Sadie Walker Is Stranded (19 page)

The water slicked by, shiny and rippled, close enough to touch with just the tiniest extension of my arm. It glistened invitingly but I knew better. It was ice cold and filled with unseen dangers. We were quiet again.

“My turn to ask questions?”

“Be my guest,” I said. “Not much else to do.”

“You could try paddling.”

“Oh, no thank you. You’re doing a fine job of it on your own.”

I felt a pinch on the back of my neck and the rough calluses of his fingertips.

“Let me see,” he said, puffing out a thoughtful sigh. “Favorite drink?”

I had expected the usual questions: Where are you from? What did you do? Where’s your family? Expectations are silly that way.

“Right now? Anything. But before … I don’t know, vodka I guess … Maybe a martini.”

“Zombie match-up?”

“That’s easy,” I said, laughing. “Hands down—it would have to be Jonas Brothers versus zombie Anthony Bourdain.”

“Ugh.” He made a gagging sound. “Good God, what a bloodbath. You’re merciless.”

“Yours?”

We were getting closer. On our left I saw a deep, rocky inlet and the top of a mast poking out of the trees like a pale, skinny finger. We drifted past the wreck of Arturo’s boat. Whelan must have noticed it because he waited to answer my question until we were safely away from the depressing sight.

“Me,” he said calmly. The nose of the canoe dipped. “Me versus any of them.”

*   *   *

The camp still stood. It stood but I didn’t know for how much longer. Whelan made me stay in the canoe as he dragged it up onto the beach. The lean-to leaned a little
too
much in the distance. I felt embarrassed, as if I were bringing home a boyfriend to a messy, cheap little apartment. That anxiety would have to wait. First things first: make sure my colossal mistake hadn’t resulted in anyone’s death, especially Shane’s. Whelan helped me out of the canoe, picking me up by the armpits and setting me down away from the water. My raggedy feet were in his debt … again.

Figures appeared one by one, coming fast down the beach toward us. I detected the thinnest trail of smoke, which meant the fire probably hadn’t gone out. I hobbled up the beach to meet them, Whelan a few feet behind. Andrea crashed right into me, hug-choking until I begged for air. There were tears in her eyes. I expected Shane to replace her, but he hung back, glaring at me. My heart fell.

Ignoring the others, I went quickly to Shane, as quickly as I could manage. I tried to hug him but he dodged, stumbling away.

“No!” he shouted, pushing at my shoulders as I tried for another hug.

“Shane … Shane, I’m sorry … Please don’t be upset.” He struggled even as I managed to yank him into my arms. Grunting and whimpering, he wriggled, refusing to hug me back. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to leave you like that, I didn’t…”

“Again!” he screamed. “You didn’t mean to leave me
again
?”

“I hurt my feet … I couldn’t walk back … I know you’re angry, I know it. I tried to come back. I tried.”

“I don’t care,” Shane grew still, panting. “You said you would be back soon and you weren’t.”

I kissed the top of his head, squeezing. He was being generous. I deserved so much more than his contempt. But it hurt. It stung that what had started out as something for us—something for
him
—had backfired so epically.

“I’ll make it up to you,” I said. “It was all … it was a mess. I’m sorry, Shane.”

“You’re not supposed to go alone,” he whispered. “Never alone.”

“And I won’t, you’re right. Will you forgive me? Please? I won’t be a moron again…”

It felt like an empty promise. I’m sure it sounded like one to him, but I meant it. God, all I wanted was to do right by the kid and I kept fucking up. Was this how all parents felt? Scrambling to figure it out, to make things safe and perfect and finding it just wasn’t possible?

“Okay,” he finally said, sagging.

Then he hugged my neck, just briefly, but it made all the difference to me.

I stood up, holding tightly to Shane’s hand and bringing him with me. He stared at my bandaged feet as I hobbled back toward the group. Noah and Moritz stood next to each other, stalk-still, both of them wearing twin expressions, staring at me like I was a ghost. I felt like one. Whelan returned to the canoe and unpacked my shoes and bow.

“I lost the knife,” was all I could say.

“What happened to you?” Noah shouted, catching up to Moritz and Andrea. Cassandra lagged behind, eyeing us uncertainly. Andrea seemed to be at a loss for words.

“I got lost.” No explanation or excuse felt adequate. “This is Whelan.”

