Uncharted(59)

“Fuck,” I hear Beck mutter, the word snatched away by the breeze a second after it leaves his lips.

I follow his line of sight out over the white-capped water. What I see there makes my blood run cold. There’s a dense wall of rain moving toward us, pouring straight down in a sheet as the storm-front makes its approach. The sky above churns with clouds, moving clockwise like a deadly carousel. It’s maybe a mile offshore, two at the most. And from the looks of it…

It’s headed straight for us.

These gusting winds are merely the first claws of the beastly typhoon bearing down on our island. Lightning flashes, illuminating the swirling clouds from the inside like a cat-burglar in a darkened house. As a little girl, whenever an electrical storm would light up the mountain range just beyond my backyard, I’d count Mississippis in my head before thunder shook the sky, trying to gauge the storm’s distance from my bedroom window.

I do the same thing now.

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Three Mississippi.

Boom.

The whole earth seems to tremble. If it’s this intense while the storm is still a few miles offshore… I can only imagine what that same thunder will feel like when it’s directly over our heads. Apparently, Beck has the same thought. Without another moment’s hesitation, his hand tightens on mine as he turns and starts dragging me back toward the cabin.

“Come on!” he barks, increasing his pace. As we run, I watch the wind tear our raft to ribbons, the thick plastic shredding like a piece of tissue paper. Coconuts begin to catapult from the branches overhead like bombs, crashing against the beach with an explosive shower of sand.

“Duck!” I scream as I watch one fly straight for Beck’s face. We only just manage to avoid the hurling projectile. I’ve always thought that statistic ‘Falling coconuts kill more people than shark attacks!’ was total bullshit until this moment, when I find myself dodging them like bullets, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I’m sure an arrhythmia is imminent.

We burst through the entryway, a momentary reprieve from the lashing wind. Beck drops my hand and beelines for his duffle bag. As I watch, he starts shoving items in at random — the knife, the water bottle, our fishing line, the first aid kit, our flare gun. Anything within reach that seems at all important is deposited roughly into the green canvas.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“We have to leave!” He yells over the roaring wind, tossing my backpack in my direction.

I barely manage to catch it. “Leave?! And go where?”

“The caves, on the west side — we’ll be protected there!”

My head shakes in swift rejection. “We can’t abandon our home, Beck!”

“This isn’t a discussion. We’re going, now.”

“You can go, but I’m staying!” I snap, digging my heels in.

“Like fuck you are!”

My next argument is cut off by a loud creaking sound. I watch with wide eyes as the left wall of the cabin we’ve spent the past three months building — log by log, lash by lash — is shorn cleanly from the rest of the structure. Beck hurls himself on top of me, flattening us against the earth as the remaining walls cave in all around us. It happens so fast, there’s not even time to scream.

Someone up there must be looking out for us, because we’re untouched when the sand clouds lift. Raising his head, Beck glares down into my face. “You can come willingly or I’ll carry you. But we aren’t staying here another second.”

I stare into his eyes, then around at the remnants of our home, reduced to rubble. Everything we’ve worked so hard to piece together… gone in a single gust. My eyes sting from more than the whipping winds as I give a tremulous nod.

“Let’s go.”

As we scramble to our feet, Beck grabs his duffle and I sling my backpack over one shoulder. Lacing our hands together, we start running as fast as we can. I throw a glance back at the beach and see the typhoon is even closer now, roiling black and purple as it prepares to make landfall. As I watch, a tornado funnel descends from the clouds to form a waterspout. Two more appear in the seconds after.

Fuck.

We increase our pace as we sprint down the beach, the wind at our back spurring us onward. My backpack bangs between my shoulder blades with each stride. We pass the tidal pools, completely submerged by frothing surf. Beck’s fishing traps are scattered in pieces on the beach, smashed to bits by the ocean’s punishing assault. When a massive swell crashes a bit too close for comfort, we dart beneath the tree cover.

Calling it cover might be a stretch, at the moment. Palms are stripped bare as strong blasts of wind rip away branches. Low-lying bushes are pulled up by their roots and sucked into the sky. More coconuts fly through the air, smashing into the sand like deadly mortar shells, a tropical version of D-Day at Normandy.

We keep our heads down as we race west, in the direction of the caves. My feet slice to shreds against the rough coral rocks littering the ground. Wincing with pain, I wish I’d had the forethought to pull on Ian’s shoes before we left camp. There’s nothing to be done about it now. No time to stop, no possibility of a break.

Much as I initially wanted to deny it… Beck was right. This storm will kill us, if we don’t reach shelter soon.

By the time we burst from the trees by the western cliffs, I’m breathless and bleeding. There are scratches all over my arms and legs from racing through the thicket. Each step across the rocks leaves a bloody footprint as I limp toward the dark mouth of the cave. We stagger inside without preamble, leaning on the rock walls for guidance in the pitch black. There’s no light, nothing to see by. Every surface drips with moisture.