kStandard Disclaimers apply. Reviews appreciated. Happy Dances encouraged.
Castaway
Chapter Two: The First…
The first time Alec prayed, it went a little something like this…
Hey… you…
I've never done this before. And I'm not really sure that you exist. And if you do exist, I don't know how I fit into the grand scheme of things, cuz hey! Made in a lab, here. I had a surrogate, so I popped out pretty normal like, and that's gotta count for something, right? So… if you do exist… just hear me out?
I don't want to die.
Ummm…
Amen?
It was not a prayer to make saints weep or choirs sing, but it was simple and honest and it brought him a small measure of comfort.
Max and Alec huddled under the orange tarp, well aware that the next wave could be the one to capsize them, the next gust the one to rip their only protection from the elements away.
Max was unaware of Alec's profound moment, busy as she was digging through the life kit that had been stashed under one of the seats, tied securely next to a small amount of spare fuel. What she discovered both made her want to cry in delight and weep in misery.
Rich people were idiots.
The kit contained many of the necessities that life boats were required to carry. Such as the highly visible tarp they were now crouched under. It contained a flare gun, a small radio, as well as a radio transmitter. None of them looked as though they'd seen sunshine since the year 2000.
The food and water required by international law, however, had been replaced with caviar and champagne.
Max wanted to throw up.
They cruise operators couldn't update the tools they needed to survive, but they could make sure their rich patrons wouldn't have to dine on anything as base as an M.R.E.? Either the owners of this cruise line were retarded, or they genuinely believed that their ship would never come to harm and were allowed to cut corners because of lax post-pulse regulation and a lot of money. Max was inclined to believe it was an unhealthy mixture of all of these things, and she'd never hated life more.
The only thing that kept her from provoking Alec into killing her was the regulations they hadn't broken, i.e. the tarp and the radios, the fuel and the oars, and the very old fishing rod strapped to the inside of the boat. It was something, anyway…
And there was one more item at the bottom of the kit that she couldn't bring herself to pull out.
The knowledge that Logan would find her was the only thing that kept her from really and truly crying. From considering what deliriousness and lack of water would do to her body. That in a week's time she could ask Alec to take the knife from the bottom of the kit and just end it. Or better yet, one small snap. It would be ironic, wouldn't it? She'd killed his twin that way; she could very well ask him to do the same to her when delirium set in... The thought left her horrified. So she held on to her faith in Logan.
She realized that her faith could be a pipe dream… that it would surely burn away into despair over the next few days, but for now, it offered her a modicum of comfort.
Alec's eyes flicked over everything she had pulled from the kit. Watching the disgust and despair war on Max's face as she pulled the champagne from the box, the only thing he could think was,
If I've got to die, at least I can go with a decent buzz going.
It was ridiculous and insane, but Alec had long ago accepted that he was never sure what his brain was going to contribute, and so shook his head, controlled the hysterical laughter that threatened to erupt from his chest, and took another shot at the praying thing that ordinaries set so much store by. At least he tried to… he kept getting distracted by the howling of the wind, the wild rocking of the boat, and the way in which Max kept turning the radio beacon over and over again in her hand.
The first time Alec awoke in that dismal dinghy, it was to a calm sky overhead. And a worried Max hovering over him.
"What?" He croaked, sitting up from his uncomfortable position.
"Nothing," She muttered. She wanted to hit him, to scream at him, to throw him in the water. He'd fallen asleep as the worst of the storm had hit and how he'd managed to remain asleep as the boat had rocked wildly was beyond her. She assumed it was something that he'd learned at Manticore.
The real reason she wanted to hurt him, though, was because of how alone she'd felt. She couldn't admit to him that she'd hovered over him, anxious, as the first rays of sunshine had broken. That the stretching emptiness of the ocean terrified her on primal levels she hadn't known existed. That she'd waited for him to wake.
Of course she didn't wake him up, though, because she was sure the nattering would begin shortly after the fact, and she didn't want to kill him until absolutely necessary.
