‘Yeah, didn’t hurt a bit,’ Ozzy insists.
The sky rumbles, distant and low. It makes me glance up. The light is… off. Not dramatic yet, but dulled, like a filter has been laid over everything – or taken away, I guess, because the weather is usually so perfect it looks fake. It’s giving less Bahamas, more Blackpool. I squint at the horizon, half-expecting the apocalypse to roll in with a laugh track. Even the birds have shut up. When the island goes quiet, you know something’s about to go wrong.
I wish I knew what Simon’s weather guy was saying about all of this.
Although I guess there’s no need. The heavens have ripped open. No warning rumbles. No polite drizzle. Just a sudden, violent wall of rain, battering us. The storm is officially here, then.
Squeals, swear words, scrambling to our feet – we all head to our shelter, only for the top to blow right off it the second we get there. The wind is really kicking up, bending the palm trees, taking what few things we have and sending them hurtling down the beach. Even if we chased after them, where would we put them?
Then the voice of the island crackles over the nearest speaker, but it’s not playful, or dramatic, or full of innuendo like usual. It’s urgent. Panicked even.
‘Islanders. Proceed to the storm shelter immediately,’ it says. ‘Stay calm and move quickly. I repeat – proceed to the shelter now.’
Not one person stays calm. We go nought to stampede right away.
Tony’s already halfway across the sand (so he can actually run) before the voice finishes speaking. Camilla bolts after him (so I guess she doesn’t have anyone who runs for her). Honey squeals and pelts after them. Lockie and Ozzy turn at the same moment, their instincts kicking in at the same time.
I sprint as fast as my feet will let me, but the wet sand has turned into a slip ’n’ slide and my left foot goes out from under me without warning. I hit the ground with a splat, right as I reach the trees, meaning – just my luck – I land in the mud. For a second, I contemplate just lying there and letting the elements do their worst. I know, I’m paranoid about going viral, but one fall is a fall. What if I keep getting up and falling down, again and again – I’m not ready to become a meme. Probably not worth dying for, though.
‘Shit!’ I blurt.
I try to scramble up but the mud just keeps slipping, giving me nothing to grip, no way to get back on my feet.
I look up in time to see Ozzy turn back. He hesitates, just for a fraction of a second. His eyes flick to the treeline, the storm, the others sprinting ahead. It’s a moment of calculation, pure survival brain.
Lockie doesn’t hesitate at all. He doubles back immediately, skidding in the mud, practically sliding into me.
‘I’ve got you, it’s okay,’ he says.
He scoops me up, one arm under my knees, the other around my back, and runs with me in his arms.
The raindrops are so big they almost hurt, pounding my skin, getting in my eyes, making it almost impossible to see.
Tony stands by the shelter hatch, waving frantically.
‘Quick, quick,’ he calls out.
We reach the hatch just as a gust almost rips the door from his hands. We all pile inside, squashing up tight like we’re playing sardines, so that Tony can close the door.
Instant darkness, then dim emergency lights buzz to life. It’s so cramped – shoulders touching shoulders, knees overlapping, someone’s elbow in someone else’s ribs.
It smells like the apocalypse in here, and it sounds like it outside. Wind roaring, rain thrashing against everything, the sound of palm trees snapping like twigs.
Honey wipes at her face, trying to flick the water from her eyes.
‘I’ve watched every series ofWelcome to Singledomand I’ve never seen weather before. Like, bad weather. Not ever.’
‘It isSurvival of the Fittest,’ Ozzy reminds her.
‘I thought that meant, like, hotness,’ she replies.
Obviously it’s a pun.
‘I guess the show is closer to storm season this year,’ Lockie points out, still catching his breath.
I give him a sideways look. He’s the reason we’re filming this late – all his new ideas, which are working out just wonderfully for us, by the way. I’d say something, but he did just carry me to safety, so I’ll hold my tongue… for now.
Camilla’s hugging her knees, horrified.
