Uncharted(29)

Who knows how long I’ll have to make this tube last?

The small act of brushing and flossing brings me more joy than I’ve felt since we hit the first bump of turbulence three days ago. Three days. Can it really only be that long? My whole world has shifted so rapidly in such a short span of time, it’s difficult to reconcile in my mind.

With a minty-fresh mouth, neatly combed hair, and a healthy layer of deodorant, I feel like a brand new girl. Later, I’ll see about washing my clothes. The thought brings a genuine smile to my face.

Thrilled by the prospect of doing laundry! Mom would never believe it, if she were here.

I brush off the sand clinging to my legs and sweep my eyes across the stretch of dense forest surrounding our camp. There’s so much plant life here, I’m certain there’s a water source somewhere nearby. A stream, a brook, a waterfall. I’d settle for anything. Hell, even a salty bath in the ocean would be better than another day in this dirty dress. The chiffon blue fabric, which once swished so prettily around my legs, is so sun-bleached and stained I hardly recognize it.

A moan of pain snaps me back into my senses.

Ian.

Shame floods me instantly. I’ve been so distracted by superficial concerns, so worried about my damn appearance, I’ve neglected him completely. I curse myself for being so caught up in improving my own quality of life, when there’s a man dying a few feet away. As I rush to his side, I’m suddenly happy there are no mirrors here.

I’m not sure I’d like the person I’d see looking back, at the moment.

That girl I used to be — the peppy cheerleader who cared about perfect hair and proper makeup and coordinated outfits — isn’t welcome on the island. There’s no place for her here. No purpose.

I must shed her like a second skin, shake off the person I once was…

And become someone stronger.





Chapter Nine





A G O N Y





I’m crouched by Ian’s side when Beck walks back into our camp. There’s no sound, no true indication of his arrival. I sense him like you might a coming storm. The air goes static and I simply know, as every hair on the back of my neck snaps to attention, that he’s standing behind me.

I turn in time to see him dump several large coconuts on the ground. He’s not looking at me; his eyes are on Ian.

“Good morning,” I say haltingly.

His nod is brusque. “Now that you’re awake… shall we get this over with?”

I bite down on my lip to keep from snapping at him. “You could’ve woken me.”

“I figured you could use the rest. And—”

“And what?”

His eyes finally flicker up to mine. “I’m in no rush to see how this turns out.”

Can’t argue with him there.

Heart in my throat, I turn back to our patient as Beck crouches down beside me. He swears colorfully when he catches sight of the leg. I had a similar reaction a few minutes ago, when I pulled off Ian’s blankets. The wound is even more inflamed. In addition to the dried blood, there’s pus forming at the breaks in his skin. Worst of all, his toes have turned black at the tips from lack of circulation.

Neither of us says anything for a long time. Finally, Beck breaks the silence.

“Violet.”

I go still, bracing for whatever he’s about to say.

“Look at me,” he commands softly.

I glance over, already fighting tears and he hasn’t even spoken.

His brow is furrowed as he stares into my face. I get the sense he’s weighing his words carefully. “You can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Save the leg. Save… him.”

A tear trickles out the corner of my eye. “I have to try.”

“We don’t have the equipment…” He reaches out, as if to touch me, then pulls back at the last instant. “We can’t set those bones into place. They’re shattered. Even a surgeon might struggle to repair this kind of damage. The leg… it’s not salvageable. Do you understand?”

I nod.

He lets out a slow breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” I ask, setting my shoulders stubbornly.

He stares at me. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save him.”

“We are going to save him.”

His brow furrows once more, until the scar bisecting his left eyebrow turns white. “Did you not hear a word I said?”

“I heard you. The leg isn’t salvageable.” I stare him down. “That’s why we’re going to cut it off.”

“The fuck we are,” he retorts, looking at me like I’ve gone mad.

Maybe I have.

“You can either help me, or I’ll do it myself,” I tell him flatly. “But things will go a lot smoother if you help.”

“You— this— You can’t possibly be serious.”

“As a heart attack.” I glance around for the supply pack. At the bottom, I find the hunting knife. It’s not exactly a Japanese steel chef blade, but it should be sharp enough to get the job done. I walk to the fire and embed it in the hot embers, careful not to singe my fingertips. My eyes scan the ground until I spot Beck’s duffle. When I reach it, I lean down and begin digging through the contents without waiting for permission.