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I pause for a moment, shielding my eyes from the rain. The ocean is an enormous bank of gray, the water pelting its surface. There is no longer any distinction between the waves and the horizon.
Rather than swim around this last outcropping, I head to the trees where I originally saw the sand footprints emerge. There’s nothing now. The rain has washed away all evidence of Bailey’s path. But I’d rather stay on land at this point, and the trees will provide some protection.
There’s a sandy trail that I follow. I push my hair out of my eyes. Hell of a thing, getting caught in a storm like this, alone on an island. As mad as I am at Bailey for what she’s done, I hope she wasn’t afraid.
I emerge from the trees, realizing it’s quite a way to the huts. I forgot that I swam the distance the first time. But I think I can make out the buildings in the rain.
I push off for another run. The rain gets heavier, stinging my face.
I haven’t gone very far when I nearly trip over a lounger. There’s three sitting together.
This was mine, where I sat with Caleb and Sarah.
My soggy towel, shirt, and shoes are on the ground, almost hidden beneath it.
I snatch them up and keep going. I should make it to the main grouping of chairs any minute.
I curse when my knee hits another lounger, then another. I’m in the middle of them. They’re hard to discern in the driving rain. I’m not sure how we’re even going to take the boat back to the ship. Maybe everyone’s waiting it out in the hut.
But something tells me I’m wrong. I know the hut isn’t big enough for our entire group. And the kayak hut isn’t either.
I spot the brown structure ahead. Thank God. It doesn’t have doors, just an open side.
I lunge across the threshold and pause, panting from the exertion of the swim and the lengthy run.
There’s no one here.
Everything was clearly packed in a hurry. There are bags of trash lining one wall. The table hasn’t been wiped down. The big hand-crank ice crusher sits forlornly on the metal stand on the opposite side, the oversized bowl beneath it. There’s even ice floating in the bottom on an inch of water.
Lightning cracks, and I turn to look over the ocean, or where it ought to be. There’s nothing but gray, briefly lit up in the flash. I think I see the ship in the distance, but I’m not sure.
Is there some emergency bunker here I don’t know about? Could everyone be in it?
I head to the bowl of ice and scoop a handful of water in my mouth. At least I’m no longer salty from my run in the rain.
I refuse to panic. Surely they couldn’t have gotten everyone back on the boat while I was walking around the island. How long has it been?
I lift my wrist and tap my waterproof watch.
I was gone for over two hours.
Well, thatisenough time.
I survey the hut. There’s a kitchen area in the back where staff assembled the oyster platters and replenished the taco fixings from coolers. It’s a rudimentary setup with no appliances. But there is a sink on the back counter.
The counters are all empty.
Damn it. Obviously, the captain realized a storm was coming, or had unexpectedly turned toward this island, and called everyone back early. Nobody noticed my things so far away. With two boats, it was probably easy to assume that someone you don’t see is on the other one. We hadn’t exactly assigned buddies.
Lighting cracks again. I step to the edge of the hut, peering at the dock. I can barely make out the long walkway.
There is no movement, not anywhere. Another flash confirms my suspicion. The dock is empty. Both the passenger and the crew boats are gone.
I don’t know how long it will take for anyone to notice I’m not there. I’m rooming alone. I scared Gloria off. If I don’t answer my door, they’ll assume I’m trying to work.
Great. Just great.
The wind shifts directions suddenly, pelting me with rain. The branches of the high palm trees swirl madly.
