Uncharted: An On the Island Novella: (A Penguin Special from Dutton)

by Tracey Garvis Graves

  Calia followed me into the tent and I took her in my arms without speaking. I kissed her, on her mouth, down her neck, on her ear, her collarbone. Anywhere her skin was exposed. I wanted to rip her clothes off and skip all the other steps, but I forced myself to slow down so that it would be just as good for her.

  She rolled on top of me and straddled my body. I watched as she pulled her shirt over her head and then leaned down so I could continue kissing that bare skin. I eased her off of me so I could unzip her jeans and pull them down, taking her underwear with them, touching her, already starting to become familiar with the way she wanted me to use my hands and mouth. Soon, I scrambled out of my own clothes, forgetting what I’d told myself about going slow. “I want you,” I said. “Right now.”

  She was breathing so hard she could hardly speak. “I want you, too,” she managed to say while stroking me, which almost made me come right then and there. I grabbed a condom and tore it open with my teeth, and almost instantly I was inside her. She moved with me and she felt so incredible. It took everything I had to concentrate on not coming and just when I thought there was no way I’d be able to hold back any longer, she went a little crazy, making these little noises and moving faster and faster until she cried out. Less than a minute later, I came, too, groaning and saying her name as I pulsed inside her.

  We were covered in sweat and breathing hard, and when our heart rates returned to normal we laid together with our arms and legs wrapped around each other. I ran my fingers through her hair, wrapping it idly around my fingers. “Is there someone at home?” I said. “Someone who’s waiting for you?”

  “No,” she said. “No one special. What about you?”

  “No.”

  “Did you have a girlfriend before you came here?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Chelsea.”

  “So you broke up?”

  “I asked her to come with me. She declined.” Chelsea liked the cocktail parties and being photographed with me. She liked nice dinners and expensive jewelry. She loved my BMW. The look of absolute horror on her face when I told her I was leaving the company was enough to make me realize that Chelsea liked my lifestyle a lot more than she liked me. When I tested my theory by asking her to come here with me she didn’t even bother to hide her feelings. “That’s insane, Owen,” she’d said.

  “I guess that’s a no, then,” I’d responded.

  I reached for my water and took a drink, then handed it to Calia. “Thirsty?”

  She took the bottle. “Thanks.”

  “How long will you stay here with me?” I asked.

  “Until the end of August, maybe the first week of September. I’ve got some things to take care of before James starts university at the end of September. I’ll leave for Africa at the beginning of October.”

  That was still a few weeks away. “Okay,” I said. I kissed her again and fell asleep with her in my arms.

  • • •

  Almost everything I did from that day on, I did with Calia next to me. When we laid side by side on the sand, the sky above me looked bluer. When we swam with the dolphins, the water seemed clearer. At mealtimes, the food tasted better although there was no logical reason why it would. Every time she smiled at me—and she smiled at me a lot—made me feel hopeful. Instead of thinking I was some strange, eccentric recluse, she’d accepted my explanation and my need for solitude at face value and then come along for the ride, simultaneously satisfying her own need for adventure. And wasn’t that how it was supposed to be? The mind-blowing sex was just an awesome, added bonus.

  My feelings for her intensified with each day we spent together. She made me happy and it had been a really long time since anyone—or anything—had made me feel that way.

  • • •

  We were sitting on the beach talking. The seaplane would be returning to pick up Calia and James in seven days, and I wanted to run something by her. “When do you get back from Africa?” I asked.

  “The end of May.”

  “What are you going to do after that?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. She reached over and grabbed my hand. “I haven’t decided yet. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t want to stay here after you leave. It won’t be the same. I thought I’d rent a place in Malé. Hang out for a while. Maybe visit Thailand.”

  “Owen?” She sounded worried. “Do you think you could wait for me?”

  “Of course I’ll wait for you,” I said.

  She sighed. “I was hoping you would say that.”

  I put my arm around her and kissed the top of her head. She leaned back against me and we sat like that until James started yelling. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, so I shielded my eyes with my hand in order to get a better look.

  He was bobbing up and down awkwardly, hitting the surface of the water with his hand. “Calia,” I said.

  “Hmmm?” She sounded drowsy, like she was about to doze off in my arms.

  “What is James doing out there?” I eased her off of me and stood up quickly, watching as James finally started swimming toward shore. “James,” I yelled. “Are you okay?” That got Calia’s attention, and she rose to her feet.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  A wave of panic rolled over me, because he didn’t answer me. “James!”

  “Why isn’t he answering you?” Calia asked, and I could hear the sudden alarm in her voice. She yelled his name repeatedly, her voice sounding more hysterical by the second.

  He’d been swimming steadily toward us, but his pace had started to slow and his arms and legs were no longer moving in synchronization. I ran into the water, heart pounding, because I knew in my gut what had happened, and the pool of blood surrounding him confirmed my fear that he’d been bitten by something, most likely a shark.

  I swam toward him as fast as I could, hoping that I wasn’t swimming toward the same fate as James but knowing there was no way I could leave him in the water.