Alec blinked eyes that had been caked with a thin layer of sea salt. The ocean stretched as far as the eye could see. Alec imagined that if you could sit in the middle of eternity, this is what it would feel like.
"Why aren't we under the tarp?" He demanded. Had it blown away in the night?
"Relax, hero." She groused. "It's folded behind me. I just wanted to stretch my neck for a bit." And get in some much needed sunshine. Last night had been terrifying.
Alec must have sensed that, because instead of lecturing her about the sun, its reflection upon the water, or the necessity of staying under wraps, he simply nodded and pushed himself up onto the bench. He gazed morosely across the waters. The ship wreck of the previous day might as well have been a dream.
"Where are we?" He asked, drained and defeated.
She shrugged, her voice making her out to be far less concerned than she truly was. "I don't know. The good people of Sunshine Cruise Inc. didn't feel the need to provide us with a map or a compass. And the storm pushed us pretty far last night. There's no sign of any wreckage. We could be miles away from our charted course…" Her voice faltered and failed as she lost the ability to fake nonchalance. The radio beacon in her hands was turned over and back again.
Alec's eyes followed the movement. "Max?" He asked gently, uncharacteristically.
She smiled grimly across at him. "I can't make up my mind. The explosion… it must have been White." Her eyes dropped to the beacon.
"And if we activate the beacon…" His words trailed off
It'd be like a big ole' sign, pointing straight at them, reading "C'mon cult loonies, come and get it!"
"But if we don't…" Max left the words unsaid.
If they didn't, their hope of rescue would dwindle to a statistical improbability bordering on the impossible.
"Max, a rescue is a rescue, even if your savior happens to be the devil…" He smiled, in the first sign of liveliness since he'd woken. "Plus, we could always rough 'em up once we're on dry land." He pulled his fists in tight, making little jabs like a boxer. He stopped when he realized his masculine performance was doing little to impress her.
"I know…" She said, eyes still trained on the device that could be their salvation, unable to respond to the smile in his voice. "But you know what Logan said…"
"About the Biblically Bad Phenomenon that's turned you into a tattooed handbook for world peace?"
She rolled her eyes. "In so many words, yeah."
"What about it?"
Wide eyes held his and she let a little of her soul leak through. "Can I really afford to just hand myself over to them? If I'm supposed to be some sort of…" Here she faltered, finding it hard to put words to something that should only be in the realm of science fiction. After a moment, she pressed on. "If I'm supposed to be the savior of mankind, can I really just hand myself to the enemy?"
He looked askance at her, mouth twisting. "Max, would you listen to yourself? How can you be a savior if you die from exposure? We don't have a lot of choice in this."
"Yes, we do." She insisted. "X-series can survive about a week without food or water."
He almost laughed. Almost. "You're suggesting you just let the wind take us wherever it may blow and hope we make it out of this?"
"Wind's not taking us anywhere, Pretty Boy." She looked pointedly at the oars.
"Maax," he whined. "That's why there's a motor."
"We have one spare gallon of gas that I'm not wasting just because you don't want to get sweaty. Now get cracking."
"Fine," he grumbled. "But we are so taking turns."
As he pulled the oars from their strappings, a thought occurred to him.
"Hey, Max, lemme at some of that champagne." When she just glared at him, he sighed. "I'll be more likeable." He wheedled.
"Eew." Her face scrunched in disgust, the mental image of a slobbery Alec coming on to her almost turning her stomach.
"Anyways, I can't." She breezed, indicating the bottle at her feet. It was almost empty.
"Jeez, Max."
"Shut up." She snapped, "I emptied it out and drained the dew from the tarp into it."
Alec had to admit that she had done the sensible thing.
Why did the sensible thing always have to suck the joy from his life?
It became rapidly apparent that broad shoulders aside, there was no way Alec would be able to row by himself. The life boat was just a hair too wide. So Max unhappily took the seat next to him. Yes, being in close proximity to Alec was uncomfortable, but worse was the realization that they wouldn't be able to take turns, cutting their mobility time in half. There was no helping it, though, so they rowed in silence, Alec strangely subdued.
