Page 16 of Shipwrecked

My body quivers in outrage as I sit up. I bury a curse in my soul, twisting my entire torso to avoid bending my neck, and I scan my surroundings. We’re at the point where the beach meets thick jungle, beneath the canopy of the outermost trees. Further in, trees, shrubs and thick undergrowth weave together to form a solid wall. In the other direction is a beach of pristine white sand. Tall waves crash into the shoreline, the sound of their impact a soft clap. I flinch at each break.

I see our yacht sitting in the water, half-submerged.

“We’re on an island,” Mary says. I turn my entire body to face her. She’s leaning against a palm tree, knees pulled to her chest. She’s got on a tank top and shorts, and goosebumps all over her skin. “Everyone’s having a look around, seeing if there’s anybody here.” There are streaks of blood on her shirt, a wrap on her arm, another on her ankle.

Mary follows my gaze. “It’s sprained. The glass in my arm fell out in all the chaos, but Seán said the cut isn’t too deep. We cleaned the wound out as best we could.”

Glass in her arm?

I try to recall what happened. Nothing concrete surfaces after that initial wall of wind, only snapshots of moments. Getting back on the yacht… I can’t pin down the memory.

I get to my feet, wobbling once I’m vertical. “I’m going to have a look.”

I walk down the beach, getting away from the treeline. The tropical trees form a thick, unbroken line. The land curves inwards after what I estimate is a mile in either direction. There’s a large green hill in the centre of the island, similar to Isle Arun. Unlike Isle Arun, there’s no sign of civilisation.

I turn to the yacht. There must be a shoal or a reef. In Ireland, a boat that far out would have plenty of clearance. The sound of the waves crashing is louder here. It makes me queasy.

I hear voices and turn to see Charles and Willow returning to Mary. I join them.

Charles has two black eyes, and Willow’s arms are mottled blue. We’re all wearing swim shorts and shirts, and we’re all shivering. The rain has stopped, but the wind is cold.

“Is everyone okay?” I ask.

I’ve seen Seán, Cillian, Mary and Willow. I’ve heard Darren.

“ ‘Okay’ is debatable,” Willow says. “But we all made it in.”

I let out a breath, deflating.

Cillian and Mathieu appear from one direction, Seán, Darren and Yasop from the other. Seán’s arm is in a sling made of the windbreaker he was wearing yesterday. Yasop goes straight to Willow, putting his arm around her shoulders, careful of her bruises.

Mathieu comes to my side. His curls are damp and weighed down, reaching well past his ears. His tan has an ashen quality to it, and a bruise circles his right eye, along with swelling. “I’m okay,” he says. “Just some bruising. You’re okay? Are you steady? Should you be standing?” He looks at Cillian for an answer.

Cillian scans me from head to toe. His hair looks longer too, waves weighed down. His white cap is gone.

“I’m alright,” I say.

“Sit,” Cillian says. “Everyone,” he adds.

Mathieu presses against my side, guiding me towards one of the tree trunks. Everyone does the same, assembling in a loose half-circle in the canopy’s shade. Our ripped clothes and rat’s nest hair blend well with the hanging vines. Dew glints on spiderwebs amongst the trees, though their owners are invisible.

A heavy silence settles over us. Nobody seems willing to break it.

“Did you guys find anything?” I ask.

“There’s another island,” Mathieu says. “It’s within swimming distance, but it looks just as uninhabited as this one. That is, if this entire island is empty. Did you guys see anything in your direction?”

“Nothing our way either,” Seán says. “Except wilderness.”

“When will rescue get here?” I ask. “After the wind settles?”

Plants rustle as Seán shifts position. “I sent out an SOS, but I don’t know if it got through. I wasn’t getting anything but static.”

Alarm shoots across Willow’s face. “I heard you talking to Cillian on the radio.”

“Those were handheld radios they only work over short distances. That storm rolled in so fast, it was on us before I could call out.” Seán rubs his hand down his face. “I was changing the SD card in the camera while we were stopped for the changeover. I didn’t see it coming in.”

“Rescue services don’t know we need help?” Darren asks. He’s on the farthest edge of the semicircle. Scrapes cover his arms and legs, and a dark bruise dapples his jaw. I think about his difficulty while we were snorkelling yesterday. Half a kilometre is a long distance for a poor swimmer.