  Calia’s screams intensified, so I knew she could see the blood from the shore. When I reached James he stopped swimming and threw an arm over my shoulder. His eyes were glazed and unfocused. “I’m here, James,” I said. “I’m going to get you to the shore and then everything will be okay.” I talked myself into believing that, even though there was so much blood in the water it seemed like the entire lagoon had turned red. The amount of adrenaline pumping through my body made it feel as if the journey took only seconds, although in reality it was probably closer to a minute. I dragged him through the water as fast as I could, afraid to look behind me for fear of what I’d see.

  When I was ten feet from shore Calia ran screaming into the water and we pulled James onto the sand. I knew right then that it was already too late for him. I knew it by the lack of color in his skin. By the way his pupils were fixed. Because of the wide gash on his upper thigh and the way we could see the blood pumping from it through the jagged tear in his shorts, soaking into the white sand.

  Calia held her hand tight against the wound as if trying to literally keep her brother’s life inside him, to keep it from escaping by sheer force. “It’s okay, James. It’s okay. Everything will be okay,” Calia said. She kept saying it over and over, but James didn’t answer her.

  I thought about telling Calia to get the satellite phone. I thought about running to get it myself. I thought about finding something to use as a tourniquet, to stop the blood that was flowing out of him at an alarming rate. But in the end I didn’t do either of those things, because even if a seaplane had been idling in the lagoon with a team of paramedics on board, it would have been too late.

  James had lost consciousness by then. The bleeding slowed and finally stopped and then I watched in horror as the rise and fall of James’s chest stopped, too. I pressed my fingers to his neck, hoping desperately for a pulse, but feeling nothing.

  I would never forget the sound of Calia’s crying.

  She
stretched out next to her brother and wrapped her arms around him. She stayed by James’s side, despite the heat and the strength of the afternoon sun. I felt absolutely powerless to help her, but I stayed beside her, not speaking, wondering just what the hell we were supposed to do next. Finally I said, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get the satellite phone.” She didn’t answer me and I was afraid she might be going into shock, so I hurried back to the tent and grabbed the phone from my bag. I hit the button and nothing happened. The lights didn’t even come on, and I realized the battery was dead. I’d charged the phone the last time I’d stayed at the hotel, and there should have been enough battery power to last for another month or two, but something had obviously gone wrong.

  This is not happening.

  But it was. And it would be a week before the seaplane would be coming back for us. I held my head in my hands and tried to think. I needed to attend to Calia. And I needed to do something about the body that was lying in the hot sun. But before I could do anything at all I bolted out of the tent and puked. That had always been my body’s go-to method for dealing with stress. My mom used to say it was the only way she ever knew that something was bothering me.

  As soon as I stopped dry-heaving, I stood up. There was a girl on the beach who needed me to comfort her, to figure out what we were going to do. I walked back to Calia and sat down beside her.

  “I’m trying to get a hold of my pilot. He’s not . . . answering right now, but I’m sure he’ll pick up later. I’ll try again soon.” I didn’t have the heart to tell Calia the phone battery was dead. She didn’t acknowledge me; she just kept staring at her brother lying there on the sand. “I need to move James,” I said, as gently as I could.

  “No,” she said. She looked at me and I saw the anxiety on her face, the fear. Her voice sounded panicky and tears ran down her face. “Not yet, Owen. Leave him here a little while longer. Please.”

  I knew that there was probably a small part of her that was processing what the heat and the direct sunlight would do to James’s body. But I also knew that there was an even larger part that wasn’t ready to let him go. How could I deny her?

  “Whatever you want,” I said.

  So we remained on the beach. The smell of blood was all around us, metallic and sharp. Filling my nose with the smell of death. But still she stayed by his side, so I stayed by hers.

  Finally, hours later, when the sun began to sink lower in the sky, she took a big breath and let it out slowly. “Where will you take him?” she asked.

  “To the cave.” I’d shown Calia and James the cave one day when we’d walked by it. James had crawled inside with the flashlight, the way I had when I first discovered its existence. Calia had wanted no part of it. She’d poked her head in and retreated immediately, shuddering.

  “He’ll be safe there,” I said. The heat and humidity wouldn’t be kind to James’s body, no matter where I moved him, but it felt like the most respectful thing to do.

  Calia placed a kiss on James’s forehead, then stood up and said, “Okay, Owen. You can take him now.” I watched as she walked to the tent and disappeared inside.

  • • •

  Steeling myself for the job, I took a deep breath, which was a big mistake because it only drew the smell deeper into my lungs. My stomach gave one halfhearted lurch, but there wasn’t anything in it to puke up and eventually the urge subsided.

  I grabbed James under the arms and started dragging him into the woods. It had been about six hours since he’d died, and rigor mortis had already set in; his body felt stiff and unyielding.

  When I reached the cave I cleared the debris away from the opening. I looked down at him once last time and swallowed hard. I said, “I’m so sorry, James,” and pushed his body all the way in; there was really no gentle way to do it. After piling sticks in front of the opening to form a makeshift barricade, I stood up and walked away.

  When I returned to the beach I lit a fire and threw my bloody clothes into it, then stood under the solar shower until my skin was clean. After I dressed, I crawled into the tent to check on Calia.

