“Done,” Nick said, and Gus got back to work.
He quickly finished the last of the second frond blanket and stood, deciding to make a coconut run. There were only a couple left, but he felt like stretching his legs after sitting for so long. He streaked, literally, down the beach, noting the extra speed and mobility he had without the suit. He could’ve used some more support for his boys downstairs though, he thought as he jogged back to the tree. The coconuts felt cold on his skin as he clutched the remaining four to his chest and made his way back to the shelter.
He needed some kind of tool. If he had a knife or a hammer, things would be simplified a lot. His stomach needled him again, as if saying, ‘Hurry up, jerk!’ Studying the suit again, he pulled on the polyfoam liner, trying to scavenge what he could for usable items. Surprisingly, the foam peeled out more easily than expected. Whether from his increased strength or from how the suit was designed was unclear.
It retained its human-like shape and contours, easily molding like a cohesive foamy putty. He could mash it and it would compress, flattening and becoming uniform, then it would slowly puff up and aerate into an inch-thick layer. Using this method, he fashioned it into a mat to place between the fronds. Testing it out, he found it worked wonderfully. He did the same with the other half of the suit, but decided to try crafting the remaining putty into some form of clothing. After fashioning what looked like a makeshift diaper, he gave up. It would be ok if he were standing still, but movement caused the foam putty to condense at areas of pressure and fall off.
“Well, it was worth a try,” Gus said.
Looking inside the back of the suit, he saw a panel over the section that covered the rear. He removed it and found a twelve by eighteen-inch plate with a quarter-inch thickness, tapering to a thin edge. If he could figure out how to convert this into some kind of knife, his life would be vastly simplified, at least in the short term. He removed the plate, revealing empty vials and tubes. All of them were empty, with only a trace of fluids still in the lines.
Flipping the plate over and over, he thought about using Wreck-It-Gus, but doubted he could cut directly through the metal. How could he shape it into some type of tool?
The plate was hard enough that Gus thought he could use it to cook his food. He tried smacking the clam against a rock to break the shell, but succeeded only in chipping a tiny section away from the edge of the shell. He tried using his fingernails in the small opening to pry it open, but the clam resisted his efforts. Getting an idea, he forced the corner of the metal plate into the chipped notch and twisted to wedge the sides of the clam apart. It was just thin enough to fit in the chipped area to gain a purchase. Success! It wasn’t a perfect tool, but it did the job in a pinch. Gus whooped with the success, his confidence growing. Now he needed fire.
Breaking small chunks of the driftwood into suitable pieces, Gus built up a pile of smaller branches and then some larger pieces in another pile. Stacking the branches into a teepee-like structure and filling the inside with the coconut husk fibers he was ready to start his fire for the night. He looked around for something to create a spark, but none of the rocks nearby looked like the flint he had used back at Scout Camp. He tried hitting a couple rocks together but none produced a spark. Remembering how the suit appeared to burn, he attempted Wreck-It-Gus on the husk fibers and they easily flared up, and the driftwood was soon alight.
A tension he didn’t know he had been holding inside relaxed as the first sparks caught and the flame began. I can do this! The small heat from the fire grew stronger and Gus added driftwood, building the fire to a respectable level. He sat and stared into the flames for a bit; their hypnotic crackling was soothing and helped him relax. He had done it. He was a survivor! Pride welled up at the little he had been able to accomplish without a lot of resources.
He sat a bit taller, resisting his usual tendency to slouch. Things were going to change, he could feel it. An unexpected optimism washed over him as he stared at the flames and a smile crept over his face.
Gus used the plate to scoop out the clam from its shell and as the fire finally burned down to coals, he set the plate atop it and let it heat. While it was warming up, he took his clamshells and rinsed them in the surf, removing the residual sand as well as he could. By the time he returned, it looked like the metal was ready to use. With a little trepidation, he cracked the first egg and was happy to see only a deep orange yolk and not a tiny bird inside. The other two eggs were similarly bird-free.
He cooked the clam and eggs atop the plate. Gus used the clam shells to keep the egg from running off the plate, as the coals were not as even as he had expected. The shells also functioned well as makeshift spoons to eat the scrambled eggs. To be honest, the eggs and clam were much tastier than he expected they would be. He was so hungry that he didn’t mind the salty sand that had mixed in with the food, despite his best efforts to keep everything clean.
After removing the plate from the fire, carefully dragging it using the edges of the coconut shell so
