On the island, we get up early and go to bed early. There isn’t much to do in the dark.
We are working on building a new bungalow. Some of us have to share rooms. Others, like me and Bo and Maddy, have one to themselves. The pier stretch was ruined by the storm some time ago, so slowly, we try to rebuild.
There are hardly ever any arguments about accommodations or food or anything else. In two years, we learned to work together. Most of the time, we are tired.
Most arguments are about booze and trips to town. Or the conversations about the Change and going back to the mainland. Which, for one, is impossible. Two, dangerous. Three, there is always this dilemma of what’s better—being trapped on the island or have freedom in a lawless land ridden with radiation and violence.
My paradise feels like one when I see Callie at breakfast.
I am still self-aware around her, but it’s different. She smiles more and laughs at Ty’s jokes. And her laughter makes me wanna build ten bungalows in a day.
After breakfast, Katura comes to help us with building.
“I am not gardening. Screw that shit. I want to do this,” she says, wearing boots, shorts, and a tight tank. Her braids are gathered in the back by a bandana. This chick has balls, for sure. And the looks. She is hot. What is she doing on this God-forsaken island?
The sun is scorching. We are shirtless, sweat dripping down our bodies. Now and then, we take a dip in the ocean, then get back to work.
“What do you say we go dive for lobsters this afternoon?” I suggest.
“Hell yeah!” Guff doesn’t fish but loves food.
The guys are all for it, and in the afternoon, we hop in the boat and take off. It’s a longer trip, about an hour off the coast, then another hour diving with spears.
But we come back in the evening with fifteen monsters. Everyone is ecstatic. Only Ethan shakes his head.
“Fuck me, that’s a lot of cleaning,” our cook says.
But everyone helps. We fire up the grills. Music starts playing on the speakers. Hammocks are swaying. Local beer is poured.
“Baby, cook that fish the way you do it,” Ty coos, rubbing against me playfully as I fillet the fish until I threaten him with a knife.
I cook. For the first time in months, I feel like cooking.
Becauseshewill be eating it.
And, hell, she does, licking her fingers from that chili-honey grilled tilapia and the grilled lobster with lemon.
All eighteen of us—twenty one again now, to be correct—sit around the two dining tables groaning as we suck on the lobster tails and eat fish without utensils.
Sublime trickles through the speakers. Jeok tells a joke. Santino argues with Jordan, then throws an empty lobster shell at him.
Ty moans like a girl. “Fuck, this is so good.” Butter drips down his chin. “Kai, seriously. I want to have your baby.”
Even Dani, who is always silent, laughs loudly, and Ty rips a fat piece of lobster tail, dips it into the orange sauce, and offers it to her. “Try it, angel.”
Angel? That’s new.
She eats it off his fingers and laughs again, nodding. And Ty glows like a Christmas tree—the fool is in love.
“Good?” he asks Callie who sits in front of him.
“Yeah. It’s amazing.” She licks her fingers.
“Kai cooked it,” Ty says proudly and winks at her. “He would have been a good boyfriend. If…”
He goes quiet.
“If it weren’t for the Change?” Katura asks.