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“Come on,” I say to the chicken, coming to a stand. She tilts her head from side to side, then follows me.
I have always loved animals, but finding this chicken feels like a miracle. In absolute nothingness, I found hope, something which I haven’t felt in days. When we reach the shore, I dump my things into the box and decide to walk along the beach to see if I can find anything to eat.
The chicken clucks, and I smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t eat you. Besides, my rule is, if you name something, you can’t eat it, and I name you…”
“A chicken?” Saint’s surprised voice booms from out of nowhere, scaring the chicken as she runs behind me.
I can practically see Saint’s tongue hit the ground as he visualizes roasting my friend over an open fire. Not on my watch.
I notice he has a brown wooden drum thrown over his shoulder. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing at it.
“Rum,” he replies, eyes still fixated on the chicken.
“Rum?” I repeat. “You found that in the cave?”
He nods, dropping the keg onto the sand. “Yes. Where did you find the chicken?”
“I didn’t. She found me.” I step to the side when he advances forward.
He arches a brow. “What are you doing?”
“What areyoudoing?”
He purses his lips. “I’m going to make us lunch.”
When he continues marching toward me, I stand my ground, blocking his path. “I don’t think so.” When his nose scrunches up in confusion, I explain, “I named her. Therefore, she is my pet, and the rules are, you can’t eat a pet.”
“Rules?” he queries, confused. “Whose rules? That’s fucking ridiculous.”
“No, actually, it’s not.” I fold my arms firmly. “You can’t eat her.”
“What’s her name then?” he challenges.
Shit.
“Harriet,” I blurt out, unsure where the name came from, but it’ll do.
Saint places his hands on his hips, his cheeks billowing as he exhales. This is an argument he will not win. “I have a name for her.” I wait for him to enlighten me. “Pot pie.”
My lips twitch, but I refuse to laugh because he’s not eating my chicken. “Well, it looks like she has two names, so we definitely can’t eat her now.”
Harriet Pot Pie squawks in agreement.
“I can’t believe you’re going to keep her as a pet.” He shakes his head, but there is no ammunition.
“She’ll be a lot more useful to us alive.” He waits for me to explain how. “Yes, we could eat her.” It feels sacrilegious even uttering those words. “But that will last us one maybe two meals. But I’m pretty sure having a constant supply of eggs will be more beneficial in the long run.”
He opens his mouth, ready to argue, but he closes it soon after. He knows I’m right. “Fine. But if she doesn’t lay any eggs, name or no name, she better watch out.”
I bite my lip to smother my smile.
“So we have coconuts and rum?”
Saint nods, rubbing the back of his neck. We’re both roasting under the sun. “I can’t find anything to eat other than fish. There are a few berry bushes growing up near the cave. They look like blackberries, but I can’t be sure. Mushrooms are growing everywhere, but I don’t fancy an acid trip or dying, so they’re out.
“I’ll gather what I can and test it out.”
“Test it how?”