The first time Alec took his shirt off, Max's tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. Yes, she'd seen him shirtless before. But the pressing nature of all of those shirtless situations (breeding program, the rapidly declining window of opportunity for Logan lovins', et cetera) hadn't exactly let her 'take it all in'. Didn't help that this time he was sweaty and the repetitive nature of the rowing made his muscles bunch and ripple in fascinating ways.
She decided the heat was getting to her, and that she would shoot herself later. Or... y'know... gouge out her eyeballs or something. More likely she'd take it out on him, but that would only be after she got over her embarassment.
The first time Alec saw Max blush, he decided that god did exist. End of story. He wasn't stupid enough to point it out to her, though.
Silence stretched, with only the sound of the oars slapping the water to distract them from their melancholy.
Alec, strangely enough, couldn't bring himself to chatter mindlessly at her. The circumstances were too dire, too unbelievable, too down right frightening… His brain was working at a mile a minute, but he found the rhythm of rowing soothing, and didn't want to break it by pretending to be cheerful when he was anything but. He couldn't believe how calm she was about all this... or even how calm he was, all things considered. 'All things' being the fact that they were stranded in to the middle of the ocean with almost no hope of rescue... Maybe... maybe when they came down to it... Maybe they really did put a lot of faith in the fact that she was the 'savior' of mankind. He frowned...
Or maybe he'd just never thought it'd end like this...
Day stretched into night. Alec pulled the shirt back over his raw, red skin, pulled the tarp over their heads, and slumped low into the belly of the boat. Max moved across from him, each movement stiff and pained. Even her winces hurt.
Were they two genetically revved up superhumans? Yeah. Could they row the hell out of those oars? Hell yeah. Did they come with magical, 100 percent UV ray blocking skin? No more than any other human. And it doesn't matter who you are; sunburns suck.
Magical skin they may not have. Fast healing capabilities? Check! Alec woke up feeling better than when he'd turned in. Once again, Max had already stowed the tarp. Wordlessly, she handed him the champagne bottle. He took a swig, more to clear his mouth than anything else. The water was slightly stale and held a hint of champagne, but it was better than nothing. And the day started all over again.
Only this time, his spirits had returned a little bit, and he was feeling especially chatty. The rhythmic novelty of rowing had quickly worn off. Now, he was just down right bored.
Max thought of the knife in the bottom of the kit, but decided the sound of his voice was better than the silence.
Alec regaled her with tales of survival training. Only a few short days ago, Max would have told him to shut it, but today she listened. Try as he might, though, he couldn't get her to join the conversation with anything other than monosyllabic contributions.
He told her everything he knew about the geography of the Pacific Ocean. He left out how deep it was. He didn't think she would appreciate that. Some of it she knew. Which is why, contrary to what some people might do, they were not headed east, but southwest. To the east lay open water. They'd never make it to the coastline of America, and with the radio beacon still unactivated, they'd never be found. It was frankly impossible. To the southwest though, provided they were somewhat near the original course of the cruise ship, lay the French Polynesians.
Well, the former French Polynesians. They hadn't been connected to France since the Pulse. The Pulse hadn't just affected America. You bring down the basis of the world economy, other cards tumble as well.
There was a very real possibility the cruise might have passed Polynesia… they weren't sure. Alec had been busy flirting and Max had been busy being neurotic in the cabin… Their argument had lasted a half hour, each trying to blame the other for not being more observant. They lapsed into a cold silence that lasted the rest of the day.
But still, if it wasn't that group of islands, there were still the Marshall Islands to hope for. Or the Kiribati, Konga, Samoa, or hell, maybe even Fiji. Point being, the west Pacific Ocean was chock-full of islands. Hundreds of islands. To the west lay their only chance of salvation. And so they rowed west.
And rowed.
And rowed.
And rowed.
On the third day, they split the caviar, coming to an uneasy truce that wasn't quite enough to break the silence between them. They didn't hate the caviar as much as they thought they would. The fishing rod had yet to pull anything from the ocean. Alec surmised that some bait would have been helpful in this situation. Max pointed out that they'd just eaten the bait. Alec, still angry about the names she'd shouted at him the previous day, didn't say much after that. Their sunburns took a little bit longer to heal. Max thought longingly of lotion.
