was starting to get a little worried.”

“I went pretty far inland looking for stuff I could carry.” Sam dropped the pile of sticks near the fire pit Donovan had created with a ring of stones.

“Did you see or hear anything or”—Donovan paused, lowering his voice—“find signs of anyone else on the island?

“Nope,” Sam said. “I heard rustling up high in the trees, but all I saw were various birds. I think we’re pretty much alone here.”

They stared at one another as these words reverberated between them.

Donovan looked away first and bent down to arrange the wood and kindling in the fire pit. Sam retrieved the box of matches from the tent and handed the box to Donovan. Crouching, he opened the box, removed one wooden match and struck it carefully against the side. He touched the flame to the kindling. After a moment or two, a small flame whooshed to life.

It was a balmy evening, the temperature only falling a few degrees as the sky turned purple, fading into black. Though they didn’t need it for warmth, the fire was comforting and might signal searchers.

“I guess we should try that signal mirror with the flashlight,” Donovan said. “We could go back down to the edge of the water.”

“Good idea.” Sam got to his feet and went into the tent, where Donovan had placed the supplies in one corner. In the other, he’d spread the thermal blankets over the plastic ponchos. One or both of them could sleep in the raft, Sam supposed, though he had no desire to step back into the thing. Plus, they might need the shelter of the tent, should it rain in the night.

He grabbed a pack of fresh batteries and the flashlight and returned to the fire. Together, they figured out how to position the light from the flashlight through the signal hole in the mirror card. They took turns slowly sweeping it across the sky and out to sea, but after an hour or so they gave up.

“We can try it again in the morning. We’ll have more energy after getting some real rest,” Donovan suggested, and Sam agreed. They sat again before the now dying fire, watching the last glowing embers. When Sam glanced at Donovan, he was surprised to see Donovan was staring at him. “Do you think anyone will find us?” Donovan asked softly.

Sam could hear the fear beneath the carefully controlled tone. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Somehow having another person to keep calm made it easier for him to maintain his own control. He reached over and lightly touched Donovan’s shoulder. “No reason to think we won’t be found. The outside world has to know by now that the ship went down. We have our fire and our signal mirror. The ocean’s already probably crawling with rescue workers trying to find all the missing passengers. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were rescued tomorrow.”

Donovan’s expression was hopeful. “Man, I hope you’re right. Meanwhile, I guess we’re pretty lucky, all things considered.” He managed a smile. “Here we are, survivors of a shipwreck, neither of us much the worse for wear. Maybe there are fruit trees and a fresh water source farther inland. There’s a good chance the trade winds blowing through here have created a good environment for a stream or lake. And where there are birds, there are eggs, right?”

“Yep,” Sam agreed. “All good stuff.”

Donovan hauled himself upright. “I guess we should try to get some rest.”

Sam nodded, rising as well. After relieving themselves a distance apart in the bushes, they returned to the tent. Sam went in first, lying down on one side of the makeshift bed. Donovan came in a moment later and stretched out next to Sam with a sigh.

There was barely room for the two of them plus the supplies, but at least the enclosed space gave the illusion of safety. They were both filthy, smelling of sea salt and sweat. Sam was too exhausted to care.

Donovan turned away from Sam onto his side. “Well. Good night, then.”

“Good night,” Sam answered, turning his back toward Donovan. Soon he heard Donovan’s gentle snore. He rolled onto his back, turning his head to look at Donovan’s sleeping form. He stared at him for a long time, too wiped out to even think. The waves lapped gently against the shore in a peaceful, irregular rhythm that soothed him. Finally, he closed his eyes and slept.