He shook hands with everybody in turn, even Cassandra, who shrank back immediately after letting go of his hand. Seeing Whelan beside them put our camp’s situation in sharp relief. He looked clean, well-fed, rested and strong, with just a ghost of stubble on his jaw. Moritz and Noah now had full beards. Our clothes were in a terrible state, ripped and stained and bloodied. Moritz, Noah and Andrea had developed dark bags under their eyes from lack of sleep and their cheeks were sunken from malnutrition. Shane looked slightly better, which made me think they had given the remaining food to him. Moritz appeared especially bedraggled, insisting on wearing his ridiculous tweed suit with the blue scarf, which was now more like a collection of blue strings.

To his credit, Whelan said nothing and smiled pleasantly, politely. At that moment I couldn’t muster the slightest interest in his opinion of our little crew. Motley didn’t even begin to describe it.

Suddenly, Andrea pushed me, hard, blue eyes blazing. “I thought you were dead.”

Out of the corner of my eye Whelan bristled, drawing himself to his full height, which was—without a doubt—intimidating. He gave her a look that should’ve left her limp and bleeding. I put up a hand, exhausted, sore and ready for a nap.

“She’s injured,” Whelan said. He placed a big, steadying hand on my shoulder.

That seemed to lessen some of Shane’s irritation with me. He gave my hand a quick squeeze and then another, as if communicating his support in Morse code. Moritz shuffled forward, his sparkling eyes flicking nervously between Whelan’s face and mine. Custer had gotten a warmer reception at Little Bighorn.

“I’m happy to see that you’re safe,” Moritz said quietly. I had forgotten how lyrical his accent was. He trained his eyes closely on my face. “How did you hurt your feet?”

“Saving me,” Whelan replied flatly.

“Actually, I asked Sadie,” Moritz countered.

“It’s a long story.” I turned to Whelan, who was busy starting a staring contest with Moritz. Never in the history of man had two people reverted to adolescence with such unbelievable, single-minded speed. “Are you going to piss on a tree now or can we proceed like adults?”

“My bad,” Whelan murmured. Good enough.

“Shane, Whelan,” I said, gesturing quickly between man and boy, though which was which was still up for debate. “Whelan, Shane.”

“Hi there,” Whelan said, giving an awkward wave.

Shane waved back, just as awkward.

I began to walk up the beach toward the lean-to, refusing to relinquish Shane’s clammy hand as I went. Andrea followed. She had gone suspiciously quiet since her little violent outburst. Whelan, Moritz and the others ambled after us at a relaxed, or maybe cautious, pace.

“Listen,” I said to Andrea. “Yesterday sucked. I made a mistake. In the woods … I was ambushed. There are infected ones here, Andrea, but there’s another camp too.”

Quickly, I related the previous night’s events to her and Shane. They both listened closely, Andrea’s face softening as I explained what had happened to my feet and the kindness shown to me by Whelan and Banana. She seemed to be emerging from a trance, her eyes growing clearer and more intelligent by the second. Then she began to nod and make sounds in response to my story. Whatever disappointment or rage she felt had subsided by the end of my explanation.

“We can make a go of it here,” I concluded, addressing primarily Shane. He nodded in response, his curls bouncing. “But we’ll need to figure out a better way to get water and make permanent housing.”

“Why don’t you make a solar still?” Whelan had been eavesdropping on the latter half of our conversation. He was met with three very blank expressions.

“Here,” he said, motioning for us to follow. “I’ll show you.”

Even Moritz and Cassandra wandered over to listen to Whelan’s instructions. Ignoring the others, I watched Andrea appraising him. Judging by her expression, she was warming to his presence. That was quick. Big, ocean blue eyes attached to six plus feet of tan brawn had a way of bringing people around, I suppose.

“You dig a hole in the wet ground,” Whelan was saying, “and place a pot or a bowl at the bottom.” He pointed to the sail tarp draped over the lean-to. “If you cover the hole with plastic and weight down the middle, the water in the ground will evaporate, stick to the tarp, trickle down and—automagically—you’ve got water.” Whelan punctuated his last point with a beaming smile and a flourish of his hands. He was a showman. Andrea grinned, under his spell.

“Hot,” she said, examining the back of his jeans.

“She means interesting,” I said quickly. “Really interesting. The still. The solar one. Interesting.”

Frosty, blank looks all around. Damn it.

