Page 27 of Hate Wrecked

“I know,” I say. “Nature gives, and we have to learn how to take advantage of it.”

The first raindrops begin to fall, and we watch as they create tiny rivulets on the tarp. I can see a spark of hope in Riley’s eyes, a realization that even in the midst of a storm, there is a chance for survival.

“I saw some bottles on the shore,” she whispers.

“Yeah. I’m going to canvas the shore. I saw a few washed up earlier, too.” Regretfully, I’m momentarily thankful for the waste humans throw into the ocean. They’d be ashamed to see how it washed up on the shores of places like this. Well, some would. Not all. Most humans have no shame. They wreak havoc on the world with little care for the wreckage they leave behind.

I know people like that. I saw Riley fall for someone like that. I used to work for someone like that. And I came from someone who was like that in some ways.

I rush down along the water, my eyes canvassing for any debris. We find five water bottles. I doubt we’ll fill them all, but we’ll try.

The rain falls in a steady rhythm, transforming the jungle around us into a symphony of droplets hitting leaves. After hurriedly stashing most of our belongings under the flipped lifeboat, we walk through the thick vegetation toward the second bunker, our clothes clinging to us with each step and the tent under my arm. “I’m sorry,” Riley says, and I look at her, into her green eyes. “I couldn’t let you go out there on your own.”

I’m acting like an arsehole. I’m taking away her hope. I never want to take away her hope, but I’m not the young man she met years ago. I’m not the one who helped her push toward the sun. I’m the damn rain cloud. More dangerous than what’s coming in.

“No,” I respond, my voice gruff as I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. We had an agreement. I was being... I don’t know. Maybe this place is haunted. I just feel... I feeloffhere. And I’m grateful for your help with the boat. I needed it.”

The admission hangs in the humid air between us. I glance at Riley, her expression a blend of understanding and empathy. The jungle seems to close in around us, secrets concealed beneath the surface. We press on until we reach the second bunker, a weathered structure blending into the dense greenery. Its entrance is partially hidden, but we push aside vines and foliage to uncover a dark opening. The rain has transformed the ground into a muddy landscape, and the bunker offers some respite.

Silently, we work together to clear the entrance and step inside. The air is cool and damp, a contrast to the tropical storm outside. The interior is dim, but I catch glimpses of shelves and storage spaces.

“We’ll set up camp here for now,” I say, my tone more reassuring. “It’s better than being out in the open. We need to make the best of what we have.”

Riley nods, her earlier apology now replaced with a determined focus. I hand her the tent, and we begin to assemble it, making short work of it in silence as the rain continues its relentless assault on the island. Once done, we huddle inside, careful not to touch each other.

“Rowan,” Riley’s voice breaks through the dim, warming me. “I think...I think we should bury the captain.” I close my eyes, her words hanging in the air, the weight of the suggestion settling between us. I look at her, shadows playing on her face. The captain’s death has been an unspoken presence, a lingering ghost haunting our every move. “We can’t just leave him in that other bunker. It’s not right. It feels... it feels wrong. You said these islands are cursed. It makes me feel like we would be asking for something bad to happen.”

I sigh, running a hand through my wet hair. “Something bad has already happened.” Burying the captain seems futile, yet I understand Riley’s need for closure. “But maybe you’re right,” I admit. “We can’t leave him there indefinitely. We’ll find a spot, away from the camp, and give him a makeshift burial.”

Riley’s expression softens, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Can we do it now?”

I look out at the rain, at the shadows. “Now? Really?”

“I won’t be able to sleep,” she whispers.

I close my eyes, wondering if I’ll be able to sleep with those words echoing in my head. Eventually, I nod in response and stand. “I think I saw a shovel outside the bunker. Let me check.” Much to my dismay, I’m correct. As the rain continues its relentless dance, we venture into the storm-soaked jungle, carrying the captain’s lifeless form from the other bunker in solemn quiet.

When we lay him down in the dirt, Riley walks away to a cluster of trees, her hands covering her face. I give her the moment, starting on the ground, digging with quiet resolve. The soil is soft, shifting too quickly. The earth won’t allow me to linger in this.

When Riley returns, I’m sweating. I take my shirt off and toss it onto the ground, placing my hands on my hips. “This should be good.”

Riley nods, then glances where the captain lies.

“I’ll get his arms, you grab his feet, and we’ll line up alongside the hole and lower him in.”

Riley nods again, her eyes vacant.

I should have fought her on this, or told her to stay back.

I reach for the captain, and Riley follows, running her hands through her hair before she kneels to his legs. After I slip my arms under the man’s shoulders, Riley grabs hold.

We shuffle over to the hole, looking each other in the eye. I nod, and we bend our knees, lowering him into the grave.

When we stand, Riley stares down into the hole, transfixed. “You good?” I ask.

Riley nods again.

“Riley, are you good?”

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