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“We will have to stay in the storm shelter for now,” he says, and I nod. “We are going to see if anything can be salvaged around the place and if we can make contact with Sal.” I hope he knows we are in trouble, that he is already on his way here.
“Is there anyone on that boat?” I ask, the painted hull bobbing up and down clanging against the concrete of the dock.
“Not that we can tell, no.” If they were below deck, they will have drowned when it capsized. “We will have it moved away from the island and sink as soon as we can.” Sink, that’s what they do? I never thought about the logistics of a broken boat until now. “It will contaminate the water if we leave it.”
“Okay,” I say still shocked at what weather can do, “how can I help?” I ask him, not sure what the hell any of us can do. We’re isolated, alone and far from help. This is not good — nothing that I can see around me is good. I’m fighting the urge to burst into tears, I have to be better than that for the little boy inside.
“For now, just stay with Raul, and we will see what we can do. It’s going to be rough until Sal can get back to us. Without communications we have no way to get help or get off the island.” Him and his fucking fear that I would run away, now we’re sitting ducks. I’m mad at him for leaving me, what was so fucking important? More important than us?
I trudge through the debris with them until I get to the edge of the dock, my stomach knots thinking of the people on the boat. I stop there and when I look down at my feet I see Raul’s favorite bedtime story book a soggy mess. Everything is gone. What do we do now, there is no home, will we have to leave the island? What will Sal do with me? He can’t exactly take me home — that is not an option for us.
I pick up pieces of the life I had made here on the island as I walk back to the storm shelter. Pieces of the future I was already dreaming of are scattered around, it feels like the end of something that never truly began. Raul is crying and I walk a little faster to get there. I guess we will be spending another night in the cold concrete shelter.
***
We haven’t been able to make contact with anyone off the island despite the team trying every trick in their book. This place is cut off from civilization, and I have visions of Robinson Crusoe in my head. We will live off the land and build a treehouse if we have to, but I am not going to die out here on this tiny rock.
We have all been trying to salvage some of the wreckage and assess how badly damaged the house is. The lighthouse has stood firm, and I guess it is made for that purpose, to guide sailors in the storms. It has probably been here since way before Sal bought the island. It’s beautiful in its own way standing tall on the rocks, alone, like us.
I climb the winding stairs all the way to the top where the glass is all blown out, but the light still shines. There’s a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of nothing but water. The sun glows golden as the storm clouds have cleared away, and in the far distance on the horizon I can see the shadowy online of a boat.
I doubt they will see us or come near. Only the Russians dock here or know they can, we have no way to signal the passing ship for help — we just have to wait and pray.
“This lighthouse seems to be immortal.” I get a fright when someone talks behind me.
“There’s a boat out there.” I point, hopeful he might think they’re coming for us.
“It’s probably a private yacht, or a cruise liner. They won’t come close enough to see any signal we can send.” He wastes no time dashing my hopes. We have not seen a boat near the island since I got here, I should have known they would give this place a wide berth.
“Could we use a flare or something?” I am desperate for some sort of hope, I need to know we will be okay. What if another’s storm comes, and we have no way to know. The food and drinking water we have won’t last forever — it might last another week maybe two. I’m worried I will run out of formula for Raul, then what?
“They won’t see a flare from that far away, Lucia,” he says, his voice flat and defeated. All of us are starting to worry — and I worry more what men like them may do in desperation if they have to. I am not safe with them, not completely safe. “We can only hope now that Sal is on his way here, maybe he got news that we were in trouble.”
I hope he did, I wonder that business he had to attend to. If he is even safe or alive — you can never know with The Kings. Nothing is certain, and that is scaring me. Without Sal, I am worth more dead than alive right now. “We will come up and check later. If it gets closer, we can try.” That’s better than not trying, I nod and leave him up there.
I grew up my whole life knowing that bad things are all around us, I had security, guards, and guns in my home. I knew how to run, and to hide and to shut my mouth. None of that ever felt like this — I was never afraid. I could face any of it, but the daunting isolation of what I am facing now is crippling me.
When the sun goes down, we all settle in the shelter with the men each taking shifts to guard the outside of the door since we no longer have any security at all. Every two hours they swap and try get some uncomfortable sleep in the small space. None of this is ideal, but we are alive for now. That is all I have to cling to.
It’s the dead of night, darkest of the dark when I hear shouting and someone banging on the door. My heart is pounding as the men scramble to open the door and see what is going on. I grab Raul and move to a safe spot far in the corner where we are shielded from danger and can hide if we have to.
“There’s a boat,” the head of security shouts to me, “stay here we will first see who it is, and if it is safe.” I nod and move behind the wall, so we are in the small bathroom. I strain to try and listen to what is going on. When I hear the first shots fired, I jump, and then shake, Raul starts to cry, and desperately try to quiet him. “Shhh.” Please baby, we have to be quiet. There’s danger out there.
Gunfire— shouting— more shots fired— silence.
I hold my breath, close my eyes, and hug the tiny boy against me, bracing for whoever has found us to come in and shoot. I will do whatever I can to save Raul, even if it means putting myself between him and a bullet.
“Lucia.” A loud voice bellows through the room, “Lucia, where are you?” I know that voice, I have known it all my life. My father has come to save me— to save us. He found me, like I always knew he would. I may be a brat, but he loves me.
“Papa.” I step out of the small bathroom into the storm shelter, and see his tired, worried face. “You came!” I am overjoyed, tears of relief roll down my cheeks. We are going to be okay, we are saved. But my joy fades when I realize he has killed the men who have kept me safe and alive. To him they were the enemy, they had me prisoner — he does not know what has happened here at all.
“Where is Salvatore?” he growls out, not even happy to see me. Anger and hatred ooze from him. He’s out for blood, and that is scary even for me. Some of his soldiers come in behind him and start tossing the place, searching for the man I love. I will not tell him where Sal is.
“He left before the storm,” I say, “I don’t know where he went.” I lie to my own family.
“Is he coming back?” he asks me, his eyes landing on Raul.
“I don’t think so, I think he left me here to suffer, or die.” Another bold-faced lie, and I pray he can’t see through it. “I am so happy to see you.” I say hoping my father is happy to see me too, not just seeking his own revenge.