“We need the tarp for the shelter,” I said, changing tack, and Whelan frowned, deep lines appearing perpendicular to his eyebrows. His eyes lingered on Shane, pupils dragging back and forth between us as if silently making a connection. Yes, this was
that
nephew, the one that I kept talking about in my desperate and failed attempts to get back to camp.

“You need a lot of things,” Whelan finally muttered.

I didn’t like it. I didn’t like him delivering me back to my own camp like a bag of groceries. I didn’t like that he knew more about survival than we did or that he had obviously picked up on the fact that we were in dire straits. I glanced at Andrea. She would be no help whatsoever. She was too busy making googly eyes at the back of Whelan’s jeans.

“You could come back with me,” he said. Whelan directed this at me but I knew that he was implying the rest of the camp as well. “We have water, plenty of it. We’ve got food, too, and cabins. It will be safer if we stick together.”

In that moment I hated him. He was undermining me, undermining all of us. At the mention of water and food, Noah had practically melted into a pile of goo. He was smiling so hard I thought his face might crack in half. I grabbed Whelan’s forearm, which was too big for my hand to fit all the way round. He let me drag him away from the others. As soon as we were out of earshot, Andrea started to whisper and gesticulate wildly. They had to be discussing the possibility of leaving and, I had to admit, Whelan had put forward a solid case.

“What are you doing?” I asked. He took back his forearm and calmly stared at me. It was the first time I noticed his ears stuck out funny from his head and that his perfectly waved hair was probably kept long to keep his monkey ears hidden. The blue, blue eyes stuck between those ears stared back coolly, unmoved. He had expected this reaction. “You were just supposed to drop me off. This is bullshit. Run along home, Whelan, we can take care of ourselves.”

“Really?” he asked, chuckling. Whelan glanced over his shoulder at the sad, crooked lean-to and our piddling fire. “From where I’m standing it looks like you could use some help. No fire? No water? How long do you expect to last like this?”

“You could’ve asked me first,” I replied. I was losing ground and motivation. After all, they had oatmeal, beds, clams,
coffee
 …

“All right. Sadie: Is it okay with you if I invite your friends to join my camp?”

“Not
now
,” I hissed, exasperated. “Before!”

“Well sor-ry,
Mom
.”

The damage had already been done. I was whining.
He
was whining. It was like arguing with a brick wall with gorgeous eyes. No. I focused on the funny ears instead. Whelan squinted down at me and I threw back my shoulders to keep from wilting under his gaze. Andrea watched us, her gaze inscrutable across the span of pebbly dunes. Pathetic. Two grown adults posturing like mountain goats over
survival
.

“I’m not leaving,” he said. “Not until you let me help you and your friends.”

“I’ll
make
you go.”

“With what? Salty language? You don’t even have a knife anymore. You’ve got a bow with no arrows.” He was right, of course, but his self-amused tone convinced me that he wasn’t. I felt like pelting him with rocks. Sharp ones. “You have to forget about your pride for a minute here and do what’s best for your friends. They look hungry, Sadie. And—no offense—so do you. At least I think you are, hard to tell under all that belligerence.”

Calmly, he tried to reach out and touch my shoulder. I jerked away.

“You just have to be the fucking hero, eh?” I muttered.

“I know.” He rolled his eyes. “The
audacity,
right?”

We had only barely managed to make it to this island alive. I just wanted a chance to prove that it wasn’t a complete accident. But maybe we
had
survived through sheer stupid luck, total chance. I didn’t know whether to be grateful for that, deeply ashamed or afraid. If there was one thing I learned from The Outbreak, it was that luck was fickle and bound to run out. Fortune looked me square in the face, giving us another chance to grasp at life and hang on. The thought of living side by side with Danielle made my skin crawl but eking out a living on rotten rations and a dwindling spirit could be worse. I had made harder sacrifices.

Whelan fidgeted, impatient for my answer. For him it was simple. I don’t know why I was so convinced I had something to prove.

“Let me talk to the others, okay?”

He nodded. When I turned to go he tried to follow.

“No,” I said. “Alone.”

Andrea met me halfway. She made sure I saw the hungry expression on her face when she gazed over my shoulder at Whelan—and here I mean hungry as in desirous of man flesh, not hungry as in desirous of a bagel. What the hell? Didn’t we have more important things to worry about?