The Island

by Daya Daniels

  The bottom of the page is signed: Captain Ian Alcott.

  I press my hand to the floorboard and run my fingers over the grooves in them which are worn away now but still you can make out the script letters if you look closely enough: Reveles.

  Clever.

  A little chuckle shakes my chest.

  This tree house is the Reveles.

  Captain Alcott salvaged the wood from the ship and used it to build this house.

  The phrase “waste not, want not” has never been more fitting.

  Shutting the book, I try my very best to get back to sleep and forget Tenley’s earlier cryptic slumber-induced words.

  Sweet

  fucking

  dreams.

  Tenley

  EVER TRY TO WAKE up from a nightmare only to realize you aren’t in one?

  A loud breath which scalds my lungs escapes me.

  Nope, this is the real world—my world—and I’m living in it.

  In the wilderness.

  In a treehouse.

  Far, far away from home.

  Just

  fab.

  With a groan, I roll over and onto my side allowing my hand to dangle helplessly beneath me. Brooks is fast asleep curled up in a blanket on the floor and his head resting on a pillow, lips parted slightly.

  Peni is gone.

  The air is cool. The rain is still falling and the cawing of the birds outside is relentless.

  I’m guessing it’s early morning but, of course, I can’t tell you the exact time. Only that it’s some point just after the sun has risen even though I can’t really see it because of the cloud cover. I shift on the bed once more and the creak of it causes Brooks’ lashes to flutter then he’s staring right at me.

  “I’m sorry.” I breathe. “Good morning…I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “I’m a light sleeper. I already heard you moving before I opened my eyes.” He smiles.

  “Oh.” I don’t say a word about having the worse dream ever, only sit up and place my feet on the floor. “I can fetch breakfast. I know the perfect place where I can get some eggs since I know where all the chickens around here call home.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Yawning, he sits up and then his eyes are fixed on me—blue and bright.

  “What is it?”

  “Shhhhh.” He puts a finger to his mouth.

  With narrowed eyes, I only stare at him.

  VROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.

  We duck at the deafening sound.

  Brooks bolts from where he’s sitting. “HEY!” He rushes toward the door and catapults out of the house. “HEY!”

  I rush behind him, hopping and jumping over stuff, heart beating like hell. And soon I’m on the ground, chasing after him, looking up at the sky, trying my very best to ignore how cool it is.

  VROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.

  Sound but nothing in sight.

  “HEY!” Brooks sprints ahead and heads toward where the cliffs are.

  I follow, trying my best to keep up.

  My heart is instantly injected with joy. “Hey!” I wave my arms around and jump up and down. “We’re here! WE’RE RIGHT HERE!”

  Brooks rushes to light the collection of dry branches we keep here. “We’re right here!”

  Laughing. Whistling. Screaming.

  Complete and utter elation.

  Brooks rushes toward me and pulls me into a hug. “I told you they’d find us, Tenley.” His blue eyes shine. “I told you everything would be fine.”

  VROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.

  I drop to the ground and sob, smiling, praying. “My God, it’s over.” I giggle. “It’s over.”

  We can go home.

  We can live our lives.

  We can do everything we had once failed to do…

  I dream of James, his face, his smile, how it feels to be in his arms and how much I want to kiss his lips. I-want-to-go-home.

  A soft wind blows, pushing the clouds overhead. The fire blazes.

  Silence.

  So much fucking silence.

  I swear I can hear Brooks’ breathing from right where he stands. He creeps to the edge of the cliff cautiously and looks around. Soon, he’s running from left to right, searching.

  Slowly, I push up to my feet and scan the sky.

  There’s nothing.

  We meet eyes and then I look away from his, immediately not wanting to believe any of this.

  How could my hands which felt so full only a moment ago, now feel so empty?

  Brooks squeezes his head with his palms, breathing hard, eyes watery. “I don’t believe this. I don’t fucking believe this, Tenley! Come back! Come back, you stupid fucking bastards. We’re right here!” He curses the sky. “COME BACK!”

  I stand frozen as he falls apart.

  He drops to the ground, sobbing.

  When I spin around, Peni is crouched just behind us, observing as she always does. She cautiously creeps toward Brooks and places a palm on his shoulder and then her fingers are in his hair grooming it as if it will somehow make all this better.

  Wiping the wetness away from my cheeks, I take a few steps toward Brooks. His face is buried in his hands. He groans. He swears. He sobs. Then he looks up at me with nothing but sadness and fear in his features. “We’re right fucking here, Tenley.” He shudders. “FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUUCK!”

  I drop down to my knees right next to him.

  The cool air slips through my hair and over my skin leaving goose bumps in its wake. And then the warmth from the fire that was lit for nothing hits me.

  I place a hand on Brooks’ shoulder having no clue about what to do or say. “We’re going to get off this island, Brooks.”

  Lifting his head, he gives me a look. “Do you really believe that, Tenley?”

  “Yes.” My voice is a wobbly whisper.