The fourth day passed much the same. Except that, ass kicking aside, sometimes it sucked to be a girl. Salt coated her hair, her face, her clothes. And though Alec might not have a problem with being grimy, Max was longing for O.C. and her cucumbers. What's worse, unlike Alec, she couldn't just pull off her shirt to escape some of the stickiness she felt. No way she was letting Alec get a peep show. Especially since he was so damn unobservant, he didn't even know if they were past Polynesia or not.
Her thoughts, though, were half-hearted.
The two transgenics were weakening faster than they'd expected. The combination of the constant rowing, the sun, the very little water… It was all taking its toll. On day five, they broke their silence and estimated that they had about a week left of life in them (provided that they actually managed to catch a fish anytime soon). Granted the last couple days of said life would be spent broken and delirious…
The first time Max really and truly wanted to cry was on the sixth day. Every day, Alec was sleeping a little bit longer. Each day, it was taking him a little bit longer to shake his grogginess away. They were both red now, sunburns no longer disappearing overnight like they had at first. Alec was looking a little worse for wear... The truth started to set in. Alec had more mass than her. It took more to keep him running. He was degenerating faster than she was.
She didn't know what she would do if he died before her. She only knew that she would go insane when it happened. She didn't think she could be out here, in the middle of nowhere, by herself... And more than that, she couldn't be the cause for another friend's death. When she handed him the bottle, she lied and told him she'd already taken her share of the water. She only felt relief as he drank it all.
The first time Max had prayed, it had been in a hospital chapel, while the man she loved was dying because of her.
The second time Max prayed, it was a garbled mess of selfishness and selflessness. She prayed that god would let her die first, so she wouldn't have to watch Alec's mind and body wither away. She prayed that god would let them die simultaneously, and then prayed that god would let them live. She prayed that no matter what, Logan and Asha would never get together. And then, because she was feeling foolish for asking god for help, she prayed for food to rain from the sky. Then she told god to fuck off.
Needless to say, her prayers went unanswered.
The sixth day was also the day Alec took the homing beacon from under the seat and turned it on. Max didn't say anything. Not at first.
Then she took a long, hard look at him.
"I don't hate you." Her voice was gravelly with disuse and with salt. It startled her, but not as much as her words startled him.
He shook his head, fear numbing his soul. "Don't say that."
A little bit of fire filled her and she scowled at him. "You don't get to dictate my dying words, pal."
His smile was wan, but it warmed her anyway. "Since when have you ever given up?" He leaned forward in earnestness, hands reaching forward to capture hers, his eyes bright. "We're going to get out of this."
Smiling felt good to her and she let her hands rest in his for just a moment before pulling away in discomfort. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to be all comforting in a crisis."
He grinned. "Yeah, well, you suck at girly stuff."
That's when the first fat drop of rain hit her nose.
The clouds piled on top of each other faster than they would have ever believed possible. At least, they wouldn't have believed it possible if they hadn't lived in Seattle for the past year, where gray skies and rain were a fact of life. Still, their gentle happiness, the last true warm moment they thought they'd ever share, was broken.
The first time Max cried was the first time Alec really and truly held her. Huddled underneath the tarp as the choppy waters battered their small boat, he wrapped both arms around her, murmuring comfortingly into her hair. She hated that she was crying, she hated that he was comforting her, she hated that they were here. But more than any of that... she was terrified.
She really did hate the ocean.
Her keening wails, of fear and loss and anger, were drowned out by the howl of the wind, but they tore at his heart just the same.
Alec was angry, but it didn't stop him from whispering soothing nothings to her, words she couldn't even hear over her tears and the wind. But she could feel his lips moving against her scalp, feel the gentle puffs of his breath, and it meant something to her.
He told her why he was angry. He told her that they couldn't go out this way. That it wasn't fair. They should die fighting. If Max's worst fear was realized and they did drown, it would be the greatest cosmic joke of the century. And Alec was convinced that if god existed, he had no sense of humor and he was just a sick bastard, and so there was no way they were going to drown.
