‘Okay, let’s move the beds back up the beach,’ Ozzy suggests. ‘If they dry out in the sun, we can at least sit. And if it rains again…’
‘Let’s not even think about that,’ Tony suggests.
No one argues. Everyone wants a task – anything to make this feel temporary, like we’re past the problem and at the solution.
We carry materials back to where we had them, trying to make things right again. The silence between us is brittle. Every few minutes I look at the cameras, to see if they’re moving again, if there are any signs of life, but no such luck.
Something’s wrong. Something is definitely very, very wrong. I don’t know if it’s with the island, the yacht or both, but it’s bad.
It’s not just the storm, or the mess, or the way the vibe has changed. It’s the feeling that we really are well and truly deserted now. We’re off-grid, off-brand for the most part, and off the rails. For the first time since this started, I think we might actually be on our own. I know Lockie wanted to raise the stakes – I guess he got his wish. Although even Lockie wouldn’t have wanted things to pan out like this. We’re alone, with no idea what’s going on, and no director to tell us what to do.
Reality TV just got real.
19
No matter how much dried mud flakes off my skin, I never feel any cleaner for it.
Everything feels kind of mucky. The air smells earthy, rather than beachy, and the ground feels wet and sloppy underneath my feet. The last thing I need is to fall again (although if I’m going to, better to do it now, before I get cleaned up).
I’m walking with Lockie to the lagoon so that we can get cleaned up. I’m muddy from when I fell and he got covered in second-hand mud when he carried me.
Without really saying as much, I guess we’ve decided to keep up the act – well, imagine if our new friends knew we were show plants now – but also, we don’t really know what’s going on, so best to stick to the script. Still, that doesn’t mean we can’t troubleshoot things together. Or shower together.
‘It doesn’t seem like the cameras are working here either,’ he says as we reach the lagoon.
Wow, it’s so beautiful. It looks perfect – the beauty of it being man-made, with crystal-clear water falling from the waterfall.
‘That’s what I was worried about,’ I say with a sigh. ‘I’ve noticed they’re not following us. It’s a dead giveaway.’
‘So no camera feed, no audio – nothing,’ he continues, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
‘But they wouldn’t just abandon us here,’ I insist. ‘They would send help, send someone to get us, get the show back on the road – something. Anything!’
‘But no one meant to do this, it was the storm,’ he reminds me. ‘It’s probably fried half the tech. If the rig’s down or the signal is blocked, they could be cut off from us completely. Big boats can’t get close, it might not be safe for small boats yet.’
My heart pounds so hard if this were a cartoon you would see it jumping out of my chest.
‘So we’re actually stranded?’ I say, although I know the answer. ‘And all alone?’
I half-expect him to laugh at how silly and dramatic I’m being but he doesn’t. This isn’t some manufactured-for-TV twist, Mother Nature is the showrunner now, and she’s even worse than Simon.
‘Not forever,’ he says, like that will do anything to soothe me right now. ‘They’ll come for us when they can. We just need to keep calm and take care of each other.’
‘You can’t just tell me to “keep calm” and expect me to feel better,’ I insist.
‘Think about the flight here, when the turbulence hit,’ he reminds me. ‘I was there then and I’m here now. Okay?’
I nod reluctantly. He has a point.
‘The good news is that I don’t think the whole island is without power because, look, the waterfall is still running,’ he points out. ‘So not only can we still shower, but it’s a sign of life. Perhaps it’s just the transmitters, for the audio and video that are down, which is why they can’t see or hear us, and we can’t hear them, but they’ll be working on it.’
‘I really hope you’re right,’ I reply. ‘But the show can’t go on, not with everything broken, and the island trashed. They’ll have to send help.’
‘I’m sure they will,’ Lockie replies.
I step under the waterfall, letting the freezing cold water crash over me for the first time, and it’s as shocking as it is invigorating. I can’t help but scream.
Lockie steps under too, to wash the mud away. I try to focus on the feeling of the water, the sound of it crashing, of the pump that carries it to the top so that it can crash down over us. And then I feel Lockie, behind me, his hands finding their way to my shoulders, rubbing them, trying to massage out some of my tension. I let out a little moan. My God, that’s good. For all the bravado and excessive manliness, his touch is actually quite gentle, but firm where it needs to be.
