Let me know how the fuck you are/where the fuck you are （I won’t tell Riggs, I know there’s some shit that went down there） （fuck man am I the last friend you DON’T have shit with?）
Later—
C
Email sent December 3, 2019, from Christopher “Chipper” Davidson
TWENTY
I don’t know why I head for the airstrip.
Maybe it’s just that I don’t want to deal with anyone, and I know that no one will think to look for me there.
Nico and Amma. Amma and Nico. I keep seeing them, their bodies curled around each other, keep remembering all those moments of them talking and laughing, and how I’d told myself I was being stupid.
Good luck, Susannah had said.
Turns out, I’d needed that warning.
Tears are streaming down my face now, mingling with my sweat, but I keep pushing through the foliage.
I’ve gone several more yards before I realize that nothing looks familiar. Or rather, it all looks too familiar—there’s a sameness to the jungle that makes it easy to get confused.
I stop, take a deep breath, and look around.
It’s just like it was the other day, steamy and hot, smelling thick and green, but everything feels closer now, like the air and vegetation are pressing in on me. I turn back in the other direction, but when I do, the leaves seem thicker still, the ground underfoot trickier.
I’m not panicked, not yet, but my heart is definitely beating faster as I keep going, hoping to find the right path at any minute.
But the jungle only gets denser, the heat more oppressive, and I can hear my own sharp breaths, sawing in and out of my lungs as I try to move as fast as I can.
I hear birds calling overhead, and when I look up, there are flashes of blue sky.
And then suddenly, the jungle thins, and I breathe a sigh of relief, thinking I’ve found the way to the airstrip after all.
But no. It’s just another clearing, another place where the vegetation has clearly been hacked back by human hands. And directly in front of me, there’s a building.
It’s small, barely six feet across, and made of metal that’s rusting in places. In place of a door there’s simply an empty opening, framed by crawling vines. The interior beyond is completely dark.
It must’ve belonged to the navy when they were here, probably some kind of storage shed, but I immediately think of the trap in the trees, and Robbie’s buddy, who swore someone was living on the island. The sudden shot of fear tastes acrid in my mouth, and cold sweat springs up under my arms and behind my knees.
“Hello?” I call tentatively, feeling both stupid and terrified as I do.
There’s no answer, of course, and I move a little closer, ducking my head inside the shelter.
It’s almost too dark to see anything—the thick cover of the jungle prevents most light from getting through—but there, in the corner, I can see … something.
A lump, a darker spot among the shadows. Too small to be a person. A bag maybe? Or just a bunch of debris?
I’m just about to step farther inside when there’s movement near my foot, and as I look down, something green slithers past.
Rearing back, I nearly step on the tail of the snake, shrieking in spite of myself, but it’s already disappeared under the side of the shack.
There’s no sound other than my own heart pounding in my ears. I have to get out of here.
* * *
WHEN I STUMBLE BACK ONTO the beach, it’s empty, and I see both dinghies are gone. Maybe they’ve all gone looking for me, but I don’t really care, not right now.
My legs are shaking as I pull myself aboard the Susannah, stomach in knots, and I hope against hope that Nico and Amma aren’t on board. I’m not ready to face either of them yet.
The deck is empty, thank god, and when I go below, it’s clear I’m alone. Nico and Amma must have gone off somewhere together, and that thought is both a relief and another knife to my chest as I step into the cabin.
It’s warm and damp in there, and I can’t bring myself to get anywhere near the bed. I feel like I can still smell sex and Amma’s sunscreen, and I’m afraid I’ll see her long dark hair on the pillow that used to be mine. Instead, I perch on the edge of the berth, my fingers curled around the mattress.
It’s okay, I tell myself. It’s just a few more days, and then we’ll go back to Hawaii.
But what will I do after that?
For the first time, I consider whether Nico and I could get past this. I hate how much the possibility fills me with relief, but I can’t help it—it seems so much easier that way. Like these two weeks were just some weird little blip, a dream, and if we just ignore it, we could go back to the way things were.