Vows Box Set

Chapter 3: Puddles-2

I awoke to warm wetness jetting onto my abdomen. Of course the baby wasn’t potty trained. I’d figured that out when I’d pulled the saturated diaper off him last night when we’d all shed our drenched clothing and huddled together for some semblance of warmth. I just hadn’t thought through what the implications of that would be.

Since the kid had decided I was the one he’d continue to latch onto like a tick on a dog, the unspoken grouping of our little dog pile was with me in the middle, apparently to give as much protection and warmth to the baby as was possible in that miserable situation. So my instinctive movement in reaction to getting peed on naturally woke everyone up.

“Aw, shit.”

I never said I was particularly tactful, but to be fair, I’d just been awoken from a sound sleep by a bladder full of pee being unloaded on me. Not to mention the whole “Oh yeah, I’m naked, washed up with a kid and two strangers on a little island and have no idea how we’re going to survive until rescuers find us” thing.

But the kid didn’t seem to be offended. In the light of a new day he even managed to crack a cautious smile, accompanied by a wary look in his eyes. The kind of wariness that waking up with a group of men he’d never seen before the previous night’s horror might cause, or that MIA parents might produce. I melted a little at his display of spunk and instinctive transference of trust, and forced a smile back at him.

“Well, at least it’s warm.” Thank goodness he was taking our situation pretty well, all things considered. “But we should probably go rinse this off, eh, Buddy?” Besides, I had to pee, too.

The others groaned and rolled onto their backs, each putting a protective forearm over his eyes to block the glare of the morning sun. The warmth of that sun, however, was extremely welcome.

“Fuuuuuuck,” the “college kid” grumbled from behind me. At least I wasn’t the only one lacking sensitivity this morning.

I stumbled to the edge of the water and tried to unfasten the kid to free up my hands, but one small hand fiercely gripped my ear and the other held a fistful of chest hair that wasn’t going to be removed without some pain involved on my part. I sat in the shallows.

My mouth tasted funky so I put a little sand and ocean water in my mouth and vigorously swished for a minute before spitting it out and rinsing and gargling with a little more water. It was reasonably effective.

“Okay, Buddy, I’m going to rinse us off.” He looked down as I splashed some of the salt water between us to rinse off the urine. Then I inconspicuously let my own stream rip for some personal relief.

I looked out into the ocean and was encouraged to see a respectable amount of seaweed within a safely accessible distance. I saw caulerpa, a fairly nutritious variety, high in vitamins A, B1, C, and folic acid, and several other healthy varieties of seaweed.

I may have been a handicap to my fellow survivors on the journey here, but if rescue wasn’t immediate then I’d be able to make it up to them with my knowledge as a marine biologist. Assuming we could find enough fresh water to survive, that is. Otherwise we were probably f****d regardless.

In my peripheral vision I glimpsed my rescuers about fifteen feet away on either side of me taking care of their own morning bladder needs. I turned and stumbled back up the sand toward the pile of clothes near the threshold between the beach and the foliage of the small island’s interior. They were still in the pile where we’d left them when we’d collapsed last night.

Hopefully this nightmare would be over within a few hours and the four of us would never have to resort to eating the seaweed. With any luck our biggest worry would be not having dry clothes to put on before the Coast Guard swooped in to rescue us.

The “businessman” appeared beside me and sighed as he looked at the wet mound, then began to shake out the clothes and hang them on low-hanging branches. All that was left was three pairs of underpants—my black Levi’s linen briefs, the “businessman’s” plaid Calvin Klein boxers, and the “college kid’s” gray Under Armour boxer briefs—the baby’s green and yellow shorts and shirt, the now button-less pale blue dress shirt and darker socks the “businessman” had been wearing, the “college kid’s” red tee shirt, and my own torn up blue checked button-down.

“There’s bound to be puddles of fresh water in there after that rain,” I said, inclining my head toward the island’s interior. “We should drink what we can before it evaporates.”

The “businessman” nodded in agreement. “Yeah.” Apparently he was a man of few words.

The “college kid” came up behind us. “We don’t want to miss flagging down a rescue boat or plane, though. We have to stay visible.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “but we have to stay alive long enough to be rescued. We won’t last more than three days without water.”

“Three days!” he yelped. “You think we’ll be here three days?”

