Stupid.
“See the little sandy patch?” I ask, using my oar to point so Dana can see where I’m looking. He nods. “That’s where we’re headed. No need to slow down. We want to run aground, so it’s easier to pull the kayak out.”
“Okay.”
He sounds breathless. I imagine he’s nervous. I get it. I am, too. This is far too close for my liking.
As the distance between us and the island closes, I begin feeling fat drops of water. One on my head. It’s so heavy it almost feels sharp. On my arm. My shoulder. My thigh.
They start falling more rapidly. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
As the nose of the kayak hits the sand, the sky opens, and it’s as if there are buckets of chilled water dumped on us. Dana gasps, his mouth opening wide as he looks around. His eyes meet mine, and I can’t help but laugh at his expression as I jump out and haul the kayak further up the tiny beach.
I offer my hand and help Dana out. “Grab the rope and help me get this out of the water.”
He certainly doesn’t want to be stuck in a downpour. I’m trying really hard not to laugh at the way he’s trying to hold his arms away from his body, as if he’s disgusted by the whole thing.
We’re already sopping wet. We can’t possibly get more wet.
I grab the end of the kayak as it leaves the water. “Into the trees,” I instruct as a burst of wind comes whipping around the trees. It’s so sudden and strong that I shift an inch. The water begins lapping loudly at the shore.
Waves don’t form on small lakes like this. It’s a large lake, but it’s not anywhere near as big as one of the Great Lakes. But the water can still become wild and dangerous, which it’s trying to be. It reaches up to lap at my feet, pulling back a whole lot of sand as it retreats, taking my footing with it.
I let Dana lead us into the trees. We need to get away from the shore and secure the kayak so it’s not somehow stripped from the island, leaving us completely stranded here. Especially considering we don’t have cell service. Those warnings were all over the website when I was researching this lake.
I told a handful of people where we were headed, and if they didn’t hear from me by Tuesday, then they should be concerned. But that’s four days from now. I didn’t think this through because it wasn’t something I thought to truly consider a possibility.
“Here’s good,” I tell him and guide him to the two trees I’m eyeing. They’re spaced a distance from each other where we can tie up either end of the kayak, and it shouldn’t go anywhere. “There’s a small cabin on the island,” I tell Dana as I begin untying the items in the kayak. “We’ll take shelter there until the storm passes.”
Dana glances up at the treetop canopy, squinting through the falling rain. It’s less harsh within the trees, but the rainfall is still steady and the drops feel even bigger. He nods and helps me untie our bags.
I open the rubber bag around my backpack and shove the first aid kit inside. “You have any room in yours for the emergency supply bag?” I ask, pointing.
He nods and stuffs it inside while I begin getting the kayak secured to the tree closest to me. I move to the other side and tie it up tightly. After giving the kayak a hard few tugs to make sure it’s secure, I shrug out of the life vest and tie it to my pack, and then help Dana do the same.
“Where’s the cabin?” he asks, looking around as I help him into his pack.
“I don’t know exactly. The island isn’t huge. Only about a square mile. But it’s not a straight line, so we might have to look for a bit.”
A rumble of thunder, louder and closer, penetrates the canopy. Dana shivers. He nods at my answer.
I pick up the tote of food, and we begin walking away from the kayak. Thankfully, the kayak itself is bright yellow. Even if we don’t know exactly where we left it, it will be found again easily enough.
“Just keep walking straight,” I tell him. “Keep an eye out.”
Dana nods again.
The trees are getting heavy with the rain. Limbs are drooping, acting like funnels for streams of water. There are kids’ water parks where a bucket will slowly fill overhead and then, when it’s reached its tipping point, will roll over and dump water on you.
It feels like the trees are filled with these water traps. I try very hard not to burst out laughing when a bucket of water dumps over Dana’s head and he gasps loudly.
“Oh my god,” he says, shaking his hands as if they’ll dry off. When he looks at me, I struggle really hard to hide my smile.
Thankfully, he’s a really good sport. The horror at being dumped on by an invisible bucket in the trees turns into him fighting a smile. “These woods are mean,” he mutters and turns back to walking.
I grin when his back is toward me again.
My feet make slurching sounds with each step. I feel soggy. Soaked to my bones. Dana stops and points ahead. At first, I think he’s found our cabin, but I see that he’s actually pointing to the shore that he can see through the trees. The water is churning, much angrier now than it had been when we left the opposite end of the island.
