“I’m certainly not doing my taxes.”
My entire body tenses up and I make a silent growly face at him while miming strangling him. Forcing myself to use a calm voice, I say, “We don’t have time to nap. We need to get down there and find the person or people who will save us!”
Whoops, that didn’t come out quite as calm as I hoped.
“There’s nobody there. A nap is the best choice because we’ll have more energy and will be able to move faster on the way back down.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I say, “Is this one of your old man rules? A nap a day keeps the doctor away?”
“Yup. You should try it. It would improve your mood,” he says without opening his eyes.
Improve my mood? My head is literally going to explode. “You know what’ll improve my mood? A hot shower. A proper meal. Getting to my family who could very well be presuming I’m dead and are planning my funeral right now.”
He opens one eye. “I thought you said they’ll assume you’re still back in the US.”
“Yes, they will, but at some point, they’re going to realize I’m not, and I just can’t lay here napping while they’re all freaking out or starting the grieving process.”
“Trust me. The nap will actually save time.”
I fold my arms. “Never in history has it been written that a nap saved anyone any time.” Putting on an announcer voice, I say, “Ted would’ve won that marathon but then Bob had a big nap in the middle and somehow magically passed him by.” Going back to my normal, or should I say ragey, tone, I add, “That’s not how it works! Naps are a massive time waster. That’s why people invented coffee and … and … cocaine.”
He gives me a smirk that causes me to boil inside. “Since we don’t have either of those things, I’m going to nap.” He pauses, then says, “Unless… You don’t happen to have some coke on you?”
“No, I obviously don’t have any cocaine.”
“All right. In that case, I’m going to sleep. You can either do the same or stand around stomping your feet while you wait.”
“You know what? I’m going to start walking down the mountain.”
“Terrible idea.”
“Why? I’ll just go along the same path we came.”
“You’ll get lost. Google maps doesn’t work out here.”
“I don’t need Google maps. I’m not an idiot,” I tell him. “See you at the cottage. Or not, if I get rescued before you get there.”
With that, I turn and start toward the path, expecting him to get up and follow me. Only he doesn’t. When I get to the clearing in the trees, I look back, only to see him still laying there as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. The truth is, he doesn’t. He has no one waiting for him and no responsibilities, which means he could stay on this stupid island for years and it wouldn’t matter a bit.
A weird feeling stabs at my chest. Is that …jealousy?Can’t be. I’m sure it’s just heartburn from that star fruit.
I hurry down the path as quickly as I can on these tired feet, intending to get such a head start on him that he won’t be able to catch me. I pick up the pace so I’m half-ass jogging, but that only lasts for about ten seconds before I realize it’s a very bad idea on account of the extra pounding on my joints and the fact that the air sacs in my lungs feel like they’ve each been lit on fire by teeny tiny matches.
Yes, I will get there before him. And I can tell those survivor women all about this last horrid week of my life. They’ll serve me cocktails and feed me tacos and say, “Poor, poor Paige. Well, don’t worry. We’ll take care of you.”
It’s that thought that has me propelling down the hill for the next who-knows-how-long on my own. Honestly, I’m starting to get a little delirious and, as it turns out, without my phone or a watch, I literally have no concept of time. For all I know, it could be one in the afternoon or six in the evening. But it doesn’t matter. I’m a woman on a mission, and I’m determined to get there before Mac.
I hear a crack of a branch behind me, and look back over my shoulder, only to see there’s no one there. And … I probably should’ve been watching where I was going because I just tripped on a root and am now screaming while somersaulting down the mountain.
Tuck and roll! Tuck and roll!“Ouch!”
Oh God, that hurts. Stop tucking! Stop rolling! Just stop!“Oof!”
And … I just slammed into a tree.
Mother fucker. Trees should be softer.
Tears prick my eyes and my ankle is throbbing so hard, I’m afraid to look at it. My knee is stinging like a thousand wasps are attacking.