We hadn’t even shared first names yet, so I didn’t know the guy’s actual age or background, or even if he’d lost anyone in the crash. He had chin-length sun-kissed blond hair, and was tall and very muscular with just a little excess meat on his bones. He was built like many of the football players back at school. But despite the build, he had the baby-faced look of someone who was maybe eighteen or nineteen. So I felt like I should cut him a little slack on his panicked tone at the idea of rescue not necessarily looming just over the horizon, especially after the bravery and competence he’d shown manning the emergency exit door.

“I don’t know,” I stated. “I don’t know how big the potential search area is. I think we should hope for the best, but be prepared for the worst. We can’t let ourselves get too rundown or it’ll hurt our chances of surviving long term.”

At his stricken look, I hastily added, “Not that I think it’ll come to that. By the way, my name is Henry.”

“Devon,” said the “college kid.”

“Garrett,” added the “businessman.”

Garrett’s countenance was a little more knowing, and resigned. He looked a little older than me, maybe in his upper thirties, very distinguished in appearance with a high-bridged Roman nose. He had a receding hairline with short, chocolate brown hair, lighter in color than my own thicker, wavy, dark brown hair. Like Devon, he was also taller and bigger than me. Not as overtly muscular as the younger man, he had just a bit of a rounded abdomen but was well-toned overall. I would envy his excess of body hair if we ended up spending many more chilly nights here.

The way the morning was swiftly heating up, though, and the very vertical angle of the sun’s rise, told me our chill had been shock-based. Heat was more likely to be a concern than the occasional chilly night.

Garrett probably realized, as I did, that the long low flight after coming out of the dive may or may not have been along the original flight path, and may or may not have been with any radio contact available to alert potential rescuers to our location.

I could be wrong, but it seemed to me that if there had been radio contact or any kind of functioning beacon, then our location would have been known with reasonable accuracy, and we’d already have seen rescue planes or helicopters. But we hadn’t, which told me we were looking at a potential time frame of whatever the standard rescue operation window was. Weeks? Months?

“Let’s take turns going in,” said Garrett. “You and your kid go in first.”

“Not my kid,” I replied.

“He begs to differ.”

Of course Garrett knew the kid wasn’t actually mine. He’d been sitting across the aisle from me, then was close behind me at the exit, but that was a fair point. The kid would eventually have to let go of me, but apparently he wasn’t quite ready for that to happen. I ducked us under a branch and started weaving through the thick foliage.

There were indeed a number of little dips with standing water. I wouldn’t have trouble drinking it, but I wasn’t sure about my little buddy. Did he still drink from a bottle? Had he any experience with those sipper cups they made for the older ones?

Sam had plenty of nieces and nephews, and we spent a lot of time with his family, but I’d never thought to pay attention to the details of childhood progressions. It just hadn’t interested me enough to make note.

I did know, though, that whatever stage Buddy had been in, it probably hadn’t involved lapping at puddles like a pet cat or dog, or attempting a scoop-and-pour with a leaf. But apparently instinct and a very strong thirst can overcome a lack in specific training quite well.

“Come on, Buddy,” I said, squatting and pointing toward a puddle of water. “Let’s lie on our tummies and drink some of this. I bet you’re as thirsty as I am.” I did my best to speak with authority, like I wasn’t giving him an option.

One thing I did remember about kids was my sister-in-law saying that was the best way to talk to them. Just use your “matter-of-fact” voice, she’d told me. Don’t use a coaxing tone or they’ll think it’s something they wouldn’t want to do. Apparently it was as good as challenging the kid to resist or argue with you about it. I never heard her use the wheedling voice I’d heard random parents in public use when trying to get their kids to behave, and I never heard her raise her voice in anger at the kids, either. She just used a no-nonsense tone. I had to admit, she has some great kids.

Could I pull it off? Would Buddy be able to tell I was a poser who had no real experience being responsible for a child?

He actually let go with one hand as I maneuvered to shift us into position. I lowered my face to the puddle and drank first, to give him a demonstration. The water was tepid, but still tasted wonderful. I forced myself to back off so the kid could have a go.

“Your turn, Buddy,” I told him, and motioned for him to try. He seemed to understand and lowered his pale blond head toward the puddle. He made some slurping sounds so I figured he was getting something out of it.

“You’re doing great.” I laid a hand on his back to encourage him. Perhaps it also made him feel more secure since he let go of me with his remaining hand and slithered forward to improve his angle on the water.

