She scooped up the two empty bottles and the cavernous handbag. “There were some driftwood piles at the other end of the beach that might be dry in the middle. I’ll try there first.”
Nea
l lost his battle against the urge to cough and regretted it, able to do nothing but helplessly watch her walk away.
Chapter Nineteen
Mary didn’t like the Neal’s pallor, or the rattle of his dry cough, but she knew that was nothing she could treat.
The sand was getting warm beneath her bare feet, and wading through the cool stream was unexpectedly pleasant. Mary paused at the first pile of driftwood. There were probably things in the dark recesses of the wood—bitey things and maybe even venomous things. She gritted her teeth, wished she was wearing her soaked clothes, and reached in to rattle a few branches loose.
No swarms of snakes or spiders came pouring out at her, and after a moment, Mary tackled it again, pulling the wet wood off the top to reveal a dry inner cavern with an armload of good driftwood. She filled her bag, before adding some of the crunchy dry seaweed she found there, hopeful it would make good tinder. The second heap of driftwood was wet through, but there was an overhang at the end of the beach that had a pile of larger pieces. She piled her arms full of it, and only as she was returning to the stream did she realize that she hadn’t poked the pile or checked it for bugs before she picked it up.
Her skin crawled at the idea she might be carrying ants or spiders, and she dropped her armload unceremoniously by the stream. She filled both her water bottles and capped them, then gathered her wood back up more carefully, flicking a single tiny ant off with a leaf.
The fog had burned off by the time she returned to Neal with her treasures, and she was relieved to see that his driftwood prop was at least partially in the shade. He was dozing, though his face, even in sleep, was still twisted with pain.
Mary gathered up some rocks, only once biting back a shriek of terror when she disturbed the creature—she wasn’t sure what it was—which was living beneath it.
Though she suspected it wasn’t necessary, she built a fire ring with the rocks, and was pleased at how domestic and camp-like their little space looked with the addition.
Neal woke, and was appropriately pleased by her building efforts. He walked her through setting out the wood for the fire, and pouring the condom partly full of water.
“You’re essentially making a lens with it,” he explained.
Mary made a tiny nest of the seaweed tinder, and squeezed the pocket of water in the condom until she got two tiny points of light that she could focus together.
“Hold it just a few inches away,” Neal advised. “Have you ever burnt ants with a magnifying glass?”
“No,” Mary said with disgust. “I have definitely never done that.”
Neal chuckled and then coughed, swearing under his breath. Mary resisted the urge to drop her make-shift firestarter and go comfort him.
When his coughing subsided, there was still nothing happening. “How long does this take?”
“It could take a while,” Neal said hoarsely. “A long while, I’m afraid. It’s a game of patience now, and the sun is past its strongest point.”
Mary settled into a more comfortable position. “Alrighty then.”
There was a moment of silence, and Mary listened to the pound of the ocean on the shore and the noise of the waterfall and concentrated on holding her points of light still on the seaweed.
“Tell me about one of your missions,” she finally suggested, not wanting to watch Neal lapse back into sleep. “How about that last one you were on?”
For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse, but then he started speaking, slowly and carefully. “The short version of the story is that we were stopping a drug lord in South America.”
“That sounds exciting.”
“The longer version, which I will spare you, involves an AWOL Marine, Lewis, who had set himself up as a local kingpin, and a school being used as a switchhouse, and a mysterious billionaire funder.”
“That version sounds even more exciting!”
Even with his breath shallow and his words unnaturally slow, Neal had a wonderful storytelling voice.
“Lewis knew we were coming, somehow, and he knew that some of us were shifters. He used children as hostages, and made us surrender ourselves before we could call in for support.”
Mary whistled. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“It wasn’t. Major Washburn – Judy – was fitted with some new tech that we didn’t want them getting their hands on, so we staged her suicide.”