  He huffs.

  I edge closer to him as he weeps, unable to stop crying myself.

  He wraps his arms around me, buries his head in my mid-section and sobs. Our frayed clothes meld together along with the constant scent of the ocean and despair. And then soon I’m doing the same, burying my face in his shoulder and weeping. Eventually the tears cease, and we accept the reality that airplane isn’t coming back.

  Slowly, Brooks releases me, stands, and scans our surroundings. “It’s the fog, Tenley.”

  I swallow and suddenly see what I hadn’t before and determine he’s right.

  “It’s the goddamn fog.” He covers his face with his hands. “They can’t see this place through this fog.” His chest shakes with his words. “And I am not God. I cannot move the fucking fog.”

  I inhale loudly as he stomps away and disappears through the trees. “Maybe they’ll come back tomorrow!” It’s what I must believe. Because the very unthinkable notion that we’ve been left here to die is just something I cannot accept.

  Brooks

  THE SUN IS HIGH.

  It beats down on my shoulders. I’d stripped out of my shirt long ago, and now, I’m only sweating the usual amount. I crouch down nearer to the tree, lit cigarette between my lips, puffing on it, savoring it.

  I clutch the axe in my hand and run my fingers over the markings carved into it.

  One hundred and eighty-six of them are there.

  The nick I’m about to put there today will make it one hundred and eight-seven days since we arrived here, which means it’s January. Back in Chicago it must be snowing by now. And my soul turns a little more black realizing I’ve missed Christmas with my wife, her birthday, and New Year’s Eve.

  Joy always threw the best New Year’s Eve parties…James and Tenley usually joined us to bring the New Year in with champagne and noise makers. Those parties were always the perfect finishing touch to a long year of too much work and no relaxation at all.

  That night though, Tenley and I had celebrated by grilling a lobster and toasting with a fruity concoction she’d made out of pineapples and wild berries. And Ch
ristmas Eve the fireflies flickered around this island. Tenley beamed claiming that they reminded her of the twinkling lights she always adored during the holiday season.

  The little things…

  Around here, they’re all that matter.

  Pressing my lips together and pissed off, I chop into the broad trunk of the tree until today is memorialized. When it’s done, I stare at the marking unable to believe it’s real. Then I make my way across the beach, along the winding paths and through the grass fields. I finish my cigarette and tuck it in my pocket. Then I find myself thinking while taking in the spectacular scenery ahead—perfect blue sky with not a cloud in sight and the vast ocean ahead for miles.

  The hole in my chest is still there from the day on the cliffs on that foggy morning…

  After that day, the airplane never came back. We haven’t seen any boats since either.

  Captain Alcott’s diary, had I read it to the quarter mark days earlier would’ve helped a bunch. Pausing for a moment and resting the axe down, I pull the diary from my back pocket and flip through the delicate and yellowed pages to where I’d left off and find those ominous words which will forever haunt me.

  June 7, 1893

  I woke early to the desperate cries of the seagulls and the soft breeze. The air was cool. Much too chilly for the usual temperate climate of this island. Or, so I had thought.

  Rising from where I rested, I approached the beach and stood so that my toes touched the shoreline. With my forehead furrowed and eyes narrowed, I inhaled the briny air stunned at what I could not see.

  The view.

  Clouded.

  Like a blanket it covered everything, obscuring the ocean, the trees, and the cliffs.

  Unable to speak words, I could only examine our surroundings and found that I could not explain the phenomenon. I determined it wasn’t safe for us to move about the island that morning, so we stayed put until it cleared. It took three days to lift. And in that three days, I knew that there was no humanly possible way a passing ship could spot this island through the fog which albeit concealed it.

  As lost as we are, I had no wish for this island to be seen by every ship which voyaged past here. Not all men are good men. Not all seafarers would come to our rescue. Some would arrive with carnage on their minds—to rape and pillage. As a man who’s spent his entire life sailing the wide-open sea which the world was once convinced was flat, this I knew with conviction.

  Peighton nodded at my unspoken thoughts as I stood near the water and only smiled that morning then suggested that we see the fog as protection instead of the foreboding phenomenon that it seemed to be during those days.

  I agreed, but still, I’d never seen fog like that, so thick and heavy, almost smothering, even while sailing through the rough passages of the Baltic Sea.

  It’s been a few days since the fog.

  When the rain falls and the temperature is cool, be certain the fog will follow.

  However, it is up to you to decide whether you will regard it as friend or foe.

  Captain Ian Alcott

  I shut the book, slip it back in my pocket, rough a hand over my face, and exhale.

  It’s early in the morning.

  You hardly expect me to give you the exact time…

  I’ve gotten quite used to not owning a fucking watch.

  Wiping the sweat from my brow, I approach the massive tree in front of me that must be a few hundred years old. Tenley would be at my throat if she knew anything about what I’m about to do and that’s exactly why I haven’t told her about it. I’m not in the business of ruining nature but, in this case, I have no choice but to do what I’m about to.