There wasn’t much there, and when it became too low for him to get any more water, he pushed up and maneuvered his legs until he was sitting on his little rump looking up at me with woeful hazel eyes and quivering lips. I quickly reassured him. “There’s more, Buddy. We’ll find another one.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. There were more puddles for the time being, but what about when it hadn’t been raining? Technically the wet season was over. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be any at all, but not as much.

It was my turn to hold the baby to my chest for reassurance. I tried not to think of the wretched end we’d all have if dehydration was to be our fate. Perhaps we’d have been better off sinking with the others. I’d heard drowning was peaceful after the initial gasping intake of water. I didn’t know from personal experience, of course, and I didn’t want to die at all, but wouldn’t anything quick be better than drawn-out pain and suffering?

The idea of Buddy going through that depressed me more than for myself. I didn’t want to watch this trusting child who’d latched onto me as a surrogate parent, naively putting his innocent life in my hands, die a painful death because I couldn’t figure out how to help him survive. But worse, I didn’t want him to additionally have the fear of dying alone, the last of us to succumb.

A few more steps inland and we found a couple more puddles side by side. I smiled at Buddy and said, “Come on, let’s drink some more!” with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. He wiggled to get down. We made quick work of those puddles, and I picked him up again. Our thirst was quenched, but I was hungry and knew Buddy had to be, too. The island interior was populated with edible fruit and nut trees.

My background in marine biology didn’t directly give me knowledge about such things, but I’d met Sam when I’d joined the biology department at the university where we taught, where he’d been the rookie prior to my arrival. As it happened, agroforestry was his thing. We’d gone on a joint venture research trip to the Solomon Islands my first summer there. A collateral benefit to falling hopelessly in love was that some of his knowledge had rubbed off on me.

Just a cursory look around told me we’d be good on mangoes for a while and could probably expect papayas to be ready before too long. There were more options as well. The tall trees were coconut trees, but I didn’t bother looking for fallen coconuts yet. Not much point until we found some sharp rocks or something to bust into them. The pandanus trees were of the large fruit variety, so they would be edible, too.

A number of ripe mangoes were within reach, so I plucked one and handed it to Buddy. He grasped it in both hands and tried to bite it. His six little teeth weren’t quite up to the task.

“Hold on, Buddy,” I said. “I’ll find a way to cut that up for you in a bit.”

I picked three more and wedged them between us before getting a firmer grip on the kid and making our way back to the beach to find Devon and Garrett. They weren’t where we’d left them, but I figured they’d be back after circling the perimeter. That wouldn’t take long. Our island wasn’t that big. Big enough, though, that I began to think it could sustain four people if we weren’t gluttonous, and could get enough fresh water. Perhaps we could get enough liquid from the fruits to sustain us short term, at least.

Of course, it was possible we needed to consider resources for more than four people. Some of the other survivors might have washed up here as well. The groupings of swimmers had been too far separated in the water to keep track of each other. Devon and Garrett would know after making their circuit of the island.

We plopped down on the sand, and I laid the mangoes in front of us. I picked up one, bit into the skin and peeled it back on one whole side, and handed it to Buddy. It looked like he was trying to stuff the entire thing into his mouth, but managed to figure out how to gnaw on it, scraping his teeth over it again and again. I hoped he was getting more in than was running down his chest.

I heard the others trudging through the sand before I saw them. I didn’t inquire, since I knew from Devon’s hang-dog expression that they hadn’t seen any sign of rescue.

“Any other survivors?” I asked.

The two men sorrowfully shook their heads.

“They were further down-current from us when we started out, and it was a little close for comfort even for us,” said Garrett.

“But we were kind of handicapped, with me holding the kid and all.”

“Nah,” Devon replied. “You had a good strong kick. Plus, if I’d been alone my instinct would have been to swim straight toward the island.”

“But we hollered to them about the current,” I said.

“I know, but without your fuller argument I think I’d have angled toward it after a while. I bet they did that.”

Well f**k. That might be true. I was so familiar with the ocean that considerations like that were instinctive for me, but the general population likely wouldn’t respect the strength of the current flow they were in.

“Anyway, we’re here, and we need to take turns circling so we don’t miss anything,” Devon decreed.

Devon wasn’t a callous person. I’d just spent enough time with him under horrifying conditions to have no doubts about that. We all have different coping mechanisms for dealing with stressful situations, so I wasn’t going to let his indifferent sounding transition affect my opinion of his character. I didn’t disagree with his comment, either, but there were other things we needed to prioritize as well.

“Sure,” I replied. “But first you each need to take a turn in there drinking some water before it evaporates. Then we need to have a quick discussion about what else needs to be done to facilitate rescue and to survive until that happens.”

