. A really horrible one, since I could feel the plastic beneath my fingers.
"This isn't real," I told myself.
"Yes, it is."
Thomas was right beside me now. His voice in my ear.
"No. It's not. "Tears coursed down my face. "And you're not either. I'm going insane."
"You're not. Just open it. Drink it," Thomas said. "But take sips. You don't want to throw up again."
My hands trembling, I opened the bottle. Heard the click as the cap released from its plastic band. I had never wanted anything so badly in my life, but I was afraid. Afraid that I would lift the bottle to my lips and the whole thing would vanish.
"Here. I'll help you," Thomas said.
He lifted the bottle to my lips. Tipped it toward my mouth.
Cool water ran over my cracked lips and down my throat. The relief was instantaneous. I wanted to gulp the whole thing down, but remembered what Thomas had said and stopped. I didn't want to retch it up. Not only that, but I had to conserve it. Make it last as long as possible. I lowered the bottle and took a breath. Then I allowed myself one more gulp. My tears turned to tears of joy. Relief.
Thank God for people who littered.
People who littered. People.
This meant someone had been here before. It meant people did, occasionally, come to this island. Someone knew it was here. And if someone knew it was here, it was possible they were coming back.
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It was possible that even if the kidnappers had left me for dead and Upton had forsaken me and Noelle had given up on me, I could still be saved.
I looked at Thomas, wanting to share the good news, but he was gone.
Of course he was. He was never there.
I looked down at the bottle and cap clutched in my ragged, dirty hands. But if he was never there, how did I find this?
I felt a chill and looked around. "Thanks," I said, just in case. "I'm glad you're watching over me."
Then I capped the bottle, got up, and set off to find some food already. I was not going to end up like Thomas. I wasn't going to let some sadistic psycho remove me from this earth before I was ready. I was going to find a way off this island. And if I died in the process, at least it would be on my terms.
141
THIS CLOSE
I walked north on the beach, farther than I had walked on any of the previous days. If someone had dropped a water bottle, who knew what else they had dropped? Maybe they were even still here somewhere. Maybe I was about to stumble upon a group of college students camping out on the beach. And they would have food. And more water. And a boat.
A girl could dream.
As I strode along, ignoring the weakness in my limbs, the shaki-ness of my knees, I kept one eye on the beach up ahead and another on the tree line, looking for more lost goodies. A can of Pringles would be nice. Or maybe a McDonald's bag with an Egg McMuffin inside?
Up ahead, a long branch hung out over the beach in an arc. As I approached I realized why. It was heavy with fruit. Laden with little green apples. My heart leapt as I dropped my bottle of water in the sand and ran forward. Overjoyed and cursing myself at once, I pulled
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the branch toward me. If only I had come this far a few days ago. I could have been feasting on fruit all this time.
I yanked an apple down. My stomach grumbled in anticipation as I brought it to my lips. In that split second I imagined the sugary sweetness. The juice running down my throat. My mouth actually began to water. God, this was going to feel so . . . so . . . good. I opened my lips and was about to bite into the apple, when my eyes fell on the tree's trunk and I froze. My mind flashed on the manchineel tree in the Ryans' garden--the gray bark, the shiny green leaves, the yellowish-green fruit--and the apple dropped from my fingers. This was the same type of tree. I turned around and sprinted for the ocean. Dropping to my knees, I shoved my hands under the water and scrubbed them together. Mrs. Ryan had said that just touching the sap could be deadly.
I had just come this close to eating an actual poisoned apple.