Page 65 of Adrift

“Look, it’s perfect.”

“What’s perfect, Haley?”

“That stick. It’s got a little Y in it like a crutch. I can use that, then you don’t have to carry me.”

“I don’t mind carrying you,” Zane growls.

“But you don’t have to carry me for everything. I’m too heavy. You should save your strength.”

“You’re not heavy, and what is there to save my strength for, anyway?”

“Zane, let me try it. Maybe it’s not even the right height.” Seriously, why does he want to carry me?

He lowers me to the ground and holds on to my elbow while reaching for the stick—driftwood that’s made its way into the jungle. I’m not going to think about how it got this far inland.

I tuck the stick under my arm. “It’s a little long, but I think I can make it work.” There’s a knot around where my hand naturally rests.

Zane shakes his head at me.

“What? I like being independent.”

“Just don’t independent yourself to a bigger injury.” His serious face turns into a bright smile.

“I won’t.” I stand up straight, taking in where we are and how to get back to the beach. The island didn’t look that big as we were crashing through the breakers, but now that I’m standing in the middle of the woods, things are larger than I expected. Ferns brush against our knees. And white butterflies are flitting around. Breathtaking. The exact sort of place I’d want to bring guests for a day excursion.

“The stream is just up there.” Zane points between some trees. “Let me know if you want me to carry you.”

I nod. He points out every rock and tree branch as we walk along the path. But he’s right, it is just up ahead. And if fairies don’t live here, it’s because they don’t know about it. The water meanders in and out of the ferns.

“I didn’t go too far when I was gathering wood, but it gets deeper up ahead. I think there might even be a waterfall, but I’m not sure.”

I kneel on one leg and wash my face and hands. It feels so decadent to wash the salt off my skin. Round limestone pebbles cover the bottom of the clear stream. I pick one up and put it in my tiny yoga pants pocket. Zane crouches next to me. When I glance back at him, the path is super noticeable.

“Right. Zane?”

“Yeah?” He runs his fingers lightly over my good foot.

“If this island is deserted, why is there a path?”

“That’s a good question.”

Ferns rustle farther inland. And they’re followed by a loud grunt.

Zane hoists me up. My bad leg touches the ground, and pain shoots up my calf. “Ouch.”

The grunt is louder and on the move; ferns’ tops wiggle out of the way of whatever is coming at us.

And the grunt turns to a squealing oink.

“Wild boar.” Zane picks me up. He cradles me to his chest, my stick gripped in my hand, and he runs.

The snorts from the boar are getting louder.

Chapter 27

Skirmish

Zane

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