Speaking in a manner I hoped was authoritative wasn’t an easy feat considering I was standing there bare-assed naked. That nightmare everybody has where they find themselves speaking in front of a group of people and suddenly discover they’re nude? That was the icing on the cake of this ordeal. The only consolation was that we were all in the same boat, so we all pretended it was no big deal. Seemed like the best way to handle it.

“Agreed,” said Garrett. Then he nodded toward the fruit I’d laid out in the sand. “What’cha got there?”

“Got us each a mango. There’s quite a bit of it.”

Devon picked one up and bit into it. “Thanks.” He looked out over the ocean and sighed. Then he hitched his head toward Garrett. “You go ahead and drink next. I’ll take another walk around the beach while Henry feeds the kid.”

Garrett silently strode into the foliage, and Devon started another lap around the island. I picked up my mango and chomped down into the juicy goodness. No wonder Buddy was making such blissed-out noises as he worked his way around his fruit.

Devon made two trips around the island before Garrett emerged from the shrubbery. “Are those tall ones coconut trees?” Garrett asked, plopping down on the sand and grabbing the final mango.

“Yes,” I replied. “We’re going to need to collect some rocks and make tools to get into them, though. For other stuff, too. There’s plenty of fish out there, but we’ll need to be able to filet them after we figure out how to catch them.”

Garrett nodded. “Those medium-high trees with the yellowish fruit, do you know what those are? There’s quite a few of those, too.”

“Papayas. I don’t think they’re quite ripe, yet. I spotted some jackfruit and breadnut and others, too. We’ve also got a good-looking crop of caulerpa, and decent amounts of enteromorpha, chaetomorpha, and more. Food might not be a problem so much as water will be.”

Devon sat with a grunt. “What the f**k is caulerpa, and those other things you said?”

“Varieties of seaweed,” I told him. “Caulerpa is more commonly known as sea grapes and green sea feathers. Enteromorpha is known as tubular green weed, and chaetomorpha is commonly called curling fishing line. They’re pretty nutritious.”

“How do you know this s**t?”

Buddy held his half-mangled mango up to me and chanted, “Dadadadadadadadada.”

Jesus Christ. My Grinch heart was never going to be able to stand up to that. Devon muttered, “Ew,” as I took the slimy fruit, grimaced, and removed the pit with my teeth and fingernails, then peeled back the balance of the skin before handing back the gloppy mess.

Humanitarian mission accomplished, I returned my attention to Devon. “I teach marine biology, which is pretty much the study of life found in salt waters—plants and animals in the oceans. I also picked up a bit about pacific island agroforestry on a research trip to the Solomons a few summers ago.”

Devon raised his eyebrows.

Garrett said, “That knowledge will come in handy if we’re stuck here for a few weeks.”

“Yeah,” Devon added. “I’ll have a new appreciation for nerds after this.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, but Garrett cleared his throat and changed the subject by saying, “I work in sales. VP at Brainy Child Toy Company. That won’t be very useful here, I’m afraid.”

“I doubt it’ll matter anyway,” I said. “They’ll find us before too long.” I’d been off on my people-watching assessment of Garrett back on the plane. He wasn’t a tropical fruit importer after all.

“How about you, Devon?” asked Garrett.

“Student at Nebraska. Got a football scholarship. I’m studying criminology.”

My skills were vindicated. That was pretty much how I’d pegged Devon, but I wasn’t cheered by the thought. I was reminded of the old couple and frowned. I hoped they’d been able to keep their calm attitudes through to the end, and I hoped the women who’d been sitting next to Devon, and the others in the water were found soon.

I remembered a news story I’d read years back about four football players in the water off the coast of Florida after a boating accident. Two of the four had given up after mere hours and removed their life vests, and a third had removed his after one day, apparently thinking he’d spied land and was going to swim for it. Originally, four athletic people with life vests were in the water. Less than forty-eight hours later only one was rescued.

That water had been nine or ten degrees colder than what we had here, but the people floating in the water today would be facing a brutal sun beating down on them, and dehydration would be worse out there without shade. How long before they gave up and allowed themselves to sink? And how long would inflatable vests last without someone manually re-inflating them?

I sighed. Garrett’s face seemed to mirror my thoughts. He suggested that Devon make his puddle-searching foray into the interior while we remaining three took a few laps on the beach to ensure our visibility to potential search parties.