  We’re fairly settled in the house.

  Tenley spends most of her days in the garden we’d dug that’s now filled with flowers and vegetables and the rest of her time is taken up by Peni. Tenley is always teaching her something. And Peni is a big help. She helps Tenley to pick fruit in the mornings. And often she trails behind me whenever I go on walks and traverse over the rocks to find crabs. Her dexterity is invaluable since her little hands can get into crevices which mine are too big to fit into. And she can crawl to heights at breakneck speed I either can’t reach or am too damn afraid to ascend to. And in return for all that hard work, all Peni usually requires is a hug or a kiss on her furry cheek.

  That monkey has turned out to be the center of our lives.

  I fish and I hunt, and what I catch or capture, we consume together, eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner in each other’s presence every day. We talk then, and it gives us time to make sure we’re on the same page and that no one is completely losing it as a result of being here. I make sure I never miss those meals together. Tenley and I had designed board games to play and I’d whittled pieces of wood to go along with them. Often Peni plays too. And I shamefully admit that sometimes she even beats me and then she falls into a fit of giggles and begs for fruit. We have adapted. But I don’t know how much longer we can go on like this for.

  Tenley searches the sky every day for the same airplane. She’s confident again that Richard is sending another. She still believes that airplane is coming back. I don’t. I just don’t have the heart to tell her.

  I’m tired of waiting here.

  I miss my wife and my old life—my home, my job. Nothing is as it should be, including me.

  I’m barefoot, bearded, shirtless, and now even after taking a blade to my hair, it’s still too long and tied up on the top of my head using string. I’m a motherfucking mess.

  We look like ragamuffins, two people who could even be mistaken for being refugees.

  I sigh.

  It’s clear no one is coming for us.

  The blade of the axe in my hand glints against the blazing sun.

  Gripping it tightly, I position it over my head and glare at the solid trunk of the teak tree and the intricate lines of its bark. “I’m really sorry but I need you right now.” I send the blade toward the solid wood with a chop. It doesn’t make the dent I’d like it to, but it takes out a small chunk. So, I swing again, and I keep swinging until I’m grunting and sweating even more.

  Then, I stop and survey the damage.

  I crane my neck up to the sky and let out a loud breath then my eyes are back on the tree. I get back to work, swinging the axe and chopping religiously into the dent already there.

  The days here are long and quiet and go by s…l…o…w…l…y. But seeing as I have nothing else to really do, this is what I’ll be doing for the rest of it. And I’ll need the time since taking down a massive teak tree with an axe might take me all-fucking-year.

  If Captain Alcott can construct an entire house out of a wrecked ship, surely, I can build a boat out of a tree.

  Tenley

  STANDING AT THE SHORELINE, I squeeze my eyes shut and click my heels together just once.

  The warm water licks my toes and the soft breeze tickles my skin. Squinting with one eye, I look around and realize I’m still here.

  Fuck.

  Nothing happened.

  With the action, I wasn’t teleported back to Chicago.

  It’s early in the evening…

  Peni has been gone for hours and is likely off and swinging from the trees and I have no idea where Brooks is.

  I watched carefully from the deck as the tide went out waiting for the moment when I knew it would be suitable to go for a swim. Now, with the tide insanely low but the water ahead still deep, the hermit crab-covered reefs jut out of the water so high they almost act like a wall. Or to be more precise, they are a colorful barrier against the monsters which lurk beyond it. And I’m grateful for the protection which allows me to swim without the worry that my arm might be gnawed off in the process or that I’ll be viciously yanked down to Davy Jones’ locker and never to be seen or heard from again.

  The sun is warm on my shoulders and the sky is crystal blue.

  Peeling out of my dress, it falls around my ankles and then I kick it away. It lands on t
he sand in a white linen heap. I fiddle with my hair that’s only grown longer. It’s more blonde from the sun and my skin is a deep golden hue I’ve never truly seen before on myself. I pull it together over my shoulders and tie it in a knot. Then I step into the water. The cool sand slips between my toes and water envelops me right before I let out an appreciative sigh. The sea sluices around me. It moves over my shoulders and laps against my jawline. The waves are soft today since there’s no wind.

  It’s a beautiful day.

  Who would guess about all the horror that lies beyond this pristine beach.

  Brooks has been amenable enough, but often, I have to will myself not to break down in tears at our predicament. My thoughts flicker to whether we’ll ever make it home. And then I tell myself that we will because I know my father will never stop searching for us and neither will James or Joy.

  We’re in acceptable shape here—still breathing, not dead.

  Brooks has been eating fish and seafood mostly. But, he’s still smoking. Often, I glance at the heart attack waiting to happen and frown, wondering if one day the smoke will float out of his ears and choke both Peni and me. Brooks only brushes my concerns away and grumbles that in this godforsaken place, at this godforsaken time and in the godforsaken shit position we’re in, surely, he should be allowed a cigarette, his “smoke breaks” are the one thing that makes him happy here.