CHAPTER TEN

"Do you think she made it?" asked Vic, looking at his friends.

They'd been lucky enough to find an entire case of canned vegetables and were enjoying the roasted corn tonight. Calvin, their expert fisherman, had scored their evening meal for them. Tonight, it almost felt normal. Like three buddies camping on the beach. But it was not normal. Nothing about their decades-long struggle was normal.

They'd fought off fevers, diarrhea, vomiting, bug bites, jellyfish stings, and so much more. It was pure stubbornness that they weren't all dead. Stubbornness and a little bit of a miracle.

"I don't know," said Damon. "It's a big fucking ocean for a tiny girl in a tiny boat. Even if someone found her, what if they were worse than what she left? What if they were just as sick as he was? If she didn't make it, I hope it was a swift end for her."

"Don't say that!" said Calvin, scolding his friend.

"Calvin, I only meant I didn't want her to suffer," said Damon, gripping his friend's shoulder. "If she made it, maybe someone will come for us."

"She wouldn't know how to get back here, Damon," said Vic. "She has no idea where we are. Hell, we're not even sure where we are. That fucking bastard that's kept us on these islands all these years is the only one that truly knows."

"He's the one that I wish would have a long, slow, painful death," said Calvin. "Him and that sadistic brother of his."

They ate in silence for a few minutes longer, just staring at the setting sun. It was starting to become cooler in the evenings. It would force them to spend more time inside the cave with a fire instead of on the beach.

"What's that?" asked Damon, pointing to the beach.

"Just some driftwood," said Calvin. "I'll get it, and we can use it for the fire."

He stood and walked slowly to the water's edge. There were some articles of clothing washing ashore as well, and he tossed those back onto the sand. They would wring them out and hang them to dry. Even if they didn't fit, they'd be able to use them in some other way.

Kneeling in the sand, he picked up the large piece of wood, staring at it. The name of the vessel was cut off, but he felt the chills go up his spine.

"What is it? What's wrong, Calvin?" asked Vic.

"It's his boat. The fucking bastard went down," smirked Calvin. He stood, letting out a whoop and a yell of excitement. "He's fucking dead!"

"Holy shit," muttered Damon, looking at the signage. "It's his. His boat is the one where we've been getting all this stuff. The clothes, the food, all of it. It was on his yacht. Now, that's fucking ironic."

"Look! There's more coming in," said Calvin.

It was as if Christmas had come early for the men. Suitcases full of clothing, crates filled with food supplies, much of which they couldn't use. Fish and meat were spoiled after floating in the hot sun for days and weeks without any ice. The real treat was the cans of coffee, sugar, and flour. An entire metal box held spices. All carefully packed in watertight, airtight containers. It was a true blessing.

"This one has flares," said Vic. "Signal flares."

"Hide them," said Damon. "Hide them in case they search the island when they come back. The rest of it, let's put in our hidden food store."

"Wait!" said Vic, reaching into one of the crates. "Not until we enjoy these." He pulled out two packages of cookies. Nothing homemade, but store-bought was good enough for the men who had been so deprived.

"Cookies," they laughed. "Anything else good in there?"

"Caviar. But who gives a fuck about caviar. We've got the necessities."