Our first stop was at the ocean’s edge, because Buddy and I were a sticky mess. I splashed salt water on Buddy’s tummy and wiped his chin, then encouraged him to pee as a preemptive move before picking him back up. I think it might have been the water splashing on him more than his understanding my words, but what did I know? I was just happy that it worked.

I peered up at Garrett and asked, “How old you think he is?”

“Your little buddy here?”

I nodded.

Garrett twisted his mouth and the lines between his eyebrows deepened as he contemplated the question. “Looks like he’s got six teeth,” he said. “He’s a solid sitter, and seems to be on the verge of crawling. Just starting to verbalize and understands some of what we say. There’s a wide range of ‘normal’ in child development, but I’d guess he’s seven or eight, maybe nine months old. He’s kinda big, so probably eight or nine, I think. Heck, maybe even ten. Like I said, there’s a wide range of ‘normal’ for all the baby milestones.”

I picked up the kid and we started our first circuit around the island. “He did alright with the puddles, and tore up that mango,” I said. “You think he’s old enough to do okay without baby formula and stuff?”

Garrett nodded. “Yeah, he’ll be okay. No worse off than us, anyway.”

I gazed out over the ocean as we walked, and couldn’t help think what a beautiful vacation paradise this would have been under different circumstances. My time with Sam in the Solomons was still my favorite memory.

Sam. I tried not to think about what he was going through. I knew how I would react if the situation was reversed. I would be inconsolable. Hang in there, Sam, I’ll be home soon.

I turned back to Garrett and went fishing for information. “I was asleep when the s**t hit the fan last night. Totally disoriented. Couldn’t even venture to guess how long we stayed aloft after that dive, let alone the direction.”

Garrett remained silent, so I continued. “Judging by the sun’s position, I think we’re south of the equator. Not by much, though. I think we’re in the south equatorial current, flowing west. I’m not familiar with the Southern Hemisphere’s stars, but we might be able to make a more precise guess when they come out tonight.”

Garrett exhaled noisily, then offered up what he knew. “That fits. I couldn’t sleep. I was playing solitaire on my tablet. Somehow I managed to keep hold of it during that dive. I switched it to a compass app.” He paused and took a deep breath. “We were travelling northwest. I timed it at about sixty-five minutes.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah. We can only hope they’ll think there’s good reason to search backwards off the flight path.”

Meaning, the flight plan had us flying south, southwest to get to Fiji. If the pilot had checked in shortly before that all went down, and if communication wasn’t possible after, then we might not be anywhere in the search zone, no matter how wide they expanded it. We were simply not along the path where they’d think the plane went down, and not where the current would take debris or survivors or…bodies from that path.

I asked, “You think the pilot knew about this island? Was he making for it?”

“Dunno. Maybe. Probably, I guess. Even if their instrument panel was trashed, they probably knew the direction if I did. Can’t imagine why he’d knowingly risk taking us out of the search zone if it wasn’t to give us a shot at survival that he knew about, right?”

“Makes sense, I suppose. But maybe it’s just the direction we happened to be in when he pulled us out of the dive. Maybe he couldn’t change direction after that without risking an immediate ditch. He might’ve just kept it going as long as he could, hoping to stumble on something promising.”

I sighed, then added, “I wonder if there are any more islands nearby that the others might have made it to.”

“Dunno.”

We lapsed into silence after that and made three leisurely trips around the island before meeting back up with Devon.

Devon raised his chin in greeting when he spotted us. “Hey, Bill Nye,” he hollered. “There’s a puddle I want to show you.”

He carried several rocks, presumably for toolmaking, and a long broken-off branch. Perhaps he was thinking of making a spear for fish? Nothing motivated a healthy sized teenaged boy like hunger. At least he was thinking of something other than continuously searching the horizon.

We walked over to meet him. “Yeah?” I replied. “What’s special about it?”

“Did you notice those two kinda tall trees just this side of the coconuts in the center? Papaya, I think you said they were.”

“Yeah, I saw them, but didn’t approach.”

“There’s a puddle between them, bigger than the rest. I noticed the water was cooler than the first puddle I’d tried, so I stuck with it, but it didn’t go down like the other when I drank out of it. Like it was refilling, seeping out of the ground, and trickling down toward those trees.”

I could feel the smile splitting my face at his words. That was the moment when I knew we’d be okay no matter how long it took for rescuers to find us. The grin that appeared on Garrett’s face told me he understood that now, too.

“Show us,” I said.