“We’re almost there. Keep up.” He turns his back to me and starts climbing up again. I don’t ask him where “there” is. I’ll see soon enough.
Within a few minutes, we’re at the top of some sort of hillside. I can still see the shore, but it’s a good way off now. I wonder if it’s a mistake being up here. What if the ship comes back? Will I be able to get there in time?
I’m hot and sweaty and thirsty as hell, and I feel like I need a really good cry.
I miss Daniel. What’s he doing right now? How will I get back to him?
And God, I was almost raped today. I saw a man killed, and now I’m with another man that seems to hate my very presence, in the middle of God knows where, food scarce. I hate this.
When we reach the cave, he tosses my bag down, takes a knife from his waistband, then sits on the ground.
“Sit.” He points to the ground. I sit and glare, though I’m pretty sure it’s lost on him. He could try to be a bit more civilized. I’ve never been one of those girls that like the alpha male, the bossy guy who thinks he has to protect everyone and everything around him. I can hold my own, thank you. But, he’s about to give me some coconut, and I’m starving, so I don’t quibble.
He looks around him for something.
“Need to catch the water,” he says.
“I’m guessing you have no bowl,” I mutter, barely stifling the desire to roll my eyes.
“No, but I have shells.” He comes back a moment later with shells the size of my head. I blink in surprise. I’ve never seen anything like them. I watch, rapt, while he opens my bag and takes out a few coconuts. The rest spill onto the ground around him. Placing one on the center of a shell, he takes his huge knife and whacks it along the center of the coconut with rapid, solid strikes. His muscles bunch and stretch, and he’s the epitome of strength wielding the cruel weapon. I can’t look away. It’s weirdly hot, seeing him bare-chested and muscled, whacking the coconuts with gusto, like some island version of a lumberjack chopping wood. I squirm uncomfortably at the raw display of strength.
Oblivious to my musings, he turns the coconut, then whacks it again until the hard, brown shell cracks. Clear liquid drips down and gathers in the base. Lifting the coconut, he carefully catches every drop, then hands me the shell.
“Drink,” he orders. “It will prevent dehydration.”
“Then why don’t you drink?” I ask. I’m not sure why I feel such a strong urge to push back against him.
“I will,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “Ladies first.”
I wonder if he’s testing to see if it’s poisoned, and I eye it warily.
He growls.
“Drink the fucking water.”
I frown at him so he knows I don’t do this willingly, and he better not get used to his highhanded communication methods working, but take the shell and tip some into my mouth. It’s warm, and lightly sweet, but somehow refreshing. I continue sipping it while he splits the coconut in half.
“Here,” he says a moment later, handing me a shaved slice of coconut meat on the end of his knife.
I take it. “Thanks.”
It’s creamy and rich, and my stomach growls in appreciation. I’ve only had coconut it its processed form, shredded and sweetened, this is completely different. We eat in silence, then he cracks open another and another, until our bellies are full and empty coconut shells litter the ground around us.
He sits back and shakes his head. “Doesn’t make sense,” he says. I look him over. He almost looks like could be on vacation, bare-chested, wearing a faded pair of jeans.
“What doesn’t?” I ask. He looks at me as if he just remembered I was there, then shakes his head.
“You’re here,” he says. “The coconuts showed up. It’s almost as if—”
He freezes when we hear something crashing through the woods. I sit still, not sure what it is he sees or hears, and I know instinctively to be quiet. I look from him to the woods again. The sounds are heavy and clumsy but light, clearly not the sounds of a man trying not to be discovered. A moment later, he’s on his feet.
“What the hell,” he mutters.
I look and stifle a scream when a passel of rodent-like creatures goes scurrying past us a few yards off. Mousy brown with sleek fur and tiny ears, they’re almost the size of rabbits. Squirrel-like in appearance with beady little eyes and curved backs, but they don’t have the fluffy tail a squirrel has.
I hate rodents so much I shudder, pulling back into the cave to get away from them, but Cy lifts his machete and goes after them.