“I wouldn’t eat random flowers if I didn’t know for sure they were safe.”
“No, I don’t imagine you would.” Elliot plucks another violet. “I feel like I know you, although in another way, I still barely know anything about you.”
“It’s because we’re strangers who looked into the soul of death together,” I point out.
He snorts. “I guess that’s what trauma bonding is.”
I shake my shoulders, trying to lose some of the tension. Of course I’m traumatized by what just happened, but I manage to throw myself back into survival mode and not think about it further.
With a deep breath, I steady. “At least we’re not facing this alone. Two have a much better chance of survival than one.”
Elliot nods. “Totally.” He fills his pockets with some of the flowers he’s picked and gives me a handful, too. After I accept it, I nod down the island, and we both start walking, heading carefully toward the beach.
I totter from side to side as I walk on rocks and sticks with achy, slow steps.
“We might not really know each other,” I say. “But it would be prudent to exchange some practical information. Your legal name is Elliot Peterson, I assume?”
“Yup. And what about you?”
“Henry Hansley.”
“Hank Hansley!” Elliot says, perking up like he’s just heard good news as we walk onto the sand. He sees the chagrin on my face and throws his hands over his mouth. “I’m so sorry. I just like the name. Really!” He lowers his hands. “And I hate mine.”
I rub the back of my head. It’s not news that my name is alliterative and a little funny-sounding. But I believe Elliot when he says that he truly appreciates it. He might be a little flighty, but he doesn’t strike me as unkind.
“Thank you,” I say. “And I think Elliot is a beautiful name, for the record. Can you remember a phone number if I tell you one?”
“Absolutely not. Can you?”
“I’m an accountant.”
He laughs. “Of course.” Elliot gives me a number, which I file away. “That’s my roommate Marko. I know he’s worried sick.”
“My mother has certainly called in all of my aunts and uncles for support at this point.”
My thoughts go to my parents, my friends, and especially Angie. Guilt sloshes in my empty gut. This isn’t the first time we’ve shenaniganed ourselves into trouble, but it is by far the most dire. I hate putting everyone through the worry, but I can concern myself with apologies once I’ve made it home alive.
Elliot pops another small flower in his mouth as we stumble back to the rocks. I glance around for a plant that might work to wrap and protect our feet, but have no luck. “Do you know anything about search parties from your wilderness training?” he asks.
“Not much. I imagine they send a plane. We might have been blown quite far off course by the storm, so we shouldn’t assume they’ll reach us immediately.”
Elliot nods, and we walk down a stretch of dry land. Gulls call out from the sky, and he pauses, bending at some more flowers.
“Yum,” he says. “Floral candies.”
“Don’t eat those,” I caution quickly. “They aren’t violets.”
“Are they poison?”
“I have no idea. Possibly.”
He considers them for a moment like he might still eat some, which horrifies me, but apparently decides to trust my advice.
We trudge along a while longer in silence, taking slow and painful steps. My stomach aches, and my legs feel like they’re about to fall off. I enter into a miserable trance, thinking about nothing but my hunger as we stumble over rocks and fallen trees, closer and closer to the end of the island without any sign of civilization.
After rounding another bend, we reach a section of jagged cliffs.
“The scrotum,” Elliot says, nibbling a violet.
