‘Oh yeah?’ Oli grinned pushing her head under. ‘How'd you like them apples!’
For over an hour the six of them frolicked in the lagoon, in the sun. None of them had laughed so hard for days. The braver ones took turns jumping from the shelf into the cool water, even Oli and the girl with enough encouragement. There was not a defensive word, not a cussed remark as they enjoyed the happy moment.
As they grew fatigued, one by one they began to exit the lagoon, scrabbling around for their clothes. Only Abbey and James remained in the water.
Standing beneath the biggest of the waterfalls, she watched as the water cascaded across James’s shoulders, flattening his hair. He’d begun tanning nicely, his eyes seemingly bluer than before. In silence he stared back at her, brushed the dark strands of hair from her face.
'You think it's possible that a group of survivors can keep it together long enough to get home?’ He asked her.
Abbey broke eye contact. ‘They’re good people, James. They deserve to get home.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’
‘Do I believe in our ability to survive?’ she murmured. ‘Yes I do.’
He smiled. ‘Good.’
Their eyes met again. She wanted to look away but something was stopping her, an enticement in the invisible space between them.
‘Please don’t look at me like that,’ she whispered.
‘Like what?’
‘Like that,’ she said softly.
Holding her gaze for a few seconds longer, he said, ‘Sorry.’
‘James, I –’
‘Won’t happen again, I promise.’
He disappeared through the tumbling water, leaving her reeling, goosebumps on her arms. She thought for a moment he was going to kiss her. Perhaps he would’ve done if she hadn’t stopped it, and then how would she feel, guilty? Distraught? Neither of those words felt satisfactory. Almost not wanting to think it, she believed the word she was looking for was “Relieved”.
Poor Edward.
Poor Edward.
38
Sitting alone on the outcropping now free of bodies, Abbey surveyed the charred stack of human ash in the centre of the beach. Having returned from the lagoon with a warmer heart, it was now beating remorselessly cold. Was this the soul’s way of balancing elated and disconsolate, she wondered? From gliding gracefully through clouds to scraping the barrels of depression? She began to cry. Then she began to sob.
She’d considered walking over to the charred remains. In the end she stayed away. There had been too much death; she didn’t want to see anymore. Besides, her blackened emotions had little to do with the waste of human life here, and much more to do with Edward – the husband who thought she was dead. The husband who would be emotionally torn to shreds, for he worshipped the very ground on which she walked. The husband who was possibly, at that very moment, considering himself a widower.
How long would it be before he moved on, met somebody else? How long would it be before he began dating again? Would he remarry, begin a new family, a new life? Would he have the children she had never given him? A feeling of nausea expanded in her gut, and for a brief moment she thought she might throw up.
And then there was James.
James wasn’t five thousand miles away. He was alive and more importantly, he knew that she was too. Her thoughts edged precariously towards turmoil, beaten solemnly against the black wall in her head. Her fragile mind had never seen such disorder, had never been put to this kind of test.
Aided by the waves breaking peacefully against the shore, she began to calm down. Unwilling to show signs of weakness, she had stepped away from the group prior to her impending breakdown. The timing had been perfect.
Recently any actions of consequence were being passed through her, as if the others had appointed her in command alongside James. This she could handle. This she needed, the power of occupation helping to rebuild her crumbling walls. For the others it was nothing more than an astute generation of hope, placing her in the position of metaphorical shoulder, but for her, vocation was the distraction she pined for.
Climbing to her feet, she took one more look at the beach’s appetite for chaos, refusing this time to succumb. Emotions raw, she started back to camp.
*
Armed with a shopping list from Gibson, Abbey was boosted back into the plane by Eric. The big man was unusually quiet. She wondered if something was bothering him.
She knew what to expect as she sidled into the murky cabin. The open tomb appeared no more ominous than it should, each body unmoved. She almost laughed. What did she think, the corpses were playing musical crash-positions in her absence? Disturbed dust mites swimming in the air, she drew a hand to her mouth, reluctant to breathe.
Behind her, Eric and Anthony had clambered silently aboard. What a pair she’d brought with her, she thought – the mentally challenged and the mentally scarred. Anthony had his uses if nobody mentioned religion, and Eric was there solely as brute strength, should they need it.
In the gloom she eyed Gibson’s shopping list, the entire compilation a mystery. Most of it was electrical; circuit boards making use of ceramic capacitors, trimmer capacitors, variable capacitors, batteries, fuse holders, fuses, resistors. She would also need to find a speaker, lengths of enamel wiring, switches, and to cap it all, a wire coat hanger and a cardboard toilet roll tube. They already had a soldering iron from the toolkit, but no means to plug it in.
She hoped the pilot knew what he was doing.
Pushing her way into the cockpit she ignored the uniformed bodies, and instead asked Eric to move them into the cabin. The big man obliged, astonishing her. She knew Eric was strong, he looked strong, but he lifted
