Page 44 of Shipwrecked

“There’s a drag, but not a strong current,” I answer. “I brought rope and knives. If we put together a raft, we can ferry things over.”

“Bamboo stalks,” Seán says, looking at the treeline.

“Tied together with the rope and the life jackets for extra buoyancy,” Mary jumps in. She’s sitting on the ground, her leg stretched out in front of her, with her bag clutched in her lap. “We can help with that.” She glances at Charles, who’s sitting next to her.

He nods. “I’ll get the bamboo, you do the weaving.”

The group detaches everything from the life jackets and starts carrying them to the treeline. The sun is too intense to work in directly. I linger, securing my survival knife to my waist. Seán pops open the satellite phone box. Cushioning foam cradles the broken device. Seán looks from the snapped antenna to me. I meet his eyes and say nothing.

Without a word, he picks up the phone, takes it apart, puts it back together, and tries turning it on. He has as much luck as I did. He takes it apart again and studies the battery. He leans over to me and shows it in the light. With his finger, he points out the hairline crack going through the centre of the battery.

The last of the hope that he’d be able to repair it snuffs out. “Alright,” I say. “We’re about to be loaded up with supplies anyway, and we’re going to be found soon. Let’s go get some bamboo stalks.” I nudge him to come with me, and we go together, out of earshot of the others, into the jungle.

“When you say the radio is gone, what do you mean?” Seán asks. “The yacht looks intact from here.”

“The cockpit is crushed,” I say. “Parts of the emergency beacon are still there, its bracket is crushed into it. I think it got destroyed before it sent out any signal. If it was working, rescuers would be here by now.”

Seán rubs his face as we reach the bamboo grove.

“It’ll just be a few more days,” I say. “We weren’t on some secret trip where nobody knew where we were. They’ll be searching—”

“In the wrong place,” Seán cuts in, an edge in his voice. “I told the resort we were making our way back to the mainland, and I told the mainland we were making our way back to the resort. That’s a huge in-between, and even if they guess what our route was, we got so blown off track in that storm we might not be in the same vicinity.”

I stop and turn to face Seán. “They’ll find us. We’re keeping a smoke signal going, and the yacht is a perfect landmark for anyone searching from the air. Your dad is probably ten miles east, circling islands as we speak.”

Seán’s chest heaves. “He thinks we’re dead.”

“He thinks we miraculously survived a freak storm and are stranded on an island, waiting for him to come find us.” Seán’s dad saved my life when I was a teenager and gave me a safe friend in Seán that I had only ever dreamed of having. “My dad is probably on the phone telling him to stop looking because we’re dead. He probably said that after a day, if anyone even mentioned the fact that we’re missing to him. And if my dad would say or think that, then your dad never would.”

Seán rubs his face again, grimacing when he jars his bad shoulder, still in a rigged-up, falling-apart windbreaker sling. I can get it into a proper sling now. If I hadn’t broken the phone, I’d have been able to get him a doctor.

“The anti-inflammatories will help,” I say.

Seán drops his hand, brows pinched.

“With the pain.”

“It’s not that bad,” Seán says. “You’re right about Dad. I’m sorry. I should be the one stepping up, but it’s you that’s doing it.”

“If it was my shoulder wrecked, you’d be the one doing the physical labour. And you’re the one taking care of everyone.” I’m keeping everyone fed and watered, but Seán, Mathieu and Jules are the ones I’m truly watching.

◆◆◆

Jules and Mathieu are gone by the time we get back to the camp entrance. Two figures move across the raised rear deck. The bamboo stalks in my arms creak.

“They went over to organise things,” Mary says. She’s sitting, checking the rope for fraying.

“Or gone over to eat,” Darren says, laying out some bamboo poles.

“He won’t take a bite out of anything without making sure there’s enough for everyone first,” I say.

“Right.” Darren straightens. “You’re an expert on Jules after a week of ‘concussion’ watch.”

“Darren, come on.” Willow looks up from where she’s helping Mary organise the ropes. “Not the time or place.”

Anger burns in Darren’s eyes. Jealousy, too. Darren’s growing irritation with the sleeping arrangements hasn’t escaped my notice, and Mathieu’s tendency to stick to Jules at all times hasn’t escaped Darren’s notice.

The anger in his eyes doesn’t match his body language as he shrugs loosely. He directs his attention to Willow. “I’m sure you know Yasop better than any of us. There are things you know about people you date that nobody else does. And I dated Jules for two years, so I know that he—”