So maybe his words weren't that comforting. But it was the thought that counted. And she couldn't hear him anyway, so what did it matter?
There was no way to know which way the storm pushed them. This time, though, the gale didn't last into nightfall and beyond. It stopped as evening approached.
The first time they saw land, it was nothing more than a gray haze on the horizon. They wouldn't even recognize that it was land until the morning of the seventh day.
Max was the first to wake up. The first to see the chain of islands stretched ahead in the distance. The first to laugh aloud in delight and disbelief. The noise of the motor being started had Alec sitting up slowly, shaking sleep off.
He couldn't admit, even to himself, that he was disappointed that Max wasn't in his arms.
Screw that.
He could admit it. It was the stress and the nerves and being hundreds of miles from safety. So he wanted human contact. Big deal. Yeah, maybe he was transgenic, genetically gifted. He was still a human. Mostly human, anyway. Still a social animal that craved contact in times of distress.
Still, never, ever going to admit that to Max, though.
So instead he let himself be burgeoned by the sight of the islands in the distance. Laughed with Max. Pulled her close. Kissed the top of her head in wonder. Let himself hope for the first time in days as those distant isles rapidly loomed larger…
And yet, not that large.
The first "island" they passed was little more than a rock jutting from the sea. Tall and jagged, no life, except maybe some algae, grew on its slimy surfaces. They didn't stop.
The next few islets were small. Still, the hope didn't dim. Just eyeballing the shoreline, though, told them all they needed to know. No more than a mile or so across, none of these islands held anything more than a spattering of tropical plants, birds, insects, and bats.
It was obvious this was a chain of underwater volcanoes that had died long before they'd finished pushing their heads past the choppy waves of the ocean. Some of the watery projections and sandbars could be the products of a reef, but since it made no difference to the matter of their survival, other than possibly housing a bountiful food supply, they didn't dwell on it.
Only one island looked large enough to hold human life. It was rapidly looming larger, far larger than any of the other atolls they passed. Eventually, it filled their vision, and they had to decide which to do, circumvent the island or stop, trek the island on foot, and determine if there was anyone on it, or if there were any more islands past it. The way volcanic islands were formed, any island past this one would only be larger, and hence it would be more likely they'd be rescued by someone other than a snake worshipper.
Thirst and hunger made the decision easy. They stopped.
The first time her boot hit sand, she laughed in happiness. And then sat down rather abruptly as she realized the ground wasn't rocking for a change and dizziness overwhelmed her… Alec didn't do much better, not so much stepping out of the boat as tumbling out.
If he could have inhaled the sand, kissed the grit, he would have. Instead he flung an arm over her abdomen and smiled across at her. He was weak. He was tired. God, he was fucking tired. But he was on dry land…
And she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Her red tan face pressed against the pale sand, the warm yellow sun brightening her dark hair. He'd never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in his life. Part of him realized it was a reaction to their horrendous ordeal. That he wanted to prove he was still alive. The other part of him didn't care what his motivations were.
Max, however, didn't know what to make of his intense scrutiny. She stared into his hazel eyes for a long moment, before looking away, unable to stand the heat of his gaze or the meaning behind it. She was sure she looked as terrible as she felt, and it was with a groan that she rolled away from him and pushed herself to her feet.
"Come on, Not So Pretty Boy," She quipped with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. "Let's pull the boat on shore and get moving."
"Jeez, Max." He muttered. "Why not just call me Ugly Boy and get it over with." He scratched at seven days worth of scruff on his face, hiding his disappointment that she'd moved away from him so quickly.
"Whatever, Mountain Man. Get your ass in gear."
He wanted to tell her his ass was dehydrated and hungry and could she at least appreciate the fact that they'd almost died and take it a wee bit slower? But the excitement and the happiness gave him a rush of adrenaline he hadn't been expecting, so he bounced to his feet and moved in next to her. Their combined efforts and a few minutes of struggling and groaning and their boat was far enough up on the beach that they wouldn't be screwed should the tide come in.
