Page 97 of Hate Wrecked

We decide to venture to Ironhold Island. I want to check on the trunk. I don’t know why, but in the night, as Riley sleeps soundly after an hour wrapped around each other, I feel a tug. A nagging worry. So the next morning, we make our way there.

As Riley and I venture through the trees, I swing my machete, cutting through the entangled vegetation that seems to close in on us. Riley follows closely behind, and when I glance back at her, I see sweat on her brow.

She smiles at me as we forge ahead, though her eyes tell me she, too, feels some sense of dread. When we reach the bunker, Riley hangs back, walking to the other side of the small island. I let her, knowing the contents of the trunk and the bunker itself remind her we are stranded here. And someone else was, too. But they never made it off the islands.

I think of the captain then, and Riley’s aversion to his resting place—this island. She doesn’t want to be near him. I don’t want to be near him. He’s decaying in the ground. Just as the person in the trunk did.

After seeing that everything is in order, I return to Riley.

“How are they?” she asks.

“Dead,” I reply flatly.

“Rowan,” Riley says, her voice laced with sadness.

“I’m sorry.” I reach for her hand and she hugs me close.

As I gaze over Riley’s shoulder, out at the horizon, my thoughts drift to the island's shores—a sanctuary, a peaceful respite from the tumultuous sea beyond. But no respite from what we have seen. What we have found. What we have had to do.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t go in. I hate the bunker. It’s dark, dank, scary. Fuck that place.”

“You didn’t have to come, it’s okay,” I say to her hair.

“Is this place what you imagined?” she asks, pulling away and looking into my eyes.

“Yes,” I laugh, darkly. “I thought I would find something here that would make a man into a monster.”

She shrugs. “I don’t think many men need an excuse to become monsters. It lives in them.”

I kiss her then, hoping she knows I’ll never be a monster—not like the men she knew.

We decide to swim. Leaving Ironhold Island, we head to a small island past Ember Island called Dagger Island. We spend the day in the water. When I decide to fish, Riley waves me off when I ask her to come with me to get our poles. She assures me she will be safe.

I foolishly believe her.

“You’re not coming with me?” I ask, pouting.

“I can’t. I’m a mermaid, Rowan,” she laughs, and her hair, turned more red by the sun, makes her look like a Disney princess.

She has me there. Swimming is her vice. Her healthy vice.

I gather my fishing supplies swiftly. When I return to the island, Riley isn’t in the water where I left her. I drop everything and race into the green, headed for the other side. But I’m stopped short by Riley crouching down behind a bush. I look beyond the jungle edge, past the shore, to the water on the other side. My blood runs cold at what I see in the West Lagoon—a yacht. The name Siren’s Wake is emblazoned in red on the side.

She opens her mouth to speak to me, but I place my hand over it. She turns in my grip, her eyes wide and I bring my finger to my lips. When I let go of her, she nods.

I eye the boat from our vantage point. “We don’t know who they are or why they’re here,” I whisper.

“I know. I wasn’t going to make any noise.” Riley looks at the boat, then back at me, nodding.

I see men. I know what men can do.

And these men, they don’t look like the kind that help.

They’re laughing as they row their small boat to shore. In the distance, the Siren’s Wake floats in the lagoon. Our lagoon. I wish then and there that we had remained lost.

“What do you want to do?” she asks.

“There’s no reason for them to see you. I’ll talk to them. I’ll ask them to radio to the mainland that we’re here.”

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