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Skyler’s eyes widen, his focus shifting past me. “Is that…?”
I nod. “A boat.”
Grateful for the perfectly timed rescue—for more reasons than one—I grab Skyler’s dirty shirt off the floor. The buttons have been torn off, but at least it’ll provide him some coverage.
Quickly, and as gently as I can, I ease the shirt up one arm, then the other. Wincing right along with him when the movement pulls on his injuries.
I help him with his shoes next. If anything, the boat seems to be drawing nearer, so I’m not too worried they’ll leave before I can alert them to our location.
Once I’ve tied his shoelaces, I push back to a crouched stand, eyeing him up and down, carefully avoiding his gaze. His shirt hangs open around his torso—dirty and wrinkled. His shorts stained with dirt. Blood dripping down his leg.
“Come on,” I mutter, turning away, ignoring the eyes raking over my bare back.
Grabbing my backpack, I throw it over my shoulder and quickly exit the cave, holding a hand up to ward off the piercing sunlight.
I sense Skyler ambling up behind me. He’s limping—he tries to hide it, but there’s no mistaking it.
A voice calls out again and I blink a few times, waving my arm. “Over here!” I shout.
There, in the bay, a small boat, not unlike the ones they use to transport us here from the mainland, hovers not far from our hidden cove.
Skyler shivers next to me and I glance over at him, worried. He’s in a world of agony if his grimace is anything to go by.
Or he’s traumatized…
Both, probably,I silently amend.
Shaking my head, I let it hang in shame, my eyes drifting shut.
The man on the boat calls out something through the megaphone, but I don’t hear anything under the rushing of blood in my ears.
Everything that happens next, happens in a blur, as if I’m outside myself, watching on as the boat reaches us, and we climb inside. I vaguely recognize the man as the same one who transported me here on my first day.
He’s asking questions, and on autopilot I answer, remaining vague.
We got lost.
The bridge collapsed.
We took shelter in a cave.
Skyler remains quiet.
The man commandeering the boat bypasses our cove, steering us around a jutting cliff, and before I know it, he’s pulling in along a narrow dock.
Waiting for us are a handful of workers, some vaguely familiar, some I’ve never seen before. They’ve got their golf carts and their radios and someone’s got blankets. The guy driving the boat must’ve alerted them when he spotted us.
Two women whisk Skyler away as soon as we hit the beach.
Someone’s trying to convince me to get checked out in Medical as well, but I quickly shake my head, refusing, insisting I’m fine.
And I am…
Physically.
“In that case, you’re coming with me,” a security personnel says gruffly, clasping my shoulder. He guides me toward another golf cart, gesturing for me to climb in.
Up ahead, Skyler glances over his shoulder.