They agreed they'd be far more likely to find fresh water in the tropical forest that stretched before them than along the shore line. So the took a moment to get their bearings, stared hard at the sun, agreed that it was crazy they were setting out without a compass, grabbed the knife from the bottom of their kit, and finally set out.
Animalistic stalkers of prey, they were not. Great bumbling hunks of flesh whose gaits were more kin to the weaving steps of a drunk… little bit closer to the truth. Originally they'd planned to leave marks in the tree trunks they passed, but the wake of destruction behind them, trampled underbrush, squished fungi, and broken branches, would be the only thing they'd need to find their way back to the beach.
They sniped at each other, comparing each other to every lumbering animal they could think of. If she was a hippo, then he was a rhino. If he was a bear, than she was a cow. She didn't much like the cow analogy. Or the hippo one, for that matter. He'd gotten smacked upside the head more times in the past two minutes than he had during the entire week. But it was nice. They were falling back into their easy, snarky ways of dealing with each other. On many levels, it was comforting. And it kept them moving when the adrenaline faded and all they wanted to do was stop and sleep.
The first pool of water they found, they did not immediately drink from. Fed from a series of waterfalls sluicing off the side of the ground down, long-dead volcano, they stumbled across it by accident. He might have made a comment about her hair and rats' nests and she might have shoved him a little bit harder then she should have, causing him to stumble through large ferns and onto a rock overlooking the pool. They hadn't even noticed the sound of the water over their banter and their wooziness. They would have walked right by it and never known.
That didn't mean she was going to thank him for commenting on her hair. Nor was he going to thank her for the cut in his jeans and the scrape on his knee.
Bitch.
Bastard.
Name calling, however, was eventually discarded as more important arguments were made.
"Look at it this way. Say there is a dead animal upstream, and the water is polluted, and we die. If this is the only water we come across, we die anyway." He rationalized. They'd sat, just staring at water in torment for the last five minutes, both thinking of all the reasons why they shouldn't drink from a pool in the middle of a jungle that they knew nothing about.
She bit her lip. She really didn't want to play devil's advocate about this; she wanted to clear her mouth of salt and grime, she wanted to wash her face, she wanted to stop being thirsty for the first time in days. So she nodded, and they carefully picked their way down the rocky incline to the water's edge.
With each sip, her mind came back into focus. Each small trickle of cool water past his lips scrubbed a little bit more of the fogginess from the recesses of his brain. Nothing felt better though, than when they finally caved and submerged themselves beneath the moving waters, coming up sputtering, cold, but cleaner than they'd been in days.
Max relaxed, if just for a moment, ignoring the sharp pricks of crushed rocks beneath her in favor of the warmth of the sunlight, more visible in this clearing than in the jungle that surrounded them. Alec, like the little monkey he was, was scampering over boulders, moving away from her. She stifled the irrational fear of being left alone. He was intent upon something, and if it stopped him from comparing her to any more animals, she could deal.
"Hey, Max, look at this!" He called from his spot near the waterfall.
"Look at what?" She called back lazily, eyes tracing the glistening spray of water.
"There's a cave back here."
She sat up as Alec's head disappeared behind the curtain of water.
"Eww. Alec don't go in there."
"Why not?" Even from this distance, his smile was nothing if not roguish as his head popped back into view.
"There could be bats in there. Or bugs. Or something else gross." She protested.
He shrugged, moving back towards her. "One man's pestilent flying mammal, another man's dinner."
"Okay. Gross. Never say that again." Man, what she would kill for some chicken right now. Or even some pasta. Say what you want about Logan, man knew how to cook pasta…
Wait…
Logan.
"That's enough poking around. Let's get moving." She pushed herself up, her frown sucking all the joy from the atmosphere.
"Come on, Max." He caught up with her as she made her way up the incline. "Aren't you just the littlest bit curious?"
"No."
"Not even the teeniest bit?"
"I said no, Alec." She stopped to look at him, shaking her head. "Do you really want to split up, 'cause you're starting to piss me off."