  Amazingly, she was asleep. Her cheeks were sunburned after sitting on the beach all day, and while I knew she probably wouldn’t eat anything, I wanted her to drink some water. I’d forced myself to drink some while I stood beside the fire, and I was relieved when I kept it down.

  But maybe it was better if she slept. Maybe that was her body’s way of dealing with the stress. I lay down next to her, listening to her slow and steady breathing. At one point she cried out in her sleep, and my body tensed, preparing for another round of tears. I put my arms around her and drew her close. She didn’t wake up, though. She clung to me and finally her grip loosened as she drifted into a deeper sleep. I held her all night long, dozing fitfully, trying to erase the memory of the terrible things that had happened on the beach.

  • • •

  When Calia woke up early the next morning, I helped her out of the tent. She shielded her eyes against the bright light of the sun and her knees buckled. I caught her before she fell. “Let’s get some water,” I said. She let me lead her over to where we kept the water. Once she sat down, she looked around, scanning the beach as if she was searching for someone. I crouched beside her, uncapped the water, and held it to her mouth. She drank reflexively at first, but then her thirst kicked in and she took the bottle from my hands, draining it. “Do you want some more?” I asked.

  “No, thank you,” she said. Her eyes seemed unfocused and her voice sounded raspy from the crying. I put my arm around her, which seemed to comfort her. “After I hear back from my pilot I’ll have him come get us and take us to the hotel, okay? I left him a message. I’m sure he’ll be calling very soon.”

  “Okay,” she said. I hated lying to her, but maybe it didn’t matter because her tone was apathetic at best. I could have told her anything and she probably would have responded the same way.

  “Do you think you can eat something?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you want to rinse off?” She was covered in James’s dried blood. Her arms and legs were streaked red, and her shorts and shirt were tacky with it; it seemed to be everywhere. There was no way she’d go in the water, but I could have put her under the shower and dressed her in clean clothes.

  “I just want to sit, Owen.”

  So we sat in the shade under the tree all morning, not talking. At one point I realized Calia had fallen asleep again, slumped against me, so I laid her down with her head in my lap. I stared out at the water, and I no longer noticed the vibrant color or the clear shallows. I could only see the image of blood staining the water a cruel red.

  The sky became overcast an hour later and at first I didn’t think anything of it. During the rainy season, it wasn’t uncommon for there to be periods of showers off and on throughout the day. Sometimes the rain fell while the sun still shone, and sometimes the clouds rolled in suddenly, rolling out just as fast when the rain ended.

  But the sky darkened and the rain didn’t come. The wind picked up a little and churned the water in the lagoon, and I could almost feel the drop in barometric pressure. I’d thought that things couldn’t possibly get worse, but of course they could; they always could. I felt like screaming at the sky.

  I roused Calia, but she didn’t seem to register the approaching storm. I had to start preparing, which would be more difficult since I’d be moving everything by myself.

  “The weather’s turning a bit,” I said, trying to downplay the situation. “It will probably blow through fast, so don’t worry.” I didn’t want to alarm her, but Calia looked at me with fear in her eyes, and I remembered the tears I’d seen in them during the last storm. “It’ll be okay,” I said. But I honestly didn’t know how much more she could take.

  I stood up and had taken a few steps toward the tent when I heard the sound: the twin engines of a seaplane. The relief that swept through me was immeasurable, and it grew as the plane suddenly came into vi
ew, dropping out of the clouds and landing in the lagoon. When I looked back on it later, I wondered if there had been some kind of divine intervention. Like the universe had decided we’d suffered enough, so it sent us the one thing I had always dreaded but actually needed right then: a storm we couldn’t ride out.

  “Stay here,” I said to Calia, though I probably didn’t need to, because she didn’t seem as if she had the ability to follow me.

  The door to the seaplane was already open when I reached it. He took one look at my face and said, “It’s okay, son. I told you I’d come get you if the weather got too bad. I tried to call but you didn’t answer.

  “James is dead,” I blurted. “He got bitten by something, a shark probably, and bled to death.” I thought telling someone would make me feel better, but it didn’t. It made it seem more real, more horrifying. Especially when I saw the expression on Captain Forrester’s face. I’d never seen him look shocked before, but that’s what I was seeing now. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what to do,” I yelled. “I don’t know what the fuck to do!”

  “Okay, calm down. Listen,” he said, glancing toward the beach where Calia was lying slumped over on the sand. “The first thing we’re going to do is pack up and head back before this storm really lets loose. We’ll worry about what to do next when we get there.” He jumped into the water and looked over his shoulder at me. “Come on, son.”

  It took several trips. We hurried back and forth to the seaplane carrying the camp stove, the tent, Calia’s and my suitcase, James’s backpack, and the tent. The beach showed no sign of anyone having been there except for the large red stain on the sand that the rain would wash away.

  The first crack of thunder came when I was about to walk into the woods. “There are some things in the house,” I said.

  “Anything you can’t replace?” he asked with some urgency. “We really need to get going.”

  I mentally inventoried the contents of the house: Calia’s guitar, my toolbox, James’s sleeping bag, and a few of his clothes.