He frowned at her. Well yeah, if she was going to turn back into uber-bitch, who wouldn't want to split up? But still. "We're in this together, Max. Plus, hey." He waved his hands around, indicating the jungle around them. "Middle of the jungle here. No way to communicate… Could be a problem."
"Then let's get going. 'Together.'" She rolled her eyes, making air quotations as she mocked him. "Preferably now."
"Fine, fine," he grumbled, sparing one last glance at the waterfall and the hidden depths behind it. His mouth pursed and his eyes narrowed. You never know what will come in handy.
The spotty light filtering from above made the atmosphere positively gloomy. Sure, Max was used to gray Seattle skies, but the dappled light was depressing her spirits better than any visualization of Logan and Asha together would ever do. Alec, having picked up on her bitchiness at the waterfall, was doing his best to remain silent.
Even though he was bursting with knowledge and a newfound respect for life and he wanted to tell her everything that was occurring to him.
Like those strange screeches in the air around them were not the products of birds, but of monkeys. Although he thought that he might have heard a parrot…
No, Alec did not have any idea where they were, other than that they were on a small chain of islands, south of the equator but far enough north to be tropical. Closer to New Zealand and they wouldn't be seeing plants like this… They had to be in what was known as a "wet" tropical environment, because none of the trees they passed were deciduous. Which meant no long period of drought, thank god, but it also meant lots and lots of rain…
Guess living on the beach wasn't going to happen.
God, why was he even thinking like that? As if they were going to be stuck here long enough to make a permanent solution to their nonexistent housing difficulties. If White's snake loonies didn't get them, then surely Logan, Max's knight in whirring armor, would come for them.
So he continued playing walking dictionary in his head. Fungi. The ground of a rainforest only receives about two percent of sunlight, so not much else would grow on the floor. But hey, bonus! Cuz they could walk fairly easily among the trees (provided they don't get shoved through some ferns by self-conscious females or trip over buckling tree roots… totally not his fault she didn't see that). Decaying plant and animal matter would disappear rapidly thanks to the warmth and wetness of the environment. Lots of insects, though… Wonder how hungry he'd have to be to eat that caterpillar right there.
Max, watching Alec eye a caterpillar, didn't even want to know what was going on his mind. First edible fruit she found, she'd be shoving it down his throat, just so she'd never have to see that look of speculation cross his features again.
First edible fruit they found was an unripe mango. He stared mistrusting at it.
"I thought those only grew in the Caribbean."
She rolled her eyes. "Hello, they originated in Southeast Asia." When he paused to look at her strangely she huffed in defense. "What? My boyfriend likes to cook, big deal." And then because she was still feeling defensive. "And what about you? Don't they teach you about this kind of stuff at Manticore? You know, for exactly this kind of situation?"
He frowned, poking at the hard skin. "Fruit 101… Must have slept in that day."
It was sour. Almost as sour as a lemon (Alec secretly wished he had eaten the caterpillar). But it was weight in their stomachs and sugar in their blood, and it left them almost weak kneed.
When they were done, Alec wiped his hands on his jeans, still slightly damp, in hopes to remove a little bit of the stickiness coating his fingers. He stood and stretched, offering a hand to Max which, typically, she didn't take. He shrugged.
"We need to pick up the pace." Max stared hard at the canopy above their heads. What time was it? How long had they been walking? With no way to see the sun, there was no way to determine how close it was to sunset. It didn't take a fertile imagination to guess that it probably got a whole lot darker in here when the sun went down.
"Maybe we can find a snuggly little cave to hole up in. We could make a fire. Make little shadow puppets… Wouldn't that be fun, Max? Hey, Max! Wait up!"
They broke through the canopy and on to a high clearing just in time to see the sunset paint the forest below and the water in the distance startling shades of orange and yellow.
The water. The forest.
No other islands.
No human settlements.
Nothing.
As the sun sank, so did Max, coming to rest on her haunches. Alec followed her down, and they shared their first moment of solidarity, touching shoulders, since that morning.
"It'll be okay, Max."
End Chapter Two